by Liliana Hart
“Go for it,” Coil said.
Agatha stepped up to touch the skin in the crook of his neck. “He’s not cold. He can’t have been dead too long. How far out is the medical examiner?”
“On the way,” Coil said. “Stuck in traffic. While you’re down there why don’t you get a better look at where the blood is coming from.”
Agatha turned the victim’s head and saw the blood matted at the base of the skull. “Some kind of blunt-force trauma.”
“Could be anything from a baseball bat to him tripping over his own two feet and cracking his head open,” Hank said.
“Hey boss?” Sergeant Springer called out from a far corner of the room. “You might want to take a look at this.”
“What’d you find?” Coil asked.
“A bloody rolling pin.”
“And that just made things a lot more interesting,” Hank said, and then he blew out a breath. “I’m sick and tired of murder being a big part of everything we do.”
Agatha didn’t press into him. She knew the only reason Hank ever came to Rusty Gun was to get away from all of the violence in his job as a FBI-trained serial killer investigator. His job was murder, and although Agatha had first met Hank over his help in solving a cold-case homicide years back, she would’ve never imagined killings would’ve become so commonplace in their relationship.
She saw the fatigue in his eyes and knew he was growing weary of working these cases. The last thing she wanted to do was run him away from Rusty Gun. She knew he loved her, but his natural instinct was self-preservation. Men like Hammerin’ Hank didn’t do well as the victim.
“You want to head out of here?” she asked, taking his hand. “Coil’s got this covered, and it’s a great day to ride your motorcycle. We can head home. We don’t need to stay overnight.”
Hank squeezed her hand and the look in his eyes was thankful, but determined. She never imagined that she’d love someone like she loved him, and she found she’d do anything to make the pain in his eyes go away.
“I’d love to,” he said.
“But you won’t,” Agatha said.
He shook his head. “No, I won’t. I have an obligation to the dead.”
Chapter Three
Hank was having trouble compartmentalizing his thoughts. They were in the same ballroom they’d be having their wedding in a couple of months from now, and the problem wasn’t that there was a dead body right in the middle of what would probably be a dance floor. The problem was who from his family would be in this room, and how were they all going to deal with it.
“Hey, boss,” Springer said, coming up to stand next to him. “Haven’t seen you since Coil’s swearing-in ceremony.”
Springer was a newly promoted sergeant with the Bell County Sheriff’s Office. His pale complexion and shock of bright red hair always made him easy to spot at any event or darkened crime scene corner.
Hank massaged the back of his aching neck. He’d purposefully avoided the sheriff’s office after Reggie was reelected to his post. Hank’s term as an interim sheriff wasn’t what he’d expected, but it did expose corruption, clear his best friend’s name, and make him realize he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Agatha. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t such a bad stint.
“I already got pics of the rolling pin,” Springer said. “So it’s yours if you want to bag it. I guess the killer tossed it on the way out.”
Hank stared at the wooden rolling pin covered with blood. He wasn’t much into cooking, but it didn’t look like any rolling pin he’d ever seen before. There weren’t the defined handles on each end, and it wasn’t smooth in the middle. This chunk of wood was fat around the middle and tapered outward toward the ends.
“You sure this is a rolling pin?” Hank asked
Springer shrugged. “Heck if I know. That’s what it looked like to me.”
“That’s a French-style rolling pin,” Agatha said as she came up beside him. “The French style doesn’t have handles.”
“How do you use it without handles?” Hank asked.
Agatha extended her arms and demonstrated. “It’s all in the pressure you place on the pin. You’re not grinding across the dough. Without handles, you’re more in touch with what you’re doing because it’s all guided by your hands and how much pressure you place. It’s like driving a sports car as compared to a pickup truck.”
“Wow, you’ve got a lot of information in that brain of yours,” Springer said.
“No kidding,” Hank said. “When do I get to see this side of you? I’ve never actually seen you in the kitchen unless you’re making a cup of tea.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes and said, “It goes to show that you know very little about me.”
“What?” Hank asked. “How can I know what I don’t see? “
“Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll give you a demonstration,” Agatha said, batting her eyelashes.
“Is this one of those moments where I should walk away?” Springer asked awkwardly.
“Probably,” Hank said. “But we’ve got a murder to solve, so you’re safe for now. We can bag the rolling pin and see if the medical examiner can match it to the wound on the back of the victim’s head.”
“You have that skeptical tone in your voice,” Agatha said. “What’s up?”
“Why would the killer leave the murder weapon in this corner?” Hank asked. “It’s not even close to an exit, so it wouldn’t have been an accessible place on his way out.”
“Good point,” Agatha said, “but why would the killer leave the murder weapon by one of the doors and chance getting caught with it? Though I’m not sure why the killer wouldn’t try to conceal it and get it out of the room so it could be disposed of. No murder weapon leaves us all in a fix. That would be the smart thing to do.”
“Maybe it wasn’t planned,” Hank said. “Maybe it was a crime of passion instead of planned. A normal person wouldn’t be thinking straight. They’d just want to get out as fast as they could.”
