The Art of Murder (A Hank Reed Mystery, Book 1)

by Lichtenberg, Fred;

  I remain silent.

  “I love Paddy more than anyone outside of Dorothy and could never betray her. Not again.” He pauses. “I loved Sheryl like a daughter, even after I found out about her affair. Paddy would never have killed her over it. Or Hunter. He would have only drawn attention to himself.”

  The judge leans against the tree for support. “Look, maybe Paddy wasn’t the best husband. He wanted to be a successful saloonkeeper, and he worked seven days a week trying to prove himself.” He stops, gazes over my shoulder. “In the process, he forgot about Sheryl’s needs. She started going to Hunter for counseling, though I don’t recall him having a practice in town. Maybe that should have alerted Paddy, but he was too busy with the bar.” The judge’s eyes settle on mine. “I blame Hunter for not upholding his ethical and moral responsibilities.”

  “Like you, Judge?” I say sarcastically.

  “Touché, Hank.”

  We fall silent, which provides a temporary calmness between us. “Paddy could have killed you this afternoon if he had wanted to,” the judge says without malice, breaking the silence. “But he restrained himself.”

  I laugh. “How did he expect me to act, taunting me with those bullshit love letters?”

  “Paddy says you planted the first ones on him, along with the poison, because you needed to make an arrest. He wanted to let you know he was on to you.” The judge wipes his brow and sighs. “There’s no excuse, of course, except survival. He knows a lot about that.”

  “I didn’t plant them, Judge. Just so you know. I don’t operate that way. Never have.”

  He nods. “I know you wouldn’t, Hank.”

  I look up toward the house. “And Dorothy, how much does she know?”

  The judge’s eyes stray, stopping at the house. “Only what she hears from me, which is very little. She’s upset about Sheryl, of course. She loves Paddy as much as she would her own child, especially since she had problems conceiving.”

  I nod. “Why isn’t Paddy in some kind of witness protection program?”

  The judge shakes his head in defeat. “Paddy’s stubborn and figured he was safe with me in the States. At least, he consented to a new name.” The judge smiles wistfully. “I would have been proud had he used mine.”

  I offer the judge a tender moment, but soon his expression changes, becomes serious. “Paddy’s name might have changed, but his face is very much alive over there. You have to do something, Hank.”

  “Dammit, Judge! He should have thought about that before messing up.”

  The judge begins to respond, but then stops himself.

  “Are you going to tell me where Paddy is, or do I have to get the county involved?”

  “I really don’t know, Hank,” Judge Prescott says, the imperious voice of the court, succumbing to a whimper. “All I can tell you is that Paddy phoned me as soon as it happened. He never mentioned the shooting but asked me to call nine-one-one, which I did. He said he would contact me soon, when things settled down. He’s got to think this through, especially now that he had the altercation with your deputy.”

  Altercation? Try attempted murder. Not to mention the other two murders. I glance over my shoulder toward the house, focus on a light coming from a bedroom window. “Can I check the house?”

  “You may, of course, but I’m not lying to you.” Then he says, “I’m afraid he’s armed. And as a former member of the force, he has the ability to evade.”

  I’m not sure if Daddy is proud of his little boy or just warning me. “I put out an APB, Judge. I had no choice.”

  He nods. “I understand.”

  “And since he shot a police officer…”

  Through patches of light emitting from the moon, I can see dread in the judge’s face. “Please bring him in alive, Hank. For past friendship’s sake.”

  For a man of pomposity, Judge Prescott is suddenly humble.

  “I can’t promise,” I tell him and turn to leave. About ten feet from the judge, I stop. “If you want to guarantee Paddy’s safety, tell him to give himself up,” I say into the air, then continue up the path without waiting for a response.

  As a police officer, I find it painful going after a fellow crime fighter. Deep inside, there’s hope that a viable explanation for his misdeeds will surface. And though I’m too close to this investigation and have overwhelming evidence against Paddy, I let the word out to the other departments about Paddy’s past and his valor. That ought to earn him a few points.

