A Luring Murder (10 page)

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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.

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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.”

The room went silent, except for the occasional pop from the fireplace. A soap opera like confession wasn’t what we’d expected when we came here today.

“If she didn’t love you then why would she marry you?” Louise said.

It was my turn to gape at her in disbelief. She thought I had tact problems?

“To help her family.” His candidness surprised me. “And yes, I’ve heard what the town says about the circumstances. But I didn’t blackmail her into marrying me.”

He stopped pacing and gave Louise a shrug.

“I was in love, so I proposed. I do think she saw marriage to me as an opportunity. A way out of a bad situation, but love was never part of the program for Samantha.”

“If you knew she was after your money,” Louise said. “Why stay married?”

“Because, I still love her.” He sat, propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. “I know it sounds stupid, but part of me still believes she could love me someday.”

God, I hoped Gavin loved me enough to overlook a huge flaw like infidelity. I’d never even dreamt of cheating on him, but I wanted him to love me so much that no matter what I did he could forgive me. Because if he didn’t, this vacation wasn’t going to do a whole lot to cure what ailed our marriage. Not that our marriage was bad, it was just that I worked too much to spend the time with him he wanted.

Marriage is tough. My marriage suffered from complications far beyond the scope of most “normal” marriages. Gavin owned his own business, which left little time for anything else during his busy season. I carried a gun and frequently had to wear Kevlar to work.

At least Gavin knew I loved him more than my own life. I’m sure he loves me. We weren’t both looking to other people to find what we should be getting at home.

“You say you love Samantha, but you admit to being with someone else that night.”

“Detective O’Brien.” He turned a wary eye to me. “There’s a difference between love and need.”

He had me there. There were plenty of people going out for one night of need without the entanglements of love.

Though she thought I couldn’t see in my peripheral vision, I caught Louise massage her injured leg and shift in her seat to give her leg more support. Stubborn as ever. She should be resting, but there would be no way to convince her to stay away from this investigation.

“Mr. King, I promise that we’ll be discreet. We won’t mention to anyone the name of your–”

What should I call her? His girlfriend? His lover? Cheap hussy? No, that was my personal opinion creeping in again.

“The name of your friend.”

He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “You won’t move on to someone else until you know will you?”

“No,” I said.

Louise sighed and cut her eyes my direction. Another subtlety moment. Personally, I’d rather just be to the point.

“Fine.” His jaw clenched. “I was with Dawn Liston. She works at the Long Neck Lounge on Main Street.”

This wasn’t happening. Dawn Liston had given us the impression that she didn’t like Patrick King. Hell, she had gone as far as to accuse him of the murder. How could she show so much distain for Patrick and be sleeping with him at the same time?

More important, what did she have to gain by leading us to Patrick?

“Thank you, Mr. King.”

The withered expression on his face aged Patrick King with misery. He had admitted, to two strangers that his wife had never loved him, that he knew she was cheating on him, and to having an affair of his own that was purely physical. The only thing standing between him and total humiliation was our word. A scant comfort.

Brief concern washed over me that Patrick might do something foolish. He’d lived with these lies for so many years, I had to believe his coping mechanism would kick in after a short period of mourning.

We left and got into my red 2003 Dodge Charger. Gavin had been upset when I insisted we take my car on vacation. Now I was glad I did. His truck was too big for me, and I couldn’t make a right hand turn without a little curb action.

Louise clicked her seatbelt into place then turned to me. “Have I thanked you for getting me involved in this investigation yet?”

I ticked my finger back and forth. “Shame on you, Louise. You know darn well I had nothing to do with you coming here at all. You’re a volunteer.”

“I guess.” She leaned back against the seat. “Patrick lied to us. Bruce McMahan lied to us. And now we find out that Dawn Liston lied to us.”

“Ah, let’s not forget Samantha. She lied to us too when she alibied her husband.”

She nodded and pointed at me. “Maybe it’s something in the water around here.”

