Carnage in a Pear Tree

by Dakota Cassidy

  A minor case of guilt washed over me. “Okay, so I was impulsive. But I had to do something.”

  “The something you should have done was call the police, not follow a suspect. I’m not saying this to be a jerkface, Hal. I’m saying this because I love you. You’re my best friend, and I’d probably curl up in a ball and die in a corner if you were hurt.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and tapped his hand. “You’re being dramatic and you know it.”

  He grinned at me, his white, even teeth flashing his familiar smile. “Maybe a little. Curling up in a ball is dramatic, but I definitely wouldn’t eat for a little while.”

  “Oooo. No food? You really would miss me,” I teased, hoping to lighten the darkening mood.

  Then my best friend sobered. “I really would.”

  “If I promise not to do it again, will you let me help?”

  “Swear it,” he demanded again.

  I raised my right hand and put my left one over my heart. “I swear on the BFF code.”

  He held out his pinky and I linked mine with his to seal the deal. “Thank you. Now, here’s what I know. Joey Scarpetti isn’t Joey Scarpetti from Madison, Wisconsin, but we have no idea who he is—yet. No fingerprints in the system, meaning he wasn’t wanted for anything illegal. We’ve got a forensic dentist checking his teeth to try and figure out who this kid is. Also nothing yet on hair or skin samples. Until then, we don’t have a lot.”

  Hobbs gave Stiles a strange look. “Did you talk to Saul about his work application? I mean, how did Joey get the job without a social security card and all the stuff you need to apply?”

  “All of it was fake,” Stiles supplied with a cluck of his tongue.

  “How did Saul miss that?” I asked. Saul was usually so meticulous about background checks and references. For that matter, he was always careful about the personalities he hired—meaning, they had to fit with his team.

  “I don’t know, and Saul says he doesn’t know how he missed it either, but he did, and we have a dead kid on our hands with no identity.”

  I cupped my chin and thought about that. “It feels like he came here with an intention of some kind. He kept a low profile, no trouble. No drama. Kept his head down. Maybe the person who killed him did something to him, and he was here to get revenge and it all went kerflooey?”

  Stiles stuffed his notepad back in his pocket. “Maybe. Or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it’s too early to speculate at this point with no background info. Everything else is a projection.”

  I couldn’t help but scoff. “Did you see my pear tree, Stiles? That doesn’t feel like wrong place, wrong time. Someone really hacked it up, and they really hacked poor Joey up. That felt like rage, not wrong place, wrong time.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that. It sure looked like rage,” Stiles agreed.

  I bit my lip. “Cause of death? Or is it too early to determine? I mean, from what I saw, he had some holes in him, but he didn’t die from falling off the lift, right? He was stabbed with something.”

  “Prelim investigations says a puncture wound to the carotid is what did it, and he was definitely dead when he fell from the lift. Probably happened sometime in the very early hours of the morning before the sun was up.”

  “So it happened this morning?” I asked, incredulous. I’d tossed and turned all dang night, for goodness sake. “How did I miss that, Stiles? How did Atti and Nana? I mean, a fight like that had to at least make some noise, right?”

  “How did I?” Hobbs said. “I was up late last night.”

  “How late?” Stiles asked.

  Hobbs let his palm drop to the table. “My headphones! I was listenin’ to some Garth. Must have happened when I had ‘Friends in Low Places’ up loud. I guess it was about two or three in the morning.”

  I nudged Hobbs in the ribs. “You listen to Garth Brooks?”

  His response? “It’s therapeutic. Relaxes me, and Garth and I are old friends.”

  Why did Hobbs need therapeutic music?

  Stiles tapped his finger on the Formica table. “Is the man’s playlist the point here, Hal?”

  I put my serious face back on and refocused my thoughts. “Sorry. I don’t know how I missed something that…messy. Or that eventful.”

  “It definitely was messy and the evidence says whoever put Scarpetti on the lift was no dummy and absolutely not a weakling.”

  Hobbs’s eyebrows rose in question. “How so?”

