Soul of a Killer, page 3
“That’s Ross Franklin, interim Timber Lake chief and, today, acting detective,” Avery Moran said.
“Figures,” I said. “Timber Lake is such a small place, I’m sure we wouldn’t have a homicide detective.” The last homicide we’d been involved in had happened in Seattle, so the police here initially had no jurisdiction. But when the murderer was found in Timber Lake, I’m sure they’d been in the ranks during the arrest. I was too out of it to notice. I glanced over at Mama Zola, who was still giving me the stink eye. “Not that we’d need one.”
“I heard about him. He’s just standing in until the town could vote in the permanent chief,” Koby said.
“Yeah, and I heard that Chow is running for the job,” Avery said, sharing more news.
“Daniel Chow?” My eyes got big. “The homicide detective from Seattle?”
“One and the same,” Avery said.
“When is the election?” Mama Zola asked.
I wondered if she was even registered to vote in Timber Lake.
“Two weeks from Tuesday,” Avery said. “And I do believe Chow is the only one in the running.”
“So he’s gonna get the job,” Koby said.
“Oh geesh!” I said, nearly shrieking out the words. “Is everyone involved in Reef’s murder moving here?” I glanced around our group. “No offense meant.”
“I wasn’t involved in Reef’s murder,” Mama Zola said. She put her hands on her hips.
I took a step behind Koby.
“I just meant I don’t want to go through this all over again. Murder. With the same cast of main characters. In the same place.”
“How would you like your murder served?” Mama Zola cocked her head and stared at me.
I’d like it better somewhere else, I wanted to say. But murder anywhere wasn’t a good thing. I was having visions of Jessica Fletcher sitting at her typewriter, big glasses on, eighties hair piled high, writing about us.
Although, when I found out about a death in a church, another book came to mind. Kathryn Dionne’s cozy Murder at the Holiday Bazaar.
In it, the pastor was murdered, keeled over with a chicken leg in hand sold at the bazaar, and found by his secretary. This one wasn’t the church’s clergy who had died, but someone who seemed to me, to be his right-hand man. It wasn’t chicken, but Mama Zola’s sweet peaches concoction that had been found with the victim. And, in Dionne’s book, the cook was the prime suspect, which is just like what Mama Zola had surmised about herself. But that was not who had done the deed.
Life imitating fiction. I shook my head. This was just too much murder to happen in our neck of the woods.
Okay, yes. I knew that all of those stories were just that—stories. But at the rate we were going, if this was another murder in our quaint little town and we somehow were being drawn into it, our real lives were all set to intersect with Dionne’s fiction.
Timber Lake was not a place where crime ran rampant even with two murders (was this truly our second murder?) under our belt. And it seemed to me that a Seattle homicide detective coming to work in our fair town would just seal the deal. I had voted in every election since I’d been a resident of Timber Lake, even special elections like this one. I guessed I’d been busy with the shop, because I hadn’t heard about this one. But I was wondering what to do. Did I want my vote to usher in a man like Daniel Chow? He had listened to Koby in the end, which helped to save my life, but initially, he’d made me and Koby his prime suspects.
“Look,” Pete said. “That Acting Chief Ross Franklin and the Timber Lake Power guy are going inside.”
My eyes followed them as they walked to the door. Then I glanced back at Pastor Lee, wondering how he was feeling. Austin, it seemed, had been his friend. And now he’d died in his church.
And maybe Austin had been more? It seemed that Pastor Lee and Austin James had some business to discuss. At least from the conversation they had had while in the kitchen that morning.
Wait! Was I starting to think like my brother?
That made me smile.
But then when I looked at Pastor Lee, his eyes were staring right back at me. And I couldn’t figure out what that meant or why he was looking my way with narrowed eyes.
Or maybe . . . I turned and looked behind me. Maybe he was looking at Pete.
Maybe my skills needed more honing.
Undeterred, I stared right back at the pastor and squinted. Yep. One of us had caught his attention. And he didn’t seem too pleased with the one or both of us.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Avery said, diverting my attention away from Pastor Calvin Lee. “What are they trying to figure out?” He shook his head. “They haven’t even brought out the body yet.”
“Let’s go talk to the pastor and find out,” Koby said. “We won’t learn anything just standing around gawking.”
“No,” I said, reaching out to put my arm on my brother’s. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I agree,” Mama Zola said. “Don’t go stirring up that pot.” She shook her head. “You’re always too curious. Always have been. They’ve got plenty of people over there taking care of things.”
“I just want to know where Austin is.”
“You mean where his body is,” Pete said.
“Right,” Koby said, tapping his foot and patting his leg with an open hand, his interest on level ten. “Why, he’s still in there and what they are thinking as the cause of death.”
“I thought you said electrocution?” Hadn’t we already settled on the method of death? I guess it just went to show how much confidence I had in my brother’s observation skills.
“I did,” Koby said. “And I am ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent sure it was electrocution, but it would be nice if it was confirmed. So”—he cocked his head to the side and nodded—“we should go and talk to the pastor.”
