A Luring Murder (8 page)

“I understand,” Louise said. “Can you think of anything that might be helpful no matter how insignificant it may seem? Why was he here?”

“He used to fish out on the docks late at night. There’s good Crappie fishing out there, and it was late enough that Claire is usually asleep.” He shrugged. “I’d seen him out there a few times, but I didn’t mind. I assume that’s why he was here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Peterman,” Louise said.

“You’re very welcome. I’m sorry, I know I’m not much of a help.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” I said, though I don’t know why. We still had nothing that could be considered a lead. As much as I know that sometimes spinning your wheels in the sand is part of the job, frustration pulsed through me. After hearing all the nice things Gavin had said about me, I wanted to spend all the time with him that I could, and I wasn’t one foot nearer to that end.

“You ladies better get ready for the party.” Mr. Peterman winked. On anyone else, it would have seemed like a dirty, old man move, but on him, it was cute.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sheriff Anderson said and checked his watch. “If I don’t get home soon to get ready myself, my wife will tear me a new one.”

He tossed another log to Mr. Peterman. “I’ll help Wes finish up here first. Why don’t you two get ready and I’ll see you at the party tonight.”

I peeled off my clothes and braved the moldy shower again, this time for the works.

The sun had made its way around to the bathroom side of the cabin, and the light punched through the bits of the window that weren’t covered in grime, and illuminated all the mildew in the crevices that I’d overlooked in my early foray into the shower.

I dressed in a clean pair of jeans, tank top, jacket and spit-shined boots courtesy of Gavin. I raked my unruly curls back into a ponytail at the base of my neck. In the humidity, it was the best I could do. I threw on some tinted ChapStick and checked myself in the mirror.

“Good enough.”

“You look gorgeous, Catherine.”

Gavin had snuck in behind me.

“Well, good enough for a fish picnic at least,” I said.

“Good enough for a royal reception.” He stood behind me and kissed my neck.

“See that’s why I love you.” I turned and put my arms around his waist. “Because you’re full of shit.”

I kissed him hard and long. There was more than a little guilt built into the kiss, but Gavin seemed to enjoy it anyway.

“You ready for the Fish Fry Feeding Frenzy?”

I ran my hands over my hair and took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

Gavin decided we could walk up to the resort – only about three city blocks, but in the heat that was enough to reverse the effects of my shower. I guessed everyone would be in the same position. It was just a picnic.

Once again, I was proven wrong. We rounded the corner of the house to the back yard, and it looked like paradise.

The Peterman’s had gone all out in decorating their yard to look like a Hawaiian luau. Tiki torches, paper lanterns, and flower lays were everywhere. In the middle of everything, standing out like a rose in a garden of weeds, was tall, dark, beautiful Louise.

She was no longer hunched over crutches, but had acquired a beautifully carved cane from somewhere, and she stood as straight and graceful as possible. Her long braids and dark complexion made her conspicuous in a sea of Nordic looking people. That and she was at least a head taller than everyone. She looked like a supermodel in her skimpy sundress.

“You packed at the last minute to come up here,” I said, when she approached us. “And you managed to pack a sundress?”

She put three fingers to her brow and saluted me. “Always be prepared.”

“Give me a break.”

“Hey, Louise. Where’s Randy?”

Gavin was the only person who ever called Digs by his first name, and it always sounded weird to me.

“He’s around here somewhere,” she said. “He went in search of food.”

“I’m going to search for some myself.” He patted his stomach. “You want anything, honey?”

I shook my head. All I could think of was what the Peterman’s had buried in their garden and Mrs. Peterman sweating into the pot of whatever that was on the stove. My stomach turned in disgust.

“I’ll bring you something.” He kissed my cheek. “You have to eat.”

He headed off toward the buffet line.

“No fish,” I called after him. I wasn’t sure if he heard me or not. Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t eat a bite of what he brought me anyway.

“Are we going to scope for suspects?” I said.

“Yep.”

To us this party was more than a casual get-together; it was a smorgasbord of potential suspects.

“Where do we begin?”

“Let’s just introduce ourselves around. We have to be subtle about this, Catherine. These people have been shaken up enough.”

Subtle. I wasn’t really good at subtle.

Through the crowd, I saw two familiar forms mingling. Patrick and Samantha King were arm and arm with huge smiles plastered across their faces. Each had a drink in their hand. Patrick chatted with other guests while Samantha sipped her wine, nodded on occasion, and kept her perfect smile intact.

“Look who made it to the party.” I directed Louise’s gaze toward the Kings.”

“Interesting,” Louise said. “Didn’t she seem a little too broken up to attend a party when we saw her this morning?”

“Devastated was the word that came to my mind.”

Shall we say hi to our new friends?” Louise gave her cane two taps on the ground.

“Lead the way, my dapper friend.”

When we got close to the Kings, Samantha’s fake smile melted into a more natural smile. Our assessment of her current emotional state had been overly generous. Make-up applied in thick swaths couldn’t cover the dark, puffy circles around her eyes. She tugged on Patrick’s arm. He looked at her, then spotted us approaching.

“Detectives, how are you this evening?”

“Can’t complain,” I said. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight. I thought this was just a resort shindig.”

Samantha smiled a friendly smile. “Originally, it was, but it’s grown to be more or less a town party. I would say just about everyone in town is here tonight. Aside from Saint Benedicts Church Carnival, this is the biggest party of the year around here.”

