Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (29 page)

What had the bookseller seen that led to his untimely demise? Did Hank also possess some critical knowledge, even if he wasn’t aware of it, which could be equally damaging to the murderer?

I left several messages for Hank, but he remained M.I.A. Where had that man gone? I not only had to worry about the killer coming after me but about my ex’s safety, as well. At this point, I almost wished Tom would stuff Hank back in a cell so I could take Hank off my list.

I called Jenna at home and made sure she locked all the doors and windows. I hated to frighten the kids, but their safety came first. Then I called my mother to see if she and Bradford could stay with the children until I made it home. Mother was at Gran’s house making a list of repair work that needed completion, but Bradford was available and more than willing to act as temporary babysitter/bodyguard.

By five-thirty, I was home from work. When I entered the kitchen, the scent of garlic and onions tickled my nostrils. And my curiosity. My stepfather stood in front of the stove, a loosely tied white eyelet apron barely covering his substantial girth. When I’d first met the man, I’d dubbed him Tall, Bald and Homely. Bradford hadn’t grown any handsomer in the past nine months, but now he reminded me more of a lovable bulldog than a crotchety detective.

“Something smells heavenly,” I said to our temporary chef. He smiled and waved a tomato-flecked ladle at me.

“Your mother enjoys my cooking, so I thought I’d try out one of my new recipes.” He shot a glance at my pantry. “You’re lacking a few ingredients, so I improvised.”

“Improvise away.” I plopped on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. “Did you hear what happened to Doug Blake?”

“Tom and I spoke a few minutes ago,” Bradford replied, managing to talk and drain the spaghetti without losing any pasta down the sink, a feat I never could accomplish. “He’ll stop by later. Have you heard from Hank?”

I shook my head, got off the stool and grabbed a goblet from my hanging rack. I poured a small amount of the David Girard Vineyards Rosé that Bradford must have brought with him. I sipped and sighed, wishing that my life could be as simple and rosy as the lovely liquid swirling in my glass.

“I don’t have a clue where Hank is,” I said. “I thought he would be working in the hotel today. I’m starting to get worried about him.”

“Tom isn’t a hundred percent certain Doug was murdered although he said the evidence points in that direction. He mentioned you thought Doug could be withholding information about Spencer’s murder.”

I walked to the stove and sneaked a taste of Bradford’s sauce. Yummy. He swatted my hand, and I returned to my perch.

“I’m a detective and I can tell you’re stalling,” he said. “What did Doug tell you?”

“Hank discovered someone had been digging in the dirt floors of the hotel while he was in jail. Whoever it was covered it up but not well. Maybe they didn’t expect Hank to be released so soon. He’s the only person who would notice something like that. Doug stopped by, and we asked if he’d seen anyone sneaking around. At first, he seemed startled by our question. Then his expression changed, and I got the feeling he knew something. But he clammed up and returned to his store without revealing anything.”

Bradford threw me one of his suspicious looks. “Did Hank notice Doug’s response, too?”

“Yes,” I said, already perceiving where he was going with this line of questioning. “But unless Hank unwittingly mentioned that Doug knew something important, he’s completely innocent of anything to do with Doug’s death.”

Bradford grunted then spent the next couple of minutes ladling out plates piled high with heavenly smelling pasta. He pulled a ready-made salad from our refrigerator. I called the kids and in less than a minute, the four of us were sitting at the table. My stepfather and I switched the conversation to something more pleasant than the rash of homicides.

“What time are we going to the parade tomorrow, Mommy?” Ben asked.

With a fork full of spaghetti halfway to my mouth, I contemplated the answer. “Gran asked me to help dress her since she’s riding in the parade, so we might have to leave early.” I threw a beseeching look at Bradford who responded immediately. One of the perks of having an astute former detective in the family.

“Your mother and I can pick up the kids tomorrow,” Bradford said. “Then you won’t have to worry about them getting to the festivities on time.” His answer also contained an implied reassurance that an adult would be looking out for them. Jenna was old enough to be on her own, but with a killer running around town, I preferred that a family member, especially one who knew self-defense, accompany both kids whenever they were out in public.

With that issue resolved, I relaxed until the doorbell rang. I peeked out the living room window to see if I recognized the car in the driveway. After ascertaining that an El Dorado County Sheriff’s vehicle was parked in front of the house, I opened the door.

