A Luring Murder (6 page)

“Of course Sheriff. I’m as good a suspect as anyone.” He glanced at Deputy Watkins. “I’ve been here all morning. Out with the beef herd. I’ve been in the field all morning.”

Samantha pulled back, but was prevented from stepping away by Patrick’s strong arm around her waist. She frowned.

“Is that true, Samantha?” Deputy Watkins’s question came out like an accusatory gunshot.

She didn’t hesitate one second. “Yes, he’s been here.”

A lie. A bad one. An obvious one.

Even if Samantha hadn’t been the world’s worst liar I would have known Patrick was lying. His cowboy boots gave him away. They were brand new and shiny clean. So shiny you could see your refection in the finish.

“I guess that’s all we needed to know then.” The Sheriff hitched up his belt.

Louise stiffened on the sofa next to me. Both of us would have jumped all over a suspect who’d handed us an obvious pile of crap like the pile Patrick and Samantha had laid out.

“Thank you for stopping by and letting us know about Warren’s tragic murder. We’ll be locking our door tonight that’s for sure.” He caressed Samantha’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Are you okay?”

There was genuine concern in his question and tenderness toward her. Regardless of if she had cheated on him, he still loved her.

“I will be.” She pulled out of his embrace and refused to meet his eyes. “I think I’ll go lay down for a while.”

Patrick nodded. Sorrow hooded his eyes when he watched her.

The Deputy and Sheriff headed toward the door. I helped Louise to her feet, then followed. When we reached the threshold, I pulled a Colombo and turned back.

“Do you have horses, Mr. King?”

Patrick looked surprised. “Yes, we do.”

“I love horses. Would you mind if I went out to see them?”

“No, not at all. I’d be happy to show you.” He glanced at Samantha as she strode down the hall, down at the ground, then back up at me. “This way Detective.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Won’t be but a minute.”

Louise gave me a knowing grin, then hustled Sheriff Anderson and Deputy Watkins out the door.

I followed Patrick down a hallway, through the back door, outside and into an immaculate stable grander than my home.

“Wow, this is something.”

“Thank you,” he said. “They are a source of pride for me.”

“I can see why.”

He handed me a fist full of something that looked like muesli. Since I don’t know anything about horses, I waited to find out what he would do with his handful. He held his palm out flat and put it under the nose of a pretty, black, horse. The horse ate the muesli, slobbering all over his hand.

Oh, he had to be kidding. That was disgusting.

He smiled me. “Go ahead and give her some grain. She’ll be your friend for life.”

Gavin would never believe this. I wouldn’t even touch the sink stopper if it got scummy. He would never believe I willingly allowed a horse to slobber over my hands.

“I thought he might be full.”

“It’s a she, and it takes a bit more than a handful to fill her up.”

Well that was one thing this animal and I had in common.

I laid my palm out flat and stuck my hand under her nose. Fuzzy lips raked across my palm and gobbled the grain off my hand. It was as disgusting as I expected.

“Ach.” I wiped my hand on my pant leg. “Icky.”

Patrick laughed. “You’ve never been around horses have you?”

“No, can’t stand them.” I stopped rubbing my hand on my jeans. It was no use; I’d have to boil it.

“Then why did you say you loved them?”

“I don’t know. Why did you lie about working in the pasture all day?”

His smiled disappeared. “What?”

“If you’d been in a pasture all day, there would be dirt, or at least dust, on your boots.”

He examined his glistening boots, then smiled. “I never was much of a liar.”

“Where were you?”

“I was with a friend.” He leaned on the stall gate. “As trite as it sounds, it’s a woman friend. I don’t want Samantha to know.”

I bobbed my head. “I understand. Why did
she
lie for you?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She didn’t have any reason to lie except to back up my story.”

The horse nuzzled his shoulder. Patrick reached up and idly stroked its nose.

“Frankly, I was worried that she would tell you I was lying.”

“Maybe she was too afraid to contradict you.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Have you ever hit your wife, Mr. King?”

He laughed, shook his head, and grabbed another handful of oats for the horse. “You’ve been introduced to the grapevine I see.”

