Double Duplicity: A Shandra Higheagle Mystery #1

by Paty Jager

  He picked up the desk phone and dialed the sheriff’s office in King County, Washington. After repeating his badge number, county, and a wish to speak with a detective more times than when he’d put a call through to the Pentagon several years ago, he finally had the person he wanted.

  “Yes. I’m working a homicide case in Idaho and I was wondering if you could give me information on Paula Doring and Joyce Carter?” He waited as the sound of typing filled the empty space.

  The tapping stopped. “Do you have some kind of ID I can use to make sure I get the right persons of interest?”

  “Yes.” Ryan rattled off both woman’s socials and in Paula’s case her maiden name.

  The click of a keyboard and then a throat cleared. “Got it. Where do you want me to send the information?”

  “Huckleberry, Idaho P.D.”

  “Really?” The detective’s deep voice rose an octave. “Isn’t that where there’s a ski resort?”

  “Yes.”

  The man lowered his voice. “How about shipping me some info about the resort. My wife’s been bugging me to take her somewhere.”

  “I’ll send it out tomorrow, Detective Timens.”

  “Thanks. Your information should be to you by this afternoon. Looks like I’ll be doing a lot of scanning.”

  The phone clicked and a dial tone hummed in Ryan’s ear. He placed the receiver on the phone. “That must be some file on Joyce.” He remembered her sister saying Joyce had been heavy into drugs and not of her own doing. How many times had she been caught?

  Blane entered the building, shoving a red faced, cursing Juan Lida.

  “Where do you want him?” Blane asked.

  “Whoa, I asked you to bring him in for questioning not treat him like a gang member.” The minute the words slipped out he regretted saying them. The precinct he’d worked out of in Chicago had an off-the-books directive to rough up the gang members to show them who was boss. It was following that directive and then offering to help a gang member that put him in the crosshairs of three rival gangs.

  Blane stared at him.

  “Just bring us both a cup of coffee, please.” Ryan motioned for Lida to enter an empty room just off the main office. “I’m sorry. Officer Blane is new, young, and gets carried away with his tough cop act.”

  His pleasant tone seemed to appease the man. Lida nodded and took a seat at the table in the middle of the room.

  Blane entered with two cups of coffee in Styrofoam cups. Ryan hated drinking from Styrofoam. He put the cup down and thanked Blane, nodding for the young officer to leave. When the door closed, Ryan leaned back in his chair.

  “I had a couple more things I wanted to ask you last night.”

  Lida took a sip of coffee and winced.

  “Yeah, they make a piss poor cup of coffee here.” Ryan pulled out his notepad and flipped to a clean page. “I understand from a third party that you made the statement you and Mrs, Doring were to be married.”

  “Sí. Yes. When her divorce from that womanizing man was final, we were to be married and become partners in the gallery.”

  The man’s native accent was more prominent today. His fingers moved in a wave-like motion on the coffee cup. It appeared this questioning made the man nervous.

  “Who else knew of these plans?”

  His eyes narrowed then flicked wide as if in innocence. “No one. We were keeping it quiet to not give her husband a chance to take the gallery away from her.”

  Ryan peered steady at the man. He didn’t show any tics of a liar. If Doring was giving his wife money once a month for the gallery, that would stop with the divorce. Was she afraid he would pull it sooner if he learned of her marriage to the assistant? He dropped the money and moved to the point she’d had two clandestine meetings. She wasn’t telling Lida everything and perhaps was stringing him along.

  Ryan pulled the sketch out of the file he’d brought into the room with him. “Do you know this man?”

  Lida’s nostrils flared as he glared at the sketch. “No.” He spit the word out with emphasis.

  “But you’ve seen him before? Where?” Had Juan seen the man with his lover and killed the woman in a rage? It would fit with the strength it would take to force the blunt object through her rib cage.

