Dog Days Read online

  “The rest of you can decide among yourselves. And I have no objection if it’s all of you. Rick, you, too, as long as you’re available for a callout. But there are a few other items on my list. Where do we stand on the shopkeepers?”

  Gus and Declan traded looks.

  Gus answered. “The ones we were able to talk to yesterday afternoon and this morning, were not helpful. There are still some we haven’t gotten to talk to, at all. We will be, though.”

  “Make it happen. Court, Paul, Rick? Whichever of you isn’t going with Becca needs to go back to Hidden Treasures and do a more thorough search for Tom’s keys, cell, or anything else that might turn up. We already checked for security tapes, and door code violations from that night.”

  “I’ll do that.” Rick looked at Paul. “It’ll keep me closer, in case the need arises, rather than being tangled in sticker bushes.”

  “How far out do you think it’s going to be?”

  “Maybe not that far, but the creek bank in some spots is way overgrown, mostly with briars and raspberry bushes. They’ll snag the shit out of you.” Rick shrugged, grinning. “Traipsing through briars on a hot sticky mess of a day? Uh uh. Better you than me, pal. Some words of caution to y’all, though.”

  Becca frowned. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Bug spray. Lots!”

  “And?”

  “Long sleeves.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Might think about gloves and pruning shears, too.”

  Paul laughed. “Sounds like good advice, man.”

  “Believe me.”

  Getting to her feet, Becca gestured to Paul and Court. “I’ll need to make a stop to get … provisions, before we head out.”

  “I could use that stop myself. Court, you going?”

  “Naw, man. You two go ahead.”

  Paul stood. “I’m driving?”

  “Seems like.” Becca pushed her chair in.

  “Let’s go then.”

  Declan rose as the other two left the building. “Gus, you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. After you.”

  Though within walking distance, I figured they’d probably drive. With temps well into the eighties and climbing, they were better off driving downtown and parking in shade.

  “Court? Anything to add?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. But…. I’d like to tag along with Rick, if that’s not a problem? There are a couple other things I’d like to check.”

  Wyatt gave the technically gifted man his full attention. “Such as?”

  “Well, for starters, it might be useful to know what kind of security setup she’s got, as you mentioned. Security cameras. Alarm systems. Also, any online activities. We haven’t talked about it, but theft—cyber or physical—can’t be ruled out. Someone could have been trying to hack into her system. Digital banking, inventory lists, customer account information, that kind of thing.”

  “Have at it, but keep me in the loop.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rick grabbed a handful of cookies and his coffee cup. “Let’s roll, man. You drive.”

  “Roger that. Be safe, Maggie.”

  Aw! “Thanks, Court. I will try my best.”

  As I gathered my things, Wyatt was still seated, fingers steepled.

  “You have stuff to keep you busy here?”

  I stood near his chair. “There are some reports that need to be typed up. Normally they’d be waiting for me Monday morning, but since I’m here….” My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “I got nuthin.”

  “Oh, Wyatt.”

  “What if—? What if I can’t keep my promise to Doc Weston? It’s hard not to just take off in the truck and check things out on my own.” He leaned back in his chair. “Shit, that sounds wussy, even to me.”

  “Yes it does, so stop it.” The chief of police was whining like a girl. I sympathized with his plight, but geez. “What if you were still in the Navy and they put you on desk duty? You wouldn’t tell them you didn’t think they were making the right decision, would you?”

  “No.” He glared. “I wouldn’t want to end up in the brig.”

  “For Heaven’s sake. They wouldn’t arrest you.” I paused, wondering. “Would they? Maybe just add a reprimand to your spotless record?”

  “Your point?”

  “Doc Weston was going to suspend you. Wouldn’t that be the same kind of thing?”

  “Not exactly. But this is just stupid. I have a job to do.”

  Again with the sniveling.

  “Wyatt McHenry Madison!”

  He blinked. “Damn, woman. You sound just like my mother.”

  “Good.” Hands to hips. I had half a mind to Gibbs-slap him. “Do you hear yourself? This is so not the macho police chief I know you to be.”