  Stiles pulled out his notepad again and flipped the pages. “They had to drag him at least a quarter mile from Hal’s property to the nearest lift entry. We found some tree remnants that left sort of a bread crumb trail partway to the lifts, but no good footprints or anything because of the snowfall. Still, Joey was a hundred and sixty-five pounds and five-ten. Not an easy package to carry, especially if it’s a limp one and in such deep snow.”

  “So we’re looking for a big guy? Or maybe he used a sled? Something to carry the body with?” I suggested. It wouldn’t be the first time a sled was used in a murder.

  “Maybe, but the murder weapon says that’s a lot to clean up and carry.”

  My spine tingled and my hands clenched. Something had sure hacked up that pear tree, and someone had put up a heck of a fight to avoid it.

  “What was the murder weapon?”

  “A ski pole.”

  Chapter 8

  “A ski pole?” My immediate thoughts went to Troy…

  “Yep. They’re pretty sharp in order to grab the snow. So if the perp had skis and ski poles, and a dead body, a sled feels like a lot to add to the mix.”

  “But the perp,” I reminded (I couldn’t believe I was using police jargon like some wannabe cop), “could have gone back to the lodge, dropped all those things off, gotten a sled and put Joey in it to drag him back to the lifts, right? It was early enough in the morning that he or she would have had time. Most everyone was still asleep. The likelihood someone would see them was very slim.”

  “Also true, and a good point, Officer Valentine,” Stiles teased. “Forensics is trying to identify the brand of pole, and of course, there’s a lockdown on all of Saul’s rentals right now, which is what has people so upset with us. We’re ruining their vacation because someone had the nerve to die and we’re trying to catch a killer.”

  I exhaled a ragged breath. “Sorry, friend. People can be selfish sometimes.” No one wants to have a murder in the middle of their Christmas vacation, but leapin’ lizards, cut the police a break. “Did you search Joey’s room in the bunkhouse?”

  “We did, and came up dry. He’s rooming with a guy named Marcelle Perdue. Nice kid from New York, who says Joey was there before he went to sleep at midnight. They sat up and shot the breeze about nothing for a half hour or so. Marcelle went to bed because he had an early shift, and when he woke up at six this morning, his bed was made and Joey was already gone.”

  Because by then he was dead.

  I gulped, tucking my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and rocking back on my chair. “Do you mind if we talk to Marcelle?”

  Stiles scratched his head. “I don’t, but keep it on the down low. Ansel’s not going to like it if he finds out you’re in the middle of a murder again.”

  “Is he afraid my girl’ll make y’all look bad?” Hobbs joked with a hearty chuckle.

  Stiles laughed, too. “I think he is.”

  But I exhaled another breath in aggravation. I had an advantage I couldn’t share and no one would believe me if I did, anyway. Regardless, I had one, and I was going to use it for good.

  The whole puffed-out-chest thing on the PD’s part was such nonsense, I had to ignore it for the moment. “The goal is to find a killer. Not make people look bad, gentlemen. I’m not trying to steal anyone’s shine, but I’m not going to stop until I find out who the girl in my vision is. She’s connected to Joey, or whoever he is, and she’s going to hurt herself if I don’t figure it out.”

  I knew my tone had taken on
a desperate quality, but I was desperate. If the girl was still alive, I was going to do whatever I could to prevent her from leaving this world.

  And if she wasn’t? If this had already happened?

  I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Stiles shot me a sympathetic smile. “I know, Kitten. I get it. You’re in a crappy spot. One I don’t envy.”

  “Have you talked to Troy? I don’t think he could be a suspect, because he looked like he’d just seen someone rise from the dead when we first saw the pear tree, but he could be a really good actor, too.”

  “He has an alibi,” Stiles assured me. “He was with a young lady by the name of Trina Downs from Vermont. They were together all night in one of the ski huts.” The ski huts were small, heated little houses where you could stop along the cross-country ski hill if you needed to rest or grab a water.

  Boy, did I remember the ski huts and all the hanky-panky that went on in them when I was in high school and we all went night tubing.