  “Yes. He and Paula were arguing one day when I arrived at the gallery. She told him to leave, and then refused to say more than he was a man from her past.” Lida shoved the sketch across the table. “She was still upset later that day and sold an expensive piece of art for half the price it should have gone for.”

  “But you don’t have any idea what his name is or how he was part of her past?” Lida wasn’t a U.S. Citizen but that wouldn’t keep him from finding a way to discover the man’s identity.

  “No.”

  The quick refusal and staring at the table said Lida was lying. But there wasn’t much Ryan could do other than bluff and say they would deport him if he didn’t fess up. However, Ryan wasn’t the kind to bluff and not follow through. He didn’t want to mess with the INS when he had a murder to solve.

  “If you discover who this man is please contact me.” Ryan slid his business card across the table. “I have reason to believe he had something to do with Paula’s death.”

  That caught the man’s attention.

  “What?”

  “He was seen arguing with Mrs. Doring the day before her murder and possibly slipping into the back door of the gallery.” Ryan knew he’d stretched the truth. If he believed Naomi Norton’s story, the man the victim was seen arguing with more than once could have been the person slipping into the unlocked back door.

  Lida leaned forward his eyes wide. “By who?”

  “The woman you gave a copy of the gallery key.”

  Lida’s dark complexion lightened two shades.

  “Were you in the habit of giving anyone who asked keys to your employer’s gallery?” This time he was going to lay it on heavy. “How many other people had access to the gallery through the back door?”

  Lida dropped his face into his hands. “I have killed mi amor.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shandra walked beside a stream following a pretty butterfly as it flit up and down and in circles. The roar of fast moving water caught her attention. The trickling stream grew in size and the water overflowed the banks. Shandra grabbed a tree branch and pulled herself up. The water rose and buildings started floating by. Most of them were Huckleberry businesses. How could that be? She was up the mountain from the town? She looked up into the sky. Her grandmother’s face appeared in the clouds. “Ella, what are you—?”

  A shout drew her gaze back to the fast running river. The man she’d sketched was on a raft with the warrior bronze she’d witnessed in Paula’s gallery. He pulled the spearhead off the shaft and threw it at her.

  The hard object struck her in the chest, knocking her into the water. Panic encompassed her. She swallowed water and felt her body sinking. No! I have to find the truth. Frantic to get out of the water that carried her away from the mountain, she flailed with leaden arms and bobbed to the top. On the far side of the stream she saw a familiar figure. “Ryan! Ryan!”

  Shandra’s eyelids opened. She stared into the darkness, gradually realizing she wasn’t in water. Her soft bed was under her, but she couldn’t breathe. A glance down her body found the answer. Sheba covered her. The animal’s huge head inches from Shandra’s face. She inhaled nasty dog breath and shoved on the dog.

  “Off.” Her hoarse voice caught her by surprise. She clutched her dry aching, throat.

  In two beats of her heart the dream came back in vivid images. The bronze statue of a warrior with a spear was a clue. Ella was feeding her clues in her dreams. But how? Why?

  She stared at the ceiling. “How do I get into the gallery and look at the statue?” It was risky to break in, but what choice did she have? “I can’t say to Ryan, hey, I had a dream and I think you should look at the warrior in the gallery.”

  Shan
dra rolled over and slugged the pillow next to her. “Why am I having these dreams?” The moonlight cast a beam across the photo on her dresser of she and Ella taken the summer she spent at the reservation. “No, I am not full blood. I’m not a shaman.” She had shoved the stories and grandmother’s persistence that she, Shandra, had the gift of sight to the back of her mind. When she returned to life at the ranch in Montana her mother and stepfather told her those were all an old woman’s stories and fantasies.

  Peering at the photo, Shandra was wondering if perhaps the old woman had seen something in her granddaughter that no one else could see, including herself. It was absurd to think she had any kind of sight. She, after all, had her mother’s practical mind. And my father’s adventurous nature. The trait her mother hated and squelched whenever she could.

