Double Duplicity: A Shandra Higheagle Mystery #1

by Paty Jager

  “You got any suspects?” she asked and took a sip of coffee.

  “A couple. You have any ideas?” The woman worked in what looked to be the hangout of the local business people. Ryan hoped she was one who listened in on conversations.

  “Paula had a lot of lunch meetings where she’d come in, pick up food for two, and leave.”

  Ryan pulled out his notepad. “Any thoughts on who she was seeing?”

  Ruthie laughed. “Half the male artists in her gallery. Half the business men in town. That woman needed a lesson in keeping her knees together.”

  Ryan glanced up from his notepad. Could the extra money each month have been from prostitution? Had her husband found out? “Did she get paid for keeping company with these men?”

  Treat and Ruthie looked at one another, then back at him.

  “I never wondered about that. I just figured she was one of them women that had to have it all the time and Doring couldn’t take care of her.” A lop-sided grin gave the impression Treat found it humorous Doring couldn’t provide what his wife needed.

  Ruthie slapped Treat’s arm. “That’s not a nice thing to say about Mr. Doring. And I know he didn’t have any problem with that.”

  “How so?” Ryan turned his attention to the woman.

  “Yeah, how’d you know that?” The accusation in Treat’s voice didn’t seem to bother the woman. She just patted his beefy arm and smiled sweetly.

  “A couple of the female employees at the lodge were in here one day and nearly got in a cat fight when they realized they’d both been sleeping with Doring.” Ruthie sat back in the booth looking smug.

  “Ruthie!” The young man in the kitchen called in a panic.

  Her gaze whipped to the kitchen window and she stood. “Gotta go. Kyle’s in training, and I don’t need my kitchen burned down.”

  Ryan stopped her. “Do you know those two women’s names?”

  Ruthie shook her head and hurried to the kitchen.

  Looked like he’d be making another trip to the lodge today.

  “I gotta go too. My pop doesn’t like me to be late.” Treat tossed money on the tables. “See ya later babe!” he called out to the kitchen and left.

  Ryan took a moment to prioritize the leads he needed to follow. 1. Show the sketch Shandra made to staff at the motels between town and the lodge. 2. Check Juan Lida’s alibi for the time of the murder. 3. Check Sidney Doring’s alibi for the time of the murder. 4. See where Joyce and Paula’s lives might have intersected before Huckleberry.

  He put money on the table and left the restaurant. Peering down the street he spotted Shandra’s Jeep in front of Dimension Gallery. The thought of talking with the woman put a bounce in his step and a smile on his lips.

  He continued down the sidewalk toward the Jeep. At the vehicle, he did a cursory check of the interior and turned to the gallery. Through the front and side windows in the building, he caught a glimpse of Shandra crossing the street toward Doring Gallery.

  Instead of entering Dimensions, he strode around the corner just as Shandra walked into the alley behind the Doring Gallery. What is she doing?

  Ryan jogged across the street and into the alley. Shandra wasn’t anywhere in sight. The back door of Doring Gallery swung shut.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shandra stopped inside the back door of the gallery and pulled a flashlight out of her purse. The LED beam shed a pristine white glow on the back room full of crates, packing material, and shadows. She’d never been in the backroom of Paula’s gallery. The woman had always conducted all business at her office. Ted and Naomi welcomed artists to bring their pieces in through the back door and uncrate them. And when necessary, put them together.

  Careful not to touch anything, Shandra proceeded through the room and into the back of the gallery. She hurried past the office. The door was closed, however her memory of what she’d found in there still haunted her. The air around her moved. A faint click echoed in the stillness. She stopped sweeping the light back and forth looking for the Native American display.

  What made that click?

  She listened, holding her breath. Nothing. Nerves settle down. There’s no one else here.

  Ahead of her the beam of light landed on the statue she trespassed to examine. Shandra tucked the flashlight between her knees, tugged a pair of rubber kitchen gloves from her back pocket and pulled them on. She had a box of the gloves in her studio to keep her fingers from drying out while working with the clay.