He fed the greedy horse. “Well Detective, whatever the town doesn’t have fed to them, they’ll fill in on their own, regardless if it’s the truth or not.”

He turned to look me in the eyes. “I’ve never hit my wife, Detective. Ever. I love my wife.”

“Then why are you cheating on her?”

“Because she doesn’t love me.” He turned away. “I don’t think she ever did.”

He ran a hand down the neck of the horse combing his fingers through its mane.

“Don’t get me wrong, Detective. Samantha likes me well enough. We’re great friends, but ours has never been a great passion. Not for lack of trying on my part. You can’t force passion it’s either there, or it’s not.”

I bit my tongue before asking the inevitable, then why marry her.

I was going to go home, hug the stuffing out of Gavin, and remind him how much I love him. I didn’t ever want him to have any doubt.

“Detective? Please don’t say anything about where I was this morning. I’m trying to be discrete.”

“Of course, but won’t Samantha ask where you were? She knows you weren’t here.”

“She might.”

“What will you tell her?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Unless she asks, I won’t know. I’ve never been a fan of crossing bridges I haven’t come upon yet.”

A wise if not somewhat naive approach, especially for man cheating on his wife.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Everything said here stays between us. I’m like Vegas that way.”

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CHAPTER FIVE

I slammed the door of the police cruiser and said a blessing for the person who invented air conditioning.

“Well, O’Brien? What did he say?” Deputy Watkins leaned forward and let out a hot breath on the back of my neck.

“About what?”

I assume you took him aside to try to trip him up and make him tell you something about the murder. Did he?”

The heat from his breath brushed against my neck and sent a shiver down my back.

“Back up, you’re leaving dew on my neck.” I put my finger on his forehead and pushed him back. “I just wanted to see his horses. We fed them oats and that’s about it.”

I dragged my seatbelt across my chest and ignored the disgusted huff from the backseat.

“Jesus, you’re not much of a detective are you.”

“Excuse me?” I turned in my seat feeling the sting like a slap on my pride.

Louise crossed one arm over her waist and rested her elbow in her open palm, leaned her other hand on her cheek, and smirked in her corner of the back seat. She loved every second of this challenge to my ability.

On the other hand, I did not.

“You had the perfect opportunity to question the guy,” Watkins said. “Instead, you groped his oats.”

“Hmm.” I turned back to the dashboard and slid my sunglasses on. “I must not be as good at this murder investigation thing as you are; I mean I don’t even have a fishing license or a boat.”

Petty yes, but he deserved to be slapped back.

“I figured since his wife verified his alibi there wasn’t much left to ask. But I’m sure you’ve had more experience investigating homicides than I do.”

“Couldn’t you tell she was lying?”

“Nope, but I don’t know her as well as you obviously do. So tell me Deputy, why didn’t you challenge their alibis? It is your investigation.”

Sheriff Anderson wheeled the cruiser around the King’s circular driveway and grumbled something about children under his breath. Louise gave a grunt of agreement.

“He’s our man.” He poked the back of my seat. “Alibi or not, I’m not going to stop until I find the evidence.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll find the evidence you need.”

Hell if you looked hard enough you could find evidence that Elvis was still alive and leading a big band in Nisswa, Minnesota. But sometimes evidence doesn’t prove what it proves.

“Now, what?” The Sheriff turned out onto the road. “Where do we go from here?”

An obvious attempt to change the subject before one of us said something stupid. Didn’t matter to me. I was done with Deputy Dumbass anyway.

“It happened at the Peterman place,” Louise said. “I would say our next best bet is to ask them a few questions. Even if they aren’t suspects, they might know something.”

I agreed with Louise and immediately heard Deputy Watkins let out a tisking chuckle.

“Don’t you think if they knew something they would have told us?”

I didn’t need to turn around to see the sneer on Deputy Watkins’s face I could hear it in his voice.

“They might have seen something they thought was insignificant, but to us would be very important,” Louise said.

“In that situation, they wouldn’t even know they had valuable information,” I said. “But what do I know? I’m only a homicide detective in a major metropolitan city. I’m sure you would know better than I do.” I turned back over my shoulder. “Where do
you
think we should go next, Deputy?”

