A Luring Murder, page 9
“Maybe that’s why Warren turned out to be the kind of person he was,” I said. “What do you suggest I call him instead?”
“Calling him the victim, works for me.” She turned toward me with her brows drawn together. “What do you mean ‘like he was’?”
“You know having an affair with a married woman, causing problems with everyone around him.”
I shrugged. “Maybe he was hostile because he had to defend himself. Constantly being attacked has to make someone wary – ready to battle at a moment’s notice. Over time, I think that would make you hard.”
Louise considered my harebrained theory.
Before her thoughts could gel into a valid argument against it, I changed the subject. “Who else do we have?”
“Patrick and Samantha King.”
Louise leaned against a white plastic post, one of many that surrounded the Peterman’s weathered, aging deck, and rubbed her injured leg. She looked tired. Not at all how I was accustomed to seeing her.
Being up and around this soon after being shot was taking its toll, though she would never admit it.
“I don’t buy Patrick’s alibi,” she said. “He told you something when you went to the barn, didn’t he?”
I perched my butt on the edge of the deck next to her. Rough splinters pressed into the back of my thighs.
“Yeah, and he admitted to lying.”
Digs wandered over to us in a pink and yellow Hawaiian shirt. He balanced a plate heaped with food in one hand, and a glass of punch in the other. The distinct smell of fried food wafted up with his wake.
A quick glance around and he realized that every picnic table was occupied. He shrugged.
“You two are missing out on quite a spread over there. They’ve got everything.”
He used his tongue to lift a chip off his plate like a lizard trapping pray.
“Nice,” I said. “You plan to eat all that food by shoving the plate in your face?”
“I might, O’Brien.” He brought the plate up, about to snag more food, then looked at Louise. He lowered the plate. “I have utensils. I just came over to see what you two were so tight about over here.”
“Just doing some more investigating,” I said. “Asking people if they know anything about the murder.”
“Found out anything?” He asked.
“We have some new leads,” Louise said. “Did you find out anything after we left?”
Digs got the eager puppy look he got when he was trying to impress Louise. Excitement vibrated from every muscle in his body, with the same intensity as plucking an overly taught guitar string.
“The knife you found under the table was used to cut open the victim. No doubt about it. Pease’s skin and blood were all over the blade. His and a lot of fish blood.”
I really wasn’t hungry now.
“Did the medical examiner ever show up?” Louise asked.
“Yeah, apparently he was in the middle of the lake when his pager went off.”
Digs raised his plate again then glanced at Louise. Finally, his stomach won out over his need to impress Louise. He licked up another chip, crunched it up, then swallowed.
“Since there’s never been a murder here, he didn’t feel any urgency. Until the fourth time his pager went off. Then he was annoyed enough to come in and see what the urgency was.”
I tried to imagine one of our M.E.’s in town ignoring a page. We couldn’t remove the body until the victim was officially pronounced dead. If an M.E. kept a team of investigator’s waiting half a day, the mob mentality would win out, and we’d need an M.E. to pronounce the M.E.
“The knife easily filleted him,” Digs said. “He had been dead for a while by the time he was cut open.”
“How do you know?” Gavin had come up to stand next to me with his own plate of food, not as heaped as Digs’, but teetering on the verge of overflowing.
Close on his heels was the little white mutt. He curled up and laid at Gavin’s feet. He and I were going to have a conversation about that dog soon.
“Louise noticed that there were no spatter marks in the fish house. She thought that indicated he’d been killed somewhere else, because the slash to his neck would have sent blood everywhere.”
Gavin had speared a piece of battered fish covered in red sauce. He turned the fork over and set it down.
“Which would have been correct, except the slash to his neck wasn’t what killed him. The cut was too shallow. He wasn’t killed by a knife at all.”
“Then what killed him?”
Louise leaned forward far enough to make Digs nervous. He knew as well as I did that Louise’s patience for a long reveal was low. She wanted him to get to the point now.
“He had nasty blow to his head. That's what did him in.”
Digs tucked his punch cup in the crook of his elbow and managed to hold the cup without spilling his food, while he grabbed another chip to munch on.
“How can you tell?” Gavin said.
Digs crunched his chip then swallowed. “Because he didn’t bleed out. The blood in his body pooled on his back, from his shoulders all the way down his legs.”
I folded my arms over my chest. Perspiration was beginning to make my under arms sticky, but so far my deodorant was holding.
“What you’re saying is, someone conked him on the head, cut his throat, and then cut him open?”
“It looks that way.”
Louise shook her head. “That gives new meaning to the word overkill.”
“And that gives new meaning to the word understatement,” I said.
“Catherine.” It was a warning. I got them often when I used sarcasm on Louise.
“Then we don’t have the murder weapon yet?” I said.
“Not yet, and we don’t know yet if we even have the primary crime scene.” Digs’ face was sympathetic.
This news created a whole new set of problems. With the murder weapon in hand, we had a buoy on the water that might point us in the direction of our killer, but now we were adrift and lost again.
“Any idea where the knife came from?” Louise asked.
