by A M Ialacci
“You might actually be getting someone out of worse trouble. Do you understand what I’m saying, Earl?”
Earl looked up, eyes wide. “You think Berta killed Nicholas?”
“We are looking at a few suspects, Earl, but yes, Berta is on the list.”
“Well, shit,” Earl said, looking way. They waited. “Have you questioned her?”
“Informally,” Will said.
“Have you been to her house?”
Will looked him in the eye. “What’s at her house, Earl?”
“You’re killing me, Will.”
“Dammit, Earl.” Will leaned across the table. “What’s more important? Your social standing in your little club, or finding the person who killed another human being?”
Earl held up his hands and turned his face away. “All right,” he mumbled.
Will sat back and nodded.
“That room off her basement that looks like a laundry room is where she keeps her trophies from her less-than-legal hunts.”
Cleo raised her eyebrows at Will.
“What does she have in there, Earl?”
“Well, not much. She often sells them to people online. There’s quite a market for endangered and protected species.”
“The birds, Earl. What were you referring to?”
Earl looked Will in the eye. “A bald eagle, Will.”
“Shit,” Will said. “That’s a federal crime.”
Earl looked away.
“When did she shoot it?”
“The day of the murder. She lost an arrow doing it. It went through and through. The bird dropped and she couldn’t find it but didn’t want to waste time looking for it.”
Will didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, “Thank you, Earl. I know that was difficult.”
“You gonna report her?”
“I have to. It’s out of my hands.”
Earl nodded and slid out from the both to stand at the end of the table. “All right then,” he said and put his hat on. Will gave him a half salute to let him know he was done with his questions, and Earl turned and left, looking left and right the whole way out the door.
“Well, he just saved her from one fire only to throw her in another,” Cleo said.
“And we have one less suspect,” Will said.
“Okay, back to the list. Jimmy Stubbs.”
“Good old Jimmy. Did they find the safe-deposit box?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. They did find it,” Will said.
“And?”
“Pretty interesting, actually. There was a note inside.”
“Like a bank note?” Cleo asked.
“No, like a note, note. That said I.O.U.”
“Huh?”
“When we let Jimmy know what was inside, he cursed quite a bit. It seems his dear old dad and his crew used to rob banks and other places that tended to carry a lot of cash. He was supposed to stash the proceeds from his last heist in this safe-deposit box, and that was what Jimmy was counting on finding.
“Pretty good motive for murder,” Cleo said.
“But it looks like Jimmy’s dad cleared it out first and never told Jimmy and Nicholas’s mom.”
“If Jimmy could have just shown a little patience, he would have found this out on his own instead of being sent up for burglary.”
“Crime doesn’t pay,” Cleo said.
“It doesn’t pay for Jimmy, anyway.”
“And what are the chances he killed Nicholas?”
“Pretty slim. Why would he do it in the woods, and why with a crossbow? I doubt that guy has ever shot a crossbow in his life. He looks like he’d much prefer a sawed-off shotgun or a switchblade.”
“Or his fists,” Cleo commented.
Will nodded. “Doesn’t rule him out.”
Cleo nodded. As Will held his fork to cut his food, Cleo noticed the ring finger of his left hand had a very faint tan line.
“Were you married?” she blurted.
Will stilled and Cleo immediately regretted the fast track that her thoughts often took to her mouth.
After several awkward moments, he cleared his throat and said, “I was.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“No, she…uh…died.” Will placed his fork and knife on the plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Then he put that on the plate too and pushed it away.
“I’m…so sorry. I shouldn’t have…it was stupid. Please forgive me,” Cleo bumbled.
Will shook his head. “Forget it.”
“No, I’m sorry, Will, I shouldn’t have—”
“I said forget it. It’s no big deal.” He avoided her gaze.
She chewed and swallowed her chicken tender even though it became sawdust in her mouth. When it was gone, she said, “I can take you home.”
Will slid off the barstool with the check in hand and went to the cashier, paid, and walked out. Cleo shrugged her coat on, left a few dollars for a tip, and went out to the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cleo pulled into Will’s driveway and tried to apologize again, but he just waved her off, shaking his head as he got out of the car. She watched him shut the car door, walk to his front door, and let himself in without another word spoken.
She slammed the heels of her hands into the steering wheel. “Dammit.” Will was clearly pissed. How could she have been so stupid?
She took a deep breath and put the car into reverse, barely remembering the drive to her house. She parked and went inside.
Ollie was happy to see her, and she rubbed his head and scratched behind his ears, crouching to accept his kisses and appreciation. Buttons yowled loudly and stretched on his way to the kitchen. As she poured food into their bowls, a voice inside of her began to get angry.
It had been an innocent enough question. She hadn’t known his wife was dead or that it was such a sore subject. She wasn’t trying to cause him pain intentionally. In fact, he really owed her an apology for behaving like that, making her feel so awful. That just wasn’t cool.
