Maybe that was just the nature of big business. You could do whatever you like? That’s certainly how it seemed the way Leland was talking about pushing through red tape like it was nothing.
On the other hand, the whole encounter just seemed downright strange.
Not only was it unexpected to be invited up to Leland’s office in the first place, seeing as Ben wasn’t any worthy business partner, but the fact that the tycoon seemed willing to flip his switch whenever he felt like it.
No, there was something going on here, but Ben couldn’t put his finger on it quite yet.
It was as he was trudging down the hill that he remembered the piece of farm equipment he’d planned on taking a picture of. He realized now that it was mostly a distraction for himself, to forget all the craziness that was going on in the day.
Now that he thought about it a second time, it seemed like a ridiculous idea. Why walk across the deep snow of the field just for a picture? Without a hat on his head, that was especially foolish. If he didn’t get out of the cold, he’d end up with a full-blown migraine by the end of the day. Ben didn’t know of a single other person who got headaches from something as silly and simple as the wind blowing in your ears.
Nope, he decided, he wasn’t going out into that snowy field. The flakes had been coming down for about three days and had only stopped that very morning.
Ben instantly froze in place.
A strange thought came into his mind about the weather. Since it had been snowing so much, why would that piece of farm equipment be sitting out in that thicket of trees without any snow covering it over? In fact, if it had been sitting there accumulating the white stuff, Ben would have never been able to spot it in the distance.
He gasped to himself. It was very likely that it wasn’t a piece of farm equipment at all.
Tearing down the hill, Ben dashed into the snowy field. His pace was slowed by the deep drifts, but that didn’t make him stop. As his shoes began to fill with snow, his socks grew wet. He ignored it and pushed on, finally reaching the thicket of trees. Stepping through a bush into the center, he saw exactly what he had thought.
It was Hank’s rusted old truck hidden back there.
“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it,” he muttered to himself, glancing into the back of the truck to see all the same boxes there he’d helped load that very morning. Whoever had killed Hank had ditched the truck back here knowing it might not be found. Most people would mistake it for some old broken-down piece of farm equipment like he originally did.
Shuffling around to the car door, he pulled his sleeve up over his hand so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints.
Maybe there was a clue inside. Opening the door, he peeked inside and noticed something laying on the floor beneath one of the peddles. It looked like one of the candy wrappers that matched the ones he’d just seen in Leland’s office.
Leaving it there, he shut the door. He needed to call Grey right away and tell him about the truck.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, he was surprised when it started to buzz.
Cheryl was calling.
“Cheryl, I can’t talk right now. I need to call Grey,” he told her without saying hello.
“Ben, do not under any circumstances call him,” she practically screamed into the phone.
“Huh? Why? What the heck are you shouting for?”
“Grey is looking for you right now.”
“Well, good. I just found Hank’s truck and I think he needs to know where it is. There could be vital evidence here.”
“Will you listen for just two seconds,” she snapped, desperation on the edge of her voice.
Ben calmed himself. “Okay, go ahead. Why shouldn’t I contact Grey?” He knew the police chief didn’t have the best relationship with him, but this was a murder investigation. It was his duty as a citizen to report evidence if he found it—no matter how much he disliked Grey.
“He’s coming to arrest you,” she finally blurted out.
“What?” Ben yelled back. “Arrest me? Why?”
“When I went to talk to him, he asked me where you were. He claims your fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”
Ben’s heart leaped up into his throat, beating so hard he felt it in his temples. “M-My fingerprints? I don’t understand.”
“He matched the ones on the weapon to the ones on file.”
He clenched his teeth, remembering how at one point he’d considered taking on substitute teaching jobs. In order to work as a teacher, he’d had to go get fingerprinted. Now it was in the system and Grey had supposedly matched them up. “This isn’t good,” he muttered.
“No. Get out of town before he can find you,” she insisted.
“Are you insane? That’ll make it look like I’m running away? I’ll look guiltier than ever!”
“But you’re innocent,” she insisted.
Ben paused, impressed by her conviction. “Why are you trying so hard to help me?” he wondered.
“Because we’re friends. Now hurry up. I’ve packed you a bag already with your clothes. Come by the house, through the back door, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up, wondering if this was really a wise decision. Marching out of the thicket, he headed for the road.
As he passed the edge of the field, he noticed something laying facedown along the side of the road. It looked like a temporary signpost that had fallen over. Picking it up, he read the front. It said: This Land - Property of Leland Drouse Construction.