“It’s a Rapala brand knife, a pretty common brand of fillet knife.”
“I have one,” Gavin said.
We all stared at him.
“No mine is not missing,” he said.
I smiled. “We already ruled you out after the resort owner said he saw you near the fish house this morning.”
He furrowed his brows at me.
“What about the fabric and the stuff used to stick the knife to the table?” I said.
Digs took a deep breath and glanced at his plate full of food longingly. The layers of fried food must be calling to him.
“Louise was right about the fabric,” he said. “It was pure linen. Nice quality too. Probably imported. I’m still working on the gum you found. The chemical composite analysis is running now.”
“Let us know what you find,” Louise said. “I’m going back to the cabin for some peace and quiet. I can’t think with all this noise.”
The Minnelli wannabe had located a karaoke machine and was bombarding us with her off key bizarre rendition of Living La Vida Loca. That might have had a lot to do with Louise’s abrupt exit, but I think she was tired anyway. She shouldn’t have been pushing herself so hard.
“I think I’m going back to our cabin too,” I said. “If you don’t mind, Gavin, all this heavy partying has worn me out.”
“I don’t mind.” Gavin grimaced as Minnelli hit a particularly sour note. “In fact, I’ll go with you.”
Gavin was unusually quiet on our walk back. Hands jammed deep in his pockets, head down and brows knitted together tight. He seemed to be working over some challenging puzzle that wouldn’t quite fall into place in his head.
The white dog pranced behind us despite my attempts to shoo him away. He just moved to the other side of Gavin where I couldn’t reach him.
The mutt might have won the battle, but the war was still on. There was no way he would make it into the cabin. I’d deal with him later, but right now the only thing I could think about was what was bothering Gavin.
I looped my arm through his, pulled him close, and nuzzled his neck. He didn’t respond.
I pulled my arm out of his and slapped him on the ass. This assault should have prompted him to try to grab me. Still he didn’t respond.
“What’s wrong, Gav?”
His lips went thin in a halfhearted smile. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.” I put my arm through his again and squeezed.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on tell me.” I shook him back and forth trying to loosen him up. “Maybe I can help.”
Gavin stopped walking and took a deep breath, as if trying to decide whether or not to confide in me. Finally, he looked deep into my eyes.
“Was I really a suspect?”
Back to Top
CHAPTER SEVEN
After assuring Gavin that I didn’t really consider him a suspect, I spent my first, restless, full night in Gavin’s idea of paradise.
A vicious storm raged through in the middle of the night. At one point, I was sure the roof was going to cave in on our heads. Or the tree that kept banging against our window would crash through and kill us both.
I hate storms especially at night. The blitzkrieg of lightning flashes, random “kabooms” of thunderclaps, and too many tornadoes as a child combined to make storms a living nightmare.
Somehow, I survived the night and succumb to sleep from exhaustion. By morning, it became clear that Bob’s cabin had not been properly weather proofed; everything in the cabin was damp–the sheets, my clothes, my skin, my hair, the carpet–everything. It figured. Bob built buildings for a living; he couldn’t be expected to make sure his own lake home was livable.
I have experienced this phenomenon in my own home with Gavin. I’d been showering in a bathroom that had been stripped to the studs six years ago. Gavin had grand dream to give me a relaxing spa bathroom. Instead, for six years I’d had a freezing cold, gutted bathroom. He’d removed everything except the toilet and the tub. Hell to brush my teeth I had to run my toothbrush under the tub faucet.
Irritation rippled across my shoulders, so I rolled over in bed to think about something else. Gavin’s side of the bed was empty.
He and Bob had snuck out early to get out on the lake and slay the fish. A little known fact for me, but apparently fish are hungrier when it rains, or so Gavin told me when he woke me to kiss me goodbye.
I knew how the fish felt. Right now, I could go for a bag of Oreo cookies and a cup of hot, black coffee.
I stuffed my feet into my favorite fluffy slippers, wrapped myself in my favorite ratty old bathrobe, and shuffled my way into the kitchen which had a stunning view of the lake with mist hanging low over the water.
On the table sat a plastic supermarket container of powdered donuts. On top of the container Gavin had left a note that read, “Sorry, honey, still no coffee. I promise to run this afternoon. Love you, Gavin.”
Tension pricked at the back of my neck. Storm robbed sleep and no caffeine for the second day in a row was making me cranky.
There had to be another source of caffeine in this hellhole. Without it, it was going to be a bad day, and not just for me.
I grunted, shuffled to the refrigerator, and yanked the door open.
There is a God.
In the middle of the top shelf, illuminated from the overhead bulb like rays shining down from heaven, was my favorite silver can. My second favorite caffeinated beverage, Diet Coke.
Taped to the side of the can was another note from Gavin. This one read, “I knew you’d need this.”
He knows me so well.
“I love him.” I pressed the can to my chest. “So much! I love him.”
A satisfying hiss escaped the can as I cracked it open. I took my first sip. Heaven. Maybe this place wasn’t as bad as it seemed at first blush. Then again, maybe my sleep-deprived brain had gone on vacation.
