Double Blind (15 page)

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a cast-iron skillet,” Don said. “Why don’t you leave her...”

“Yeah, leave me alone.”

Sam looked up as a short, slight black woman marched toward them, balled fists at the end of wiry arms. She wore a red, flour dusted apron and a blue baseball cap that read “Sal’s Pizza, Monrovia, La.” She jammed both fists on her hips and stuck out her chin defiantly. “Keep him out of my kitchen.”

Don looked at Sam. “This goes on all the time. You’d think they didn’t like each other.”

“Like has nothing to do with it,” Mama Rose said. “I like him. I even love his skinny ass. But if he messes with my cooking I’ll smack him.” Her lower lip slid forward, joining her chin in a look of staunch determination as she glared at Jared. “Ever since he got that subscription to
Bon Apetite
he thinks he’s Paul Prudhomme.”

Everybody laughed.

“Mama Rose,” Don said. “I’d like you to meet our new guest.”

She yanked her glare away from Jared and looked at Sam, a broad grin splitting her face. Introductions were made, and then she said, “Welcome. I hope Mister Smart Ass here,” she jerked her head toward Jared, “isn’t disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Sam said.

“I’m going back to the kitchen,” she said, turning away, and then shot over her shoulder, “I’d recommend the French Toast.”

Jared shook his head. “She’ll never change.” He followed her toward the kitchen.

“Wasn’t that delightful?” Don smiled apologetically. “What can I get you?”

“French Toast,” Shelby said. “Sounds like it’s the specialty.”

“It is,” Don replied.

“Same for me,” Sam said.

Alyss shrugged. “Make it three.”

“The usual for me,” Wade said.

“Bacon, eggs, biscuits, and three orders of French toasts coming up,” Don said as he collected the menus and headed for the kitchen.

They chatted about the weather, Gold Creek, Sam’s home in Mercer’s Corner, and other topics of small talk while they ate. After they finished and the table was cleared, they enjoyed another cup of coffee.

Sam told Wade of the Kendalls’ encounter in the forest, complete with their description of the creature. “Any idea what or who it might have been?”

“I’d suspect smart money would be on a bear.” He drained his coffee cup. “Or Billy. He can be pretty scary. Especially to youngsters out of their element, so to speak. We get these city kids up here who’ve never been out in the country and they see all kinds of things.”

“They were scared half to death,” Alyss said.

Wade chuckled. “I bet they were. Couple of years ago, we had this couple, out from Chicago, went off on a hike and came back wide-eyed and terrified and jabbering all kinds of craziness. Thought some monster was after them.” He laughed again. “After they settled down a bit and started making some sense, it turned out they had spooked a deer. Probably a big buck. Made all kinds of racket, crashing around through the trees, more scared of them than they were of him. I guess they thought all deer were like Bambi.”

Alyss laughed. “I can see how that would happen. The first few nights I was here, the raccoons banging around in the yard and climbing on the roof scared the hell out of me.”

Wade nodded. “Your couple probably got spooked by a squirrel or something. Their imagination made it into a monster.” He shoved a toothpick in his mouth, working it to one corner. “Of course, if they did see a bear, that’s a different story.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a bear wandered into the valley and caused trouble. Threatening the livestock and all.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Depends. Burt Eagan’s got a lot of cattle to protect. If a bear starts creating mischief, we usually have to hunt it down.”

“Shoot it? “ Alyss asked.

“Can’t very well bargain with it,” Wade said.

Sam sensed him before she saw him. Billy pushed open the front door and walked over to the hutch where the coffee maker sat. He nodded to everyone, but said nothing. He poured coffee into two large Styrofoam cups and mashed a lid on each.

Wade looked over at him. “You about ready to come by the office and give me some prints, Billy?”

Billy whipped around, leaving the two cups on the table, and marched toward them, his eyes fixed on Wade, his face carrying a scowl that dissipated smiles and ended conversation.

“Wade, I’ve had about enough of your crap,” Billy said.

Every table fell silent; every eye riveted on Billy.

Unperturbed, Wade rocked back in his chair, shoved the fingers of his right hand beneath his belt, cocked his head to one side. “How’s that?”

“You been shooting off your mouth about me. Saying I’m a suspect.”