11
“There you are. Thank goodness,” Cheryl exclaimed, hopping up from the kitchen table and rushing to embrace Ben as he walked through the back door from the snowy yard. “I thought maybe Grey had found you before you could get here.”
“No. I took back roads the whole way. That’s why it was so long before I got here.” He instinctively glanced over at the clock, realizing it was already getting late in the afternoon. Soon, it would start to get dark—and then what? All he’d known his whole life was this tiny town. Where would he go? What would he do for work?
She finally let go of his neck, a deep look of concern hidden in her dark eyes.
It honestly startled Ben. They’d been friends for so long, but when had she ever shown this much interest in him? He knew this was a dire situation, but still. Had he been underestimating her affection for him all this time?
“We don’t have much time. Grey may have someone watching the house and they could have seen you.” She ran toward the front hall. “I’ve got your bag packed upstairs,” she called back. “I’ll just grab it and be right back down.”
Ben stepped further into the familiar room. He’d eaten his breakfast on an almost daily basis in that very kitchen for the past ten years. Ever since he’d first moved out of his dad’s mobile home after high school.
Could he leave all this behind? While he tried to steer clear of his dad, he also kept an eye on him from afar—a sense of responsibility still there that had never vanished.
Perhaps that was the real reason he’d never been able to leave White Bay.
Now, he was being forced out because of a false accusation by an old school rival turned police chief. If he really left now not only would he be leaving his father for good, but Cheryl. He would never get that chance to finally tell her how he felt.
Maybe he needed to do that right now before the inevitable happened.
Leaning forward on the kitchen counter, he closed his eyes tightly and tried to think. Could he truly bring himself to admit the truth to her after all this time? After keeping it a secret for so long?
He could feel the burn of frightened tears building up in the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. As the blur cleared from his vision, he noticed the knife block on the counter directly in front of him.
There was an empty slot.
One of the knives was missing.
“It can’t be,” he whispered.
“Here i
s the bag,” Cheryl announced, coming into the room with the duffle in her arms. “Now hurry.”
He turned to face her directly. “Cheryl, there is something I need to tell you before I go.”
“There isn’t time,” she squeaked nervously, shoving the bag into his arms.
Ben set it on the floor. “This is important.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. I’ve been waiting too long to say this,” he told her. He put up both hands in front of himself in a request for her patience. Taking in a deep breath, he held it in his lungs for a second before letting it out slowly. It calmed him. “Cheryl,” he began.
A bang from the front hall indicated the front door had just opened. “Ben, are you in here?” Grey’s voice shouted.
Ben bowed his head, shaking it. He’d taken too long. “Yeah, Grey. I’m here.”
The police chief entered the room, handcuffs at the ready. “You made the right choice, Ben.”
“Huh? The right choice?” Cheryl gasped, looking at Ben with hurt eyes.
He nodded. “I texted Grey. Told him that I’d found Hank’s truck on Leland Drouse’s land and that I’d be here around now.”
“How could you?” she shouted.
Ben shrugged. “I’m sorry, Cheryl. It was the right thing to do. I needed to report the truck when I found it which meant giving myself away to the police as well.”
Grey’s eyes shifted to her and then down to the duffle on the floor. “You warned him? You were going to help him run away?” he gasped angrily.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Of course, I did.” A small sob rose in her throat.
When he’d sent the text, Ben had honestly not decided whether he’d wait around for Grey to arrive and arrest him or if he would make a last-minute decision to do as Cheryl said and make a run for it. He’d given Grey a specific time he’d be at the boarding house, hoping it would give him a moment to think, to choose his fate.
Both were poor decisions, but he went with the more honest one. He’d have to put his trust in the court systems to free his name, rather than incriminate himself more by running. That was a sure-fire way to look guilty.
“Do you realize what you’ve done? Incriminated yourself with a murderer,” Grey scolded her.
“He isn’t a murderer,” she shot back.
“I know you’ve had the warm fuzzies for him for a long time, but now it’s over. You know his true colors.”
Warm fuzzies? What was that supposed to mean? Ben wondered, watching Grey’s face flush a shade of scarlet he’d never seen before.
Marching right over, the police officer cuffed one of Ben’s wrist without so much as a warning. “Benjamin Winters, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Hank Dunlap.”
“Hey, what the heck? You don’t need to cuff me. I would have come willingly. I called you for heaven’s sake.”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” he rattled off the Miranda Rights without even listening to Ben’s protest, cuffing his other hand as well.