  ~*~

  Shandra was up with the sun once again. This time she sat on the porch sipping coffee and trying to figure out the best way to get into the gallery. She hadn’t slept much after the dream. And now that the details were ingrained in her mind, she felt compelled to discover if the top of the spear would come off.

  At eight she pulled out her cell phone, scrolled to Naomi’s number, and pushed the button.

  “Hello. You’re calling early,” Naomi responded.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” While they had become good friends, she only told Naomi parts of her life.

  “I’m sorry. Can I help?”

  Just as she’d expected Naomi, the giver, offered to help. She’d give the shirt off her back even if it was her last one. Precisely why Shandra knew her friend didn’t kill Paula.

  “Do you still have the key to the Doring Gallery back door?”

  “I do, but…Why do you want to go in there?” Naomi whispered.

  “I want to look around.” She was practical enough to not tell her friend about the dream.

  “That’s the job of the police.”

  Wow. She hadn’t expected Naomi to disagree.

  “I plan to call the police if I find what I think I will. But it seems senseless to call until I have the facts.”

  “What facts? What have you been doing?” The curiosity in her voice proved she’d give in.

  “I made a sketch yesterday of the man Lil saw arguing with Paula.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d thought given the camaraderie she’d felt with Ryan, he would have at least called and let her know the man’s name when he found out.

  “Is he why you need to get into the gallery? Do you think he was one of Paula’s artists?”

  That works! “Yes. I know she keeps flyers of the artists. I want to slip in and see if I can find him.”

  “Come to the gallery, and I’ll give you the key.” A hand muffled the sounds on Naomi’s end. “But don’t tell Ted why you’re here,” she whispered and hung up.

  A headache started to pound at her temples. Shandra went into the house and took two pain relievers. It’s from lack of sleep, she told herself and not that she was about to do something illegal.

  ~*~

  Ryan slept on the couch in the break room at the police station. The King County detective hadn’t been exaggerating that he had a lot of information to scan. Ryan read through sixty-three scanned pages of information and crashed on the couch when his eyes gave out.

  Between all of Joyce’s arrests and Paula’s they could have filled a court docket for a year. They were both arrested multiple times for drug offenses. The older woman’s records were a decade before Joyce’s. Paula started in her teens where Joyce didn’t show up in the court records until she was in her mid-twenties. By the time Joyce was making court appearances it seemed Paula had cleaned up and moved on to the more lucrative trade of high-end prostitution. That was until she landed Sidney Doring, a philanthropist who must not have done a thorough background check on his new wife.

  Blane arrived whistling and carrying a box of donuts. The scent of the yeasty cholesterol-laden treats made Ryan’s stomach rumble. He’d skipped dinner last night and on his empty stomach didn’t dare try to drink the acid the Huckleberry P.D. called coffee.

  “You want a donut? They’re fresh.” Blane opened the lid and flashed him with chocolate and maple covered bars and glazed donuts, wafting the scent into Ryan’s face.

  “I need real food. Don’t mess up the pile of papers in the interrogation room. I’ll be back.” Ryan buckled on his shoulder holster.

  “You slept here last night?” Blane’s gaze swept the room.

  The blanket Ryan had used draped over the back of the couch and the pillow still had an indentation from his head.

  “Seemed senseless to pay for a motel when I didn’t get to sleep until two.” He shoved his Glock in the holster and pulled a long sleeved denim shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Walking would do him good after sleeping on the small couch. The town was quiet as he ambled up Second Street to the restaurant two blocks down from the crime scene. He’d had breakfast here yesterday and liked the price and the amount of food.

  He stepped inside and scanned the establishment. Treat, the funeral home driver, waved at him. The man knew a lot about Joyce Carter. Did he know about Paula’s past as well? Ryan crossed to the counter and took a stool next to Treat.

  “Detective, you came to the right place to get a good meal.” Treat smiled at the African American woman in her mid-thirties smiling back at him from the kitchen window.

  “I was here yesterday and enjoyed the meal.” Ryan looked from the woman to the man and back to the woman. “You two look like you know one another well.”