It seemed like a decade since Tom last held me in his arms. And I would have loved to spend the next decade in them. His lips were soft, then firm and demanding as he crushed me to his chest.

A loud “ahem” broke the mood and our embrace. We pulled apart and I glared at my stepfather. Tom continued to hold on to me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

“Nice outfit,” he complimented Bradford, his lips tilted in a half-smile.

Bradford glanced down at the ruffled apron he’d forgotten to remove. “I’m exploring my feminine side,” he chuckled.

“You can explore your feminine side anytime,” I said to Bradford. “As long as you cook dinner for us again.”

I turned to Tom and whispered in his ear, “And you can explore any side of me you want.”

He squeezed me harder then dropped his arm when both kids joined us in the foyer. I told them we had official business to discuss and sent them upstairs to their rooms. The head of homicide, his former partner and I went into the living room to converse in private.

Tom sat at one end of my flowered sofa, and I cuddled next to him. Bradford squeezed into one of my wing chairs.

“Have you finished processing Doug’s crime scene?” I asked Tom.

“Yeah, the techs brought everything back they considered relevant,” he replied. “Including a couple of those bank flyers of yours that had been modified, similar to the one your boss found hanging on the bulletin board.”

“Oh, so Doug was the culprit,” I said. “That makes sense since he was upset with Spencer about his eviction. Did you find any other clues? Anything that might indicate he killed Spencer?”

“We realized something that’s missing––Doug’s cell phone.”

“That is odd,” I said. “Did you check the store?”

He nodded. “It’s nowhere in sight. But we may have lucked out. We found a footprint in the flowerbed to the right of Doug’s sidewalk. The soil was still moist from the drip irrigation, so it’s definitely new, although it doesn’t necessarily belong to the killer. Do you know if Hank owns a pair of Lucchese cowboy boots?”

“I’m no longer in charge of Hank’s wardrobe, but they sound expensive.”

“All I know is that Lucchese imprints a pattern on their soles which could be a break for us. It’s urgent I speak with Hank,” Tom said. “Are you sure you don’t know where he is?”

I jumped out of my seat, not appreciating his implication that I was lying about Hank’s whereabouts. “I don’t have a clue. Honest, I’m not trying to protect him. In fact, I’m worried the killer may have harmed him. Can’t you put out an APB or something on him?”

Robert harrumphed from his chair.

“Okay,” I said. “You know what I mean.”

“We’ve already sent Hank’s license plate out, but no one has come across it yet.”

I began to pace across my worn beige carpet. “You’re wasting valuable time going after Hank. What about that long list of suspects you said you would follow up on?”

“Doug’s death changed things.”

The home phone rang, startling me, but I figured one of the kids could grab it. After a couple of minutes, Jenna brought the cordless phone to me.

“It’s Dad,” she said.

I snatched the phone from Jenna, so upset I almost pulled her thumb off. “Hank,” I screeched into the receiver, “where are you?”

Hank’s garbled response indicated he was on his cell. “I took off to go fishing.” His next words disappeared amid static. All I heard was “ …came up with the…” and then the call dropped.

I hit redial several times but could not reconnect.

“See, Hank’s fine,” I said to Tom. “He went fishing.”

“Heck of a time to go fishing, when we’re still investigating Spencer’s murder.”

“After spending two weeks locked up, courtesy of your department, I can see why he’d want some fresh mountain air. He sounded like he’d figured something out, but then I lost him.”

“If Hank calls back, tell him to return immediately. And you need to stay safe at home. No venturing out this weekend.”

“I can’t do that,” I protested. “The kids and I never miss the Wagon Train parade. Plus, I’m dancing with the Sassy Saloon Gals.”

“I haven’t lived here long enough to know what the Wagon Train entails,” Tom said. “Do many people attend?”

“It’s one of the biggest events in this county,” said Bradford. “Those folks leave Reno and drive their covered wagons, carriages and coaches along Highway 50 for eight days. At night, they stay at various campgrounds and host BBQ’s for the public. Their arrival in Placerville is a big deal. The Hangtown Posse hosts shoot-outs and all kinds of entertainment. You don’t want to miss it.”

