by Patti Larsen
Grayson Gallinger slumped in the armchair, his chin on his chest. I sighed in irritation, knowing I couldn’t just leave him there. Petunia sniffed his foot before looking up at me, sitting on her haunches and panting her confusion. What, she’d never encountered a drunk guy passed out before?
It wasn’t until I leaned down, hating the thought of even having to touch him, shaking his shoulder with a, “Bed time,” that I realized he wasn’t drunk, nor passed out, and likely wasn’t about to get up no matter what I did to encourage him.
Nope, just my freaking luck, wasn’t it? As I shook him to wake him, the body of Grayson Gallinger toppled sideways, his head flopping on his neck, dead eyes staring up at me as if this was all my fault.
***
Chapter Sixteen
I ground my teeth together as Crew’s voice crackled on the other end of the walkie, his distant shape just visible on the other side of the river. Past the freaking mess that had been made of the hateful bridge that was our only connection to the rest of the world.
At least, that’s how it felt as I listened to him explain what happened to take out the center span of said ridiculous bridge.
“They overestimated how much force they needed to blow the beaver dam.” Crew sounded pissed, but only because I knew him. The flashing light of his sheriff’s truck reflected red, a beacon I wished I could reach but could only focus on in the distance. “You said a boom woke you? Over.”
At least there wasn’t the loss of communication from the walkie talkie I used to fill him in on my side of the story, unlike the CB. “I think so,” I said. “Then a second. Was that the second explosion? Over.”
I imagined I could see him nodding. “They failed the first time, tried again. But the second attempt knocked free some of the rubble from the landslide last year and, well.” He cleared his throat. “You can see the result. Over.”
My lips tightened into a narrow line as I glared my utter disappointment at the damaged bridge. “Any idea how long it’ll take to fix and get us out of here? Over.”
My mind’s eye pictured him running one of those big hands through his black hair, a sure sign of his annoyance and need to act when action was impossible. “At least 36 hours. Over.”
Ack. Not what I wanted to hear. “We need someone here to take charge of the body, over.” Because I might have had a knack for finding dead people, but don’t ask me to actually do anything about the corpses, okay?
“We’re sending a chopper, over.” Crew hesitated a moment. “But there’s no clearings big enough to land, so they’ll have to do a drop.”
He must have worried that was a terrible idea. “What about a boat? Over.” I eyed the now rushing river, the banks swollen with eager water draining from the high mountain lake the beaver dam had created, looking for a chance to escape. Debris floated freely, bumping into the shore, giant tree chunks and rocks making their way downriver. Olivia was going to be furious. The damage this could have caused and may yet cause Cutter Lake might be the nail in her political coffin.
“Not safe yet,” he said. “I’m coming over as soon as the chopper gets here. Over.”
As much as I wanted him by my side right now? “You’re better off on that end,” I said, taking a few steps away from the gathering on my side, though Dan and Caleb, Eddie with them, didn’t seem to care what I was saying as they spoke among themselves. They’d been quiet, tense since I’d woken everyone after my discovery. Not that such a reaction was surprising or anything. One of their number was dead and if I had to guess from the floppy way Grayson’s head moved around, it wasn’t an accident or natural causes. Which meant there was a possibility one of them was responsible, so I didn’t want them to overhear much more of my conversation with the sheriff. When I made it far enough I figured I could keep my voice down, I went on. “You need to be visible in town, Crew. Olivia’s going to be neck deep in trouble if anything happens to the lake from this fiasco.” There was a long silence before I winced and finished. “Over.”
“Agreed,” he said, though he sounded even angrier than before. “Except I don’t care about Olivia right now, Fee. I care about you. Over.”
As sweet as his sentiment was, if he lost his job there was a better chance he’d be leaving Reading than staying. And I was selfish enough I wanted to keep him near me as long as possible. “Just send Jill,” I sighed. “Unless you want Robert as acting sheriff again. Over.”
He didn’t respond to that. So he got the message loud and clear.