“I wonder how he was electrocuted,” Mama Zola said, seemingly not disagreeing with Koby interrogating her pastor. “I mean, wouldn’t it have to be some live wires or lightning or something? And there wasn’t anything like that inside the building.”
“Yeah,” Avery Moran said, “the voltage inside a building isn’t usually enough to kill a person.”
“He had a pacemaker,” Pete said. “A little jolt, even from a hundred-and-twenty-volt line could cause the electrical signal to falter.”
We all turned and looked at Pete.
“How do you know he had a pacemaker?” I asked.
“I worked with the man. We were colleagues. I remember when he got sick.”
“Wait!” Mama Zola said. “There he comes now.”
By “he,” she meant Austin James. At least what remained of him.
I turned to the sound of squeaky wheels stumbling over the gravel asphalt of the church’s parking lot to find two EMTs rolling out the gurney with what had to be Austin James’ body on it, covered with a white sheet. A quiet fell over the scene as they folded the legs and lifted him onto the back of their truck.
“C’mon,” Koby said. “It’s probably now or never. No need for him to hang around much longer now.” But before Koby could get over to the pastor, a uniformed police officer came our way. He took it as an opportunity to find out more. “What’s going on?” Koby stepped up to meet the cop.
“I really can’t say too much,” he said, stepping past Koby. “You’ll have to wait until the morning newspaper comes out. That’s about the most anyone’ll get out of this until it’s solved.”
“Solved?” Avery said. “As in murder?”
“Tomorrow’s newspaper will cost you a dollar,” the officer said. “That’s about all the info I can give you right now.”
“Someone’s dead,” Koby said. “That’s pretty obvious. You can’t tell us how?”
“Nope. You can check the mor—”
“Morning’s paper,” Mama Zola finished his sentence. “Yes. We got it.”
“Good.” He gave a cordial pseudo-smile. “Pete Howers,” he said, alerting us to his present business. We all turned, once again, to look at Pete. “Can you come with me, please. Acting Chief Franklin wants to have a talk with you.” He put a hand on his gun like he thought he might need to draw it. “Down at the station.”
“Why?” Mama Zola went and stood in front of Pete. “He’s not going anywhere. You’ve got no reason to talk to him. I made the peach cobbler.”
Oh my. Were we back to that?
Pete’s expression or demeanor didn’t change once he found out the police’s presence (and evidently the pastor’s earlier gaze) were for him.
In fact, nothing about Pete had changed. Not since the first day I met him when he wandered into our bookstore. A lopsided haircut. Ruddy complexion. His clothes were a lot fresher and neater now, though. I suspected that had something to do with Mama Zola. She was always taking in strays.
I had been leery about hiring him and was ready to send him away when he showed up. But not my brother. He hired him. On the spot. Without any references. And without giving a second thought to his misbuttoned shirt, worn Hello Kitty book bag (which was strapped to his back even now) and him being unwilling to tell me his last name.
I didn’t want to think it now, but maybe we should have looked more into him. Checked out his past. Found out exactly who he was.
“He can come willingly,” the police officer said. “Or in handcuffs.”
Koby stepped in that time because Mama Zola had puffed up her chest, standing akimbo. It looked like she was ready to explode all over that police officer.
“He’ll go willingly,” Koby said. “Right, Pete?”
Pete, his eyes not showing one spec of emotion, nodded, it seemed involuntarily.
“I’ll follow along, too,” Avery Moran said, evidently donning his Capt’n Hook persona—looking out for Lost Boys. He patted Pete on the back. “I’m with you, buddy.”
“Unless you’re his lawyer, you might not want to tag along.” The police put a hand on Pete’s shoulder, grabbing it with a tug. “Don’t know that he’ll be able to talk to anyone or be leaving the station anytime soon.”
Chapter Four
“WE NEED TO find out what’s going on,” Koby said. This time I agreed with him and nodded my head to show it. “That’s the only way we’ll be of any help to Pete.” His last words, I could tell, were directed to me. But I was already on board. Even with second thoughts and all about who he was, I still wanted to help Pete out.
But that meant on board to try and find out what was going on with Pete. And Pete only. As to solving a possible murder? Uh-uh. Don’t think so. We’d already done this before. Had Koby forgotten what happened last time we went around investigating a death?
And God forbid this one was murder.
The officer had opened the police cruiser’s back door, tucked in Pete’s head with his hand so Pete wouldn’t hit it as he was put into the car. The people who had been milling around the parking lot watched in awe the taking out of the body and the “arresting” (not sure that was what was happening) of Pete like it was a tennis match. I didn’t know where they’d come from—if they lived closed by and heard the ruckus or if they had been there for the potluck, but their interest sure was captivated.
I watched as the car carrying Pete drove away and Moran followed in his car, before I turned to answer Koby. “Yes. We need to see why they are interested in Pete. I agree. But”—I shook my head—“no, we do not need to like investigate anything.” Verbalizing my thoughts, I pointed to the fading-from-view police cruiser. “We need to let the police handle that.”
