Murder at Chipmunk Lake

by Mary Hughes

  I snorted. “Then you shouldn’t have killed him.”

  I’d heard what Julian had. The police cruiser was coming. “A baby shouldn’t grow up without a mother either, but you’re going to prison. Had you thought of that?”

  She swung her head to me, her face morphing from Good Gollum to Crazy Gollum. Her voice dripped hate when she said, “I’m not going to prison.”

  “After I tell Parker what you admitted? He’s good. He’ll find evidence that you killed Caldwell.”

  “You cowardly b*tch. You’re not going to say a word. Do you know why?”

  I flinched. She knew. She knew Caldwell had threatened me and I’d been a hair from caving.

  She caught my flinch and grinned like a shark scenting blood.

  I stoked what remained of Brash Nixie and asked, “Why?”

  The police cruiser bounced along the rutted driveway toward us. We both ignored it, locked in combat.

  Her eyes gleamed. “You think there’s no Internet in prison? I will crush you. You and your band. Slam you so hard none of you will ever get another gig.”

  “So?” I croaked it.

  “Can you live with yourself?” She laughed. “The bitch that ruined the band. I’ll slash your band like I slashed Melly’s throat and it’ll be your fault. If you ever want Guns and Polkas to play again, you’d better shut your fucking piehole.”

  I shielded my belly with both hands. Not my fault. She was insane.

  Wasn’t she?

  The cruiser stopped behind our car. The door opened. Parker rolled out.

  She gave a big fake grin as she turned and waved.

  I tried to do the right thing. I opened my mouth.

  No words came out.

  She laughed.

  I swallowed hard. Maybe she was right. If I spoke up, she’d make my life hell. Worse, she’d kill the band—and though it wouldn’t be my fault, it would be my doing, and I didn’t know if I could live with that.

  If I didn’t give her up then…well, nothing, really. Julian was in the clear, and both Suelle and Bessy had more motive than me. Eventually the evidence might even convict her anyway.

  Then Julian gave me a look that I read loud and clear. Letting her go is the wrong thing to do—but I’d understand and support you if you do it.

  I loved him a little more right then. A good friend stands up to an enemy for you. A great friend helps you hide the body.

  Julian would help me no matter what.

  Then I realized that this must have been his hunch. This was why he’d wanted to get here before Parker. He’d worked out what kind of person Suelle was. That she might threaten the band. That I might need to keep her confession secret.

  The obvious choice was to keep my trap shut.

  But it wasn’t the right choice. It wasn’t the courageous choice.

  It wasn’t the Nixie choice.

  “Deputy Parker.” I pointed at Suelle.

  She stabbed me with eyes that burned hate.

  I hesitated. But being cautious for the kid, choosing Mom Nixie before Brash Nixie, was one thing. This wasn’t for the kid’s sake, this was about the band—and about letting a murderer go free.

  “This woman is the killer. She told us Caldwell wouldn’t marry her so she slashed him with a carving knife.”

  If her gaze had been knives, she would have disemboweled me.

  But it wasn’t. She didn’t. She might try to badmouth the band, but if we were truly made of awesome, one insane woman’s rants wouldn’t smash us.

  If she tried, we’d fight back.

  With a final glare at me, she turned to the deputy. “She’s lying. Melly was my baby’s daddy. I’d never kill him.” She batted her eyes, the picture of innocent, falsely maligned motherhood.

  “Suelle?” Parker paused.

  For a breathless moment I thought she’d get away with it.

  Then he narrowed his quick black eyes, cop gaze cutting. “Suelle, I need you to come along with me, to answer some questions with regards to Melvin Caldwell.”

  Julian and I were having drinks at a table with Bessy and Bruce at the Thunder Tap.

  Bruce was staring at Bessy with calf eyes.

  I sipped my lemonade. “So then Parker slapped the cuffs on her and took her away.”

  “Without evidence?” Bruce didn’t stop staring at Bessy. She glanced at him and blushed becomingly.