  I drive over to the county hospital and ask the receptionist for Wayne’s room number.

  She smiles warmly and points. “He’s down the hall in recovery.”

  I enter Wayne’s room and find him sitting up, staring out the window. I knock, break his concentration, and wave. He gives me a tired smile and waves back with his good hand. Then he holds up the other one and grimaces.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Just a flesh wound,” he slurs.

  He’s obviously doped up on painkillers, so I don’t expect too much from him. “What happened back there?”

  Wayne’s expression turns cold, and he shakes his good arm. “The bastard tried to kill me!”

  I nod sympathetically. “Did you notice where he took his gun from? Behind the bar?”

  Wayne takes a moment, shuts his eyes, then shakes his head. “It happened too fast.”

  I pull up a chair. “I’m sorry, Wayne. I didn’t realize Paddy would react that violently toward you. Me, maybe, but not you.”

  He nods absently.

  Wayne’s eyes are unfocused, so I decide against telling him about Paddy’s background for the time being. Instead, I lean forward in my chair and say pointedly, “Paddy killed Hunter. I have proof.”

  Wayne’s glazed look informs me I’m wasting my time. He mumbles, “They want me here a while.”

  “Makes sense.” I check my watch, then get up to leave. I place a hand on his shoulder and say, “I’ll stop by later and see how you’re doing, okay?”

  “Okay.” Then he motions me closer. “Where do you think he went?”

  I shrug. “Could be anywhere, but I doubt if he’s still in Eastpoint.”

  Wayne’s eyelids flutter, and he attempts to nod.

  “Get some rest, Detective.”

  I could use a hot shower and decide to freshen up and change my uniform.

  The Country Inn is about ten minutes outside of Eastpoint. It’s more of a B&B: the charm without the price. Extended stays are cheaper, so I settled on a week-to-week deal. Soon enough I hope I’ll find someone in town willing to rent out a room, though I might have to pay double.

  I think of my father and the devotion the town had for him. Those same people who embraced him as their respected leader now feel betrayed by his namesake. Good old Dad. He was the politician in the family. I wish he were still around.

  The innkeeper is a woman whose last name I can’t pronounce, but I know it’s Polish. Her first name is Lucy.

  “Evening, Chief Reed.” She provides a cheery smile.

  Lucy is a formal gal.

  “Evening, Lucy,” I say, too weary to return the smile.

  “A friend of yours is staying in Room 102.” She points to the room next to mine.

  I draw my gun.

  “Oh, God!” she cries and ducks under the counter.

  “Male or female?” I whisper.

  Her head surfaces over the counter. “A lady.”

  I frown. “Lady?”

  She nods rapidly. “Something about missing her train.”

  “Maggie Hunter?”

  She continues her nod.

  I walk over to Maggie’s door and knock, then turn to Lucy and wink. “Police officer,” I call out with authority.

  Lucy is still recovering from the shock of my behavior, but she offers a thin smile and watches as the door opens, then steps out of range, just in case.

  Maggie emerges with a smile. She’s wearing a thin blue cotton nightshirt and a towel wrapped around her h
ead.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my eyes fighting to stay on Maggie’s face.

  Her expression registers disappointment. “You don’t seem happy to see me, Hank.”

  I shoot a look at Lucy, who is busying herself at the counter. “It’s not that,” I say quietly. “I’m just surprised to see you.”

  She twists her mouth. “I got caught up with shopping and, well, you know women.” She points to three bags sitting on the chair. “Is it a problem that I’m here?”

  “No, of course not,” I assure her. “Just surprised,” I repeat, then sneak in a quick smile.

  She smiles back and shrugs. “It’s just that I don’t know too many people in town and—” She stops. “Who am I kidding? I thought maybe we could have dinner or something.”

  “Dinner or something?” I say, sneaking a peek below her neckline.

  Maggie catches my glance and suppresses a laugh. “Dinner is what I had in mind, Sheriff.” She thumbs behind her and laughs. “I do have my own room, so you’re safe.”