  “That there’s Ruthie, my soon-to-be wife.” Treat winked and the woman giggled.

  “Congratulations!” Ryan slapped Treat on his back and found what he expected. Solid muscle.

  “You got a woman, detective?”

  A high school-aged girl poured Ryan a cup of coffee and handed him the menu. He glanced at Treat’s plate. “Just give me what he’s having.”

  The girl grinned, scribbled on the pad, and placed it in line with the other orders.

  He took a sip of the coffee and closed his eyes. Nothing beat a good cup of coffee.

  “Best coffee in town.” Treat said. “You got a woman?”

  “No, not at the moment.” Shandra’s face came into his mind and he smiled.

  “But you’re thinking about one.” Treat bumped Ryan with his elbow.

  “Yeah. That’s what men do. Think about what it feels like to hold a woman.” He was fishing with that comment. He’d only met Treat the one other time. The man had seemed to know a lot and have some scruples but that could have been a front for a police officer.

  Treat’s lips turned into an even bigger grin as he stared heatedly at the cook. “Only if it’s the right woman.” He turned his gaze on Ryan. “There are men in this town that hold anything that doesn’t have testosterone, but they are missin’ out on the communion of two souls.”

  Ryan nodded his head. That’s why he hadn’t married. He’d yet to find that person who made him feel whole. The waitress set Ryan’s plate in front of him. He smiled and peered into Treat’s eyes.

  “I have some questions for you.” He glanced briefly toward the kitchen, then the young waitress, and nodded toward an empty booth in the back of the room. Ryan picked up his plate carrying it to the booth. Treat followed, carrying his breakfast and coffee.

  Treat slid into the seat and leaned forward over his plate. “What’s this about?”

  “You seemed to be well versed in Joyce Carter the day we met. I have some questions about her and her sister.”

  “Naomi? You don’t think she killed Paula do you?” The incredulous tone said he would champion the woman just like Shandra.

  “There has been some evidence that points to her.” Ryan held up a hand when the man leaned back his face darkening in anger. “But I have to uncover everything to find the killer. What do you know about
Joyce’s life before she came here?”

  “Not more than I said before. Her old boyfriend got her hooked on drugs, and she went into rehab as soon as he went to jail.” The disgust in his voice paralleled Ryan’s thoughts about the ex-boyfriend.

  “Tell me about Joyce. Was she as timid and fretful as her sister? I can’t see a strong-willed woman getting hooked on drugs if she didn’t want to.”

  “Joyce was sweet, soft spoken, had a body that men drooled over and even though she’d been in the drug scene was as naïve as a school girl.” Treat chewed a bite of his hash browns a thoughtful repose on his face. “I could see her trying to please a man she thought cared for her.” He wielded his fork like a pointer. “I only visited with her at length a couple times. Once when she came to the funeral home looking for a job, and then one day here in the diner.”

  The man’s expression changed as he thought back. “You know. She was jumpy the time I talked with her here. I asked her what was wrong. She just said, you can’t run from your past.”

  Ryan latched onto that piece. “So you think her past arrived in Huckleberry?

  Treat shook his head. “I don’t think it was a person.” He raised his coffee cup, and the teenaged waitress promptly arrived, refilling his cup and Ryan’s.

  “Do you know if she made any friends here? Anyone she may have confided in besides her sister?” Ryan wondered if the photos Paula had were the reason Joyce thought her past had caught up to her.”

  “I only saw her alone or with Ted and Naomi.” Treat stopped eating. “Ruthie, come out here a minute,” he called.

  The cook smiled, waved a flapjack turner, and turned to the young man in a chef’s hat. A couple minutes later she arrived at the booth a cup of coffee in one hand. She slid in beside Treat.

  “Ruthie, this is Detective Greer. He’s trying to find out who killed Paula.”

  Ryan held his hand out over the table. The woman had a firm grip and a ready smile.