Easter Eggs and Shotgun Shells

by Madison Johns

  “You could have the sheriff check the credit union’s outside cameras to see if they are pointed to the parking lot,” Andrew suggested.

  “I knew there was a reason I married you,” I said. “Maybe you should help us with this case.”

  “Who would fill the plastic eggs because you two won’t have any time?”

  “Have I told you recently I love you?”

  Andrew walked me to his car and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll take you and Eleanor to the car dealer.”

  We followed Jimmy into the Chevy dealer, and Andrew left. Eleanor and I walked to the service area desk.

  “Hello.” I smiled at the receptionist. “I had my vehicle towed here a little while ago. I need my windshield replaced.”

  “Do you have a crack?”

  “No, the windshield was shot out,” Eleanor said.

  I threw Eleanor a look. “Really, Eleanor?”

  “I need a rental car unless you can fix the windshield today,” I said.

  “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” The blonde hurried into an office and returned with a man dressed in work pants and a shirt.

  “We don’t have any rental cars available,” he said with a smile.

  “Then hopefully you’ll be able to fix my windshield today,” I said.

  “I’ll have to order the windshield. We don’t keep them in stock.”

  “So how long are we talking here?”

  “Next Tuesday because of the holiday.”

  “Listen here,” Eleanor said. “We can’t be out of a car for that long.”

  “I don’t know what else I can do for you.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to rent us a car.”

  “I already told you—”

  “I wonder what people in town would think if they heard you’re refusing to rent us a car.”

  “Nothing when they find out why you need a rental car.”

  I pointed outside. “I don’t have a ride back home,” I exclaimed. “What do you expect us to do?”

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

  A serviceman wrote up our work order, and I turned at the sound of terrible racket. A blue car was trying to idle outside but spat and sputtered to keep running.

  The manager came back in. “You’ll want to let it warm up for another ten minutes, and you’ll be good to go.”

  I peered at the car through the window. “You have to be joking.”

  “It’s the only rental car we have.”

  “If we break down, you’re paying the wrecker bill,” I said as I stomped outside.

  Jimmy met us by the car and took his cap off and scratched his head. “This is the rental?”

  “Yes, apparently that’s all you get when you bring your car in for a blown-out windshield, especially when Eleanor told them it was shot out.”

  “Ouch,” Jimmy said, to which Eleanor shrugged.

  “I’ll tinker with it back at the shop if you want.”

  “I’ve seen better cars in the junkyard,” Eleanor said as she leaned against the car. The mirror fell off.

  Jimmy chuckled. “I have tools in the wrecker.”

  Jimmy brought out a toolbox and reattached the mirror. “I think you better follow me back to the shop. I need to make sure you’re not driving a death trap.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” I said. “We’ll call you if we break down.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “We’re sure.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “To pay Martha a visit.”

  “I’ll stay in town in case you need my help.”

  “You can come along,” Eleanor suggested. “I imagine you haven’t seen Martha in a while.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever met your daughter, Agnes,” Jimmy said. “But the wife told me she wears catsuits?”

  “Yes, she’s been known to do that, but Martha has a boyfriend now. He runs a charter boat business.”

  “You talking about Adam Hamilton?”

  “Yup, that him,” Eleanor said. “You’ve met him?”

  “Me and a buddy of mine went out on his charter boat to go fishing once, but not this time of year.”

  “He told us they’ve been catching walleye in the bay right now.”

  “I’d love to do a little fishing; the wife loves walleye. I’m heading over to get a bite to eat. Call me if you need anything.”

  I climbed behind the wheel of the car and sucked in a breath as I sank into the seat. “I feel like I’m in a lowrider.” I laughed.

  Eleanor gave me a look. “We’re just not used to a car seat this low is all.”

  I put the car into drive, and the exhaust backfired, nearly scaring me half to death. I hit the gas pedal and nearly had to bury it to the floor before the car would move.

  “You better make sure the brakes work,” Eleanor suggested.

  I pushed down on the brakes with a frown; they didn’t squeal, but I had to press hard before the brakes would engage.

  “It doesn’t have power brakes,” I complained.

  “Maybe we should call Jimmy back and ask him to install a new battery in my Cadillac.”

  “No, let the man enjoy his meal. It’s safer when people don’t know what car we’re driving.”

  “Not everyone, just the killer,” Eleanor said.

  “You’re right, but time isn’t on our side today.”

  “Where are we going besides to see Martha?”

  “If you’ll remember, the sheriff gave us permission to look for shotgun shell casings at Constance’s house.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “We could match the empty shells with the one the sheriff found near the hospital.”

  “Oh, I don’t recall Peterson telling us they found any spent shells.”

  “He must have just forgotten to tell us.”

  “We’ll have to stop by and ask him after we’re finished searching Constance’s property, but we’re off to Martha’s first.”

  I drove up US 23, but the car could barely get up to speed. Fortunately, the speed limit wasn’t that high in town.

  Two bicycles whizzed past us.