“I was under the impression from Deputy Watkins and the Sheriff that the people of the town and the endies from the resorts didn’t get along very well.”

Patrick laughed. “It’s a mixed emotion for most people. The people of this town live and die by the tourist trade. Without the tourists, this town would be a gas station stop on the map, not worth driving off the main road to see. So, the people of the town come out to make nice at parties and then secretly resent the chaos the tourists bring. It’s been that way since I was born and will always be that way is my guess.”

“How are you tonight, Mrs. King?” Louise asked. “Feeling any better?”

She let out a stuttering breath. “Not really. Everything that’s happened since your visit feels like a dream. But I couldn’t miss the Feeding Frenzy. The Peterman’s are so good to us. We couldn’t not make an appearance.”

Patrick ran his hand up and down her forearm then gave a comforting pat.

He forced a smile and looked at us. “I meant to ask this morning, Detective. What happened to your leg?”

The change of subject was so abrupt that I looked down at my leg before I realized he was talking to Louise.

“I was shot.”

“I’m sorry. I bet that hurt.” Patrick laughed.

Louise smiled and laughed along with him in a genial just between us manor.

“You’d win that bet.”

Samantha’s eyes had gone glassy. She stared at nothing in particular on the ground.

“So have you gotten any further on Warren’s murder?”

Samantha flinched almost imperceptibly. She took a slug off her drink.

“Unfortunately not,” I said. The irritating ripple of failure ran through me when I saw the hopeful look on Samantha’s face melt away like a candle on the stove into a look of disappointment. “But we’re not really on the case.”

She choked back a sob, then buried her head in Patrick’s arm. He put his hand on the back of her head.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. King,” I said. “I know this must be difficult considering how close you were to the victim.”

Close was a bit of an understatement from what I knew of the situation, and I knew the comment was tactless. I needed to see Patrick King’s reaction to my warts and all frankness.

He only looked sad for his wife.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said. “I think I’ll take my wife home. I should have known that a party tonight was a little too ambitious.”

He slipped a comforting arm around her waist and led her away.

When they were out of earshot, I turned to Louise.

“They both seem genuine to me.”

“I’m still not sure.” She gave a casual shrug.

“He looks like he’s using this opportunity to play the strong shoulder for her.” I swatted at a fly that’d begun an aerial assault on my head.

“The only problem is we’re not talking about the loss of a parent or a friend. We’re talking about her lover. The comforting husband reaction isn’t normal.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I’m not ready to slap the cuffs on him just yet,” I said. “I think we should keep looking. Let’s introduce ourselves to a few people.”

“Lead the way.”

We mingled with the locals and weekenders. There were a few characters mixed in the group; a chain-smoking woman, who claimed it was easier to stay drunk than divorce her husband, a man whose mission in life was to tout the democratic party’s merits and make sure everyone voted DFL, and a five-foot, three hundred pound tone-deaf woman who thought she was Liza Minnelli.

No real leads until we approached one gentleman almost by accident. Bruce McMahan was towing a keg to the drink table when he bumped into me.

“Oh, Jesus. I am so sorry.” He dropped the keg, which teetered like a Weeble People and finally came to a rest upright.

He put a hand on my back and the other on my upper arm as if I would fall over from the little tap he’d given me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I brushed his hand away.

“Seriously, you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Seriously. But thanks for the concern, Mr. . . .?”

“Bruce McMahan,” he said.

I shot a half grin at Louise.

“Catherine O’Brien.”

I stuck out my hand. He shook it.

“Is this your first year at the resort?” He said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” He eyed Louise appreciatively. “And I definitely would have remembered seeing you.”

Louise smiled and held out her hand. “Louise Montgomery. It’s my first year here too.”

“Welcome, maybe I can show you around,” he said, holding her hand in both of his. “I know all the high points.”

Louise brought his hand up. “You, me, and your wife?”

Bruce McMahan looked down at the gold band Louise stroked her thumb over. A wolf grin split his face.

“Guilty,” he said and took his hand back “Hey, I’m married not dead.”

Bruce chuckled. When we didn’t respond in kind, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again.

“I better get this keg to the table.” He reached down to grab the lip.

I took hold of the other side. “You look like you could use some help.”

He gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been coming here for years?” I wanted to be as nonchalant as possible. The Sheriff’s reaction to Bruce McMahan’s name told me more than he probably wanted me to know. It made Bruce worth paying some attention.

“Yeah, my family’s been coming here since I was a kid. This place feels like a second home to me.”

Louise trailed behind us. “Did you know the guy who was killed last night?”

He glanced over his shoulder which was hunched up to his ear with the strain of lifting. “Yep. I’ve known him since I was a kid.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about him being killed,” I said.

Bruce held up a finger, then another, and a third. We heaved the keg up and into a short plastic tub filled with ice.

“I’m not.” He found an available tap and went to work. “The guy was an ass.”

“It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead,” Louise said.

“Yeah well, I’m not saying anything now that I wouldn’t have said to his face, so I think that makes it okay.”

Bruce opened the tapper and released a stream of foam onto the ground.

“Warren was an ass of the first magnitude. I’m not exactly glad that someone offed him, but I’m not at all upset that he’s gone. I’m sure he deserved everything he got.”

“Where were you this morning?” I asked.

Bruce chuckled. “You mean when Warren was killed? You’re asking if I had a hand in his death?”