by Emmy Grace
“How tall would you say that fence is, Lucky?” Liam asks, coming to stand beside me as I stare at the enclosure. He crosses his arms over his chest and his tone is totally innocent when he adds, “Two Fiats? Maybe a Suburban?”
This is his sarcastic way of referencing the fact that I measure short distances in car lengths. For whatever reason, he finds that amusing.
“Hey, I have an idea!” I say with exaggerated excitement and wide, innocent eyes. “How about you bite me before I rent a Fiat and run over you with it?”
One side of Liam’s tasty mouth twitches with humor. “No need for violence. I’d be happy to bite you. Just name the time and the place.”
Oh yowza!
Since things between Liam and me shifted toward the romantic, our interactions can turn sexy and heated in the blink of an eye. Or the pound of a heart.
My heart to be exact.
“Phew,” I breathe. “You gotta quit doing that.” One of his dark brows snaps up, making him even sexier. “That, too,” I say, jabbing a finger at his face.
“What’d I do that time?”
“That eyebrow thing.”
“What eyebrow thing?”
He looks genuinely confused.
“You raise one.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it bad. Maybe just distracting.”
“Distracting?”
“Yeah. Distracting. So, you gotta stop.”
“Does this mean you want a list of all the things you do that I find distracting?”
“Sure. If something I do bothers you, tell me and I’ll try to stop.”
His voice is low and velvety. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Dude,” I tell him with a lick of my suddenly dry lips. “You’re killing me.”
To this, he gives a short bark of laughter. “You’re such fun to tease.”
“Laugh it up, Bureau Boy. We’ll see if you still think it’s so funny when I turn the tables.”
I nod in determination.
“Is that a challenge?”
Again with the eyebrow. This time it’s coupled with a huge dose of masculine cockiness that is just plain devastating on Liam. Lord help my ovaries.
“I’m walking away from you right this minute. Don’t follow me unless you want our next sexy time to be a conjugal visit when I’m incarcerated for a murder I didn’t commit and couldn’t solve.”
“You’re not going to jail,” he says as I stalk off. I hear him add softly, “I’d skip the country with you before I’d let that happen.”
My heart flutters in my chest, but I don’t turn around. Damn that man! He sure does know how to turn me upside down and inside out.
But now’s not the time for either of those. I need to be level-headed and serious and focused. All of which are very difficult in the presence of a guy like Liam, especially when he’s taken a liking to you.
“How you gonna get in, Lucky?” Miss Haddy asks when I make my way back to the group.
I scan the front of the fence. “I guess climbing is out of the question,” I muse aloud as I take in the coils of nasty-looking barbed wire that sits atop the tall fence like metal marshmallow fluff on a dangerous cake.
I watch as Liam walks over to the fence gate, which boasts a pad lock the size of a softball. He takes it in his hand and twists the two pieces apart, pieces that should be locked together but were only sitting in alignment to make it look like it was locked. He tosses me a derisive glance.
“Have you learned nothing about this town yet?”
“Yes, but why even have a lock if you’re not going to lock it?”
“Kept you out, didn’t it?”
I ignore him as I march forward and fling open the gate. I search for anything that looks like it might’ve been used to electrocute someone. The problem is, I don’t have a clue what a power substation that hasn’t been tampered with looks like, so my basis for comparison includes a few movies and a short film in my fourth-grade science class.
“What you’ll be looking for is—” Liam stops midsentence and veers off to the right. He makes his way to one of the many dull metal box-like units. It has a yellow caution sticker on the door panel, but unlike the others, this one is ajar.
The closer I get, the more I can detect the faint scent of burnt hair. My nose wrinkles of its own accord.
“You okay?” Liam asks.
“Yeah. I just never wanted to know what fried human smelled like.”
“It’s definitely an aroma you’ll never forget.”
“Aroma? That makes it sound like potpourri.”
“Maybe at Hannibal Lecter’s house.”
I turn to fully face Liam. “Did you just make a movie reference? Now you’re speaking my language.”
He doesn’t answer me with words. What he does is roll his eyes, which is answer in and of itself. “This is where it happened. I’ll call Clive and get him to send Petey down here to try and get some prints off this door.”
“If the killer was capable enough to kill Gavin and then plant him behind my house and frame me, I seriously doubt he left prints.”
“You’re probably right, but look down.”
My eyes drop to my feet, and after a half-second delay, I notice the disruption of the gravel right below the box. “Signs of struggle.”
I spin in a circle, looking to see if the gravel has been disrupted in other places. Sure enough, there is a line of overturned gravel that looks darker than the rest leading in the opposite direction from where we entered. I follow it.
The trail goes around to a wide double gate hidden from view at the back of the fenced area. On the other side of it is a dirt path with clear tire tread leading away from the crime scene.
This gate has chain hanging loosely from one side of the fence. I assume it was wound around the two gate halves and locked at some point. Who knows how long ago it was checked? Or even locked at all?
I swing through the right half of the gate and step out into the area where a vehicle of some sort was waiting to take Gavin’s crispy dead body to the quarry behind my house.
