Dog Days Page 3

My eyes rolled. “Sorry, I changed the subject myself there. But, getting back on track, you’re taking a big chance by—”

  “Really? The whole wall?”

  I frowned. Crap. Should have kept my mouth shut about that. “Yes. They haven’t even started on the framing for the expanded wing. And now I’ve really gotten us sidetracked.”

  “Maggie.”

  I could only harp for so long before making him mad, so I shrugged and snuggled closer, pouting. “I miss hockey.”

  He chuckled. “Couple more months, babe.”

  “Not soon enough.” Another sigh. Yes, I know I’ve been doing that a lot today. Makes me blue, and exhausted, to think about all this stuff. “I’m so sad for Lavender.”

  Harley lifted his head and whimpered as though he understood my unhappiness.

  “Me, too.” Wyatt reached across to scratch Harley’s ears. “I thought she was going to faint when I told her. Wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. Good thing her sisters were there. Thank you, Magdalena.”

  “You’re welcome. I really hated to ruin Gladiola’s day.”

  Wyatt grabbed the remote and started channel surfing. A tell of his when he wants to be distracted. “Is there anything on tonight?”

  “It’s Monday.”

  “There’s gotta be a baseball game or something.”

  “I need to make a dish, and take it over to Lavender’s.”

  He squeezed me closer.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got such a big heart, babe.”

  “Well, thanks, but it’s really just a courtesy so the grieving family doesn’t have to cook.”

  “But it takes someone like you to think of it. You did the same thing for Mac.”

  “Not that it did any good. The man wouldn’t eat!”

  “But it was there. That’s what counts.”

  “Okay, okay. Enough. And, returning to the original conversation, your obstinance about not following Doc’s orders is going to come back to bite you in the ass.”

  He was quiet for a minute, then dug out his cell.

  I sat up. “Who are you calling?”

  Harley barked.

  “Shh.”

  Wyatt’s hand was in my face.

  “Doc Weston. Wyatt Madison, here.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “No. No, it’s not a callout. I just wanted you to know that tomorrow I’m going to do a walk-through of a potential crime scene, and then I’ll be at my desk until you clear me for regular duty.”

  Well, whadaya know about that?

  “No, Sir. I’m serious.”

  Yeah, I’d’ve thought he was pulling my leg, too.

  “It’s been pointed out, and by someone with more common sense than me, that there must be a very good reason why you haven’t signed off on my request. I need to respect you and your professional opinion.”

  Crud. Secondhand guilt trip.

  “Yes, sir. I see. I appreciate that, very much. Good night, to you, too, sir.” He hung up and blew out a long breath. “You were right.”

  “About?”

  “He was going to recommend a suspension until I was fully recovered. He changed his mind while we were on the phone.” He gave me a poke. “Because I called him.”

  “Well. Good. That’s … good, that he changed his mind.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. I do appreciate that you … and he, have my best interests, and my health, at heart. I just don’t feel that bad.”

  I so wanted to roll my eyes. “Can you run?”

  “Not….” His forehead wrinkled. “No.”

  “Can you jog?”

  A sigh. “Probably not.”

  “Honey, you can barely walk, let alone stand up straight. If the killer came after you….”

  He leaned that furrowed brow against mine. “Maggie, I get it. Okay? You don’t have to make me feel worse about being an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot.” He was going to get smacked in a minute. “You’re a jock … used to be. Ex-military, too. You’re used to doing things that need to be done when they need to be done. I get that. But, in order for you to be able to do what you used to do, you need to take it easy so your body can completely heal.”

  “I’m well aware.” He kissed me between the eyes. “And it will be easier if I cooperate with that easing, right? I need to just let you continue to take care of me, like you did when I first came home from the hospital. I’m such a lucky guy.”

  Hmm? “Don’t you use that sarcastic tone with me, mister.”

  “Who, me? No, course not. I’m serious. Really. I am being serious.”