“I definitely don’t want to miss an event that involves Main Street shoot-outs. I know the Sheriff’s Office is utilizing extra personnel plus STARS.”

“They’re using celebrities?” How cool was that.

“Sheriff’s Active Team of Retirees. I’m thinking of joining them myself.” Bradford winked at me. “If your mother doesn’t mind me donning a uniform again.”

“I don’t like the idea of Laurel being out there without any protection,” Tom objected.

“It’s okay. Liz drafted Stan to be the bodyguard for the troupe.” I giggled when I saw Tom’s expression.

“That’s like sending the Keystone Cops after Jesse James,” Tom snorted.

Maybe, but if nothing else, my bodyguard would be fashionably attired!

Worried about another sleepless night, I took a sleeping pill to ensure I wouldn’t wake up looking like a hag. The pill worked so well I slept until ten a.m. making me one very late and not so sassy gal. I’d barely finished brushing my teeth when the doorbell rang. I overheard Jenna ushering my mother and Bradford into the house and flew down the stairs to greet them.

Mother, dressed in a comfortable-looking plaid camp shirt and blue capris, raised elegant eyebrows.

“Is that your idea of a dance hall costume?” She frowned at my attire, which consisted of an oversized sleep shirt and shorts.

I ran my fingers through my tousled hair. “I overslept. Thanks for taking the kids to the parade. I’m barely going to make it to Gran’s house in time to button her up and drive her to the parade grounds.”

She sniffed. “Your grandmother should stay home and rest.”

“Oh, stop being such a poop. Remember how Gran loved being an El Dorado Rose and lording it over everyone. Don’t rain on her parade.”

Bradford snickered. My mother’s blue eyes narrowed, but she let my uncomplimentary comment slide. I told Jenna to round up her brother. She ran up the stairs and a few minutes later, he joined us, dressed in an almost clean tee shirt and jeans, wearing a holster and holding his Star Wars light saber.

“I think you’re mixing your weaponry,” I said to Ben.

“Nah, uh. Remember that movie we saw,
Cowboys and Aliens
? I gotta be prepared for bad guys or space aliens riding in the Wagon Train.”

You never know when a light saber may come in handy. I decided to let my mother and stepfather deal with Ben’s arsenal, so I could get on with my shower and dressing in my own costume.

Once I donned my official Sassy Saloon Girls outfit, I realized there was no way I could tie the corset by myself. My grandmother and I would have to take turns fastening each other’s costumes.

I arrived at Gran’s house shortly before noon and didn’t waste time knocking on the door. I turned the knob and let myself in.

“Gran,” I yelled. “It’s Laurel.”

“It’s about time. I’m in the bedroom.”

I trotted down her hallway until I reached her bedroom, fortunately located on the bottom level. It would have been impossible for her to negotiate the stairs with her sore ankle. Gran lay on her multi-colored Wedding Ring patterned quilt, resting against a stack of pillows, already decked out in her lilac satin gown.

My heels skidded on the slick wood planks, and I grabbed on to her doorframe to steady myself. “Hey, you got dressed without any help.”

She leaned forward and the back of her dress fell open. “Not quite,” she said.

“That makes us even because I’m about to fall out of this stupid corset. I’m sure glad I wasn’t born in the nineteenth century. Fashion was more work than fun.”

My fingers proved far more nimble than Gran’s arthritic digits. I finished buttoning her thirty odd pearl buttons and then turned around so she could tie me up.

“Suck it up, sweetheart,” she said, “or I’m never gonna get these laces tied. Have you gained some weight this past week?”

With all my stress eating the last few days, I’d been afraid to step on my scale. While Gran complained that fastening my laces was worse than roping a heifer, I sucked in to the max. I would barely deliver her to the starting point at the allotted time.

We were tottering down the sidewalk, dressed in our nineteenth-century finery, when Gran suddenly noticed something amiss. She pointed to the back yard. “That nice young deputy left the shed door open. Do we have time to close it?”

I gazed down at my remaining pair of fishnet stockings. “No, we don’t. Your backyard is a full-service destruction zone. I’ll take care of it when I drive you home after the parade ends.” Gran climbed into the passenger seat, grumbling the entire time. I helped her buckle the seat belt, strapped myself in then backed out of her driveway.