Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (10 page)

“Construction noise?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay,” Colleen said. “What then?”

“I looked out my window and this weird-looking man came in a pickup and parked next to the white truck. Then another man came out of the house and started fighting with the weird-looking man … but nobody hit anybody or anything. They were just fighting with words.”

“Could you hear what they were saying?”

Jacob shook his head.

“What happened after that?”

“I went to get my mom but when we looked out the window again the weird man was driving away and the other man was gone.”

Colleen glanced at the mother. “Did you see the man in the pickup?”

“Not really. Dark hair was all I could make out.”

“This is important,” Colleen said, turning back to Jacob. “Try to think really hard. Is there anything about the weird man that you can remember? Maybe what he was wearing or how tall he was?”

“He was pretty short, maybe like mom’s size, and he wore this big orange shirt. Oh, and he had strange hair—like a helmet or something.”

Colleen’s jaw clenched. “Did he have any facial hair, a beard or moustache or maybe sideburns?”

“What are sideburns?” he asked with interest.

“Like Daddy has here,” the mother said, indicating the sides of her cheeks.

Jacob pursed his lips, thinking, and nodded. “But they were much bigger than Daddy’s.”

Colleen silently groaned. The weird-looking man could only be one person … Myrtle Crepe. What had her former teacher done?

“Does that help?” the boy’s mother asked, ready to take Jacob back inside.

“Very much,” she said. “We’re having a game day at the station this afternoon, Jacob. If you come by, we’ll have a special junior firefighter badge for you.”

“Can I see the fire engine, too?” he asked, his eyes widening with awe.

“And the ambulance if you’d like.”

Jacob hopped up and dashed to his mother. “Can we go to the station now?”

“Why don’t we have breakfast first,” his mother said and rubbed his head.

“The badge will be there whenever you’re ready,” Colleen said, noticing Jacob’s disappointed expression.

He beamed. “I can’t wait to tell Dad. See you at the fire station, Sparky,” he said, gave Sparky a hug, and ran inside yelling “Dad!”

“I should go,” Colleen said, leashing Sparky. “Thank you for letting me speak with your son. He’s a smart kid.”

“Good luck with figuring out what started that fire.”

“Thanks. Come on,” she said to Sparky, and the two climbed the berm.

She scratched Sparky’s ears when they reached the other side. The dog had more than earned a treat for his help with the boy. She walked under the house where the carport would have been and then it hit her. Jacob had reported seeing two vehicles—one that belonged to the man that Colleen now realized had been Myrtle in disguise and one that belonged to Denny. When they had arrived on the scene, however, Denny’s pickup was gone. What had happened to it? Had it been stolen or moved by the killer?

She’d bet anything that Denny’s keys had not been found on his person. If that proved true, then it was possible that whoever had murdered Denny had driven off with his truck. If they could find the truck, it might contain evidence that could lead them to his killer.

She removed her phone from her armband, hit speed dial, and got Bill’s voice mail. “Bill, I have new information about the case. Give me a call as soon as you get this.” She hung up. What she had learned from the boy could help clear Pinky … or land Myrtle in jail.

Chapter 8

How do you tell
your beau the sheriff that your sexagenarian former third-grade teacher turned horse preservationist has been dressing up as fat Elvis, spying on a homicide victim, and was the last person to see that person alive, without making her a suspect?

Colleen sat in her idling SUV in a shady spot of the Sheriff’s Department parking lot. She had left Sparky at home—something she rarely did. After the morning jog, he had fallen asleep in the living room while she got ready. When she had called for him to leave with her, he had opened his eyes and then closed them again. She hadn’t had the heart to force him from his bed. He had earned a day of rest after the good work he had done with the boy. She had also called Jimmy to let him know she might be a few minutes late as there had been new developments in the case. Colleen had been sitting in her vehicle for the better part of ten minutes mulling over how to tell Bill about Myrtle without getting Myrtle in trouble and had come up empty. Every time she ran through an explanation of what Myrtle had been up to it sounded crazy.