  “We were just passed by bicycles, and one of them had training wheels.” Eleanor laughed.

  “You could always get out and push the car so we get there faster,” I offered with a grin.

  “No need to, we’re coming up on our turn.”

  I made the turn in to the campground, and Martha walked out to the car.

  “Hello, Martha,” I said as I pulled myself out of the car.

  “Where did you get this heap of junk?”

  “Now that’s no way to talk about Eleanor,” I joked as I helped my friend out of the car.

  “It’s the only rental car the dealership would let us have,” Eleanor said. “I shouldn’t have told them how our car window got broken.”

  Martha’s hands slipped to her hips. “What are you talking about?”

  “Martha probably didn’t get the news,” Eleanor said.

  Martha’s eyes widened. “What news?”

  “Nothing serious. Someone shot at our car and took out my window instead of us.”

  Martha threw her arms around me. “Oh how awful.” She pulled away. “Are you both okay?”

  “Yes, only minor cuts,” I said with a wave of my arm. “Peterson doesn’t think the shooter wanted to kill us, just scare us, possibly off this case.”

  “That would certainly scare me,” Martha said. “Where did it happen?”

  “In the hospital parking lot.”

  “I hope nobody at the hospital was hurt. Sophia was working today.”

  “Nope, we were the targets,” Eleanor said. “Do you have any lemonade? I sure could use a drink.”

  “Come inside.”

  Eleanor and I followed Martha into the camper, and we sat at the small booth-type table. Martha pulled out a pitcher, a canister of powdered pink lemonade, a spoon, and made th
e lemonade.

  “I hope you have ice,” Eleanor said.

  “I do. How else am I supposed to make mixed drinks later?” She smiled. “So did you only come over to tell me about your windshield or something else?” Martha put ice in three glasses and poured the lemonade.

  “Something else,” I said as I accepted one of the glasses. “Has Bobbie Sue and Bonnie Sue come back to the campground?”

  “No, they packed up and left,” Martha said. “I was just getting used to their company.”

  “You must mean their help with making your jewelry.” Eleanor grinned.

  “That too.”

  “You verified the twins were here the day Constance was murdered and Misha was injured,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, they were helping me part of the day.”

  “You didn’t tell us that before,” Eleanor said.

  “I didn’t think it was that important,” Martha said. “Bobbie Sue and Bonnie Sue aren’t involved in Constance’s murder.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  “They don’t have a motive.”

  “Misha was staying at Constance’s house,” Eleanor offered.

  “Misha is old news.”

  “I don’t believe it for a minute. Bonnie Sue isn’t over him.”

  “We went to see Misha at the hospital,” I said, “after Peterson went out to look for the shooter.”

  “Was he able to answer any questions?”

  “Yes, but when we went outside to tell Peterson, he asked us why the cop guarding Misha’s room let us inside.”

  “But somehow a cop wasn’t posted to guard the room after Misha was moved from ICU to a floor,” Eleanor said.

  “Oh no!” Martha gasped.

  “Peterson raced inside and had to pull Bobbie Sue off Misha,” I said.

  “She was choking him,” Eleanor added. “And Bonnie Sue was there too.”

  “I can’t believe they’d do that,” Martha said as she sat next to me. “Did the sheriff arrest them?”

  “Yes, and he believes they’re the ones who killed Constance and injured Misha,” I said. “Which is why we’re here, to ask you if there was any time that day that the sisters weren’t here with you.”

  “They had the opportunity,” Martha said. “They left to go to lunch the day of the crime and didn’t come back until three hours later.”

  “Plenty of time to commit the crime, although I wouldn’t consider either of them capable of knocking Misha unconscious.”

  “Until we saw Bobbie Sue in action,” Eleanor said.

  Martha took a sip of her beverage. “Anyone could have knocked Misha out if they were ready for him to walk through the door,” Martha said. “So that’s it; they’re the killers?”

  “No,” I said. “We believe they were in the hospital when someone shot at us.”

  “And they wouldn’t have had time to get back in the hospital before it was locked down after the shooting,” Eleanor said.

  “So you came here to see how ironclad their alibi was the day of the murder.” Martha frowned.

  “Yes, and we’re back to square one again, but we have a few things we’d like to do before we head to the sheriff department.”

  “Bonnie Sue might have wanted to see how Misha was doing. She probably didn’t know her sister would attack him like she did.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Eleanor said. “We learned that, in the past, Bobbie Sue pushed Misha in front of a semi.”

  “Learned how?”

  “Misha is involved with a married woman,” I said. “She claimed Misha told her Bonnie Sue cheated on Misha before he did her.”

  “But Misha disputed that story,” Eleanor added.

  “Have you questioned the woman’s husband yet?”

  “I don’t think he knows his wife is cheating on him, and I’d hate to be the one to tell him.”

  “You don’t have much of a choice,” Martha said. “The sheriff will eventually question him anyway. He would have a reason to kill Misha.”

  “But not Constance,” Eleanor huffed. “Misha was only injured. It makes more sense that Misha would be the target for murder.”