  He shifted in the chair, like he was uncomfortable. “You’re shaming me?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Shit. You are.” He shook his head. “Doc needs to be more reasonable. I’m perfectly capable of investigating a crime scene without reinjuring myself. There are things that need my attention, and here I sit on my fat ass twiddling my thumbs.”

  “Um. Well first off, your ass is not, in any way shape or form, fat. Just saying. And second, believe me, I feel the same, on both counts.”

  “You? You’re not stuck in the office while everyone else is out doing real police work.”

  I bit my lower lip—mostly so I wouldn’t spew—and waited.

  Took him a minute.

  “God, Maggie. That’s got to be the most asinine thing I could say to you.” He reached an arm around my waist and buried his face in my belly. “I’m so sorry. I just described your job, to a tee.”

  “Pretty much, but actually—” I hid a smile. “Your attitude made me think of when the boys were small, and they’d be fighting over anything and everything, driving us—Bernie and me—crazy. And Dad would tell them, ‘You’re grounded. Go to your room.’ Which was all well and good, except that he’d go off to work then, and Mom would be stuck in the house with two bickering pre-teens who couldn’t go outside and run off all the excess steam.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know if that helps or not, but I can see how it would have been an easy out for Bernie, and you got the fuzzy end of the lollypop. Although—”

  “Exactly. Wait. Although what?”

  “Seems to me his grounding could have been countermanded.”

  “Oh, no. We’d made a pact early on. Whoever enacted the discipline or punishment, the other would abide by the ruling, so as to not undermine either of our authority, or give the boys any ideas about testing boundaries. We did have the option to question the decision, but only in private.”

  “Ah. Good plan. Must’ve worked.”

  “Yeah, well, they still tested us, but all-in-all, the outcome was worth it.” My fingers trailed through his hair. “You could come out and keep me company. Man the radio.”

  He chuckled. “Oh joy.” But scooped up the Grayson file and followed me out.

  A few hours later: “Dispatch, Unit four. Do you copy? Over?”

  Deep in the case file, Wyatt’s head snapped up, and he grabbed the mic. “Dispatch. Go ahead, Unit four. Over.”

  “We have a point of entry. Heading in. Over.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Unit four, out.”

  “Huh. This should be interesting.”

  “Yeah. Wonder how they figured it out.”

  “Betcha Officer Barrow’s got a spreadsheet to explain it.”

  “I don’t think I like your tone, Chief Madison.”

  “It was a compliment.”

  “Sounded kinda snarky … sardonic, even.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You trying to confuse me with big words, now? Don’t they both mean the same thing?”

  I laughed. “They might.”

  “Well, either way, I promise there was no … snarky-ness, intend
ed.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Am I going to have to use my powers of persuasion to convince you, again?

  “Dispatch. This is Unit six. Returning to base. Over.”

  Saved by the bell; although I wouldn’t have objected, or complained. Might have to bring it up again later, once we get home.

  My mouth pooched out. “Hmm.”

  “Roger that. Dispatch out.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And it’s only been two hours.”

  “Even better.”

  “All we need now is—”

  “Unit seven, dispatch. Do you read?”

  There ya go.

  “Loud and clear, Unit seven. Over.”

  “Mission accomplished. We’re stopping for lunch. Our treat. Over.”

  Of course, they would. But for everyone? Nice.

  Amused, Wyatt was shaking his head. “Roger, Unit seven. Dispatch, out.”

  “All three teams at the same time. Some smart people we got working for us.”

  “Indeed. You mentioned that earlier in the week, and you’ve also said one in particular is always hungry, too.”

  “Guy’s gotta eat, right? I imagine Rick wasn’t hard to convince.”

  “Y’got that right.”

  Their arrivals were staggered, but all within fifteen minutes of each other. Court and Rick filed in last, having stopped at Annetta’s first.

  Rick looked like he’d been playing in an old abandoned attic. His uniform was dust-covered, dirt smudged his face, and there were cobwebs in his crewcut.