  “Everything old is new again, huh?” I responded on a grin.

  Stiles snorted at the memory. “Some things never change. Anyway, she vouches for him and he did the same for her.”

  “They didn’t hear anything either, I suppose?” Hobbs asked, his question tinged with amused sarcasm.

  Stiles nodded his dark head in agreement. “Not a peep. But to be fair, the hut they were in was pretty far away from the crime scene.”

  As relieved as I was to hear Troy was in the clear, for his sake as well as Saul’s, that left us with no one. How do you find out about a guy who was quiet, hardly ever talked to anyone, and didn’t really exist anyway?

  I told Stiles what Clarissa had told me about the head housekeeper’s encounter with Joey, and he put Millie on his list of people to speak with.

  Stiles pushed off from the table. “Okay, kids, I have to hit it. Do me a favor, Hal?”

  I rose from my chair as well, coming around the table to give him a quick hug before patting his broad chest. “Anything.”

  He dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Stay out of the line of fire, okay? Don’t get caught talking to people—especially by Ansel—and don’t let the cat out of the bag, and most of all, don’t get hurt.”

  “Promise,” I assured him.

  He pulled his jacket on and said over his shoulder, “Watch my girl, Dainty. Keep her on the straight and narrow.”

  “As if,” Hobbs muttered under his breath. But he called back out to Stiles, “You bet, buddy.”

  I swatted his arm as Stiles strode out the door. “Whadda ya mean, ‘as if’?”

  Hobbs touched his nose to mine, his minty breath wafting over my cheeks. “Who was the last person who kept you on the straight and narrow, Cowgirl?”

  “Um, I can only tell you what happened to the last person who tried to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  “What happened to them?”

  I clasped my hands behind my back and gave him an impish grin. “He had a bad case of bed bugs. Quite sudden, I hear.”

  Hobbs grinned and pressed a kiss to my nose. “Exactly. Now c’mon, Crockett, let’s do this.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I assume you’re playing the role of the brooding yet smartly dressed Tubbs?”

  He winked. “Yep. That’d be me.”

  “Why do I have to wear all the ice-cream-colored suits and loafers with no socks?”

  “Because you’re better lookin’.”

  I giggled. “Acceptable answer, Tubbs.”

  “Now c’mon. We’re gonna find us a killer and save a girl. I can feel it comin’ in the air tonight,” he sang with his dulcet Southern tones.

  I laughed and sent out a silent prayer to the universe that was true. I took his hand as we left to go find some more people to question with the hope we’d be able to at least discover the name of the woman in my vision.

  “I wish I could tell you something that would help,” said Marcelle, Joey’s roommate, who worked in the lodge’s ski shop.

  I looked down at the note Marcelle showed us from Joey—one he’d remembered after the police questioned him. Though the note didn’t say anything that appeared to do with his death.

  It was nothing more than a yellow sticky note reminder Joey had stuck to the fridge for Marcelle, so he’d remember to take his diabetes medication every morning when he woke up. But Marcelle had forgotten all about it after the chaos of finding out Joey was dead.

  Joey wasn’t only a nice guy with a fake name and place of residence, he was kind and he looked out for others.

  I’d taken a picture of it and told Marcelle to give it to the police. I didn’t know if Joey’s handwriting might come into play, but every bit of evidence could only help.

  “Hey, thanks, Marcelle. Appreciate you takin’ the time to talk to us and for being so open,” Hobbs said, holding out his hand to the slight boy.

  Marcelle nodded his dark, curly head and shook Hobbs’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I sure hope you find whoever did this. It’s got us all pretty freaked. Joey didn’t deserve to die like that. He was a great guy. He did nice stuff for everyone all the time in the short time he was here—like the reminder note about my diabetes—and he was a great roommate.” He pushed his thick glasses back up his nose and turned to head toward the lodge.

  Again with the nice-guy schtick. Who wanted to kill such a nice guy?

  But Marcelle maintained Joey was easygoing, neat and helpful. Which is what two of his fellow waiters had said, before we got to Marcelle.