“You are,” Wade said.

“To hell with you.”

“Pretty easy to clear this up,” Wade said. “A hair sample, a boot print, and fingerprints should do it.”

“What for? You know the boots that were stolen were mine and you know I help Louise out. My fingerprints are all over that place. Wouldn’t prove nothing.”

“Why not humor me?”

“I ain’t giving you shit, Wade. I know what you’re up to. And I know why.”

“Do you? Want to explain it to me?”

Billy glared at him, but said nothing. He retrieved the two cups of coffee, stacked one on top or the other, clutched them in his huge hand, and headed toward the door.

“Where you going, Billy?” Wade asked. “In case I need to ask you a question or two.”

“None of your business,” he shot over his shoulder.

“Come on, Billy. Don’t make this hard.”

Billy stopped, turned. “OK. First, Louise and I are going to enjoy our coffee. Then at four, I’ll be at Lloyd’s funeral.” He yanked open the door, then stopped, and faced Wade again. “Why don’t you get off your fat ass and do your job? Find the real killer. He’s out there somewhere. Don’t try to pin this on me or you’ll regret it.” He hooked the door with his boot and yanked it closed as he left.

Wade eyed Sam. “Now, does that look like an innocent man?”

“Innocent? Guilty? I don’t know,” Sam said. “But, definitely angry.”

“Maybe he got that way when Lloyd caught him robbing his store?”

Sam shrugged. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like you.” She softened her words with a smile.

“Well, that’s true enough.” Wade set his cup on the table and looked at Sam. “Why don’t you come by the office. I’d like to show you the evidence I have so far.”

“Really?” Sam said.

“You’re a cop. I get tired of being the only one around to look at this stuff. I’d appreciate your opinion.”

“Sure,” Sam said.

Alyss looked at her.

“What?” Sam said.

Alyss laughed. “You’re so predictable,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Alyss smiled.

“You said you’d feel better when this case is solved,” Sam said.

“I will. Half of me wants you to help Chief Wade and the other half wants to remind you that you’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But if I can help, don’t you think that’d be better for everyone?”

“Like I said, you’re predictable.” Alyss stood. “I’d better get back and do the laundry.” Then to Wade: “If she gets in your way just shoo her on home.”

Wade chuckled. “She won’t. And I can really use her help. Eloy ain’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

Sam laughed and then dug her car keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Alyss.

“How will you get back?” Alyss asked.

“I’ll take her,” Wade said.

“Or I’ll walk,” Sam said. “I need the exercise, anyway.”

The business end of the Gold Creek Police Department occupied the ground floor of a modest white frame house on the corner of Sixth and Main. As with many of the buildings along Main Street, it had originally been someone’s home, but, unlike the others, possessed none of the Victorian accents. Plain, simple, square.

The entire department consisted of five rooms: a reception area, which hadn’t possessed a receptionist in three years; a bathroom; a rarely occupied holding cell; a never used deputy’s workroom; and Wade’s office.

Sam followed Wade down a short hallway. The wall to her left displayed a rogues’ gallery of past Gold Creek Police Chiefs. All men. A cheap wooden frame surrounded each black and white photo. The first, Delbert “Del” O’Sullivan, peered through cracked glass. He wore a dark Stetson, an even darker lop-sided mustache, and a grim expression. A carbine, cradled by his arms, lay casually across his chest as if it were a permanent fixture. The last was a much younger picture of Forrest Wade. Probably taken 20 years earlier when he first pinned on the badge.

The hallway led directly into Wade’s office. He hadn’t put much effort into making it look like a real office, however. The lighting was poor, the curtains old and faded, and his desk disheveled. Piles of papers and magazines covered its surface as though they had been blown through the window by a stiff breeze and dropped there. A tarnished brass lamp clung to one edge while a phone peeked through the mess as if searching for breathing room. A gun case, filled with rifles, shotguns, and pistols, stood against the far wall.

No flags. No picture of the President, or even the Governor.

Sam eyed a dusty 8-point buck head that hung above Wade’s desk. A cobweb dangled from one antler and rode on the air spun from a ceiling fan that ticked its way toward extinction.

She sat in a wooden chair with a worn and faded red seat cushion, facing Wade across his desk. “I talked to Louise this morning. From the items taken, it looks like there could have been two of them.”