The Sheriff then crooked his arm over the seat and grinned at him, as if to say, what now slick.

I heard Watkins squirm against the leather of the back seat. I hadn’t had enough coffee yet today, and it wasn’t a good time to piss me off. Maybe after a cappuccino, a latte, and a six pack of Diet Coke, but right now the deputy was on less than borrowed time.

“I’m going to follow my own instincts.” He recovered his bravado. “Drop me at the station. You can handle interviewing the Peterman’s without me.”

Deputy Watkins bolted like a horse out of the gate when we stopped at the jail. With a slam of the door, he was off, down the street toward the Long Neck, without a look back.

Louise let out a disgusted grunt of disapproval at me. “We need to work harder on your people skills.”

“Mine? I think you should restrain your boyfriend.”

“Thomas can be stubborn, and a little hot headed at times,” The Sheriff said. “So on to the Peterman’s then?”

Louise jerked open the back door. “I need to stretch my legs. Anyway we should check in with Digs and see if he knows anything yet.”

“So soon?” The Sheriff looked doubtful.

“Digs can be pretty amazing,” I said.

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CHAPTER SIX

The inside of Digs’ van looked like the lab from a Frankenstein movie. If it hadn’t been for the occasional blip and flash, from this automated machine or that, the mad scientist illusion would have been complete.

Digs sat in the center like Dr. Frankenstein himself hunched over a keyboard. He raised his head long enough to register who had entered, then went right back to work with no break in stride.

“How’s it going, Digs?” I leaned over his shoulder.

He punched a few keys and set an analyzing program into motion. “It’s going, O’Brien.”

Digs swiveled his chair around to the Sheriff. “When will the autopsy be done?”

Sheriff Anderson Lifted the bill of his cap, then swiped his hand over his forehead. “The only person qualified is on vacation.

Digs looked at me as if to ask, “Is he serious?”

I shrugged.

“There’s evidence on that body and possibly in that body. I need it.”

Sheriff Anderson gave a short, emphatic nod. “I’ll find him.”

In the years, I’d known Digs, I’d never heard him be so forceful.

“What is it, Digs?”

He straightened the rims of his glasses so they were square on his face. “Nothing yet. Just pieces of the puzzle that don’t fit anything I have on the table yet.”

Bless him. Digs is a perfectionist. Being in the field with limited resources must be frustrating.

“Anything you want to share?” Louise leaned on the edge of one of the surfaces.

“Not right now. I’m still waiting for the tests to finish.”

“We’re going up to the Peterman’s to interview them,” I said. “Do you want us to come back for you in a couple hours?”

He lit up. “No need.”

He reached under the laminated console to his left and dragged out an oversized suitcase. He popped the latches and opened the lid. Inside bands of metal overlapped a spoke tire.

“What is it?” The sheriff crouched down.

“It’s my sweetheart.” Digs stroked the metal bars.

We stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. He glanced up and snatched his hand away.

“It’s my bike.”

“No shit.” The sheriff crouched down to take a look. “So what? You assemble the thing?”

“It’s foldable.”

“No shit.”

The two men began an in depth conversation on the mechanics and stability of such a contraption.

I gave Louise the “
oh-come-on”
look. She shrugged.

This was the first time since we’d met that I’d seen the sheriff animated over something. He’s demeanor was lumber stiff, but discussing Digs’ baby, he was like other guys during the ninth inning of a tied World Series.

Louise finally interrupted. “You remember how to get to the resort then?”

“Yes.” Digs knew an end command when he heard one.

Sheriff Anderson pushed himself up. A loud popping sound came from his right knee. He winced but didn’t complain. Obviously, a sound he was familiar with like I was with the crack in my neck.

The gravel and rocks from the resorts dirt driveway kicked up and pinged off the sheet metal of the cruiser as we wound down through the little red cabins. People sat on their decks and waved to us as we passed. The sheriff waved and nodded at each of them as if he were on a parade float.

Louise sat in the back seat behind Sheriff Anderson with her leg across the bench seat. She grinned at me. I knew she could see my annoyance increase with each wave.