  “There’s the DNA under Caldwell’s fingernails,” Julian said. “It’ll match Suelle’s. And though she got rid of the knife, that neck wound would have sprayed. They’ll find blood evidence in the dining area.”

  “They also found her accomplice,” I said. “She needed help to bag and dump the body. An ex-boyfriend who wanted back in but has since decided the price is too high cut a deal in return for testifying against her. He told the police they used Caldwell’s car to move the body, told where she’d ditched the car and everything.”

  “How the feck did you hear that?” Bessy drained her beer. “Not even the local gossip mill knows that.”

  I exchanged a telling look with my husband. Supernatural hearing, coupled with punk curiosity, could find out all sorts of things.

  Like what was going on with Bruce and Bessy. Craftily, I said, “So what’s with you two?”

  “What?” Bessy was reaching for the pitcher.

  Bruce’s hand blurred and he got it first and poured for her. She smiled at him. His chest jutted and he looked like he could take on the world.

  I remembered that in the cabin, just before we’d gone to interrogate her, Bruce had started to ask what Bessy had to do with the murder, but then Julian had distracted us both by accusing him of being a rogue.

  “You and Bruce. Have you guys met before?”

  “We knew each other in school,” she admitted.

  “We were sweethearts,” Bruce corrected. Even a day in Julian’s company had helped him gain in confidence.

  She blushed again, prettily. “I’m sorry. I must have hurt you when I broke it off to marry Caldwell. I was an ass. And I…I missed you.”

  “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m glad.” Her hand snuck into his. It looked like she wasn’t going to let him slip away again.

  While they stared into each other’s eyes, so gooey it made me want to shoot myself, her cell phone rang.

  She grabbed it with her free hand and eyed the readout. “It’s Suelle.”

  “You’d better take it,” Julian said. “It may be her one phone call.”

  “Feck. All right.” She connected. “What do you want? Oh. How much is bail?” A beat. “How much?” She drew a breath and pressed it out. “Fine, I’ll find the money somehow.” A pause, while her face went red. “That money is for my children…how dare you? Yeah, well, if he wanted you to have it, he’d have married you. If I’d known, all the times you bitched about your lover, who the fecker was…yeah, well back at you.” She disconnected with a huff. “Bitch. She was having an affair with Caldwell all along! Even during our marriage. My ‘best’ friend.”

  Bruce briefly rubbed her arm. “She wanted you to pay her bail out of the life insurance money?”

  “Yeah.” Bessy rolled her eyes. “I kinda feel sorry for her. I told her that her lover was a jerk for not committing, but if I’d known it was Caldwell I would’ve told her to kick his cojones to the moon.”

  “I would have stood in line to see that,” Julian said.

  “I would’ve helped,” I said.

  Bruce just smiled.

  The tavern door opened. Olyeo marched in.

  Bruce’s smile faded. “A-hole.” Again he said the real word. “I wonder what he wants.”

  Julian said, “We’re about to find out.”

  Olyeo propped himself on the rungs of a barstool, making himself a few feet taller. He spoke to the room in a loud, ringing voice. “Folks, you know me as an honest and hardworking police commissioner, but tonight you’ll also know me as a good friend. I’m running for mayor.
And to celebrate my announcement, I want you all to enjoy a round on me!”

  A cheer went up, though not from Bruce and Bessy.

  As the bartender poured beers, Olyeo jumped down from the stool and glad-handed around the room, foisting off several buttons and bumper stickers.

  “That was nice of him,” I said doubtfully. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Watch,” Bruce said.

  Sure enough, the moment the bartender poured the last beer and came out from behind the bar to collect payment, Olyeo slipped out the door.

  “He was a backstabber and a cheat in school.” Bruce shook his head. “He’s a bigger one now. I shudder to think what he’ll do as mayor.”

  “Unless the fecker doesn’t win,” Bessy said. “Why don’t you run?”