“Grey, don’t do this. You’ve known Ben for years. He isn’t a murderer.”
“I’ll be coming back to deal with you later,” he snapped at her, leading Ben toward the front door.
He could hear Cheryl crying as the door slammed behind them.
12
The holding cell in the back of the police station was freezing. No heating appeared to reach the room, leaving it like an icebox inside. Ben sat in the corner on the uncomfortable metallic bench, his coat wrapped around, his hands in his pockets, and his collar propped up against his neck.
For being willing to cooperate, Grey sure had been rough with him. He had bruises on his wrists and arms from being shoved around.
Grey had always been a bully, that was for sure. However, never had Ben been so afraid of him before. There was something extremely sinister about him now that there was a murder case going on. However, somehow Ben could guess that it wasn’t the murder that was setting him off. It was something else.
Cheryl.
It seemed possible that not only had she told Grey off about the whole dating and marriage thing but that maybe she even had some hidden feelings for Ben—much like he had for her all these years. At the very least, it seemed that Grey believed there were feelings there.
It was the only way to explain the comment about warm fuzzies.
If all of that were true, it meant that he was abusing his power as police chief to get Ben out of the way. While there definitely was evidence with the fingerprints and a few other circumstantial things, his force in the arrest and his show of anger were all too telling.
Ben only prayed that the judge deemed the evidence too flimsy to hold him on and let him go. That was the beauty of the justice system. It wasn’t just up to one person to make the call of guilt.
However, there were several factors in this case that were really bothering Ben. First and foremost was Leland’s possible involvement. Hank had said the man’s name himself, but then instructed Ben to forget about it.
Next was the fact that Hank’s truck was on a piece of land belonging to Leland’s company. However, that didn’t prove anything. Anyone could have murdered Hank and left the truck out there in hopes it wouldn’t be found.
The sign, after all, had fallen over. So, the killer might have thought the land was still abandoned and wouldn’t be looked at closely for some time. Any additional snowfall would have hidden the truck for good.
However, the main thing in all this that was bothering Ben the most was the murder weapon. Grey claimed his fingerprints were all over it, and yet how could that be? He hadn’t stepped foot on the boat until the moment he went to load up the Valentine’s decorations and treats. He certainly hadn’t touched Hank or a knife that day.
All that culminated in one last piece of evidence in Ben’s mind. It brought his thoughts to the wooden block in the boarding house kitchen, the one with the empty slot.
Now, Ben had used that knife on the usual occasion where he was opening a package of food, he was having trouble getting open. He’d helped at Christmastime to chop some veggies for the turkey. It was possible his fingerprints could have been on a knife from that very house.
In the end, the biggest question of all was, how had the knife gone from being in that block to being used in the murder?
Ben didn’t like the answers he was coming up with.
The door to the room opened and he looked up to see Grey stepping through. “Come on, Winters. You’re coming with me.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“None of your business. Now get on your feet.”
Not wanting to argue, Ben stood up while the police chief unlocked the door. Once he was handcuffed again, he led him out into the station proper. However, they didn’t head straight for the front door, they headed toward the back door.
“Where are we going?” Ben questioned.
“Shut up.
“Hey, chief?” an officer who’d been manning the front desk said, walking down the hall after them.
Grey looked up, a little flustered. “What is it? I have to transport the prisoner.”
The officer raised an eyebrow at Ben but didn’t question it. “There is someone on the phone asking for Officer Blue? I told them we didn’t have anyone by that name, but they insist.”
The instant the word Blue left the man’s mouth, Ben felt sick to his stomach. His eyes widened and he looked at Grey.
“Tell them to get lost. They’d got a wrong number.”
“Okay, Chief. If you say so.” The officer retreated to the front lobby while Grey shoved Ben out into the cold, dark evening air.
Ben didn’t say anything right away. He was simply too shocked to believe what he’d just heard. Blue was the name of the person who’d spoken on the phone with Leland earlier that day. Could it be that Grey was going by the nickname Blue for some reason?
Also,
the surprised way the officer had looked at them when he caught them leaving was unsettling.
Ben instantly had the notion that he was in some serious danger.
“Come on, you. Into the car.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back to the crime scene where you’re going to walk me step-by-step through what you did to poor old Hank.”
“You mean what you did,” Ben accused, unable to help himself.
Moored in Murder Page 6