  I shoot an anxious look back at Lucy, who is nowhere in sight, then turn awkwardly back to Maggie.

  “Look at you, Hank. You’re turning red.” Maggie grabs my arm and pulls me into her room. “Relax. She can’t hear us.”

  Without warning, she reaches up and draws my head toward hers, planting her lips on mine. “That’s for driving me back to the city the other night.”

  I offer her little more than a flat kiss. “It was nothing,” I say, wishing Maggie had given me more notice. After a few moments of impure thoughts, it dawns on me why I returned to the inn. I inform Maggie about Wayne.

  Her eyes register concern. “Oh, Hank, I’m really sorry. Will he be okay?”

  I nod. “I just came from the hospital.”

  Maggie sits at the edge of the bed. “You were there at the time?”

  “Afterward.”

  “Good. I mean it might have been you, too.” Then she asks, “Do you know who shot your deputy?”

  “Paddy Murphy.”

  “The husband?”

  I nod.

  “That’s so tragic,” Maggie says softly. “He appeared so bereft at the funeral.”

  “Probably from guilt,” I offer. “We think he killed her because he found out about her affair with Hunter.”

  Maggie stiffens. “It always boils down to that, doesn’t it, Hank?”

  I know where Maggie is coming from, but I remain silent.

  “Infidelity,” she breathes.

  “It’s certainly not worth killing over,” I defend.

  Her eyes meet mine. “No, of course not.”

  There is an uncomfortable silence between us, then Maggie says, “Anyway, I’m sorry about before. The kiss, I mean. It was inappropriate of me, considering you’re still technically married. And in light of what’s been happening…” She trails off.

  I sit beside her on the bed and touch her hand. “It’s okay. My marriage has been dying—”

  She places a finger over my mouth.

  “I was even going to send your wife flowers, but I got tied up with the realtor and shopping and forgot. And…what was I thinking?”

  My smile comes through her finger. “It was a nice gesture anyway.” I kiss her forehead, inhaling her perfumed hair, and wonder what it would be like to stay the night. But my romantic notion is broken when Maggie says, “Since John’s house is empty, you’re more than welcome to stay there until you find something more permanent.”

  I hold Maggie’s chin lightly. “Hey, I appreciate the thought. Let me think it over, okay?”

  She smiles softly. “Sure.”

  I don’t want to leave, but my weary brain cautions me. It’s that law enforcement mentality that beckons me back to the investigation. But my feelings for Maggie, which have intensified since we met, are fighting me. Maggie’s beauty and radiance are intoxicating. It would be so easy to take her in my arms and forget about the outside world.

  Maggie must be sensing the same feelings and offers an alluring smile, giving me the go-ahead. I’m about to move in with a more passionate kiss when she places a hand in front of us. “Maybe I better let you get back to your investigation.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning.” She places her hand on mine, plays with my knuckles. “Though I could stay longer.”

  My eyes light up.

  “I really do love it out here,” she starts. “I’m wondering if I’m acting too hastily about selling the house.”

  “You could hold off a bit,” I say too quickly.

  “I suppose I could tell the broker to wait until spring,” she says, almost to herself.

  “I’d really like to take you to dinner sometime, Maggie Hunter.”

  She smiles wistfully. “Maybe breakfast, if you’re around.”

  I place my hand over hers. “I’m really glad you missed your train.”

  Eighteen

  After a few hours of dead leads, I drift back to my room, kick off my shoes, fling my socks in a corner, and splash my face with cold refreshing water. I could spend the rest of the night cleansing my body.

  There is a light tap at my door. I wipe my eyes with my hand, look in the mirror, then tiptoe over to the door and find Maggie smiling at the peephole. I’m debating if I should let her in, but she must sense my presence and waves. Caught! I open the door.

  “Too early for breakfast?” she asks.

  I gaze at my watch. It’s after midnight, so technically it’s not too early.

  Maggie is wearing the same outfit as before, minus the towel. Her perfumed hair glistens.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I heard you enter your room and thought maybe you could use some company.”

  I smile wearily.