She noted the time. The longer she sat in the parking lot, the longer Pinky sat in the holding area. Maybe inspiration will come to me when I see Bill, she thought as she exited the SUV and then entered the Sheriff’s Department. She spotted Rodney near the interview rooms at the end of the hall.

“Hey, Rodney,” she said, approaching the deputy.

“Hey.”

“I left Bill a message. Found out information that might be helpful to the case.”

“He’s in with Salvatore,” the deputy said, and motioned to a room labeled
INTERVIEW
ROOM
2
.

“How’s it going?” she asked, wishing she had X-ray vision and super hearing.

Rodney moved a short distance away from the door and lowered his voice. “Salvatore insists he knows nothing about what happened with Custis.”

“I don’t think he does,” she whispered back, and Rodney gave a slight nod. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“It’s not that…”

Bill’s absence on the homeland security detail had afforded her the opportunity to become further acquainted with Rodney, and the more time she had spent with Bill’s deputy, the better she had liked him. She had also learned to read him and sensed now there was something he wasn’t telling her. She recalled his comment about Denny on the beach when they had discovered Fuentes’ body.

“You never cared for Custis,” she said.

Before he could answer, Bill emerged from the interrogation room and ran his hands through his hair. “Hello,” he said, surprised to see her.

“Did you get my message?” she asked.

“I’ve been in with Salvatore. Was it something important?”

“I spoke with the kid—the one who saw a man arguing with Custis.”

Bill raised a brow. “When was this?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why did he always get on her about getting involved in cases?

Rodney observed the two. “Maybe I should go.”

She touched his arm to stop him. “After you called,” she said to Bill. “I jogged by the house to see if I had missed anything or could find a clue as to what had occurred there.”

“Okay,” Bill said. “But how did you end up speaking with the boy?”

“Sparky wandered next door and when I retrieved him he was playing with the boy. I think I know who the boy saw arguing with Denny, but I don’t think he is a he. I think he’s a she, but not our guy or gal or—”

“Stop,” Bill said. “Do you know what she’s talking about?” he asked Rodney.

“This is the first I’m hearing any of this.”

“Are you saying you think the person seen arguing with Custis was a woman?” Bill asked.

“Yes.”

“Even though everyone, including our young witness, said they saw a man?”

“You’re missing the point,” she said. “I don’t think Pinky’s the killer.”

“You think it’s this woman,” Rodney said.

“No. I don’t think that person’s the killer either.”

“Who’s the woman?” Bill asked, losing patience.

Bill and Rodney waited. If she said the name then Bill would almost certainly bring Myrtle in. And if she didn’t, Pinky would be blamed for something he didn’t do. She took a deep breath, hesitated, and then said, “Myrtle.”

Several seconds of stunned silence passed before Bill said, “Myrtle Crepe?”

“Apparently, she’s been disguising herself—rather badly I might add—as a man.”

“Why would Mrs. Crepe dress like a man?” Rodney asked, baffled.

Colleen and Bill locked eyes. The two were familiar with another occasion when Myrtle had disguised herself as a man in order to go “undercover.”

“She was trying to catch Denny in the act of interfering with the horses,” she said.

Rodney scratched his head. “But there aren’t any horses in that area.”

“I’m sure she was confronting him about it.”

Bill stared at her intently. She hated when he cast that look on her. She could see why he had a reputation for getting suspects to confess to their crimes.

“How’d you know the boy’s description of the man was Myrtle in disguise?”

She had been hoping to avoid it, but she was going to have to explain it all if she had any expectation of getting Bill to understand. “Because she drove by Denny’s place Saturday when I was there. Denny said she had been stalking him, doing drive-bys. You know, he had really terrible vision.”

“He must, to think Mrs. Crepe was a man,” Rodney said.

“So why shouldn’t I bring Myrtle in?” Bill asked.

“Because I think it’s entirely possible that someone else was in the house.”

Bill threw up his hands and walked away. She understood his frustration. If she was right, it meant they were no closer to catching the murderer than they had been the day before.

Rodney noted her worried expression. “Give him a second. He’ll be back.”

True to his deputy’s word, Bill returned a moment later. “Okay. Let me hear why you think there was a third person at the house. Then I’ll decide whether we cut Salvatore loose and arrest Myrtle Crepe.”