“Whoever killed Grayson wanted him dead and did the deed,” I said. “It’s over. I don’t even care who did it. Frankly, the dude was asking for it.” Oh, Fee. “Sorry, just wishing this hadn’t happened like it always seems to. Over.”
Crew’s chuckle actually made me feel better. “Sending Jill,” he said. “And the new intern. They’ll be with you in a half hour. Bill’s there with Moose? Over.”
I assured him he was. “We’re fine,” I said. “Just get the bridge fixed. Over.”
Priorities. Because the dead guy’s murderer could wait.
True to his word, as I hovered at the crossing getting colder and more miserable with the passing minutes, the whoop whoop whoop of a helicopter rotor echoed faintly, then more audibly, from the side of the mountain, until its bug-like shape drifted over the river and finally came to hover overhead. The narrow road barely allowed for a car to pass let alone a helicopter to land safely, and I didn’t envy the two figures who, strapped into harnesses and dangling from ropes, drifted down toward the ground while the chopper did its best to stay level and stationary.
Jill landed first, discarding her harness and helmet, coming to join me while the second figure had a harder time, falling to his knees and proceeding to throw up the contents of his stomach into the bushes. She eye rolled at me before hurrying to his side and freeing him from his own harness, giving the pilot the thumbs up once her companion was free. I shaded my eyes from the dust the chopper’s main rotor tossed around, watching it return to the other bank as Jill helped the shaking form beside her to his feet.
Barry Clements staggered to me, white as a sheet, hazel eyes bulging and whole narrow, lean body shaking. Dr. Aberstock’s new intern looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, though as he stared in utter terror at the retreating helicopter I realized that wasn’t true. Clearly he’d been bullied into something that terrified him and here was preferable to there.
“Never again,” he groaned before dry heaving over Jill’s boots. When he straightened to her pained expression of revulsion while she did her best to pat his back in supportive empathy, Barry wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand, brown hair sticking up at odd angles when he shoved his free one through his unruly curls. “Sorry,” he said. “Had to be a helicopter, didn’t it?”
By the time we returned to the main building, Barry was looking a bit better, though Mom took one glance his way and grasped his arm, dragging the twentysomething to the stairs.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Fleming,” he said, or tried to say.
“Ridiculous.” Mom cast a glance at me. “I’m putting him in your room, Fee. He needs to lie down before he can do anything.”
Barry didn’t argue further. I didn’t know him well, just yet. He’d only taking the intern job a couple of weeks ago and we’d had two or three interactions, mostly at Sammy’s, and he seemed nice enough. So whether he was really in a bad state or was the kind of person who caved under pressure I had no idea. Not that it mattered. We weren’t in a huge hurry, were we? The murderer wasn’t exactly going anywhere.
And neither were we.
***
Chapter Seventeen
Jill nabbed my elbow as I turned away, head down while she led me further from the others now gathered in the foyer. “Here.” She shoved a badge in my hands and I gaped at it, then at her, my mind for the moment unable to fathom what she was offering me and why. “Crew’s deputized you for the duration of our time trapped here.” He what? Jill didn’t s
ound totally happy with the situation, either. Huh, that was weird. She was usually on my side. Then again, she was the one running the show, wasn’t she? I nodded, tucking the badge into my pocket.
“I’ll follow your lead, Jill, whatever you need.” She seemed reassured, exhaling a breath it looked like she’d been holding and her smile, the familiar one I liked so much, returned.
“Thanks, Fee.” I didn’t know if Jill realized, but she tended to mimic Crew’s hands on hips, though maybe it was just a cop thing. “The sheriff is getting backgrounds on everyone right now, so it’s up to us to look into current events as much as we can while we wait for his insights.”
Could do. Except, of course, there were things she needed to know. Namely, my history with two of the guests. But, before I could disclose anything about Ryan and Eddie, Jill went on.
“Tell me what happened, and don’t leave out anything, even if you think it’s not important.” Jill flipped open a notebook and stood waiting, eyes intent, blonde pony over one wider-than-normal shoulder.
Okay then. Business it was.