  She pushes past me into the room, turns, and says, “You look like you could use a shower, Hank.”

  “I was just about to…”

  Maggie closes the door, grabs my hand, and pulls me into the bathroom like a dog. She shuts off the sink faucet, pulls back the shower curtains, and turns on the water. She waits a few moments, tests it. “Perfect.” She proceeds to remove her nightshirt, hops inside, and closes the curtains, then she pokes her head out, her face dripping. “Well?”

  I hesitate.

  “Are you coming?” she says teasingly.

  I have been faithful to Susan from the beginning, so it’s been years since I’ve stripped in front of a woman. I start with my shirt and have difficulty with the buttons.

  “For heaven’s sake, Hank, get over here.”

  I approach Maggie like a schoolboy. She pulls me inside, the water bouncing off my clothes. She unbuttons my shirt, rips it off, and tosses it outside the shower. “We’ll worry about the pants later.” She reaches for me. This time, I don’t hold back. I taste Maggie’s soft lips, and she reacts strongly to my kiss.

  She explores my mouth with her tongue and moans softly. I react with my hand on her breasts. I’m not a fancy lover; Susan hasn’t cared in years. But Maggie wants to be touched and reacts with heavy primal moans, causing me to react harder. I move my head down and taste her hard nipples.

  Maggie rubs against me, feels my hardness. I want to rip off my heavy, soaking pants, but I can’t stop kissing her.

  “Slow down, Hank. We have plenty of time.”

  I stop for a moment. God, it’s been so long!

  She peers up and smiles. “You can continue, Chief Reed.”

  I brush back Maggie’s hair, kiss her neck, her ear.

  “That’s better, Sheriff.”

  Our kisses are in sync, wild, lasting.

  Suddenly, the shower is shut off and Maggie starts for my belt, peels off my wet pants, and motions me to the bed. We’re wet, but we dash for the bed, soaking, laughing.

  Maggie immediately climbs on top, something I’m not used to. She fits me inside her, then gyrates her body slowly, smiling at the ceiling. I feel like I’m ready to explode.

  My eyes close.
/>
  “You okay?” she breathes.

  I don’t answer, but Maggie can tell I’m in total ecstasy.

  Her supple body works its way on me. She kisses my lips and whispers, “You’re mine tonight, Hank.” Then Maggie goes back to her position and works harder, faster, moans louder. I’m wondering whether Lucy the Polish proprietor and everyone else in the inn are listening, but I don’t care about them or anyone else right now.

  I’m rushing, which Maggie senses, so she slows her rhythm down a notch. But I can’t stop, and I explode inside her. Maggie lasts a while longer, calls out something unintelligible, and then drops beside me.

  Maggie’s legs are still locked in mine when my cell phone goes off. My eyes open, and for a brief moment, I forget where I am. Daylight has already entered the room. I check my watch, which, luckily, is waterproof. That lovemaking session wore me out.

  Kate is on the other end of the phone, and she informs me that Wayne left the hospital sometime during the night. She called his house and cell phone, but he doesn’t answer.

  I gingerly undo Maggie’s legs. “When did he leave the hospital?” I ask, sitting up.

  “Nobody seems to know. The hospital never checked him out. And his patrol car is still at the stationhouse.”

  Kate is a mother hen when it comes to her deputies, even Wayne. “He probably called a cab and is sleeping off the painkillers,” I tell her. “He was pretty out of it when I last saw him.”

  “Maybe,” she says unconvinced.

  I feel Maggie’s finger rub playfully on my back. “Tell you what, Kate. I still have a key to Wayne’s house, so I’ll drive over and see what’s up. I gotta get up anyway.”

  “Up as in still sleeping?” she questions.

  I glance over my shoulder. Maggie has a mischievous look on her face. “Something like that. I’ll call you later.” I hang up and start for the bathroom.

  “Hey, Sheriff, where are you going?”

  I turn around and find Maggie’s finger motioning me back to bed.

  “Gotta go. Something’s come up.”

  “I was hoping for that,” she says with a breathy laugh.