“Maybe he threw it over here as he was running out,” Agatha said.
“He?” Hank asked. “Isn’t that presumptuous?”
“They,” Agatha said. “It. A person. Someone. The killer. Whoever.” She threw her hands up in surrender.
“Okay,” Hank said. “Now that we’ve climbed out of the box that could’ve limited the investigative process, let’s look at the next thing that you said. That they threw it over here.”
Springer let loose a whistle between his teeth. “That’d be a long toss, boss.”
“It would,” Hank said. “And with as much blood as is on that rolling pin you’d have blood spatter all over this room. Not to mention there’d be a pretty good-sized dent in the wall or a chunk out of that fancy wood floor.”
They all began to examine the walls and the room, looking for minute traces of spatter or dents. But there was nothing.
“So whoever placed this pin here did it deliberately. If this is the murder weapon, the killer bashed the victim in the back of the head, then walked all the way over here and casually put down the rolling pin. And then they walked all the way to the other side of the ballroom to leave.” He blew out a breath of frustration. “Not much more we can do about it now.”
“Hank,” Agatha said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just out of it today. My mind is on the wedding, And the stuff that goes along with the wedding. Like family.”
“Have you changed your mind?” she asked.
Hank quickly reached out and took her by the shoulders. “Of course not,” he said. “I love you and can’t wait to marry you. I’ve just changed my mind about who I want to invite.”
“Your family?”
“Yes. I’ve thought it over, and I think it’s for the best. I don’t want to deal with the drama. Especially not during a time where you and I should be able to celebrate our marriage.”
“But, it’s family,” she said. He knew she was confused, but he just didn’t want
to get into it right now.
“Look,” he said, realizing he had to tell her something. He rarely talked about his family, but he also knew Agatha. If he didn’t open up and give some kind of concession she’d dig until she figured it out for herself. “If you really want to meet them, we can visit everyone after we’re married.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, and then grinned at her. “By then we’ll be married and it’ll be too late for you to change your mind.”
“Deal,” she said. “Now let’s get back to work.”
Hank waved James over to recover the rolling pin. “Make sure to process that stick for prints,” Hank said. “I can make out some partials in the blood. Maybe we’ll get an easy match.”
“Will do. If I lift anything, I’ll run them through AFIS.”
“Thanks,” Hank said to the deputy. “Let us know what you find.”
“It’s not a stick,” Agatha called out, laughing. “I’m going to whack you with a stick and then a rolling pin so you can feel the difference.”
“Man, you sure take your cooking tools seriously,” Hank said. “And I’ll just take your word for it as far as what it feels like to be whacked with one. I’d like to get through this without bruises. I think the wedding is making us crazy people.”
“I guess I’m being silly about it,” she confessed. “My mom was a pastry chef before and until I came along. She quit to stay home with me, and she passed on the love of baking to me. It was so much fun growing up in a household with loving parents. My mom and I would make such a mess together in the kitchen. Flour everywhere.” She stopped and laughed at the memory, but he could still see the pain of loss in her eyes. “After she died, I didn’t have the heart to keep it up. Which is why you’ve never seen me in the kitchen cooking.”
Hank leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. “Remember the good times. And maybe we can start to make our own in the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind being a taste-tester for all your French rolling pin confections. Just out of curiosity, is there an American style?”
“Actually, there is. The American one uses a ball bearing with handles on each end. It’s more of a ploughing over the dough. It’s not as refined as the French.”
“Interesting,” Hank said. “I guess I should have a greater appreciation for the culinary arts.”
“Most of the time it’s also a matter of being practical. The tapered French style is preferred by people with smaller hands. It’s easier to grip and control than the big handles,” Agatha said. “And now we can add murder weapon to the list of uses.”
Satisfied that there were no more clues to be discovered, they walked back to the body. Coil had just finished talking with the medical examiner, and Lieutenant Maria Rodriguez was carefully checking the victim’s pockets to remove anything that might lead to the killer.
“Bingo,” Rodriguez said, holding up a cell phone. She moved out of the way so the medical examiner could get closer to the body and came over to where they were standing. “It doesn’t have a code. It’s unlocked.”
“That’s going to save us some time,” Coil said, opening an evidence bag so she could drop it inside. “Stay with the body during the autopsy and call me once we know the cause of death.”
“That rolling pin seems to be a pretty good indicator,” Rodriguez said.
“I didn’t mention what we’d found to the ME,” Coil said. “Keep it under your hat. I want to see what he comes up with first.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” Rodriguez said. The ME’s team brought in the gurney and loaded up the victim, and then Rodrigues followed them as they rolled him out the door.
“Do we need a warrant before we can go through the cell phone?” Agatha asked.
“Nope,” Hank said. “It’s called inevitable discovery, and it’s an exception to the search warrant rule. Since we’re in an active hunt for the killer, we can search the phone because it’s information we would see later had we waited for a warrant.”
“Good to know,” she said. “Because with as much drama as there was on the show, I can only imagine the drama that’s on his cell phone. He was a magnet for trouble.”