What was he; the dammed King of this place?

Further up the road, we ran into a sight I hoped to never see again. Gavin in shorts, ankle socks, and sandals. Over one shoulder, he carried a fishing pole, in his other hand he had a stringer of fish, and at his heels a little white dog.

Good Lord. I couldn’t believe he would go out in public looking like a fugitive refugee from a Norman Rockwell painting.

He smiled and waved at the sheriff who waved at him like an idiot. Gavin approached my window and knocked on the glass. The white dog curled up at his feet.

I pressed the button and my window slid away. Hot air flooded in like water through an open damn.

“Ugh, I hate humidity,” I said. I could already feel my hair fizzing as my precious cool air-conditioned air oozed out toward Gavin.

“You’re back,” he said. “Look what I caught.”

He held up the stringer.

“Those are beauties,” Sheriff said.

The fish twitched and whapped their tails against each other.

I pushed his hand away. Maybe it was my line of work, but I didn’t want to see the poor things suffer and die.

“Where are you going with those things?”

“Oh, I’m heading up to the Peterman’s. They set up a table in their garage since you guys closed off the fish house.”

He gave a playful nudge with his elbow. I’d been wrong. He didn’t smell rugged, he just stank.

“What are you doing with that menace?” I stabbed my finger toward the dog.

He followed the line of my finger down to the pooch. “Oh, him. He’s been following me around most of the day. Must be someone’s dog. Cute little guy.”

“Hmm, looks like a dirty mutt to me.”

“He’s adorable, Catherine. You’re right though. He could use a bath.”

“Hop in,” the sheriff said. “We’ll drive you the rest of the way. We’re heading up to the house now.”

Louise pulled her leg off the seat and patted the passenger cushion.

Was he serious? He wasn’t going to let all those stinky fish, not to mention my stinky husband, into the car was he?

“Great.” Gavin eagerly climbed into the car.

Louise to her credit didn’t even wrinkle her nose when he loaded in the stringer of wriggling fish.

“Great,” I said with a little less enthusiasm and made a conscious effort to breathe through my mouth. If it worked for the smell of death, it should work on fish.

The little white dog tried to follow Gavin into the back seat.

“No! He stays here,” I said. We didn’t need to add dirty dog smell to the back seat brew.

Gavin nudged the dog away from the threshold and closed the door.

“Any idea who killed him?” Gavin asked.

“Nope,” Sheriff Anderson croaked.

“Nobody you’d call a real good lead,” Louise said.

That was putting it mildly. We didn’t have anything except wild speculation from an over eager deputy.

“So, Catherine you're done, right? You’re going fishing with me this afternoon?”

We still didn’t have a primary crime scene, no cause of death, and Digs was still struggling for answers. Still I was supposed to be on vacation with Gavin.

“I’m going to help interview the Peterman’s, and then we’ll see where we’re at.”

“Oh.” I could see his face in the passenger side mirror. We’d be having that same old conversation about my job. I could read it in the frown lines of his face.

We parked in front of the large white house, where preparations for a party were being made. Children ran around chasing each other, and women in filmy dresses wandered past us chatting and laughing with one another. The women carried a huge plastic bowl of noodle salad with plastic wrap over the heaping top.

“Looks like they’re getting ready for a party,” I said.

“It’s the Fish Fry Feeding Frenzy,” Gavin said. “Remember? I told you about it.”

“Oh, right.”

It still sounded odd to me to call a party something so strange.

“Sheriff.” Gavin leaned forward. “Tell me that there is no reason for Catherine to miss the feeding frenzy.”

He put the car into park. “No reason that I can think of. I’m planning to be at the party myself.”

“Digs and I will be there,” Louise chimed in. “Mr. Peterman told us about it when we checked in. Sounds like a lot of fun.”

I hate eating outside with bugs and animals, not to mention children. That’s why I was here though – to go on a normal family vacation with Gavin. If he wanted to eat outside, then we would eat outside.

“I wasn’t going to try to get out of it. I’m looking forward to the party. Except the fish part.”

We piled out onto the Peterman’s front lawn.