The path appears to be dirt at first blush, but it feels different under my feet. It shifts and moves almost like hard-packed sand. Or some sort of finely crushed rock.
Liam follows me out, bending down to get a better look at the tread. “What do you bet these belong to a Chevelle?”
“You think the killer hauled Gavin’s corpse in his own car?”
“What better way to make sure his DNA is supposed to be present?”
My mouth rounds into an O. “That’s kinda brilliant. In a diabolical, evil genius way.” My expression falls into one of dismay. “But if he’s that smart, he probably has an excuse for any other recoverable evidence, too.”
“He might think he does, but what I learned in my years with the bureau is that you can’t hide from forensics. Even the smart ones leave a trail. However small, there is something.”
That makes me feel a little better, which helps me to give my bootstraps a nice, sharp tug. “And we are just the two people to find it,” I say with a definitive nod.
“That we are,” he agrees with a slight quirk of his lips.
Liam takes some pictures of the tire tread and then taps out something on his phone. When he’s finished, he turns to me. “I just sent the tread to an old contact of mine. Maybe we’ll hear something by the end of the day.”
“That would be nice.”
“I’ll text Clive, too.”
As Liam types out another message, I glance around the area again. That’s when I notice some odd holes in the ground that follow the drag marks and tire tread to a certain point and then disappear. I walk over to get a closer look, squatting down to dip a finger into one.
I’m pondering whether the holes are significant and what would make them when Liam finds his way to me again. He drops to one knee beside me.
“Maybe a heel imprint?�
�� he suggests.
“You think that’s what these could be?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe. Could be something else, but a heel would make sense, considering.”
My heart stutters. “A heel, like a stiletto?”
“Maybe.”
An image pops into my head. An angry woman lurching out of a car and scrambling over to my ex’s mother as she lay on the ground beside Regina’s car. I noticed her shoes. Regina even commented on how weird it was that I of all people, that I, Lucky Boucher the owner of mostly sneakers, would notice a woman’s shoes. And yet I did.
Divine intervention?
Maybe.
But what I know for sure is that Gavin’s fiancée’s shoes had high heels. High, narrow heels. High, narrow heels that would probably make tiny holes in the dirt, especially if she were dragging extra weight.
Sweet Mary!
What if Crazy Eyes killed Gavin?
11
“What is it?” Liam asks, his eyes narrowing on mine.
I forget how I am completely unable to control my expression. If ever there was an open book, I’m probably it. Whether I intend to be or not.
“I was just thinking that maybe the person who killed here actually rode here with him, which would mean that Gavin’s killer knew him well. And he knew her well.”
“Her?”
I nod. “Crazy Eyes.”
“Who’s Crazy Eyes?”
“Gavin’s fiancée.”
“You think these are her heel prints?”
“There’s probably a good chance. This morning she was wearing boots with wicked high heels.”
“Wicked high heels?” Liam asks with teasing derision. “What, you’re a New England-er now?”
“You got a problem with that?” I ask in my best Robert DeNiro impression.
Liam rolls his eyes and offers me his hand as he stands. “Come on, Bobby D. Let’s go talk to the fiancée before you ruin any more great actors.”
I take his hand and let him lead me back to the group. “Don’t be coy. You loved it and you know it.”
I hear a soft snort and I know that’s the only answer I’ll get. I grin anyway. Liam’s fun to tease, too.
My “support system” is standing in a cluster at the back of the hearse, right where they were when I left them. So much for a crime fighting team. Sleuths, they are not.
Miss Haddy is telling a story, which is ending with the words, “And that’s how he died with his hand in his pants.”
Regina looks bored, Momma Leona and Beebee look like they both just heard a dirty joke, and both Malcolm and Snuffleupagus are leaned up against the car, half asleep.
“Do I even want to know the rest of that story?” I ask when we stop at the edge of their sloppy circle.
“Pro’bly not, sugar,” Miss Haddy admits with a wink. “What did you find? Anything?”
“I think so. At least we have a direction to look in now.”
I tell them about the panel door, the drag marks, the tread, and the holes in the dirt.
“Oh, oh, oh! It’s Crazy Eyes!” Regina blurts as she raises her hand.
“What’s with the hand?” I ask her.
She pauses and then slowly lowers it. “Oh. Sorry. I just got excited. There for a second, I was back in Mrs. Hinkle’s class in the fifth grade.”
“You always were a suck-up.”
“I was not. I just liked history.”
“Yeah, history like how you used to kiss her butt fourscore and seven years ago.”
“You don’t even know what that was from,” she sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Of course, I do. It was the Pittsburgh Address.”
“Or maybe the Gettysburg Address?”
“Potato, po-tah-to,” I say with a wave of my hand.
“It’s tomato, to-mah-to, you dork,” she corrects with a snigger.
“Whatever, whatever,” I say with exasperation. “The main thing is, we have a suspect. Now we just need to find out where she’s staying and get into her room to check her shoes.”
Regina’s hand spikes up again. “Oh, oh, oh! I know how! I know!”