I grabbed a powdered donut, then plopped down in the only decent, easy chair in the living room. The chair was damp and cold from the night before. Every other seat in the house was probably just as wet so I ignored the cold, and propped my fuzzy slippers up on the coffee table.
A slew of fishing magazines lay spread out on the end table next to me. I set my donut on the edge of the table, grabbed one of the magazines, and flicked through the glossy ads for lures and boats. Peppered in among the ads were photos of gigantic fish people had caught all over the country, and articles on how to fool fish into biting on your hook.
“Like there’s a skill to it,” I grumbled.
My morning musing was interrupted by a knock on the cabin door.
“Who is it?”
Not my most friendly greeting. Hell, I might as well have yelled, “get off my lawn.”
“It’s me, Catherine,” Louise said.
“It’s open.”
She came in wearing a sunny yellow camisole top, a black shear top over it, black casual pants, and yellow sandals. She looked like a poster for a tropical resort, even with her cane.
How could she look that good when the day was so damp and dreary? Did the sun just follow her around?
I tossed the magazine back on the end table and picked up my donut. This might just be a two-donut morning.
“Do you know it’s raining?” I asked and took a swig of Coke.
“Yes, I do.” She sat on the arm of the couch across from me. “I’ve been up since seven enjoying the rain.”
“Enjoying the rain? What are you a worm?”
“Oh, I see we’re our normal, happy, morning, self today.”
I bared my teeth, then clamped down on my donut, sending white powder down the front of me.
“What are you wearing?”
I belched.
“Pajamas,” I said. “Flannels might not be sexy, but they do the job.”
“They’re very attractive, especially with the powdered sugar coating. And the belch just completes the whole image. I meant on your feet.” She tugged on the toe of my slipper. “Did you accidentally step on a poodle?”
“Nice cane, Grandma Moses.”
“It’s better than getting blisters under my armpits from those crutches.” She twirled the cane. “Besides, I think it’s stylish.”
A cane was stylish if she was carrying it. Louise could make an eye patch and a shoulder hump look stylish.
“I meant to ask you last night. Where did you pick up that little piece of hardware?”
“An old man who spends summers here at the resort gave it to me. He said I was too attractive to use something as ugly as crutches. He carved it himself. Beautiful workmanship don’t you think?”
“Stunning.” I circled my finger in the air.
Louise got the old men too. Old, young, tall, short, fat, thin – they all loved Louise. Who could blame them? She was stunning and one of the smartest and nicest people I knew. I hated her for that reason.
I could like her so much easier if she were stupid and pretty, or bitchy and pretty, but no, she had to be nice and smart.
“I was thinking about our case this morning,” she said.
“While you were listening to the rain?” I made falling rain gestures with my fingers. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet.
She arched a brow at me. “Yes. And what I was thinking is we really need to speak to Bruce’s wife and whoever Patrick King was with yesterday morning.”
I took another swig of Diet Coke.
“Sounds good to me.” I got to my feet, scratched my butt, and headed for the bedroom. “I should change first so I’m presentable.”
“What have you got back there; a team of miracle workers and fairy godmothers?”
I scratched my butt again, flipped her the bird, then shuffled into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Behind me, I heard Louise yell, “Catherine, leave those poor poodles here. They’ve suffered enough.”
When I get back to civilization, I should seriously consider asking the chief for a new partner.
Back to Top
CHAPTER EIGHT
Patrick King sat across from us, on the pine log framed couch, upholstered in moose fabric, and shook his head. Since we had arrived, he’d been emphatic that he didn’t want to give us a name.
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you who I was with that night. Word will spread around town, and Samantha would be so hurt. Isn’t my word that I was with someone enough?”
“No,” I said.
Louise’s head snapped in my direction. That must have been one of those tact moments she was always harping on me about.
What was I supposed to say? The answer is no. Am I supposed to lie and say, “For me, it would be but my supervisors want more.” I wasn’t even officially on this case.
“Mr. King, people around town have told us some things about your wife and the victim.”
Louise still wasn’t up to saying Warren Pease.
“They might be just rumors, but they do give us good reason to suspect you of this murder.”
Patrick stood, then paced in front of the fireplace. He used the thumb of his right hand and popped his knuckles one by one. The sound sent shivers up my spine. What an awful sound, like a fork scraping across a china plate.
“I know what they say about Samantha, and I know the truth. I have no problem admitting I was jealous. It’s hard not to be when your wife is in love with someone else. But I wasn’t bent out of shape enough to kill Warren.”
He stooped pacing long enough to put a log on the fire burning in the oversized fireplace. I sent a silent thank you to him.
Yesterday the heat and humidity, was unbearable, and today the air was icy. How could people live around a lake? My heating and cooling bills would be massive all year long.
“Maybe when I first found out about their affair, I was angry enough to hurt him, but that was several years ago. These days his presence was more of a nuisance.”
“You’re not upset anymore?” I asked.
“I’m still not happy about the situation, but I came to the realization that Samantha doesn’t love me. Never has. And no matter what I buy her, or do for her, she never will.”