Cleo pulled a tumbler down from the cabinet and reached for the bottle of Bulleit bourbon. She unscrewed the cap with one quick motion and at the last moment decided to forgo the tumbler and just drink from the bottle.
“C’mon, Ollie. Outside,” she said, holding the back door open for him.
As Oliver went to do his business and sniff around outside, Cleo took a seat in the dark on the patio and raised the bottle to her lips. Oh, it had been a while since she had tasted that burning caramel, felt the warmth flow into her, and then radiate from the inside out. Her sinuses filled with fumes, and she inhaled deeply.
Oliver must have seen a possum or something because he began barking his head off, with that throaty hound dog “haroo!”
Cleo dug her phone out of her pocket and found the contact she was looking for. The phone rang a few times until a wobbly voice answered, “Hello?”
“Shelley?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s Cleo. I’m just checking in on you, honey. Are you okay?”
“We…we…we broke up,” Shelley said and then sobbed.
“I figured it was coming. Do you need me to come over?”
“No, no. I just need to finish boxing up his stuff to throw on the lawn.”
“If it were me, I wouldn’t bother boxing it,” Cleo said.
A pause, then, “You know what? You’re right!” Shelley said loudly. “He can deal with it! Asshole!” she shouted, and something banged in the background. “I can’t believe he cheated on me!”
“It’s good to get your rage out, but not on the expensive stuff, and don’t hurt yourself,” Cleo said. “Take it from a pro.”
Shelley’s nose was completely stuffed due to the hours she had probably spent crying. Cleo could only imagine the state she was in.
“Do you have ice cream?”
“Yes,” Shelley said.
“And Netflix?”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re golden. Throw
his shit on the lawn, close the blinds, lock the doors, and be by yourself for a bit.”
Shelley sniffed. “It makes me sick to my stomach thinking that he was screwing her while he was screwing me.” She paused. “There is one good thing.”
Cleo could think of more than a few but held her tongue. “What’s that?”
“He didn’t kill Nicholas,” she said. “I started to think about all the stuff I had told Travis about him. He made me tell him after Nicholas had choked him. About how he visited Berta’s deer blind a lot, and all of the stuff he and I had been working on, trying to trace his family.” She paused, then whispered, “I started to think Travis had actually killed him.”
“And you felt guilty,” Cleo supplied.
“I did. But at least I know now he didn’t. At least I wasn’t living with a killer.”
“That’s always a bonus,” Cleo said. “I’ll call you in a day or two to see how you’re doing, okay? And in the meantime, you text or call if you need anything.”
“Okay,” Shelley said.
“Now, shove all that shit out the door and go watch Gilmore Girls.”
Shelley laughed, they said their goodbyes and then hung up.
After several long pulls from the bottle, Cleo called out, “Oliver! Ol-i-ver!” Finally, he came bounding up to her. “You can’t go nuts like that, dude. The neighbors will get pissed. Inside!” She opened the door again and he ran inside, met with a series of hisses and yowling from Buttons.
Cleo followed Oliver in. “Scram!” she yelled at Buttons, and he took off to his couch. Man, she hated that cat.
Bottle in hand, she grabbed her phone from her coat pocket and plopped into the recliner. “I guess I’d better order myself another computer and camera. And an external drive.” She sighed, doing the mental math. “And another scanner.”
She tried to comparison shop, but it was difficult on a phone and the bourbon was making the room spin after a while. She did her best, ordering what she thought was closest to what she had before, and then turned her phone off.
Oliver wasn’t in his usual spot by her recliner, she noticed. She closed the footrest and wobbled to the kitchen where Oliver sat looking out the back door.
“You protecting me, big guy?” she asked, peering into the darkness. “I’m lucky someone still loves me,” she said, patting his head. Seeing nothing, she weaved her way back to the recliner and passed out within a few minutes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Someone was banging a very large iron spike into her head with rapid strikes of a hammer. And there was a dog barking somewhere. She opened an eyelid and a shaft of light stabbed her eye and scraped the inside of her skull. Cleo winced and groaned.
“Cleo!” Bang, bang, bang.
Ollie was barking his head off and growling, and now she understood what was going on.
“Hol’onaminute!” she choked out, trying to find the lever to lower the footrest on the recliner. Finally, her hand found the length of wood and pushed, almost spilling herself onto the floor.
Bang, bang, bang.. “Goddammit, Cleo. Open the door!”
“I said I’m coming!” she yelled and immediately regretted it as echoes of her own voice bounced around the inside of her head. Her eyeballs felt like they might pop out at any moment. Still squinting at the light trying to force its way into her eyes to kill her, she stumbled to the front door and turned the knob. It was immediately pushed inward, almost knocking her down, and a rush of cold air hit her as Will Truman came in.
“Jesus, Cleo,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. Maybe she was more in danger of falling down than she thought. “What the hell? Did you turn your phone off or something? I was scared shitless.”
“Shhhhhhhhhhhh,” she managed, sagging against the wall as the room started to spin.
“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Probably. Yes.” She nodded once and then stopped, wincing at the movement and spinning it induced.