  With the flashlight in her hand, she approached the statue with the spear. The artist did a magnificent job showing the abdominal muscles and the long lean muscles on the warrior’s legs and arms. She ran a hand over the six-pack abs before moving up the arm and reaching for the spear.

  The overhead lights flashed on, blinding her momentarily. Panic swelled her throat and raced her heart. Who caught her slinking around in the dark?

  “What are you doing?”

  She knew that voice. Had heard the same disappointment dripping from each word before. Shandra swallowed the lump, flicked off the flashlight, and slowly pivoted. Yep, it was the detective. The disbelief and disappointment on Ryan’s face spun a web of guilt in her chest.

  “I don’t often misread people. Did you come back to find the murder weapon you hid?”

  “No!” Anger shoved away the guilt of breaking in. She raised the flashlight, pointing it at his chest. “I did not kill Paula, and I am here looking for the weapon. But not because I used it.”

  He crossed his arms and stared at her. “Lady, your unjustified indignation isn’t going to move me this time. I caught you trespassing on a crime scene.”

  “Yes, I’m trespassing. I didn’t…” What was she supposed to say? My grandmother came to me in a dream last night and showed me the weapon. She laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing. She didn’t believe in “visions” and here she was trespassing to seek information that came to her in a dream. The ludicrousness of her actions slapped her like a wet mop. What was I thinking?

  Ryan’s face grew tense, and his ears brightened to a deep red. “This isn’t something to laugh about. Turn around.” He pulled hand cuffs from behind his back.

  That sobered her. “No! I’m not a criminal, and I didn’t kill Paula.”

  “I don’t want to get rough with you, but you’re resisting arrest.”

  Ignoring him, Shandra flicked her flashlight back on and settled the beam on the tip of the spear. “I have reason to believe this is your murder weapon.”

  “Why?” The skepticism in his voice was better than the disappointment she’d witnessed earlier.

  “It’s awkward to tell you why. Since we’re here could you just take a look?” She peered over her shoulder at Ryan. His arms were crossed again, and his chin jutted out in a stubborn set.

  “I’d rather you explain your reasoning behind this.” His gaze went to the four foot high warrior and then to the tip another foot above the warrior’s head. “No one could pick that statue up and use it as a weapon. It’s too heavy.”

  Exasperated, she grasped the shaft of the spear. “Not all bronzes are in one piece. This comes off.” She tugged and nothing happened. Heat slithered up her neck, infusing her cheeks and ears.

  “How?”

  She shot a glare over her shoulder. “I don’t know, but it does.” Shandra twisted the shaft and it moved. Elation rushed through her like adrenaline. She spun the shaft faster and it rose.

  “What the?” Ryan stepped beside her. “Let me take that.” He spun the shaft three more times and it came loose. “How did you know that would come off?” His eyes narrowed, watching her.

  “I-I…” She stared at her boots. Did she dare tell him the truth?

  “Decide if you’re going to tell me the truth while I call the station and have someone bring over my forensic kit.” Ryan walked ten feet away and pulled his phone out of a holster on his belt.

  He remained facing Shandra, his gaze leveled on her as he spoke into t
he phone giving orders.

  How could she tell him what brought her here when she barely believed it herself? You believed it enough to borrow a stolen key. “Shut up.”

  “What?”

  Mortification engulfed Shandra, making her cough and scorch with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t mean you.” How did she get out of this? “I was talking to myself.”

  Ryan’s eyebrow shot up, and he shoved his phone in his phone holster as he strode toward her. “You won’t get out of this on a mental plea.”

  I must be crazy. Why else would I have believed a dream? Shandra shook her head. “You’ll never believe how I knew that could be the murder weapon.” She held out her hands. “You might as well cuff me and take me to the station.”

  His dark eyes bore into her. The stare softened the small amount of bravado she had left.

  “You might tell me why you suspect this is the murder weapon rather than take the fall for someone else.” Animosity no longer tinged his words.

