by Louise Lynn
She’d heard cops in the LAPD complain about the same thing. Solid evidence and strong motives were how they caught criminals. And, almost more importantly, how they made sure those responsible for the crimes were properly convicted.
Hazel nodded slowly and glanced at the photos on his desk. Thankfully, it’d been a while since she ate breakfast and seeing the pictures of the blood on the floor of her studio wasn’t as bad as the actual thing. Everything in the photos was just as she remembered it, except out of focus and the angles were all wonky.
“Who took these?”
The sheriff’s mouth pursed like he’d just taken a bite of a lemon. “Look, after all the problems with the last sheriff and the city council, the town’s budget is pretty small at the moment. Everyone’s doing double duty which includes crime scene photography.”
Hazel nodded. “I didn’t ask how the sheriff’s budget was. I asked who took these terrible crime scene photos.” She squinted at the one in the far-left corner of the desk.
“I did, Ms. Hart. Is there a problem with them?”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “They’re out of focus. I mean most of them are just soft focus but a few of them are almost too fuzzy to make out clearly.” She pointed at one she’d been squinting at. “I hope that’s not the only one you took of that. And the colors are washed out.”
The words spilled out before she could stop them, and the sheriff’s pursed lips turned into a full-on frown.
Right, she probably shouldn’t have said all that to his face. But after spending over a decade as a professional photographer, she’d learned not to pull her punches when discussing work. There was no way to learn if you didn’t figure out what your mistakes were.
“Well, I’m not planning on submitting them to the county fair to win any prizes, so I think they’ll work for the investigation. How about you let me do my job, and I’ll let you do yours,” he said, and pointed at the door behind her.
The flush returned to her cheeks, hotter this time, and she cursed her fair skin. He was telling her in not so many words to stay away from playing detective with this investigation, and after how she’d just insulted his photography, she couldn’t really blame him.
“Fair enough, but I have a degree in forensic photography, and I used to work for the LAPD. So, I’m not just talking as a person who runs an Old West studio,” she said, and spun to the door.
She turned the knob, but Sheriff Cross’s voice stopped her.
“I know. I did a full background check on you yesterday. Impressive résumé, and you came with glowing recommendations from the LAPD. But you’re not a detective. Taking pictures of crime scenes is a little bit different than solving the actual crimes. And if you want to compare illustrious backgrounds, I have a Masters in criminal psychology. I made detective at twenty-five, and spent nearly fifteen years working at the SFPD as a detective before I came up here and was elected as your sheriff. Now, can I get back to doing my job?”
Hazel’s mouth felt like a desert, and she wished she could’ve held the words back, but they jumped out of their own accord. It was something her mother did too, and it always embarrassed her when she was younger. And yet now, here she was embarrassing herself. “You’re forty?”
The edges of Sheriff Cross’s eyes crinkled. “Thirty-nine. Have a good day, Ms. Hart.” He slumped into his chair.
The smirk vanished near the beginning of the conversation and hadn’t come back. While it wasn’t particularly a victory to make the sheriff dislike her, it almost felt like one.
As she marched out of the office and back to her car, Hazel’s resolve solidified.
It was that old stubborn streak—the one that could either help her or get her in trouble—and in this case, it might do a little of both.
But first she had to find out exactly what happened in the studio yesterday, and she knew just who to ask.
Chapter 7
Michael was hunched at the booth in the corner of the Bear’s Den café. Hazel slid across from him and he started from his focus on the soda under his nose.
She’d called and invited him to lunch after she left Sheriff Cross, and decided on the restaurant at the edge of town. Considering the weather, it was the best choice. Most people wouldn’t feel like driving out there, so they almost had the place to themselves.
The only others present were Lydia, the waitress, and Glenda, the cook and owner. Plus, an older man Hazel didn’t know, but he sat at the diner’s counter and was well out of earshot.
Lydia had gone to school with Hazel, but never left Cedar Valley for college. Still, she was just as chipper and energetic as Hazel remembered, sort of like Hazel’s mother. At the moment, Lydia chatted with the older man.
If Hazel thought Michael looked pale yesterday, today he looked like a ghost. His eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles. He fidgeted with his fingers constantly and wouldn’t hold eye contact.
Hazel may not have been a trained detective, like the new sheriff said, but she could tell when someone was nervous and hiding something.
Michael was both.
Hazel decided to ease into the important questions. “I’m surprised you agreed to meet me here. I thought for sure you’d be busy with April.”
Michael flinched. “She—uh—had to go back to Carson City.”
“Oh. Too bad. Have you ordered yet?” she asked and looked over the laminated menu decorated with cartoon bears. Her stomach grumbled. The new determination sparked her hunger, and it didn’t help that she’d had an early breakfast either.
Michael shook his head and pinched his lips together. “Not hungry,” he mumbled.
If Michael wasn’t hungry, he was definitely hiding something.
Hazel plastered a smile on her face and reached across the table, cupping her hand over Michael’s pudgy one. “I’m gonna have the soup and a grilled cheese. I’ll order a bowl for you, too. Even if you’re not hungry, you should eat something,” she said in her best imitation of Esther’s ‘mom’ voice.