I filled her in on the weekend so far, about Frieda’s arrival, her interactions with Eddie, Ryan’s unfortunate mishap with the boar, Grayson’s disappointment and drinking, his targeting Caleb for abuse. I even told her about the man’s attraction to Mom, about Bill’s reaction, though did my best to downplay both. Jill didn’t comment, just scratched notes while I went on, feeling like I’d somehow betrayed my mother and my friend when I knew for a fact neither of them were responsible for Grayson Gallinger’s death.
Sure I did.
Of course, this was the perfect time to bring up Eddie and Ryan, but I found myself hesitating to be as forthcoming with my own feelings as I had about Bill and Mom. Coward. Instead, I let the relationships slide with guilt at war over the choice. When I wound down to last night’s events, the morning light washing over the foyer floor reminding me this was my second day without a real night’s sleep to keep me going, I pondered and then spilled out the last of the information I had. The Blackstone connection, the empty folder on the coffee table next to the body. And, despite knowing it was nothing, my weird feelings of being watched that turned out to be badly placed mirrors.
Jill finally nodded, flipping closed her notebook with a deep sigh. “You’re so thorough,” she said. “Thanks, Fee.”
“I’ve had an unfortunate amount of experience,” I said, knowing I sounded a bit bitter though I tried for wry humor.
Jill patted my shoulder with one hand, smiling back in sympathetic sisterhood. “Honestly, aside from the sheriff, I wouldn’t want anyone else here with me.”
Wow, that was nice of her to say. “So now what?” I wanted her to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I was here for her, not the other way around. And from her reaction to my question, she appreciated it. Had to be awkward, right? If Crew was feeling pressure being sheriff in a town that loved my dad and me (still didn’t get that?), it had to be worse for Jill in a lot of ways. After all, she’d been overlooked as the obvious choice for acting sheriff when Crew was missing in action last August. Yes, he’d taken her with him to the conference in Montpelier, but when she’d arrived back in Reading it should have been a no brainer that she take over from my incompetent cousin, Robert. Instead, she’d been driven to nearly quitting thanks to his heavy handed brand of jerkishness and ineptitude. In fact, her exit was assured with Crew’s at this point. So, if I could at least give her a bit of support and show her I appreciated her in what could be her last days as a deputy in Reading? Well, what were friends for?
“This place has a weird history.” Jill kept her voice down, lips near my ear. “The family that built it were hard-core survivalists. Rumors are the reason it’s vacant?” She met my eyes. “They all went nuts and murdered each other.”
Holy, what? “Is it true?”
Jill shrugged, adjusting her gun belt, her puffy deputy jacket whispering around her. “I don’t know, Fee,” she said. “I wasn’t here when it happened. I was still in college at that time. I just know what I’ve heard. Thing is, the place has a bad rep anyway. Sorry.” She rubbed her face with one hand. “That was very unprofessional. I’m a bit on edge, off my game. It’s not like me to let rumors shake me.”
“You can’t believe this place is haunted.” I didn’t exactly scoff, though. After all, hadn’t I encountered who I believed might have been the ghost of a murdered young man just a year ago Halloween? Made me think about Alice Moore, the psychic who’d taken up residence with Denver Hatch, the grandson of murdered fake soothsayer Sadie whose death I’d witnessed. But was Jill seriously suggesting a ghost could have killed Grayson?
“No,” she said. “But who’s to say there weren’t survivors? And that this place doesn’t have skeletons that aren’t buried properly?” She shivered, shook her head. “Never mind, Fee. I’m sure there are enough reasons in the men around us for Gallinger to be murdered for me to even consider there might be a more sinister cause of his death.”
Jeeze, who knew Jill was such a believer in the creepy and totally implausibly weird? It was a side of her I’d never seen before and while I wasn’t about to judge her, still. You never really knew someone, did you?
Petunia pawed at my leg, whining softly and I grimaced my apology to the deputy. “Be right back?”
She nodded, returning her attention to her notes. I led the pug outside, happy for the escape into fresh air again, cold or not, shivering with the disturbing thought that I might be in some kind of horror movie after all. The pug snorted around, looking for the perfect place to do her business while I did my best to shake off Jill’s odd revelation.