  The two of them passed out hoagies for each of us, with everyone getting their favorite. Surprise surprise. They’d even included a couple six packs of Pepsi.

  Somebody was paying attention.

  The teams updated Wyatt and me as we chowed down.

  Paul and Becca, though they’d taken Rick’s advice, were sweaty, muddy, and covered with scratches.

  They reported following the creek from the spot where Becca found the strips of fabric, and past where Rauley had first seen the body. Their conclusion? Thomas Grayson had been thrown, or pushed, from the Bullet Bridge.

  Geographically, that would have meant Tom had gone into the Blue River, and the current swung (had swung?) his body into the Mossy Creek branch off.

  Hmm.

  Under normal circumstances, and in my opinion only, of course, that wouldn’t have been possible. The Blue River—despite its name—is only the size of a creek, about four feet wide, and maybe a foot (two, at most) deep in the middle. Despite the current heatwave, summer had been a decently wet, and it had been raining steady for a couple days prior, and a few days after, he was put in the water. Blue River would have been on the high tide side by then. And with the deluge of Monday morning, there would surely have been enough water pressure to move a body downstream.

  Wyatt, jotting notes, stopped. “What makes you so sure?”

  Paul jerked a thumb at his partner. “You tell him.”

  “Okay. Well, we measured the distance from where he’d gotten caught by the branches and where Mr. Sommers called from, approximated the day and time of death and the estimated speed of the water after a two-day soak, but before the flooding. Then, factoring in how long he’d been tangled up—per the county coroner—and when he was most probably dumped, we back-tracked until we saw the bridge.”

  Paul added, “It seemed the most logical place, and fit the timeline.”

  Wyatt stared at the two of them. “Huh.”

  Court and Declan had stopped eating.

  “Wow.”

  The other two were nodding.

  Gus pumped her fist in the air. “Way to go, you two.”

  “Nope, nope, nope.” Paul raised Becca’s arm. “All her. She’s the math-science whiz. It boggles the mind, how her brain works.”

  The rookie, pink-cheeked but grinning, shrugged.

  “Impressive, both of you. Glad you’re on our team, Officer Barrows.”

  She beamed. “Thanks, boss. Glad to be on it.”

  “You, too, Lovecchio.”

  Paul saluted. “Best precinct I’ve been attached to in a long damn time.”

  I swear Wyatt’s chest puffed out.

  “So, any updates for us, Declan? Gus?”

  “We had three businesses left to contact. The flower shop, beauty salon, and the hardware store, and actually they all had something to contribute. Not sure how helpful, but they told us things we hadn’t heard from anyone else.”

  “Yeah.” Gus dusted hoagie roll crumbs from her hands. “Especially the hardware guy.”

  I was taking copious notes.

  “Hardware guy?” Wyatt reached for his drink. “Harlan, or the man himself?”

  “Himself.” She shuddered. “Scary dude.”

  “Nah. He’s a good guy, just takes himself too seriously.”

  “You’re right about that, Dec. But please, enlighten us.”

  “Go ahead and eat, Declan, I’ll start. You can jump in later.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Our first stop was the beauty parlor, Plain Jane’s, and we spoke with the proprietress, Miss Jane Pratt. Her shop is at the end of the block, on the same side of the street as Hidden Treasures. She remembers taking out the trash to the big dumpster behind her place.” Gus glanced down at her notes. “Said it must’ve been close to eight, that’s when she closes up. Of course, there were other cars in lots up the street—four or five, maybe—but that didn’t raise any flags because they’re customer parking lots. There are vehicles in them all the time, whether businesses are open or not.”

  Made me think of Betsy Peters.

  “Anything else?”

  “For Miss Jane? Only that being at the other end of the block, it would have been impossible for her to have heard or seen anything unfamiliar going on at Hidden Treasures.” Gus crumpled her napkin inside the hoagie wrapper, and wadded up the whole thing into a ball. “Pam Cavanaugh, at the florist shop felt bad she couldn’t help. They closed up at six Friday night.