Michael nodded stiffly and swallowed, his eyes finally darting up to meet Hazel’s own. “Am I gonna go to jail?”
Hazel fought to keep a frown off her face. “I don’t think so. Why? Did you do something wrong?” She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible.
She’d only known Michael for the past six months, but he’d never been violent or angry—just the opposite. He always seemed to be in a good mood and was overeager to please her. He didn’t talk much about his family, and after the first few times, Hazel decided not to pry.
Now, she wondered if that had been a mistake.
Michael opened his mouth to respond, but Lydia chose that moment to saunter over and give them both a beaming smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Hazel. What’ll y’all be having today?” Her pen hovered above her pad of pale green paper.
Hazel ordered for them both—the tomato bisque, homemade and perfect for a cold miserable day, and the grilled cheese.
“And a basket of onion rings,” Michael said at the last moment.
“Anything for you, darling,” Lydia said and added. “Any coffee? You both look exhausted. And I can just imagine after the day you had yesterday.” She shook her head and her lips dipped into an exaggerated frown.
Hazel tried not to flinch. “I could use a cup. What exactly are people saying?”
Lydia leaned down, resting her elbows on the table’s smooth surface. “Now you know how people get around here with the gossip and all, so you’ll have to correct me if I’m mistaken. But, what I heard is that Dirk Barkley got himself shot by his fiancée,” she said, and raised her eyebrows. They were obviously filled in and much too dark for her bleached blonde hair.
Absently, Hazel wondered if Lydia would end up like Edith at the Sheriff’s Office someday, ancient and painted in blue eyeshadow and hot pink rouge.
“Simone? I honestly don’t know who shot him since I wasn’t even in the room at the time,” Hazel said, and looked at Michael.
He’d gone back to staring into his half-full cup of soda.
Lydia shrugged and stood up straight. “I can only say what I heard. New sheriff is on the job, huh?” She raised her eyebrows in a different manner this time.
Hazel rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. Even in high school, Lydia had been like that. Flitting from boyfriend to boyfriend, but it looked like none of them had stuck around.
The ping stabbed her right in the chest. Kind of like her own love life.
“Yeah, the new sheriff. It looks like he’s a little bit overqualified to be here. Made detective at twenty-five in San Francisco and everything,” she said, and hoped she didn’t sound too bitter.
When she told Sheriff Cross about her forensic photography background, it wasn’t to brag but to show that she had an inkling of what she was talking about. Of course, he didn’t see it that way.
Lydia’s lips curled into a devious smile. “You guys already got off on the wrong foot?”
Hazel tried not to bristle at that. “Why does everybody keeps saying that? He insulted my hat first.”
Lydia’s long manicured finger flicked the pom-pom and she let out a snort. “You’ve always had trouble with authority figures. Remember the principle?”
Hazel didn’t have an argument for that. Other than typical teenage self-righteousness. “That was twenty years ago. But I still don’t think I was wrong. The old ‘skirts and shorts must come to the knee, but for girls only, rule’ was archaic and draconian, even back then,” she said.
Lydia patted her on the back. “That’s why I like you, Hazel. Standing up for what you believe in. Now you guys want any pie to go with your soup, sandwich, and onion rings? Got some homemade apple today,” she said.
With a heavy sigh, Hazel nodded. It was a close tie when it came to Glenda vs. Esther in the baking department. But it was hard to turn down either one when it came to pie.
Before Lydia turned to go, Hazel had one last question. “Did you know anything about Dirk’s former wife? The one who drowned a few years ago?”
A shadow settled over Lydia’s face. “Oh, I’ll never forget that woman. Sara was her name, right? Could never figure out why she was with that Mr. Barkley. He was like a slimy old toad. I don’t care how good looking he was, he just gave me the willies. And she was the sweetest thing you could ever imagine. You know, they stopped here for lunch before they went out on the boat that day. The sky was bright blue and calm. Perfect August afternoon, but you know how storms happen around here.”
Hazel did know, and her gut turned to lead. “How were they acting before they went out on the boat, if you remember. And was anyone else with them?”
Lydia whistled, and Michael jumped at the sound. For a moment, Hazel almost forgot he was there. “Now that is something I’ll never forget. You know, I went to the deputies after it happened to tell them about it, and they brushed me off like it was nothing.”
Hazel grimaced. “Did they have a fight?”
Lydia nodded. “They sure did. Though they were trying to keep it quiet. See after they ate lunch, Sara had to go back into the ladies’ room, and I was running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining hall, that’s how I heard it. They were talking in hushed voices, but you know those hushed voices, which are not actually whispering but you’re kinda yelling? Not that I was eavesdropping or anything, but it sounded like Sara knew they were having an affair, and she said if it didn’t stop, she was gonna leave. And then they said, if Sara said something, she’d be sorry.”
Hazel felt her eyes widen. Not that it was much of a surprise that Dirk would cheat on his wife, considering what Celia told her the day before, but still. Murder was something else entirely. “So, his wife knew he was having an affair? With who?”