  She shook her head. “You’ll never believe my story.”

  He tucked the hand cuffs away and placed the spear on the base of the bronze warrior. “Try me.”

  Shandra inhaled deeply and peered into his eyes. “This is crazy. I’m not even sure why I felt compelled to come here.” She waved her hands stalling as her stomach gurgled with apprehension.

  “But you did. Why?”

  “I had a dream.”

  His brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean a dream?”

  “Last night. I dreamed there was a flood. Ella, my father’s mother who left this earth was in the dream.”

  His gaze zeroed in on her eyes. “Is this your Native American grandmother?”

  “Y-yes. Why?” How did he know? Why was he so interested?

  “What did she say?”

  His interest unnerved her as much as telling him the dream that had brought her here. “She didn’t say anything. In the dream she appeared when there was the flood. Then the man I sketched was on a raft and threw this spear at me, knocking me out of the tree I was in. I fell in the water and—” There was no way she would tell him he was there to save her.

  “What?”

  “I woke up with the need to come check out this bronze.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more stupid than actually following through.

  “So you think your grandmother is helping you solve the murder? Why?” His tone wasn’t snotty or superior. His gaze searched her face.

  “I don’t know. Years ago she tried to tell me I had the gift of sight.” Shandra clamped her jaws shut. That was more information than she’d planned to share with anyone, ever.

  He continued to watch her. “You don’t believe what your grandmother told you, and you can’t believe you came here.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, but I’m open to all options to prove Naomi didn’t kill Paula and to expose whoever did.”

  The back door banged open. “Detective Greer?” Officer Blane hollered.

  “Come to the front!” Ryan called then returned his gaze on Shandra. “Don’t say anything. Let me do all the talking.” He pointed at her gloved hands. “Get rid of those.”

  Shandra stripped the gloves off and shoved them in her back pocket.

  Ryan leaned close, plucked the gloves from her pocket, and said, “We’ll discuss your grandmother later.”

  Shandra stared at Ryan as he greeted Officer Blane. He seemed to take her dream and reason for coming here more seriously than she did. Warmth swirled in her chest. He believed her and in her dream. Her cheeks flushed reliving the feel of the heat of his fingers as he pulled her gloves from her back pocket.

  Ryan couldn’t help but smile at the confused expression on Shandra’s face. He’d deal with her later. Right now he had to get rid of Blane.

  “Thank you for being so prompt.” Ryan took his pack from Blane.

  “What’s she doing here?” Blane asked, glaring at Shandra.

  “She was telling me about this statue and it made me wonder if this could be the murder weapon.” Ryan nodded toward the spearhead as he shoved his hands into latex gloves and pulled out the luminol spray. He glanced at Shandra. Her attention was trained on the spray bottle in his hand.

  He spritzed the bronze spear, held a black light flashlight above the spear, and waited. Gradually, blue appeared on the point and down to the broader part of the spear. It wasn’t conclusive, but he’d bet the coroner would match the injuries in the body to this weapon as well as the victim’s blood.

  “What did she tell you that made you suspect that?” Blane nodded his head toward Shandra.

  Blane’s comment lit Ryan’s anger like a match striking on metal. “Ms. Higheagle mentioned the spear could be removed.”

  Blane put his hand on his revolver. “How’d she know that?”

  “Just because I am a potter doesn’t mean I don’t know how other pieces of art are put together.”

  Her haughty tone and the way she drew her body up straight and tall and peered down at the younger man, tickled Ryan and made the officer back away from her.

  “I’ll call dispatch and have a deputy retrieve this to take to the coroner in Coeur d’Alene.” Ryan meant for his comment to send Blane on his way, but he continued to watch Shandra.

  “Blane, you can go back to your duties, now.” Ryan pulled out an evidence bag and placed the spearhead in the bag.

  “Don’t you think I should stay here until the deputy arrives?” Blane inched his hand toward his weapon.