  Declan winked. “She did have a message for you, Maggie.”

  “Oh?”

  Smiling, Gus cleared her throat. “Yeah. She says you need to … wait, let me read it back word for word. And I quote: ‘She needs to get in here quick and pick out what flowers she’s going to use, or I won’t have time to order them. You tell her she’s got three days. That’s it. Then it’s too late, she’ll have to get someone else.’ Unquote.”

  My eyes rolled. “Like I’ve had time to think about anything else but this case. All right. Message received. Thank you, Gus.”

  She nodded, and continued with her report. “Next, we stopped at Ed’s Hardware, and as I mentioned, spoke with the owner, one Mr. Edward Jones.”

  “I’ll take this one, Gus. Okay?”

  “Have at it, Dec.”

  “Mr. Jones took us back to his office, and before we could ask him about Friday afternoon, he told us Thomas Grayson had stopped in around 6:15 to 6:30 on Saturday. The guy was a wreck.”

  “Which guy are we talking about here? Ed or Thomas?

  “Mr. Jones.”

  “What was he upset about?”

  “That he hadn’t spoken up sooner. Remorseful, devastated. I’m not sure how else to describe how he looked, sounded. Said he should have realized what it meant at the time.”

  “You beat around the bush too long, man.” Gus grabbed for his notes, Declan wrested them back.

  “Yeah, man.” Rick leaned back in his seat. “Give it up.”

  “Well hell. I didn’t think it was so mysterious. He said, as mentioned, that Tom had come in. Told Mr. Jones he had an appointment, something about the store and surprising Lavender. And then said how he, right afterwards, was headed out to the lake to fish.

  “Mr. Jones said the man left by the front door, and walked up the street. Jones figured he’d come back for his truck—that was sitting behind the hardware store—once he finished whatever it was he had planned at Hidden
Treasures.

  “When Jones finally closed up and went out to his own vehicle. Tom’s truck was still in the lot. He figured Tom had gotten a ride with someone. Jones said he felt terrible after he heard what happened, but didn’t realize there was a search on for the truck until Gus and I asked him about it.”

  “Do we need to do anything about Grayson’s truck?”

  “Well, can’t do a lot without the keys, unless he’s got a spare set. Could call his wife and find out. Or call Dodge and have him tow it. Let’s wait a day or two. It’s not going anywhere. You got anything else?”

  He looked at Gus, who shook her head. “Ah, nope.”

  “Rick? Court?”

  “Yeah. Might help with the truck thing.”

  “Yeah.” Court looked up from his notes. “Go ahead, Rick.”

  With a nod, he began, “Well, I worked the main showroom first. Nothing new there.” He looked at me. “I saw the same empty spot you did, but like I said, there wasn’t anything else to find in there. Nothing in the restroom, either. However, behind the back door, in the corner—where she had a mop, broom, and dustpan stashed—I found his keys underneath all those. Not real sure how they got there, unless somebody just threw them. Anyway,”—Rick slid two evidence bags across the table to Wyatt—“one of the keys was broken, and I had a good idea what happened to it. Got my flashlight out and inspected the backdoor lock. Sure enough, other half of the key’s broke off in it, on the outside. Somebody surprised him before he even got in the door, I’d say.

  “Whoever comes out to change the locks, needs to make sure we get that other half a key.

  “Any-hoo, then I made Court mad looking around and under the desk, but didn’t find anything. There were some boxes stacked up behind it, though. Pulled them out, moved ’em around, and found his phone. Wasn’t sure of anything more in particular we needed to find, but that was it for me. You’re up, Court.”

  Now I understood why Rick looked so … disheveled. All in the line of duty.

  “Thanks.” Court shifted. “Um, obviously, I was working on her computer. According to the internal logs, the thing hadn’t even been turned on since she’d locked up that Friday. I found no security breaches, but Holy Christmas is she lax about it. Anyone who wanted to do any damage at all, would have no problem. She has no passwords on anything, and no internet protection of any kind. I could find no evidence of a security camera, either.