Lydia shook her head. “No, it wasn’t Dirk and Sara fighting. Dirk had gone off to take a phone call in the parking lot, and that cute, young Indian guy and the older man were having a bit of a face-off at the booth, but Sara was fighting with the other young woman. You know the one Dirk was engaged to now?”
Hazel blinked and looked at Michael, who shrugged. “Simone? The newspaper said the only other person on the boat was a personal assistant of Sara’s.”
Lydia tapped her fingers on the order. “It must’ve been her then. She’s that girl who’s way too young for Dirk. She was working for his wife at the time. And I guess she was boinking her boss’s husband,” she said with a shrug and wandered off.
That changed things.
Before, Hazel thought only Tommy had been in both places when Sara and Dirk died, but now Simone had as well?
And she was having an affair with Dirk before Sara died?
Maybe the rumor that Simone did Dirk in wasn’t so outlandish after all.
“Sara Barkley is dead?” Michael said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.
When Hazel looked at him, it seemed he was a ghost of himself. All the remaining color in his face had long since drained away.
“Apparently she drowned two years ago. Why?”
Her heart pounded as she asked the question. She’d invited Michael here just to learn exactly what happened the day before. When he told her in his shocked state, it’d come out jumbled. She needed a complete timeline if she was going to figure out who the actual killer was.
And she needed to make sure Michael wasn’t it. She felt a little stab of guilt at thinking that, but it was best to be certain rather than jump to baseless conclusions.
He licked his lips. “Because, when we got back to the studio yesterday, Simone and Dirk went to the Old West area and they were arguing about it. Before Tommy came in, they were saying something about Sara being there. But it was impossible. And Dirk kept saying I saw her. She’s here. And then Tommy burst in—” Michael shook his head.
Hazel glanced at the counter. The old man had gone, and Lydia leaned into the kitchen to relay their order to Glenda.
What Michael said clicked into place. Her mother’s outlandish idea flitted through her head. “Wait. Dirk Barkley said he saw Sara?”
Michael nodded quickly. “Yeah, and he sounded scared. Really scared. Simone kept telling him it was stupid, but she sounded scared too.”
Hazel’s brow’s rose. “Did you tell any of this to the sheriff?”
Michael shook his head and balled his hands into fists. “I didn’t even remember until now. It all happened so fast after that and—I don’t want to go to jail.”
Hazel sucked in a breath through her nose, and Lydia came back over with a white mug and a pot of coffee.
“I’ll just leave this here. Your order will be up in a few minutes.” She winked before walking away again.
Hazel poured her coffee and waited for Lydia to get out of earshot. She opened three half-and-half creamers and poured them in one at a time, watching the black liquid turn pale brown. It swirled in the cup like the questions in her brain. “Michael, I want you to very carefully tell me exactly what happened yesterday after you guys went up the hill.”
His dark eyes filled with tears and he nodded quickly. “We got inside and then they started having that argument in the back studio. And Simone never even went to the bathroom, which is what I thought she had to do, but I went back into the other room to get warm drinks like you asked.
“And then the door banged open, and I thought it was you and I thought ‘oh no I left her with all the equipment bags, and she’s gonna be mad.’ But it was Tommy instead, that guy who was Dirk’s business partner or something. I came out with the hot drinks and he was saying, ‘where are they?’ And I shrugged because I didn’t know at that point.”
Hazel jotted it all in her notepad. She might’ve had a pretty good memory, but she wasn’t going to trust it to something this important.
Michael watched her and swallowed heavily.
“Go on,” she said, her fingers trembling.
“Everyone was kind of upset, so I thought I’d calm them down, and I said we should get ready
for the inside shoot. And then Simone started insisting we do it in the Old West studio. She was going through the costumes and saying it would be fun to dress up. She said something to Dirk about how he promised they could do it last time they were here and never got the chance.”
Hazel started. “Last time?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know what she was talking about either. And then, I said if they wanted to do the shoot to pick a costume and a gun, and I turned my back to get the camera ready while they went through that stuff. Someone picked up the gun, I think it was Dirk. Simone said not to point that thing at her, then Tommy said it’s not real. And Dirk said something like, ‘of course it’s not real, but take it away from me before he uses it on someone.’ I was reaching to get the reflective screen from the top shelf, and that’s when I heard it. The shot.”
Hazel sat very still, and watched the tears drip down Michael’s face. He rubbed them away with the back of his hand. That was the moment she’d stepped inside. So, all that had taken about five or six minutes. “Why do you think you’d go to jail for that?” she asked softly.
Sheriff Cross said one of them was lying. Hazel didn’t doubt that, but Michael probably wasn’t the one. Even if he had held a few things back from the sheriff the day before.
“Because I told him to pick a weapon, and then he died. I know my fingerprints are all over it and—” his voice trailed off into sobs, and Hazel handed him her napkin.
She leaned back in the booth and looked at the timeline.
She still didn’t know who killed Dirk, but she had narrowed down the suspects. Though, it was looking more and more like an accident than ever before.
A terrible fear settled in her belly.
They might not be able to arrest her or Michael for murder, but manslaughter was a thing. So was reckless endangerment. And if she couldn’t prove where that gun came from, she might end up serving time regardless.
A shiver charged through her as Lydia brought the food to the table and set it down.