  “Me?” He blinked. “But I can’t—”

  “You could,” Julian said. “With proper precautions.” He took out a business card, wrote something on the back and passed it to the baby vamp. “That’s my cell phone number. Give me a call and we’ll discuss it.”

  “Me. Mayor. Huh.” Bruce fingered the card with a thoughtful expression.

  “You sure you guys have to leave tomorrow?” Bessy said. “Bruce and I are going into Minneapolis-St. Paul to do some shopping.”

  “Sorry, yeah,” I said. “Lakes and trees are good, but I miss concrete and cable. And Julian’s got some torty stuff to do.”

  Julian ordered another pitcher and some barbecued wings, an onion flower, and lemonade for me. The instant the food came, I grabbed a handful of fried onion and stuffed it in my mouth with one hand, and gnawed at a wing in the other. My husband knew me better than I knew myself, and I loved it.

  After the first pangs of hunger wore off, I said around a wing, “You know, I am sorry Caldwell was killed. Sure, he was a schmuck. But schmucks deserve a balls-kicking, not murder.” I set the bones down. “Besides, I wish he’d told me where Vanksy is. He seemed pretty plugged in.”

  “Vanksy?” Bessy’s eyes lit. “That’s why we’re going shopping. We heard he’s setting up near Mall of America.”

  “Really?” I exchanged a please-please-please look with Julian.

  He sighed. “Maybe we can stay a few more days.”

  We left the tavern soon after to make the arrangements. Julian drove back to our cabin. V-guys, especially older ones, processed their alcohol fast.

  I stared out my window at the edge of headlight illuminating the trees as we passed. They seemed friendlier tonight, the darkness more welcoming. “So did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?”

  “What you said when we first came up. About it being nice to have a rustic getaway like this?”

  “I thought you wanted civilization.”

  “Sometimes civilization is overrated. Too much chlorine, not enough fishing.” When he didn’t respond I added, “Six cabins. We could bring maybe half the household at a time.”

  “It would make a nice, inexpensive place for vacations until the economy recovers. Ann wants to sell. I could initiate inquiries.”

  “Initiate inquiries.” I snorted. “Ask her, you mean.”

  “I don’t want to get her hopes up. This is rather fast. You might change your mind.”

  He was right. “Well, maybe some of the gang could check it out too. Elena’s as big as a house with her pregnancy—the water’s buoyancy would be heaven. And Twyla and Nikos could use a vacay.”

  He was nodding. “Bo could try to find Bruce’s maker.”

  “Bonus, Elena could use her cop senses on the trolls—let us know if we have to do anything permanent about them.”

  “Good idea. I’ll set it in motion.”

  “What do you think their deal is? My Three Thugs, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. They certainly tried their best to get rid of us. If they’re hunting, it’s with handguns. There’s the barest aroma of blood in the boat, but I can’t tell if it’s fish or animal or both.” He slowed the car approaching the cabins’ driveway. “Maybe it’s perfectly innocent.”

  “I admire your optimism.”

  “Which is a polite way of saying my credulity?” He turned onto gravel.

  “Assuming credulity means stupidly trusting, you called it, not me.”

  “Sweetheart. You’ve learned tact. I’m impressed.” He stopped the car next to our cabin and turned off the engine. But instead of getting out, he turned to me. “Have you also learned not to be afraid of what you can’t control?”

  “Mostly. Yeah, I can’t protect the band from every little thing, and worse—I can’t protect the kid. But as Snagrat grows up and gets all independent, I can be there for him. An ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. And if it’s a person who hurts him, well, I can kick cojones with the best of them.” I fell silent, and Julian knew enough to let whatever was stewing work itself out. “You know what still scares me though? I’m afraid…I’m afraid I won’t be a good mom.”

  “Sweetheart. You may not be a cop, but you solved the murder. The baby is no different. You’ll figure it out. You’ll be a great mom.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” I took one of his hands in a quick squeeze. I didn’t really believe him.

  Sure enough, that was when his cell phone rang. He slipped it out. “Unknown number.”

  “Gotta be that Scary Ancient Fuc—I mean Fudger.”