“I’m gonna start calling you ‘Horshack’ if you don’t stop raising your hand.”
“Bah,” she grumbles, dropping her arm again. “But I really do know how we could get to her shoes.”
“Okay. Lay it on me.”
“We get some of my new shoes and pose as shoe salespeople.”
I nod, tapping my chin with my finger. “I see where you’re going with this. Right. Right. Only one problem with it.”
Regina’s forehead crinkles in consternation. “What?”
“Everything. Did you forget that she’s seen both of us?”
“Oh. That’s true.”
“And that we don’t know where she’s staying?”
“That’s true, too.”
“And that traveling shoe salesmen haven’t been a thing in like forty years?”
Regina’s bottom lip pushes out into a pout. “You’re much meaner than Mrs. Hinkle. Or Mr. Kotter.”
That makes me feel bad, so I walk to her and take her hands in mine. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I’m just a little out of sorts over this.”
“I know. That’s why I’m cutting you some slack,” she says with a tolerant smile.
“And that’s why you’re the best friend in the world.”
“Kiss and make up and get it over with. We’ve got things to do,” Liam grouches from behind us.
I swivel my head toward him and stick out my tongue. “You’re just jealous, but you’ll have to wait your turn.”
He mumbles something and I grin at Regina. “You know what? I love the shoe idea. Felonious offered to help. She should be able to find out where they’re staying.”
“You shouldn’t need her for that. If they’re staying in Salty Springs, there’s only one place they could be.”
The inn.
“Assuming they’re staying here in this town.”
“It’s a good place to start, though, right?”
My smile widens. “Yes, it is. It’s very logical and thank you for keeping me straight.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
“But I never keep you straight.”
“No, but you make life exciting. I mean, without you, I might not wake up every day and feel grateful that I’m not in jail. Technically, I should be thanking you.”
I grin and shrug in modesty. “Ah, shucks. It’s nothing.”
“So, let’s take our combined superpowers to my house, pick up some tasty shoes and see if Paul will let us set up a little Christmas sale in the lobby.”
“You’d risk seeing Paul again? For me?”
My heart melts. Regina is the best best friend a girl could ask for.
“Of course. Then you can take the blame for why I can’t see him anymore.”
“Why? What did I do?”
“I don’t know, but you have about a half hour to figure it out.”
I nod.
“This is your plan? Shoes?” Liam asks. One side of his mouth is lifted in a slight sneer.
“It might be girly, but it’ll work. Just you wait, ‘Enry ‘Iggins.”
“Got another one in. Nice,” Regina says, holding up her hand for a high five. I smack it. “Any day that includes a My Fair Lady reference is a good day.”
“True story,” I concur. I glance around at the others in our group. They’ve all looked on quietly. “Any questions?”
“I hope it works,” Momma Leona says.
“Me, too,” Miss Haddy says.
“I was out at the word ‘shoes’,” mumbles Mrs. Stephanopoulos.
“I think it’s ludicrous, but what do I know?” Liam starts waving us all back into the hearse. “Let’s just get this ride over with.”
“Um, Mrs. S, wouldn’t you rather drive? Or ride up front with Malcolm?”
She hobbles toward the rear of the hearse. “I was bann
ed from the front of this thing a long time ago.”
Lucky front.
I think that, but I don’t say it.
We all pile in. By the time we arrive back at my house, I am pretty sure that every single one of us have vowed never to ride in an enclosed space with my landlady again.
Not ever.
When we all get out and Mrs. S. has left to go back into her own house and Miss Haddy and Malcolm have driven away in their gaseous death trap, the five remaining victims stand in a semi-circle, silently assessing our condition.
“I say we all take a shower and meet at the inn in an hour,” suggests Liam, to which we all agree.
Everyone goes their separate ways without another word. I know our time spent in the back of the hearse will be something we won’t speak of again. It was that disgusting.
An hour later, Regina and I are hauling a trash bag full of shoes out her front door.
“Hurry up,” I tell her as she tries to support the other end of the stuffed bag.
“You’re dragging the bag,” she defends.
“So? It’s a trash bag. I’m sure it won’t file a complaint.”
“No, but my shoes might. If we plan to lure anyone other than a hobo to the lobby with these, you’d better take it easy.”
I stop to give her a wry look. “Regina. They’re in a trash bag, not being dragged behind a truck full of manure. And even if they were, your shoes would still be worth more than most of my wardrobe. Combined.”
“A Christian Louboutin with a scratch is garbage. If you had ovaries, you’d know that.”
“Hey, just because I don’t give a flying flip about fancy shoes doesn’t mean I had to turn in my girl card. My ovaries work just fine, thank you very much. If you doubt it, ask Liam.”
I take a half a second to let my mind wander to the man in question.
“Did you just swoon?”
“Maybe.”
“You did!”
“I can’t help it. And don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing if you were dating him. You’re the one who named him Tasty Cakes.”
“I don’t deny it, but this isn’t very…you.”
“Maybe it’s the new me.”