  “I’ll be leaving here as soon as I finish testing the statue for prints and other signs of blood.” Ryan wrote the time and date on the evidence bag and placed it in his pack.

  “What about her? You want me to take her to the station?” Blane’s tone didn’t sound like he wanted to deal with Shandra. Which was fine with Ryan because he didn’t plan to let her loose until they’d discussed her dream and why she didn’t take it serious.

  “I’ll take care of Ms. Higheagle. You go back to work.” When Blane didn’t move, Ryan added, “That’s an order. Get going or I’ll call your chief.”

  The officer headed to the back door.

  Shandra let out a long breath. “He doesn’t like me. Reminds me of the Indian haters back in Montana.” She shivered.

  He wanted to comfort her, but he had work to do. “I don’t think it’s who or what you are, but more he came upon you at the murder scene and you’re still a suspect in his mind.”

  “I guess so. Now what?” She watched him dust for prints on the statue and label them.

  “I’d prefer you stay with me until I hand this over to a detective. Then I plan to have a discussion with you.”

  “About?” There was a quiver in her voice.

  “Things.” Ryan retrieved his phone and pressed dispatch. His sister answered. “Cathleen, send a deputy to Huckleberry. I have evidence to go to Coeur d’Alene and forensics.”

  “You aren’t taking it yourself? Bridget is going to be sad.”

  “She’ll get over it. I have more important things to take care of here.” He glanced at Shandra pretending to not listen in. “What’s the ETA on a deputy getting here?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “That works. Have them go to the P.D.” He planned to drop off the evidence at the station, and then find a quiet place to talk with Shandra.

  “Will do. Take care.”

  Ryan tapped the end button and faced Shandra. “Who would know that piece wasn’t permanent?”

  Shandra peered at him. “The artist, the foundry that poured the bronze, probably Paula, given the way she lorded over the artists and only let a few into the back room.” She tapped a slender finger against her lips. “Probably Juan. That is if he was here when the bronze arrived and helped with the set up.”

  Ryan read the name of the artist on the base of the statue. Oscar Rowan. He pulled out his notepad. “Do you know this Oscar guy? Is he local?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe I�
�ve ever met him, which would lead me to believe he isn’t local. The local artists gather about every three or four months and discuss ways to market and promote, not only here, but at other venues.”

  He stashed all the evidence in his pack and motioned for Shandra to head to the back of the building. “Since you have the key, we’ll lock up on our way out.” He glanced her direction and was pleased to see she cringed and blushed. It was a good telltale that she wasn’t prone to trespassing. He hadn’t thought she was, but when he’d watched her enter the building and then make her way straight for that bronze, his head and gut battled. He’d actually become physically ill thinking he’d misjudged another person. Especially Shandra.

  He flipped off the lights. The LED beam of Shandra’s flashlight guided them through the cluttered back room and straight to the door.

  Once outside, he held out his hand. She dropped the key in his palm without hesitation. He locked the door and pocketed the key. He already had Lida’s key, but had yet to discover if any more keys were floating around.

  Shandra stood in the alley, her arms crossed, waiting.

  “Why don’t you walk with me over to the station? We’ll grab a cup of coffee somewhere after I drop this off.” He shouldered the pack and started down the alley. Her boot heels rang out on the pavement beside him as she strode forcefully down the alley.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shandra didn’t want to talk about her dream or her grandmother with Ryan, but she didn’t see that she had much choice. If she begged off the conversation, she was pretty sure he would use the law, and the fact she was trespassing, to detain her. She’d rather not have the threat overshadowing their conversation.

  Thankfully, Ryan didn’t ask questions. The quiet as they walked to the police station gave Shandra time to rationalize her actions. She gathered logical reasons for her actions but always came back to reprimanding herself for following the dream. If she’d just written it off as a dream and went on with her day, she wouldn’t be in this mess. For all she knew the spearhead being attached like that was a coincidence. The blood could have come from someone who worked on the statue. They’d come up with nothing, and she’d look even more guilty for throwing suspicion on a fake clue.