Will maneuvered her into a dining room chair and went to make coffee in the kitchen.
“Why’d you turn your phone off?” he called from the kitchen.
“I didn’t want to deal with anyone. Especially you,” she added. She could hear cupboards banging as he tried to find what he needed. She could help, or she could sit where she was and wait for everything to stop moving. Was he making toast, too? Oh man, she was hungry. Her stomach rumbled as if to second her thought. “Are you making toast, too?”
“Yes,” he said. Popping his head around the corner, he said, “I’m sorry I was such an ass last night. I’m…uh…”
“I get it. You’re in pain, and you don’t need to explain yourself to me or anyone. Been there myself.”
“No, listen. My wife, Sarah, was killed by a serial killer five years ago. She was killed because I…crossed the line.” He leaned on the door jamb and rubbed his eyes. “I couldn’t keep her safe, and I couldn’t even catch the guy. I…I’m trying really hard not to repeat those mistakes.”
“Oh, Will,” Cleo breathed.
“But you weren’t trying to hurt me, and I overreacted. And I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Now you really need to shush. My everything hurts.”
“I will,” he whispered. “Sorry.” He popped back into the kitchen and finished the coffee and toast. Setting them before her, he pulled another dining chair close so he could talk more softly.
“I need your help. Apparently, crossbow arrows often have tiny serial numbers on their shafts. The one found in Nicholas had them, and that particular arrow was sold at a sporting goods store in Arbordale. We’re going to pay them a visit this morning and see if they can access their records to see who purchased them.”
“Okay. I’m going to need a shit-ton more coffee before I can drive. And probably a shower.”
“Great. The sooner the better. There’s more toast, too, to soak up some of that alcohol. Bourbon, I presume.”
“Is there any other kind?” she asked.
“You know, I like taking care of you and all, but you’re much more attractive when you’re independent,” he said. “I’m going to go start your shower.”
Now Cleo was not only hungover, but flustered, as well. Was Will flirting with her?
“Get your ass moving, Kemp. We’re short on time,” he barked from down the hall.
She shoved the rest of the toast in her mouth, washed it down with the contents of her mug, and went to take a shower.
When she came out, he had a large travel mug of coffee for her, and half a loaf of bread toasted and buttered in a large Tupperware bowl he had found somewhere in the kitchen.
“And you’d better eat it fast because it’ll get moist in there,” he said, handing her her coat and keys.
“Ew. Don’t say that word.”
“What word? Moist?”
“EW. Stop it.”
“Moist, moist, moist,” he said, chuckling.
“Ugh. You’re the worst human being ever.”
“Let’s go!” he said, pushing her toward the front door.
“Fine.” She threw a piece of toast to Oliver. “Behave!” she said to whoever would listen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sporting goods store was just opening, and it was hard to find help. One of the big national chains, it had crazy high ceilings, the typical mixture of thin carpet and hard floor, and the ever-present the buzz of fluorescent lighting. Finally, they encountered a kid named Tiffany and asked to see a manager.
“I’m not sure he’s here yet. Let me check,” she whined through the gum in her mouth.
They wandered the aisles of the empty store while they waited for the manager to appear. Apparently, Will had tried or played every sport known to man, because he had some anecdote for every aisle. They stopped in front of a large display of martial arts equipment.
“You ever do martial arts?” Will asked her.
“Nope. You?”
“I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon
Do, actually.”
“What?”
“You don’t believe me? Is it the dad bod?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture encompassing his whole body. “I’ll have you know that I am one of the more svelte members of my dojo!”
Cleo laughed. “Show me some moves then, Mr. Miyagi.”
“Mr. Miyagi was karate. That’s a bit different than Tae Kwon Do.”
“Whatever. Show me,” she demanded.
“You sure you’re up to it?” he asked.
“I’m tougher than I look. No hangover can stop me.”
“We have to find a little bit of space,” Will said, looking around like a teenager trying to get away with something.
“We can move a few benches in the shoe section back here,” Cleo offered.
Will nodded and within a minute, they had some space to work with.
“What did you want me to show you?”
“I want to kick some asses!” Cleo said.
“That’s not what this is about. It’s about defending yourself and incapacitating your attacker.”
“Yes, Truman-san,” she said. “Show me.”
“All right. Come at me.”
“What?”
“Come at me, like you want to kill me.”
“Oh, I know what that feels like.” She laughed, then lunged forward with her arms outstretched. Will pushed her arms to the side, and she had to work to stop herself from falling over from forward momentum.
“See how I did that? I took your own energy and used it against you.”
“Cool!” she said. “Can I try?”
Will shrugged and showed her how to get into a fighting stance. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and panicked when Will’s bulky form hurtled her way. He ran into her but caught her before they both tumbled.
“You panicked. Try again.”
They regained their stances, laughing. This time, when Will was just about to reach her, she shoved his arms sideways and deflected Will’s grab. He stumbled to a knee and came up clapping.