Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

At eleven-thirty, the time when the menu changed from breakfast to lunch, four parties entered the diner at the same time. Macy and Diane seated them, handing out menus and smiles as they scurried about. Diane still possessed an awkwardness born from insecurity, but she showed great promise, according to Macy.

By noon, there was only one booth left open, plus three stools at the counter. All three women were hustling as hard as they could and empty meatloaf pans were piling up in the sink. Rick whistled while he worked, a smile dimpling his cheeks.

They were down to a single empty counter stool by the time Sheriff Dooley walked through the door. He was on his phone at the time; Rachel was wiping the counter down. She flipped open a menu and was about to stick it into his hand when the larger-than-life lawman waved her off.

“Yea, get him down to the morgue ASAP and get Dillon out there. Call me if anything turns up.” He ended the call and thrust the phone into his breast pocket. “Just bring me the meatloaf, darlin’. Side of green beans and potatoes. Lotsa gravy, too. And keep that Joe coming.”

Rachel smiled, nodded, scribbled the order on her pad. “Bad day, Sheriff?”

“Hells yea!” He slapped one beefy hand on the counter and frowned. “We got us a homicide. Can you believe that? Little ol’ Laurel Falls has its first ever homicide.”

“No!” Rachel exclaimed, her jaw dropping of its own free will and closing only by Herculean effort. “Who? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Horace of all people. The caretaker down at the cemetery.”

Rachel filled a cup and slid it into place in front of Dooley. “Why in the world would anyone want to kill poor Horace? He was the gentlest man in the world.”

“That’s what I said,” Dooley bellowed, throwing his hands in the air in a display of incredulity.

“So, the cemetery again,” Rachel said softly, her eyes darting to the door, where two more parties had gathered to wait for free tables.

“Whatcha mean, again?”

The bell behind Rachel made that familiar
ding
sound and she turned to retrieve the order. “Well,” she began as she slipped the plate across the counter, “I hear there’s been some disturbances in the cemetery as of late.”

Dooley eyed her suspiciously, one eye half-closed. In the end, his watering mouth drew his attention and he picked up his fork. “Minor stuff. Prob’ly not connected to this.”

“I’m being nosey again. I don’t want to overstep,” she said, stepping back and holding up her hands. “You flag me down if you need anything else, okay?”

He saluted her with a full mouth and an empty fork.

Rachel scooted off to tend to her other customers. She saw Diane juggling empty plates and Macy clearing a full table. The well-oiled machine was running at top speed and they still couldn’t clear customers fast enough to seat everyone waiting.

It was going to be a long evening.

“A
t long last. Come to Papa!” Rick pulled the last meatloaf in all of existence out of the oven and placed it on the counter for carving. He placed a fat slab of meatloaf on each plate, then plopped a generous portion of mashed potatoes next to it and slathered on the gravy. As an afterthought, he added some green beans and then stood back to admire his work. “Come and get it, folks.”

The other four rushed the kitchen window, grabbing plates as they slid onto the pass-through. Lined up in the usual order, they dug in, their faces sporting smiles of bliss and their eyes nearly rolling back in their heads.

“So, this is what all the excitement is about,” Diane sighed. “I have to say, your meatloaf has not been over-hyped. This is amazing.”

“I know, right?” Logan chuckled but never stopped shoveling food into his face.

They ate until not a scrap remained, then swiped up the gravy with slices of fresh bread. Plates were pushed away, buttons unbuttoned. Exhaustion and fullness took over.

“Man! You outdid yourself this time, buddy.” Logan slapped Rick on the back with one hand. The other reached for his glass of tea.

Silenced rained down, crowded the room. They felt happy, comfortable, satisfied.

“So, what’s the only sure way to identify somebody,” Rachel asked suddenly, to no one in particular and everyone in general.

All eyes turned toward her. In Rick’s she saw a rebirth of the anger she had witnessed that morning. She cringed at the pain of it, but pressed on.

“There has to be a way. I mean…”

“DNA or fingerprints,” Rick said softly. “But only if the person is in CODIS already.”