Wade stared at her but said nothing.

“I mean the clothes,” Sam continued. “The boots. Different sizes. And all that food.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” he said. “Only found one set of boot prints, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t two of them.”

“And she brought up the point that the thief or thieves could be selling the items.”

“Possible,” Wade said. “If they tried to sell them around here, I’d know in a hot minute though.”

 Small towns, Sam thought. Not much gets by unnoticed. “True.”

Wade pulled a folder from the top drawer of his desk. While he shuffled through the pages inside, he snatched up a pack of Camels that had been buried somewhere in the desktop chaos, shook one halfway out, and clenched it between his teeth. He flicked open a worn metallic Zippo and thumbed it to life. A single long pull fired the cigarette’s tip to a cherry glow. He clacked the lighter closed and exhaled smoke from the left side of his mouth, away from her. He finally extracted a sheet of paper from the file.

“Prelim from the ME up in Montrose says Lloyd was struck by a single blow to the left temporal area. Crushed his skull and mushed his brain. Killed him instantly.”

Wade passed her the piece of paper, his hand-written report on Varney’s murder. Sam scanned the page.

“Says the perp was strong, right-handed, and a good bit taller than Lloyd.” Wade leaned back in his chair. “I also sent him the slugs and Lloyd’s gun along with the hair you found in Lloyd’s hand. The ballistics will take a day or two. Course, I don’t expect them to tell me anything I don’t already know. The hair had several follicles attached. Hopefully enough to get some DNA. That testing will take longer. A couple of weeks. That is, if Billy will give up a blood sample for comparison.”

Sam landed the report back to him.

“No forced entry,” Wade continued. “The killer either had a key or was good at picking locks.”

“That lock appeared pretty flimsy to me,” Sam said. “Probably wouldn’t be too difficult to open.”

“That’s true. Course, it didn’t look like it’d been jimmied. Not with a crowbar or screw driver or something like that anyway.” Wade exhaled a cloud of smoke and waved it away with one hand.  “None of this looks to good for Billy.”

“What I don’t get,” Sam said, “Is why would Billy kill Lloyd?”

Wade gave her a fatherly smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time Billy hammered somebody. He’s got kind of a short fuse. Like you saw over at Mama Rose’s.”

“That wasn’t without provocation,” Sam said.

Wade shrugged. “About six months ago he tore up Tankersly’s. In his defense, the other guy started it, but in pretty short order he wished he hadn’t. Biker dude. Hit Billy with a pool cue. Billy proceeded to knock out half his teeth with a chair and beat his two compadres unconscious. Tossed one of them through the front window.”

“He whipped three of them?”

“It wasn’t much of a contest. Billy simply rolled right over them.”

“But Louise said Lloyd and Billy were close.”

Wade leaned back in his chair, the fingers of his right hand automatically wedging themselves beneath his belt. “Lloyd was a good man. Too good. He could be the proverbial old fool. He believed in the righteousness of everyone. Never saw the bad. For some reason, he and Louise latched on to Billy. Took him under their wing.”

“That’s what Louise said. And that she saw no way Billy could have done this.”

Wade smiled. “Did she tell you that Billy’s in Lloyd’s will?”

The words hit Sam like a left hook. “What?”

“Changes everything, don’t it?” He extracted his fingers from beneath his belt and scratched at his ear. “The way I understand it, he don’t get nothing unless both Lloyd
AND
Louise were to die. If I were Louise, I’d be a bit nervous.”

“You don’t really think...” Sam began.

“Of course I do. The Varney’s are fairly well off. By Gold Creek standards. Billy would stand to get a nice chunk of change.”

“What does Billy do for money now?” Sam asked.

“Nothing. He inherited his land from his dad.” Wade leaned forward, propping his elbows on the edge of his desk. The cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, “Billy worked for a couple of years at one of those computer companies over in California. Silicon Valley. Made a good deal of money. How much, I don’t know, but enough so as he don’t have to work now.”

“Somehow I can’t picture Billy and a computer in the same frame,” Sam said.

“Don’t let that mountain man exterior fool you. Billy’s plenty smart. Graduated from Stanford. With honors. Majored in mathematics, I believe.”