  “Then don’t patronize me with a peck on the head.”

  “Oh? Okay.” He shifted so we faced each other. Harley abandoned the couch with a snort. “Will this convince you?”

  He leaned in and his mouth seared through to my toes.

  SssMOKin’!

  Woo. If we were in a car, the windows’d be fogged.

  Steamy.

  Scorched.

  More, please.

  Trying to pull in air…. “I’m, um, not sure I’m quite convinced yet.”

  He was huffing, too, but grinned. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

  I shook my head. “We have to be sure.”

  “At your service.”

  Chapter 2

  … TUESDAY…

  * * *

  … August 11th…

  * * *

  HE’D CONVINCED ME of his sincerity, well and thoroughly, the night before—twice. Things have been a bit tricky since his injury. We’ve had to get … creative, and adjust certain activities to compensate.

  Not that it’s any of your business what we do or don’t do in the bedroom.

  Ahem.

  We dropped Harley off at my house and headed for work.

  At the office, coffee distributed, donuts dispersed, we settled in for our newly implemented daily morning team meeting. Our goal was to keep everyone up to speed and on the same page. Kinda like our powwows of old, only now there were more of us.

  Wyatt ran down each officer’s calls, and they gave verbal reports. I took notes that would be added to each case file.

  Court reported that Miz Jameson was safe and sound at home with family members, thanks to the quick thinking of the now identified caller, Martin Carver. If he hadn’t noticed the woman’s mad (pedal to the metal) dash across the flooded road, who knows where she would have ended up. Her 2001 Buick LeSabre was currently … hugging a tree. Once the water receded, it would need to be retrieved.

  The collision to which Declan was sent involved an unparking dustup. Earlene Fitzsimmons had been at Tate’s Jewelers. Katie Pullman had been at Charm’s Confectionary. They were parallel parked on Market Street, one behind the other. With both trying to get home and out of the rain, they pulled out of their respective parking spots, simultaneously.

  Bumpers crunched, tempers overflowed.

  Officer Gearheart applied his smooth flirty charm to the situation, calmed them down, took all their information, and wrote up an accident report that would be sent to both insurance companies.

  Gus’s call had been a swamped dune buggy. Roman Duncan, a postal clerk on his way in to work from Jenson City, hadn’t realized how far the Blue River was over its banks at Bullet Bridge. (The bridge crosses the Blue River connecting Jensen City and Mossy Creek. A bit further down, the river branches off and into where Mossy Creek begins.)

  According to Officer McGee’s report, even when Roman saw the water, he never considered it would be too deep. He wasn’t totally wrong, and did get across the bridge, but found it even deeper on the other side, and his swamp buggy doesn’t float. Gus used the winch on her vehicle to pull him through to solid ground. Roman was soaked from having to wade through mud and flood to hook up the winch, mad that he was going to be late for work, and that he had to call Cletus for a ride. But his buggy would live to ride the dunes another day.

  Dodge Peters’s auto repair shop was going to be cr
owded for the next few weeks.

  Officer Barrows went to the scene of another vehicle versus water related incident, but by the time she got there, both parties had helped each other out and called for a tow truck. All the rookie had to do was write it up. Once finished and on her way back to the office, she heard the call about the floater and went to help.

  Officer Lovecchio was sent to check out a report (called in by one Gladys Townsend) about a dog in distress. Seems her neighbors across the street on the creek side both work, and Gladys could hear their dog barking. Said it sounded like he was in trouble, and she could see water over the roadway.

  Paul approached the scene cautiously, not knowing how the pooch would react to a stranger, but it turned out to be a nonissue. He unhooked the chain, picked up the soggy frightened beagle, and carried him to Miz Townsend’s house. On her porch, the canine shook himself, sat at the feet of his rescuer, and barked a thank you.

  At least that’s how it looked to Paul.