  No one else had ever heard him on the phone talking to anyone, and he never talked about where he came from or his family.

  With a ragged sigh, I looked to Hobbs as we stood outside the festively decorated barn that served as a bunkhouse for the lodge employees and tucked my chin into my thick scarf, discouraged and cold.

  Glancing up at the sky preparing to dump more snow on us, I wondered out loud, “So who wants to kill a nice guy, Tubbs?”

  My handsome boyfriend clucked his tongue and shrugged. “I dunno, Crockett, but I don’t think it was Marcelle who did it.”

  “That’s a quick assumption. Why do you say that?”

  “Does he look like he could carry a dead body a quarter mile?”

  Marcelle was, in fact, slight of build, but that didn’t leave him out of the suspect pool. “You’d be surprised what adrenaline can do, and I think if you’ve just killed someone, and you don’t want to get caught, your adrenaline would be pumping and you could probably lift a Redwood if it means saving your skin.”

  Hobbs jabbed the air with his finger. “Good point, but you gotta admit, he’s doubtful.”

  “I admit he’s a longshot, but stranger things have happened.”

  “If that’s not the understatement of the year,” he teased. “So where to next, Crockett? You wanna cruise the beach and pick up chicks? Grab a fruity drink with an umbrella at the local tiki hut? Or should we talk to more people in an aimless circle of questioning?”

  “What you’re saying is we’re going nowhere fast, right?”

  Hobbs put a hand on my shoulder and nodded somberly. “I think we need to regroup, honey. Make a better plan. One with clearer direction.”

  Yet, my heart skipped a beat. We didn’t have time to waste. I pressed my forehead to his chest. “But if we stop to regroup, we could waste valuable time.”

  “And we could waste it asking the wrong people questions.”

  “Also a good point. I call we talk to Saul next. I left him a voicemail, but he hasn’t gotten back to me, so how about we storm the castle and find him?”

  Hobbs hitched his jaw toward the lodge and the tall windows in the lobby, where the twinkling Christmas lights around the frames had just turned on. “Well, by the looks of the inside of the lodge, he’s got a lot of grumpy people who have a lot of time on their hands to complain. He’s probably spinning in circles, trying to keep them all happy.”

  I threw my hands up, my nose beginning to run from the cold. “So
what next?” My fears were beginning to well up inside me, and frustration reared its ugly head.

  “We get some hot chocolate from Gracie and take a breath.”

  I let my head fall back on my shoulders, trying to relax the tension in my neck. “You just want marshmallows.”

  He smiled in that placating way he had when he wanted something, but was using it to pretend it was for my own good. “I don’t deny I love marshmallows, but I also want you to take a breather so we can go over what we have so far.”

  My heart sank to my stomach. “Which is nothing. It seems like that’s all we ever have when a murder happens. Zip.”

  He held out his hand to pull me toward the parking lot. “That’s not true, honey. We have stuff.”

  I stopped short, my boots kicking up snow as I caught sight of one of the ski huts. “Wait. Didn’t Marcelle say Joey liked to go to the ski huts?”

  “Yeah, he said he was trying to learn how to cross-country ski but he got tired really easily, which is common when you’re learning, so he stopped at a hut.”

  “But he said he always stopped at one particular hut, and never varied from that one particular spot.”

  “Maybe that was the hut where his legs always gave out. You know, like a runner gets to a point in a race and they have to rally or stop?”

  “Do these thighs say I know anything about running? But I don’t think it would hurt to look inside the hut. Maybe he left something there, or maybe I’ll have another vision with another clue—which, by the way, Universe,” I said, looking up to the cloudy sky, “would be a really nice gesture on your behalf. I’d like a big, fat, juicy clue, please.”

  “Fine. But are we gonna do this before we get hot chocolate with marshmallows, Crockett?” he mock-whined with a stomp of his foot.

  I tugged him along behind me as I prepared to climb the big hill. “We are, Tubbs.”

  His shoulders dropped and he comically moaned. “And on top of the delay on my hot chocolate with marshmallows, we’re going to walk?”