I looked back at the building, wondering about the family despite myself. How long had this place stood vacant? Had murder and mayhem been part of its sad legacy? If so, did anyone survive of the family and, in true slasher film fashion, did any of them choose to hide out and live in the wilderness, to slink into obscurity in the dark and the woods and had come out only to do harm to those who chose to desecrate the home they once shared with those they murdered?
Sheesh. I needed to go to Hollywood. I’d get rich with story ideas like that one to sell.
I was surprised out of my daydreaming (or was that daymaring?) when Caleb emerged and drew a deep breath of his own, face tight in a frown. He seemed as startled to see me as I was him, though a smile did settle in place before he joined me on the grass. When he bent to scratch Petunia behind the ears, our bonding was complete.
If he liked my dog, he was okay in my book.
“How are you holding up?” He glanced up at me, concern in those dark brown eyes. He was younger than me, probably by five years or so, and boyfriend or not, he was easy to look at. Hmmm. Maybe I should suggest that Crew grow a bit of scruff. It was rather bad boy and all that. Ahem. Fiona. It was nice of him to express concern.
“All good,” I said, going for nonchalant. “Not the first time I’ve stumbled on a dead body.” Okay, that sounded way cooler in my head than it did out loud. In fact, now I just came across as creepy, didn’t I? Good thing I was in love with a cop, then, I guess. He didn’t mind creepy.
Caleb didn’t seem put off by my response, though. He straightened, towering over me though his lean body didn’t feel intimidating. “This is a mess,” he said. “There’s no way the retreat is going to fly now, is it?” Mournful puppy dog eyes anyone?
I shrugged. “This is Reading,” I said, flippant all over again. “The cutest town in America. We never let a little thing like murder get in our way.” I hesitated when he flashed me a smile. “Grayson was pretty hard on you.” Way to just sort of accuse him of murder, Fee.
Caleb’s face fell, his gaze dropping to Petunia. “I’m used to it,” he said before shaking his head, firm grin returning despite the hurt behind it. “I mean, I’ve been in hospitality forever.” Yeah, been there, done the barista hustle myself. “It’s just something you learn to tolerate while you climb the ranks.”
Then a
gain, my boss at the coffee shop had given us permission to ban customers who treated us badly—I still missed Martha Hill’s sharp wit and pink hair. She hadn’t expected us to put up with the kind of yuck Caleb tolerated. And I’d only seen part of it.
But was it enough to make the young man want to commit murder?
“Caleb!” That was Eddie again. I was getting tired of him yelling. Maybe if he’d been the one murdered, Caleb would be on my radar. Hey, I’d be on my radar. When he appeared at the door, he spotted me first, then my companion. What was that hesitation about? Did he think there was something going on between us? Whatever. Let him. Caleb was already moving, heading for his boss while I scowled at his retreating back.
Eddie led him inside, head down, the pair whispering, cutting me out of their oh-so-private conversation while my blood boiled just enough to warm me up despite the November chill. Yup, silver linings.
As I tugged on Petunia’s leash to encourage her to hurry up, irritation not dissipating in the least, my gaze caught a flurry of movement near the side of the building, closest to the kitchen access door. At the exact moment Jill descended the steps and headed toward me. I gestured with a hiss, spotting Frieda who froze at the sight of the two of us. I let Jill give chase, heart pounding, but when the older woman didn’t try to run my deputy friend slowed and stopped, hand reaching for her cuffs. I joined them at a more sedate pace, seeing the resignation on Frieda’s lined skin, the tension in Jill’s shoulders as she did her best deputy loom. Frieda was speaking when I joined them, her tone tense and angry.
“I don’t know anything about that.” She flickered her gaze to me, vibrating with temper. “I was camping out and when I heard the explosions I tried to leave. But I was too late. The bridge was out.”
“You weren’t snooping around the interior last night?” Jill hadn’t cuffed Frieda yet, but I knew it was a matter of moments before she made that move.