  He’d just gotten back to his vehicle when the floater call came in, so the waders stayed on. It didn’t take long for him to see the body moving downstream, but with the current raging—though the body was fairly close to the edge—it was going to be tough to grab. By that time, Becca had pulled up behind his vehicle and produced a garden rake from the trunk of hers. He was able to snag the edge of the shirt collar, but it took both of them to haul the body up to solid ground. They agreed the man had been dead and in the water for a while.

  Officer Lovecchio commended Officer Barrows on not losing her breakfast when they turned the body over.

  Rick and Declan reiterated their findings from the night before. After securing the door to Hidden Treasures, they investigated the interior looking for anything that might tell them/us what had happened. Lavender would have to do a walk-through to know if anything, other than what we were already aware of, was missing. The guys didn’t find a bloody anything that might have caved in the side of the poor man’s head.

  Thomas Grayson’s body was at the county morgue, awaiting autopsy. The county forensic pathologist, Doctor Harrison (Harry) McCabe, would be performing that procedure this afternoon. Wyatt was irritated he wouldn’t be able to attend, having tied himself to his desk via last night’s phone call to Doc Weston.

  He then ran his theory of what happened out to the team, and asked for their thoughts and opinions. Also mentioned, was the possibility that Tom wrecked his truck somewhere along the creek, and he and his truck floated away. But, in the end, majority agreed with Wyatt’s scenario of the chain of events. “As a precaution, and to alleviate any doubt, I need two of you to take a run out to the lake. We need to confirm whether Tom’s truck is sitting in front of their cabin, or not. Rick? You know his usual fishing spots; take somebody with you.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  Paul stood. “I’ll go.”

  At the conclusion of the meeting, Wyatt sent Declan and Becca out on a call that had come in from County. They grabbed their hats and left. The rest of us split off to our respective desks.

  Wyatt came up to mine, hat in hand. “I’m going out to walk the scene.”

  “Okay.”

  “Would you like to go along?”

  At the sudden silence in the room, I looked around. Every eye still in the building was focused on me. I wondered how come—I’d make them tell me later—but wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to investigate first hand. “Sure.” I grabbed my purse and stood. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I drove.

  The back entrance to Hidden Treasures was blocked by a massive array of flowers, crosses, rosaries, a stuffed teddy bear, cards, and posters, all in an outpouring of sympathy for Thomas Grayson’s passing.

  There was probably more out front.

  News travels fast around here.

  Bad news, even faster.

  Carefully wading through the fragrant memorial, Wyatt gloved-up and removed the temporary yellow tape, then unlocked the heavy-duty padlock Rick had obtained from Ed’s Hardware yesterday afternoon. Once inside, he turned on the light, motioning me into the room.

  There didn’t seem to be anything out of place in the storeroom. Nothing to indicate a crime had been committed (like bloody footprints), just a quiet empty store. Wyatt hadn’t contacted Lavender, hadn’t wanted to bring it up yet, but we still needed to know if any other merchandise was missing.

  He and I moved into the showroom and up towards the window, where Rick and Declan had seen signs of a tussle.

  And there was the blood.

  I had to stop, take a breath, and compartmentalize what I was seeing, shutting off my brain from the emotional me. I forced myself to focus on what items had been where on my last visit to the store, and if anything was different.

  Something was, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think. There was an empty space on the third shelf down across from the big front display window. What in blazes had been there?

  My memory lapse bugged me, but I wasn’t too worried. Eventually the light bulb would blink on.

  Wyatt was inspecting the floor, the patterns of scuff marks, and how the blood had pooled. There didn’t seem to be any spatter.

  Shining his Mini-Maglite to illuminate the corners and crevices, he was searching for anything Rick and Declan might have missed. Then he knelt, with extreme care, and reached under the bottom shelf.

  “What?”

  He sat back on his heels and held out his hand. “A button.”