  “I’m glad I’m not the one who has to make that decision,” Martha said.

  “I’m putting this off until we don’t have any more clues to follow.”

  “I suppose not. You don’t need another murder on your hands,” Martha said. “I hope it won’t be all business with you two. Don’t forget you have to fill eggs with candy.”

  “Andrew and Mr. Wilson are helping.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “I don’t suppose you could check up on them?” I asked.

  “I could do that since I don’t have any helpers to make jewelry now.”

  12

  Eleanor pulled down the crime scene tape, and I proceeded down the driveway and parked by the pole barn.

  Eleanor was breathing hard when she joined me at the car. “You could have given me a lift,” she huffed.

  “I’m sorry, I had my mind on other things. What if we don’t find any shotgun shells?” I asked.

  Eleanor frowned, causing a dimple to appear. “Look, this case doesn’t hinge on if we find the shotgun shells or not.”

  “We just have to, otherwise we won’t be able to match them to the shotgun shell found at the hospital when someone cracked a shot off at us.”

  Eleanor sighed. “Do you know something I don’t? Because we don’t even know if the sheriff found any shells at the hospital.”

  “We should have checked the field or ditch.”

  “How about we swing back there on the way to the sheriffs department?” Eleanor suggested. “I get dibs on checking the field.”

  I didn’t respond to Eleanor and instead led the way to the field, careful of where I walked. The crime scene was clearly marked, and I glanced to the edge of the trees to the back of the pole barn where a door was located. We figured Constance might have escaped through the door to run for her life.

  I searched the area where we found Constance’s body, but some weeds in the field had been tromped on by the cops. So instead I followed the marked pathway that led to the pole barn. I opened the door and walked inside, checking under the tool bench, shelves filled with canned tomatoes, beets, and salsa.

  “The cops would have checked there already,” Eleanor said.

  “You’re right. I’m sure Sheriff Peterson would have searched the pole barn, but cops miss things sometimes.”

  “True.” Eleanor gulped at the site of blood splatter.

  “So if Constance was shot here”—I pointed—“how was she able to get up off the floor and walk outside?”

  “It seems like a lot of blood,” Eleanor said.

  “Unless it’s not her blood,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m thinking out loud.”

  “There’s a trail of blood going out the door,” Eleanor said.

  “But not one going all the way to where we found her body. I can’t be the only one who noticed that.”

  “You didn’t notice it that day we found her body.”

  “I know, but I assumed she walked outside, but now I wonder if there is a third victim out there somewhere.”

  “You know what happens when you assume anything.” Eleanor wiggled her eyebrows. “How twisted of an affair do you think there was?”

  “I really couldn’t say, but we need to search the field. I wish we had brought your metal detector. It would have been much easier.”

  “That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “You’re right. We better get searching.”

  Eleanor and I walked back outside, and we followed the trail to where we found the body. “From the way her body was lying, she was either shot from the woods over there,” I said, “or the edge of her property behind us.” The edge of property bordered an empty lot where an abandoned house once stood until it burned down a few years a
go.

  “She didn’t look like she was shot in the back,” Eleanor said. “I believe we’ve seen enough bodies to know what a forward-facing shotgun wound looks like.”

  Eleanor and I walked to the woods, and I pointed out footprints in the damp soil. Pine trees encompassed this area for the most part, and while the impressions weren’t deep enough to cast, they were visible enough to be followed.

  I didn’t walk more than a few feet when I nearly ran into the legs of a tree stand attached to a sturdy maple.

  “I think I found something, Eleanor.”

  She came running back and looked up the ladder. “This is beginning to make sense,” Eleanor said.

  “Constance was shot by someone in the tree stand,” I said. I tested the ladder for sturdiness.

  “I hope you’re not thinking about climbing up that thing.”

  “It has a ladder.”

  “It doesn’t look sturdy. What if you fall?”

  “You call an ambulance.” I shrugged.

  “Shouldn’t we call Sheriff Peterson and tell him what we found?”

  “We don’t know what we found, not yet anyway.”

  “No, but you could smear any usable fingerprints.”

  “You’re right, but if I don’t go up there, we’ll never know if this tree stand was used by the killer.”

  “How can you possibly determine that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Eleanor said.

  Eleanor held the ladder as I carefully climbed it, despite feeling queasy. I held the top in a deathlike grip. I sucked in a breath when I saw the trajectory was perfect from the stand, with an absence of branches that would impede a gunshot. The top of the stand didn’t have any shells lying on it, but at the trunk of the tree, I spotted something shining in the sunlight.

  I climbed down faster than I went up, and I pulled out a plastic bag from my purse. I knelt and found a pink-and-purple empty shotgun casing slightly hidden beneath the grass at the base of the tree.

  I carefully put them in the bag without touching them with my hand, and I held up the bag like it was a trophy. “I found the shotgun shell casings,” I said as I dangled the bag in front of Eleanor’s face.

  “We should call the sheriff.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment interviewing the twins.”