  The Ancient One was a vampire who had walked the earth when it was new and was almost omniscient, with timing surpassed only by my mother. Of course he had to call now.

  “Yes, sir,” Julian answered. Then he held the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Me?” I squeaked it. I’m not scared of much but that dude is seriously freaky. Gingerly I took the phone. “Yes?”

  “Ms. Emerson, greetings.” His voice was a bass so deep it seemed to come from the planet’s core. “Congratulations on solving Caldwell’s murder. How’s impending motherhood?”

  “Well…we were just talking about that. I’m wondering what kind of mother a foul-mouthed pint-sized punk rocker will make.”

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re a great mother for your baby or an awful one. What matters is, you are the mother she picked.”

  “I’m the mother—wait, she?” I held the phone in front of me, as if it would make more sense if I could see it, then cut a glance at Julian. He looked just as shell-shocked. Cautiously I put the phone back to my ear. “But the ultrasound—”

  “Is wrong. They are sometimes, you know.”

  “A girl, huh. So why did she pick me for a mom?”

  “Who knows? A need to learn patience, perhaps.” He disconnected.

  “Darnation.” I handed the phone back to Julian. The ancient fudger had gotten in the last word, again. “For being a Big Bad he’s got a wicked sarcastic streak.”

  “So, we’re having a girl. We could name her Esmerelda after my mother.”

  “Sure—or we could name her Gerta after mine, but we won’t because we want a name from the last hundred years.”

  “The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a movie from 1939 and was an animated film in 1996.”

  “While I’m impressed you know that, the answer is still no. How about Dakota?”

  “Naming our child after a state? What about Ohio, or Indiana?”

  “What about Nixie? That’s a name you like for sure.”

  “You didn’t want Julian Junior,” he pointed out. “What about Julia?”

  “What about a combo? Julian plus Nixie—Jaxxie.”

  To my surprise he didn’t reject it outright. He nodded thoughtfully. “How about a more traditional name for her birth certificate, like Jessica? Then Jaxxie could be her nickname.”

  “And she could choose which to use depending on if she’s more like me or you?” I smiled.

  “Yes. The perfect combination.”

  One hand on my belly, one hand in his, I thought he was absolutely right.
r />   To Julian Emerson on his wedding day, from Bo and Elena Strongwell

  Nixie’s Slang

  404 - page not found. To come up empty

  411 - information

  baka - stupid. from Japanese

  bump the jams - turn the music loud: don't bump the jams means don't get excited

  crunchy - the hippie macrobiotic lifestyle

  daggy - unfashionable

  dip out - leave without telling

  fap - comic-book rendering of sound for sex

  feen - fiend, addict: Nixie uses it in terms of obsessing

  foozle, shizzle, fuzznucked-up, etc. - any swear word with zzn inserted or zzle ending

  hawt - hot

  HxC - hardcore

  Kraft singles - lettuce, dough, what's with the food terms for money?

  leet - elite, top of the food chain

  MMO - massively multiplayer online

  OMG - oh my God

  playa - a person who plays the social game well, usually for their own gain, esp. sexually

  pwn - gamer term meaning own

  skrilla - money

  tats - tattoos

  tossing - solo sex

  über - ultimate, from German

  WTF - what the f*ck

  About the Author

  As a girl, I spun romantic, happily-ever-after stories to get to sleep. A husband, two degrees, a blackbelt and a family later, I'm delighted to spin them for readers.

  I’ve lived with love and loss, in bright times and dark, and learned we can all use a break from reality every now and then.

  So join me for action, sparkling wit and red-hot love. Strong men. Stronger women.

  To learn more, please visit http://www.maryhughesbooks.com/ or write mary@maryhughesbooks.com.

  I’m on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/MaryHughesAuthor and Twitter http://www.twitter.com/MaryHughesBooks and would love to hear from you!

  Look for these titles by Mary Hughes

  Now Available:

  Biting Love Series

  Bite My Fire—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  Biting Nixie—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.