“The only people I trust at the moment are Gavin, Digs, and you.” I cranked over the engine and after a few moments of hesitation it roared to life. “I think we need to get some lunch. How do you feel about picking up something quick at the Long Neck?”

“I could eat.” She adjusted in her seat and used her hands to move her leg.

“Maybe you should go back to your cabin and put your leg up for a while.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just drive.”

I obeyed.

When we passed the jail, I noticed that the deputy’s truck and trailered boat, were parked outside. I made a last minute decision and pulled in next to his truck.

“What are you doing?” Louise said.

“I want to find out if the deputy has found anything new.”

Louise unbuckled her seatbelt and bent her injured leg with her hands.

“With the anger he has toward Patrick I’m sure he’s come up with something. Who knows it might even be useful.”

“So you’ve ruled out Patrick King?” She got out and waited for me.

“I hope it’s not King, but I don’t know. Everyone seems to think he’s the only person in town with enough motive to murder Pease.”

“You know what that means,” she said.

“What?”

“He’s being framed.”

“You like him too.”

Louise pursed her lips and gave me a wink. “But King could still be our guy. He could be trying to make it look like someone is framing him.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem that devious to me.”

“Most sociopaths seem like the nicest guys on the block.”

Once again she was right. We’d had cases where our killer had been damned good actors, but even in those cases there’d been a feeling around them that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, a cold distance that I didn’t feel when I spoke to Patrick King.

I followed Louise into the jail. Deputy Watkins had his head bent low over some papers on his desk.

“I’ll be with you in one second,” he said without glancing up.

“Take your time,” Louise said.

Watkins looked up with surprised delight on his face. “Well Detective Montgomery. It’s good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you again too,” I said. Watkins didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm.

Louise leaned on the edge of his desk. “We came to see if you had any leads in the investigation.”

“Yeah, Watkins.” I dropped into the chair in front of the Sheriff’s desk. “We’ll show you ours, if you show us yours.”

A concrete-hard stare turned to me. “I don’t have anything yet, but I’m sure that bastard did it.”

“I’m afraid you can’t take suspicions to court. Even those of a deputy sheriff.”

“You’re partner can be a real bitch,” he said to Louise. “You know that?”

Louise gave a slight incline of her head. “She can be stubborn sometimes.”

That was the donkey calling the burro an ass if I’d ever heard it.

These two were mentally circling each other like cats in the yard. At any moment, I might have to throw a bucket of cold water on them.

Deputy Watkins’s eyes were locked on her face and his lips twisted in a feral grin; a wolf’s grin.

“Yes, well I get that way when it comes to accusing people of murder. I have a weird theory. I like to have all the facts before I turn the key on the iron bars.”

“I agree with that theory.” Louise’s body went ramrod straight. Her sphinx expression dared Deputy Watkins to argue.

“Of course.” Watkins fidgeted. “So do I. This time I’m certain he’s the right person.”

His conviction had faltered almost imperceptibly.

Envy rippled over me at Louise’s ability to make people fall apart with a look. I tried
the look
on Gavin once, but he thought that I had smelled something rank.

“I plan to get the proof,” Watkins said.

Get the proof? Was he going to the proof market to pick up the evidence? Most people would have to find proof of guilt, but Watkins would just “get” it.

The tension-pull returned between them. Watkins sat on the edge of the desk next to her, so his arm and thigh brushed hers.

“What are you two up to now?”

“We’re going to grab a bite to eat at the long neck,” I said.

“I’d love to join you,” he said, more to Louise than to me.

Funny I didn’t remember inviting him to join us. Not that it mattered much what I wanted or that I was even in the room. These two were now planets revolving around each other. Everything else around them was irrelevant.

“Unfortunately, the Sheriff tied one on last night at the Fish Fry Feeding Frenzy, and I have to patrol the lake for him today.”

“Maybe we’ll see you later.” Louise’s breathy reply was almost a purr.

He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and hitched them up, no doubt to give him some extra room in front, due to unexpected tightening.

“I’d like that,” he said.

Oh, please. Now I wouldn’t be able to eat at all. Maybe never again.