Just then Ross Franklin walked out. Interim chief. New to me, but however capable he was, was good enough. He was accompanied by the guy from the power company. They seemed to be wrapping things up. Good. I’d had enough entanglement with snooping around looking into dead people and suspicious causes of death.
Chief Franklin walked back out of the church doors, parted ways with the guy from Timber Lake Power and started conversing with one of his officers.
I sized up Mr. Interim Chief. He looked official and capable enough. I saw no need of butting in.
“That’s exactly who we need to talk to,” Koby said. He had followed my gaze.
“Who?” I asked although I already knew the answer.
“Ross Franklin.”
Geesh. Now it wasn’t just the pastor Koby wanted to talk to, he wanted to question the police chief, too.
“Won’t help.” The man who cooked oxtails for the potluck sauntered up. Billy Ray, according to his apron, but I remembered the dead guy had cut that name short to just Ray. “He’s not giving up any information,” he said. “I tried.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “When they came through. I was packing my stuff up in the kitchen and I tried to pry some information from them. Wasn’t happening. The only thing they wanted to know was who made the peach cobbler.”
“It wasn’t my peach cobbler that killed him, Ray,” Mama Zola said. “Koby said he was electrocuted.”
Seemed Mama Zola called him “Ray,” too.
“Electrocuted?” Ray’s hazel eyes lit up. “I knew coffee was going to get him in the end.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my face turned up in a frown. I didn’t know the victim or this man. I’d seen them only for the first time this morning, but I remembered that they seemed to know each other. And it seemed their relationship was fractured.
“That old coffeemaker that he was using in the kitchen?” Ray said. “It was on its last legs.”
“How do you know it was the coffee machine?” I said and looked at Koby at the same time. Had my brother noticed the coffeemaker when we were in the kitchen? I hadn’t. Although it wasn’t unusual for me to miss things. But I knew an old coffeemaker, and nothing more, couldn’t kill on its own.
Unless it was the coffee inside?
Koby, wrong? The man’s death wasn’t why the power company was there? Nah. I shook my head. I’d learned to trust my brother’s intuition.
So he had another reason to say something about the coffeemaker.
I looked at Ray. That he had information about the electrocution did make him interesting. At least to me. I looked at him sideways.
Could he have something to do with Austin James’ death?
“C’mon, Mama Zola,” I said. I took her by the arm, pulling her away from Ray. “We should go. Too much commotion going on here.” I didn’t want her getting friendly with a possible killer. Not jumping to conclusions, but who knew what involvement Ray had in what was going on.
“Let’s talk to the pastor before he leaves,” Koby said. He seemed to be getting antsy. He’d said that same thing a few times and we had yet to make it over to him. “We can catch the two of them.” He started to walk off. “We can talk to Ross Franklin at the same time.”
He had said that before, too.
Okay,” I said. “But we need to remember that that Austin guy was Pastor Lee’s friend. We should tread lightly and with some sympathy. Even a little empathy.”
“We will. And him being the dead guy’s friend makes him exactly the right person and this the right time to talk to him. He might have the most information. Especially since he’d been the person the police were talking with.”
“And remember, we’re not talking to him in an attempt to solve the murder.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to solve any murders.” I followed reluctantly behind him.
“I know you don’t,” Koby said. “But if we’re to help Pete, we have going to have to”—he grabbed my hand and looked into my face—“find out what happened and possible reasons why.”
“I want to help Pete, too,” Mama Zola said. She’d caught up with us and glanced toward her new pastor. “I just hope he doesn’t think my peach cobbler had anything to do with it.”
I blew out a breath.
Koby was partially out of luck. By the time we walked across the small parking lot, Interim Chief Ross Franklin was getting into his car. Pastor Lee had just started to head into the building when we got to him. He didn’t seem happy to see the four of us, but he did force a smile. And I didn’t like that Ray had tagged along behind us.
“Pastor Lee,” Mama Zola said as soon as we were in earshot of him. “Seemed like my peach cobbler wasn’t the hit I’d hoped it be.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking about cobbler. I shook my head and crossed to stand in front of her.
“We’re sorry about the loss of your friend,” I said.
“Death comes to all of us,” Pastor Lee said.
“Not by electrocution,” Koby said,
A look of surprise came across the pastor’s face. Then he looked across the parking lot like he was looking for the person who had told Koby.
“How do you know how he died?”
“My brother is good at observation,” I said. “We were just wondering what happened.”
“The building looks up to code—”
“It is,” the pastor said. “We take care of everything around here.”
“And the two additions to the atrium are new.”
“It was an accident. Plain and simple. It had nothing to do with our building.”
“Or my cobbler,” Mama Zola said.
Pastor Lee squinted his eyes and a look of confusion set across his face. “It was a tragedy. But if you’ll excuse me.”
“What happened, exactly?” Koby asked, following in step with the exiting pastor.
“You seem to have a lot of information. You tell me.”
“I mean,” Koby said, “usually a one-ten- or one-twenty-volt line inside a building isn’t enough to kill a person.”
“You wouldn’t think,” the pastor said, his voice trailing off. “But it’s what happened. Along with a frayed extension cord.” He looked at Koby. “Just a combination of things all at once.”