Hank grunted. “Looks like it got him killed.”
Chapter Four
Agatha dug into her pocket for the scrap of paper with Martha’s cell phone number. The manager had set her and Hank up in an executive office suite so they could work the investigation from the hotel.
Agatha quickly scarfed down a couple of the little sandwiches Hank had confiscated from the buffet. Neither of them had gotten a chance to eat with everything going on, and she was starving. She drank some water to wash down the sandwiches and then dialed Martha’s number.
“Think she’ll pick up?” Hank asked, taking a bite of his own sandwich.
Agatha shrugged and then she motioned to Hank when someone answered. She quickly put the phone on speaker so Hank could hear.
“Martha?” Agatha said. “This is Agatha Harley.”
“Who?”
“A.C. Riddle,” Agatha corrected, rolling her eyes.
“Oh, of course,” she said. “I’m ready to be interviewed. This has been quite traumatic for me. I hope whoever interrogates me is handsome. It’ll be just like the movies.”
“We just want to question you,” Agatha said. “There’s no need to break out the rubber hoses. Can you please meet us in the Stampede Suite on the first floor?”
“Sure,” she said. “Hang tight.”
Coil had left Rowdy’s phone with them, and Hank moved it from under the stack of napkins and then slid it out of the plastic evidence bag.
“I’m going to save us some time here,” Agatha said, taking the phone before he could start scrolling. “You have no idea where the juicy stuff would be on a smartphone. I’m surprised you still don’t have a beeper.”
“Hey, I loved my beeper,” Hank said. “Back in the day I had two of them. A phone is for making phone calls. Or playing solitaire. All this other junk is just a waste of time.”
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “Bless your heart. It’s a good thing I love you.”
Agatha swiped the screen until she found what she was looking for—a treasure trove of text messages. There was no name. Only a number.
“What’d ya find?” Hank asked, leaning over.
“Looks like he had an enemy. And they weren’t even pretending to be civil. These are fightin’ words.”
“What’s the deal?” Hank asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, continuing to scroll and read. “Whoever wrote this called Rowdy a thief. And they demanded he pay the money he owes.”
“What’s he owe for?” Hank asked.
“It doesn’t say. But Rowdy’s response was not something that could be said in polite company. And he said he’s got no proof and that if he tries to come after him he’ll take action.”
“What type of action?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know,” Agatha said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m reading to you what I see on the screen.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “Just asking.”
“I’m scrolling through months of messages and threats,” she said. “But I’m not seeing specifics on what Rowdy stole.”
“Allegedly stole,” Hank clarified.
“When did you become so politically correct?”
“During my time as sheriff,” he said. “It was the longest four weeks of my life.”
Agatha laughed. “I know. You’ve got a whole lot more gray hair than when you started. But whatever Rowdy and this person are arguing about, neither one was willing to back down. It kind of sounds like Rowdy took something that once belonged to this other person’s family.”
“Like an heirloom?”
“I don’t know,” Agatha said. “But the guy promised revenge. I bet we can get Springer to do a reverse subscriber search on this cell number and then we’ll have a name to go with all these threats.”
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“Or we could just call the number,” Hank said, winking.
“Very funny,” Agatha said.
There was a knock at the door, and Martha stuck her perfectly styled head inside. She didn’t look any worse for the wear after her fainting episode earlier.
“Yoo-hoo,” Martha said. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” Agatha called out. “We were just finishing up our lunch and going through some of the evidence.”
“Is that Rowdy’s phone?” Martha asked, eyeing the cell phone Hank had put back inside the evidence bag. “I recognize his phone cover. It’s just terrible what happened to Rowdy. He was such a troubled man.”
Martha had changed outfits and touched up her makeup. She was camera ready. She wore a Pepto-Bismol-pink pantsuit and she carried a matching handbag. It was so bright it was hard to look at.
“We appreciate you coming so quickly,” Hank said.
“It’s the least I can do,” Martha said, taking a seat across from them and crossing her legs. “I was there with y’all when Rowdy was discovered after all. I feel like I’m part of the investigative team.”
“Oh?” Hank asked.
Martha beamed at them, and Agatha had a sinking feeling in her gut. “I’ve been busy doing my own investigation since we parted. I’m an insider, and I can get information you guys can’t. I’ve been doing my part by talking to the fans. I’m asking anyone with information about this murder to contact me through my website. I’ve instructed my social media director to publish a landing page. Maybe the killer will contact me. I mean us.”
“A landing page?” Agatha asked, incredulous. “You have no right to interfere in a homicide investigation.”
“Oh,” Martha said, eyes gleaming. “So it’s a homicide?”
“It’s always a homicide until the medical examiner tells us differently,” Hank said. “But I can promise you don’t want to get on the wrong side of law enforcement on this. If you interfere in the investigation you’ll find yourself in big trouble. Celebrity or not.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Martha said, the Southern belle disappearing in a heartbeat. “I’ll have an army of attorneys on top of you so fast that you’ll never see your wedding day. You hear me?”