  “It’s unusual.” Looked like brass with an engraved design. Unless Wyatt handed it to me, I wasn’t going to touch it. Fingerprints, possible forensic particulates, etc., you know? And I wasn’t wearing gloves.

  “Yeah, it is.” He dropped it into a clear plastic evidence bag, continuing to study it. “And I’m sure I’ve seen more of them somewhere, on someone’s shirt, or jacket. Just can’t think of whose it was.”

  Both our brains had something to mull over.

  Back at the office, I fielded a call to Wyatt from Dr. McCabe. He would be releasing Tom’s body for burial as soon as the autopsy was completed, probably Wednesday. Thursday, at the latest.

  However, preliminary findings were that time of death was between 9:30 and 10 PM Friday evening, and the body had been in the water for almost the same amount of time, give or take thirty minutes, as per the state of decomposition. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the skull, which killed him instantly. Copies of the wound impressions and his written report would be sent via special courier … soonest.

  Lavender arranged for a Friday funeral.

  Chapter 3

  … FRIDAY…

  * * *

  … August 14th…

  * * *

  THE FLOODING HAD receded and Mossy Creek was almost back within its banks. A percentage of townsfolk who lived creek-side had to shovel mud from basements, sidewalks, and even some back porches.

  Sun bright and high in the sky, it was a steaming mid-nineties day.

  I was in funeral attire—same dress I wore to Miranda’s. (Yes, it still fits.) Wyatt and the gang were in uniform. And again, we wouldn’t attend the after dinner. (Darn it.) Another closed casket, too, and there’d been no viewing the previous evening. This service wasn’t as hard for me as Miranda Richards’s had been because I wasn’t picturing one of my sons in the box. I did feel for Lavender, who sat rigidly in control through the entire service.

  There was no doubt in my mind she’d been chemically calmed. Every so often I’d catch her making one of those long shuddery sighs. You know the kind I mean, where your whole body kinda just stutters through a breath?

  Afterward the service, we congregated in the funeral home parking lot at Wyatt’s Jeep.

  “Go grab some lunch, and change if you want. We’ll meet back at the office in two hours. Y’all good with that? We won’t be there all afternoon. Just want to get some things rolling, and catch up with what’s new.”

  Nods all around.

&nb
sp; We, me driving again, headed to Wyatt’s to let Harley out. Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches, pickles, and chips. I wanted to change, too, so we stopped at my house on the way back to work.

  The crew had been canvassing the area for the past two days. Seated around the conference table, they look like a wilted garden. Hopefully there was something new to report. I wasn’t sure what Wyatt had in mind to get rolling with.

  I’ve mentioned, on occasion, about the small town mindset of our residents. Someone somewhere hears, or sees something, and within the hour, the entire population (slight exaggeration) knows about it. This week, though, it’s been just the opposite. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. Nobody knows … anything.

  Nobody.

  At least, not the ones we’ve been talking to.

  “All right. I know y’all are hot and tired and frustrated. But it’s been a few days since the initial incident. I doubt many of them are open today because of the funeral, so tomorrow, I’d like you to go revisit the shopkeepers on either side, and across the street from the antique store. We know from the autopsy report that the victim was most likely killed Friday night. He was last seen by his widow a few hours before that. So what happened in between?

  “Since we’re assuming (until otherwise corrected) that Tom’s death is in some way connected to the open door at Hidden Treasures, we need to concentrate our efforts on finding witnesses. As mentioned, it’s been a couple days. Some people may have remembered some things.” He focused on Rick. “Tom’s truck?”

  Rick shook his head.

  Paul cleared his throat. “As it was my first time seeing the lake, I have to say it will be awesome for hockey, come winter. It does get cold enough to freeze around here, right?”

  “Most years, yes, indeed. There’s a toboggan run that’s built every year, but oh hell yeah, hockey would be great. We’ll have to advertise for players.”

  “Excellent.”

  Wyatt shifted. “Can we get back to business, boys?”

  “Sorry, boss.”