Colleen remembered when Myrtle used to get on her when she was a student about not knowing how to cut to the chase with a story. Better keep it short and sweet, she thought. Pinky—and Myrtle’s—freedom depended on it.

“Jacob, that’s the boy, told me he saw two vehicles—Myrtle’s truck and another, presumably Denny’s. But there weren’t any vehicles at the scene when we arrived.”

“Which means someone moved it,” Rodney said.

“Or that Salvatore drove it away,” Bill said. “It could have been his truck.”

“Then how did Denny get there?” she asked. “Denny didn’t seem like someone into long walks on the beach.” Bill would have to admit, it was unlikely Denny had arrived on foot. “Did the ME find any keys on Denny’s body?”

“No,” Bill said.

“Isn’t that strange that Denny didn’t have any keys, even house keys, with him?”

“Maybe somebody took them and the truck,” Rodney said.

“Or,” Bill said, “Salvatore lured Denny there and then drove away in his own car.”

“Only one way to find out,” Colleen said.

They’d have to ask Pinky.

“Go ahead and pick up Myrtle,” Bill said to Rodney, and turned to enter the interrogation room.

“Really?” Rodney asked, then saw that Bill was serious. “Right,” he said, and departed to pick up Myrtle.

“Why not wait to bring Myrtle in?” she asked. “At least until we hear what Pinky has to say?”

“She was at the scene. If she doesn’t have anything to hide then we’ll find that out and let her go.”

“But—” she protested.

“And, if your theory of a third man is correct, she might have observed something while she was speaking with Denny.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “I hate when you’re right.”

He grinned and reached for the interrogation room doorknob.

“Bill, wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Why not let me come in?”

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “You got a thing for Salvatore?”

“No,” she said. Sometimes Bill could be such a guy. “But he trusts me.”

“You mean likes you.”

“If that’s true, you might get more out of him if I’m in there.”

He studied her. She had no idea if he’d go for it or not. Chances were fifty-fifty. “Okay,” he finally said, and opened the door.

“Chief McCabe,” Pinky said as they entered. “What a nice surprise. Have you come to bust me out of here?”

She smiled, caught Bill frowning at her, and her smile swiftly disappeared. She and Bill sat across a round table from Pinky, who sat in a chair in the corner. It was a common interrogation technique to position a suspect in a corner. The position made those being questioned uncomfortable and investigators often increased the pressure by sitting within a suspect’s personal space. Bill sat opposite Pinky. She took a chair to the side.

“Chief McCabe has brought some information to my attention,” Bill said. Pinky viewed her quizzically. “We have a witness who spotted one of your construction trucks at the house the morning of the fire.”

“That’s impossible,” Pinky said.

“And why is that?” Bill asked, leaning back and writing on a notepad.

“My men don’t work on Sunday.”

“What about you?”

“I’m Catholic,” Pinky said with pride. “Sundays are a day to be with one’s family, attend mass, reflect on how fortunate we are. I know it may sound old-fashioned but that’s how I was raised.”

“So that’s where you were Sunday morning?” Bill asked, skeptical. “At church services?”

Pinky straightened in his chair. Colleen believed that Pinky hadn’t been at the house that morning, but why was he so reluctant to tell them where he was?

“If you tell us,” she said. “Bill can verify your story and you can be out of here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You sure you didn’t lure Custis there?” Bill asked. “If what you say is true, you knew you wouldn’t be disturbed by your men.”

“First, I would never invite that man onto my property. Second, everyone in this business is well aware of my Sundays-off policy … including Mr. Custis. As I said before, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went there to vandalize my project.”

“But nobody can corroborate that or your story, can they?” Bill said, putting the notepad down.

Pinky didn’t answer. Colleen wanted to shake him. Didn’t he realize he could go to jail for murder? What would make him put everything at risk? Then it hit her. Only one thing could make Pinky stay quiet … a woman. She wondered if it had been such a good idea for her to be in the room. Given his past flirtations, maybe he was reluctant to reveal the woman’s identity.