Rachel nodded thoughtfully and pulled a face. “I’ve heard you say it a hundred times. The gear shift knob and steering wheel are the two best places to pull prints from.”

Rick turned to glare at her, his jaw set, his eyes staring daggers through her. “So, a little B & E for dessert?”

Rachel swallowed hard but never let her eyes leave his. “Just lift a few prints and away we go.”

Rick palmed his face and sighed. “No. Please, no.”

“Rachel, you don’t have to do this,” Diane started, afraid for the first time. “Everything will become clear eventually. I can wait. You don’t have to put yourself at risk to…”

“We won’t be at risk,” Rachel said.

“Yea,” Rick added, grabbing his plate from the counter and storming off. “Because nobody ever got arrested for breaking into a car.”

“Rachel, I…” Diane tried again to interrupt.

“Ssh!” Rachel hissed. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and pull some prints off the door handle.”

“But Rachel…”

“Or maybe we’ll set the alarm off and the cops will come,” Rick answered.

Rachel grabbed her own plate and Diane’s as well. She made for the kitchen as Macy and Logan performed various duck and cover pantomimes. “Or maybe we won’t. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Rachel, please!” Diane’s face had become red, hot. Her eyes were wide.

“
You’re
willing to take? What about me?” Rick snapped. “I used to be a cop, you know.”

Rick left the kitchen and Rachel padded in. “Believe you me, I haven’t forgotten.”

The sound of plates dropping into the rack filled the work area and Rachel reappeared in the dining room.

“Then maybe you could spare me that particular embarrassment and not get me arrested,” Rick growled.

“Guys!” Diane yelled with all the force she had. “Guys, would it help if you had the keys?”

Rick and Rachel stared at each other, then at Diane. Then they started to laugh.

“You have the keys?” Rick chuckled.

“I have a spare set, in case Mike ever loses his.” She dangled them in the air and gave them a little shake. “Bright red Honda Civic. You could always say that you’re there to retrieve my charm bracelet for me. I left it in the glove box.”

Rick looked at her suspiciously and frowned. “And did you leave your charm bracelet in the glove box?”

“No, it’s right here.” She shook her wrist and the little charms danced and jangled. But you can take it with you and use it as an excuse in case you get caught.” She undid the clasp and let the bracelet drop into her palm, then held both keys and bracelet out to Rachel.

With a sideways smile, Rachel took both. “Say, you’re pretty good at this.”

“Good at making excuses and getting out of trouble? Yea.” She winked then. “There are a couple of things you should know, though. Mike sometimes likes to go out to his favorite pub and toss back a few with his pals. But no matter where he goes or what he does, he has never been out past three. He’s in bed every night by three at the latest. He’ll sleep until at least nine in the morning and the parking lot is on the opposite side of the building from the apartment.”

“Good to know, Diane. Thanks.” Rachel spun on Rick, her face playful, her eyebrows dancing. “So…date night?”

“S
o, on a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?” Rachel asked as they were walking home.

“Oh, I’ve simmered down to about a six,” Rick replied. He did a good job of hiding his smile.

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, Rick. And I swear to you, it won’t happen again. I just don’t know what gets into me.”

“I know what gets into you. You’re brilliant but you’re quirky. With a touch of OCD. You see unanswered questions and you go a little crazy. You just can’t stop digging until you find the answers, no matter what it takes.”

“You should have been a profiler.” She elbowed him for good measure, her face beaming up into his.

Rick snorted. “And you should seek professional help.”

“Hey, you’re the one who married quirky.”

They walked on for a bit in silence, enjoying the quiet, the moon, the soft breeze as it blew in from the bay.

At length, Rick said, “So, what are you thinking for this guy?”

“Well, I was thinking that he’s one of two things. He’s either a high-level criminal with enough power to be arrogant…”

“…or…”

“…or he’s just a guy who got in over his head.”

“And you’re serious about running his prints through CODIS?” Rick looked at her then, briefly and out of the corner of his eye.

“Sure I am. There’s no better way to get to the bottom of it.”