Gavin kissed me on the cheek. “Lucky for you there seems to be more than just fish.” He gave a nod toward the tables of food lined up against the side of the house. “So you’ll have plenty to nosh on.”

I bared my teeth and bit at him. He narrowed his eyes, then touched the tip of my nose with his index finger.

“I’m going to clean this fish so they’re ready to be fried. It will be our contribution to the pot luck.”

He happily scurried off into the garage to clean his kill; the great dorky hunter in sandals and socks.

Louise hobbled up next to me. “You don’t like fish?”

“Never have.”

“You’ve never had fish the way the Peterman’s cook fish,” Sheriff Anderson called across the roof of the cruiser. “You’ll like fish after you’ve tried their fish.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Let’s find the Peterman’s and question them, so we can be sure we make the party tonight. I’d hate to miss the Fish Fry Feeding Frenzy.”

We found Mrs. Peterman, a tall, slender, gray-haired woman in her mid to late sixties, standing over a large saucepot in her kitchen. The skin on her face bordered on crimson. Sweat beaded and trailed down her neck dispersing into wet circles on the collar of her cotton shirt. The kitchen broiled like a kiln in the heat of the day, and the flames of the stove.

With the brisk business the resort seemed to do, I was surprised they hadn’t had central air installed years ago.

“Mrs. Peterman?” I said.

“Yes.” She didn’t turn to look at me.

“Mrs. Peterman, we wanted to ask you some questions about the body found in your fish house.”

She glanced at me sideways. “Who are you?”

Her question took me off guard. Considering we’d met a couple time already.

“These ladies are helping with the investigation.” The sheriff leaned against the refrigerator and fanned himself with his baseball cap. “You already know that, Claire.”

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Well, Miller what on earth are you doing sneaking up behind me?” She swatted at him with a dishtowel. “You want a cold drink?”

“No, I’m okay,” he said.

“I’ll take one,” I said.

She turned back toward her pot. “The glasses are on the shelf behind you.” She stirred with a vengeance. “Ice is in the freezer. Water’s in the fridge.”

Normally, I wouldn’t bother, but my shirt was sticking to my back, and my jeans felt as if I’d been swimming in them. I grabbed a jelly jar glass from the self, held it up to Louise, and raised my eyebrows. She nodded so I pulled another glass from the shelf, and elbowed the Sheriff out of my way.

I guzzled my glass of ice water in one long drink and was rewarded with a stomach cramp. Louise held her glass to the side of her face.

“Well ask your questions, young ladies.” An air of contempt permeated her words. “I have a lot of work to do today.”

“Yes, I’m surprised that you’re going ahead with your party,” I said.

“Why’s that, Miss. . . Who are you?” She turned to look at me with one hand on hip, and the other brandishing a wooden spoon with a pinkish-red sauce that dripped onto the floor.

“I’m Detective O’Brien from the Saint Paul Police Department, and this is my partner, Detective Montgomery. We’re here on vacation. Sheriff Anderson has asked for our help with the investigation.”

“Hmm.” She looked me up and down. “Why do you think it’s unusual that we would still hold the fish fry, Detective?”

I shrugged. “It’s not every day that a dead body is found on your property, or in this town for that matter. I would think a murder would be pretty upsetting. Especially if, the victim is someone you know. You did know the victim didn’t you, Mrs. Peterman?”

She turned back to her bubbling pot and stirred with a vengeance.

“Yes, I knew him. Didn’t care for him much though.”

I couldn’t imagine her caring for anyone very much. I looked to Louise for assistance. She reclined against the counter next to Sheriff Anderson with the glass of ice water pressed to her forehead. She made a fluttering gesture with her fingers as if to say go on.

“That’s why you’re celebrating? Because you didn’t like him?”

“Young lady that’s not appreciated.” She kept her back to me. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She certainly did. She also taught me that partying when you discover a corpse on your property is in poor taste. She also taught me that it’s rude to turn your back on someone when they’re talking to you.”

She took a deep breath, let it out slow, then turned to face me. “Apparently, your mother never taught you that a good host thinks about their guests before they think of themselves. Like Jackie did for John John’s birthday the day she buried her husband.”