Rick stopped, turned, seized hold of her shoulders and made her face him. “Okay, but we do this
my
way. No hacking into CODIS. No hacking into anything ever again. Swear it.”

Her gaze darted back and forth between his eyes and she nodded vigorously. “I swear it. I will never hack into anything again.”

“Okay. Then we go. And when we’ve got the prints, I know a guy who can run them for us.” He took her hand and led her off down the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder with her, the way they always walked. “And that will be the end of it, yes?”

“Yes,” she answered decisively. She walked on for a few beats, letting her head clear. “So, how mad are you now?”

“About a two. But I should be back down to zero by the time we get home.”

Rachel smiled at that and rested her head against his arm. She loved him to madness, not just for letting her go a little crazy once in a while, but for knowing when – and how – to reel her back in again.

By the time they reached the house, the breeze had died down and the air had grown warm. A light sweat bristled at Rachel’s upper lip as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Morgan Fairclaws and Jean Clawed van Damme were there to meet them at the door, winding around their ankles and begging to be fed with shrill meows.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Rachel asked, sidestepping a cat long enough to put down her purse and keys.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Rick sighed, “but I’m all full of meatloaf and not feeling so energetic. I think we should take a little nap, get up around two, then gear up and be at the parking lot by three-thirty at the latest.”

Rachel rubbed her belly and nodded. “Agreed. But first we have to feed these kitties.”

She reached down and plucked Morgan off the floor. Tucked under one arm, the cat offered her chin, purred at the scratches to her ears. Rachel made her way to the kitchen with the cat thus blissed, Rick following close at her heels with the male cat.

“I’ll lock up. You set the alarm.” Rachel was halfway to the front door when she said it.

“Deal. Last one to the bathroom has to use the hall bath. Go!”

Despite the lack of energy and the extra meatloaf weight, Rachel ran.

I
t was a shock when the alarm went off. For a few seconds, Rachel didn’t know where she was or what time it was. By the time she figured it out, Rick had already shut off the alarm and crawled out of bed. She yawned and stretched, her body waking as slowly as her mind.

Rick went into the bathroom first and she headed for the coffee maker, her morning savior. Only then did she look at the clock on the stove and realize that it was two in the morning. She moaned at the realization and began a short search for the coffee filters.

The coffee had only just begun to drip when Rick appeared in the kitchen doorway. Rachel took one look at him and giggled. “Sporting the latest in cat burglar attire, I see.”

“You better wear something black, too. Even if you’re not getting out of the truck.” He bent to peer into the coffee maker and see if it was done.

“What? What do you mean I’m not getting out of the car?”

“You’re not. If anything goes wrong, I don’t want you to be the one to go to jail. You sit in the truck and keep a lookout.”

“But…”

“But nothing. I have experience taking prints. I have the muscle if anyone does sneak up on me. And I’ll be the one to go to jail if we get caught. Now, go get dressed.” He stared her down. She opened her mouth to object but Rick made a loud noise and thrust his pointer finger in the direction of the bedroom.

She went without a word, though she had a full complement of retorts bouncing around in her head. She knew he was right. Rick was always right. Sometimes, she almost hated him for that.

When she reappeared in the doorway, wearing a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, Rick was pouring two cups of coffee. He glanced at her long enough to note the clothes, but not long enough to make him spill the coffee.

“Nice.” He offered the mug to her with a smile. “Drink up. I don’t want you falling asleep in the truck while I’m tossing a stranger’s car.”

She pulled a face at him and blew on the coffee. Steam wafted up around her face and warmed the tip of her nose. “I got your back, babe. I’m not the one you need to worry about falling asleep.”

They finished their coffee in silence, then put the mugs in the sink.

“Let’s get our gear,” Rick said as he made for the back bedroom.

Rachel followed slowly, the hour and the stress finally slowing her down. In the back of the closet was a gun safe, built into the wall and hidden from view by a nice collection of winter wear. She watched as Rick grabbed his bag, the same old black duffel he always used for such things. He put his fingerprint kit into it, along with a flashlight, a set of lock picks, and several evidence bags. Then he turned to the safe and spun the knob to the first number.