Bad Debt (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 14)

by Jenna Bennett

  “Bring her in tomorrow,” Doc Anderson said, “and I’ll take a look. Nine o’clock?”

  I could probably drag myself out of bed and to Columbia by nine. I told him I’d be there, and hung up, just as there was a noise at the front door. It sounded like the knob turning. Pearl’s ears twitched, and the next second she was on her feet and barking, the hairs at the back of her neck standing up.

  A second after that, she was on her way, nails scrabbling on the wood floors.

  I found her in the foyer, barking at the door. I have no idea why, since she should be able to see Rafe on the other side, and recognize him. Nonetheless, she was standing there, teeth bared and barks reverberating under the two-story ceiling.

  “It’s OK,” I told her, while I turned the doorknob to let him in. “You know him. You ate his sandwich earlier. You like him. He might even like you. Although if you jump on him and tear his throat out, I can guarantee you he won’t. And I won’t, either.”

  The dog didn’t stop to listen. Rafe opened the door. “Quiet!”

  His voice reverberated under the two-story ceiling, too. The dog dropped to her stomach and whined. If she’d been human, she would have been covering her head with her hands. As it was, she was clearly bracing for a blow.

  Rafe saw it, too, and cursed. Softly.

  “She’s all right,” I said. “She just doesn’t know that that part of her life is over. It’ll take more than a day for her to learn that we won’t hurt her.”

  Rafe nodded. “Everything all right here?”

  He was still looking at the dog, not me. I nodded anyway. “Fine. She took a bath. She ate. She didn’t bother Mother or me.”

  And speaking of Mother, she was watching the proceedings from the door of the parlor.

  “She has an appointment with a veterinarian tomorrow morning,” I added. “I want him to make sure she’s healthy before we take her home. But she’s been good so far. It’s possible she doesn’t like men.”

  Rafe arched a brow, but didn’t respond. Instead he crouched where he stood, just inside the door. “C’mere, darlin’.”

  For once, he wasn’t calling me darlin’. This time, it was the dog. Who looked at him suspiciously for a second before creeping toward him, still on her stomach.

  “It’s OK. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. There you go.” When she got close enough, he reached out a hand and let her sniff his fingertips. I held my breath—what if she decided to bite?—but she didn’t. She sniffed, and then allowed him to reach below her chin and give her a quick scratch.

  He didn’t push it. A few seconds, and then he got back to his feet. So did Pearl, but she looked a lot more comfortable. When Mother clapped her hands and called for her, Pearl bounded down the hallway to the parlor, and they both disappeared inside.

  “Pearl?” Rafe said.

  “Mother named her. She used to have a dog named Pearl.”

  He was silent a second. “I bet it didn’t look like this dog.”

  I shook my head. “It was a white Chihuahua. But she’s OK with Pearl staying in the house. She was OK with me using her hundred dollar shampoo on the dog, too. If she wants to call it Pearl, she can.”

  Rafe nodded. “Have you eaten?”

  I told him I hadn’t. “I’ve been too busy running around. Didn’t you and Lupe Vasquez stop for anything to eat?”

  He shook his head.

  “So Pearl ate your lunch and you haven’t had anything to eat since this morning?”

  “That’s about it, yeah.”

  “Go on and go out,” Mother’s voice said from the parlor. We couldn’t see her, but she could obviously hear us. “The dog and I will be fine.”

  “Don’t you want something to eat?”

  “I had something when the dog ate,” Mother’s disembodied voice said. “We’ll be fine here. Go on. I don’t want to leave her by herself.”

  Fine. “Just let me grab my coat.”

  I did, and stuck my feet back into the booties, and we were out the door a minute later. “You go ahead and drive.” I handed Rafe the keys. “I have to text my sister.”

  “Which one?” He held the door for me, and waited until I was situated before he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Darcy. We sicced her on Patrick Nolan.”

  “Lupe Vasquez’s partner?” He turned the key in the ignition.

  I nodded. “You got Vasquez for the Skinner investigation. We’re surmising that Nolan might be assigned to Detective Jarvis for the Beulah Odom matter. And we want to know what he knows. And what Jarvis knows. So I called Darcy and asked her to find out.”

  “And?”

  “She said they might be having dinner tonight. I want to know where they are, so we can go and surprise them.”

  “Let me know where to go once you figure it out,” Rafe said, and put the car in gear while I dug for my phone.

  * * *

  By the time we made it to the Mexican Restaurant in Columbia where Darcy and Patrick Nolan had first met—I’d been there, too—I had managed to update Rafe on everything that had happened since I left him and Lupe Vasquez at Animal Control this afternoon. The exhumation, the scene with Mrs. and Ms. Odom in the cemetery, my trip to the drugstore, and Mother’s information about the potassium chloride.

  “If that’s what it was, I doubt they’ll find any trace of it now. According to the internet, it isn’t detectable after several months. Or even several days. But if her potassium levels were high at the original autopsy—and nobody really thought anything of it, since potassium is one of those natural things that your body has anyway—that could mean that the Odoms killed her.”

  “Or that they didn’t,” Rafe said.

  I gave him a sideways look. “I don’t imagine you’re suggesting that Yvonne did?”

  “I don’t know that anybody did. The place can’t be worth much.”

  “Depends on how much of the land around it goes with it. If it’s enough to build a nice, big subdivision, it would be worth plenty.”

  And with the Nashville area expected to grow by another million people in the next ten years, land within an hour of Nashville would all be at a premium.

  “Anyway,” I added, “as you’ve said yourself before, you can’t ever really know what’s a good motive for murder in someone else’s mind. Maybe Beulah disliked her sister-in-law all these years, and her sister-in-law held off on killing her out of respect for Otis. But now that Otis Odom is dead, she has no reason to wait. It could be as simple as that.”

  Rafe shrugged. “If they can’t prove Beulah was murdered, we’ll prob’ly never know.”

  Probably. “Any news on the Skinner case?”

  Rafe shook his head. “We drove around a couple hours, looking for people to talk to. Nobody wanted to talk to us. Officer Vasquez thought she might have better luck on her own.”

  And she might. She was known in Columbia, and probably known not to be a big threat. Rafe, on the other hand, had shut down Hector Gonzales. Whoever had taken over Hector’s business in this corner of the world had to be worried that he was next.

  “These are kind of crazy happenings for a little town like this. Aren’t they?”

  “What happened to the Skinners is crazy for anywhere,” Rafe said. “I’m surprised we don’t have national media here, sticking their nose in.”

  “I think maybe the sheriff has managed to keep a lid on it. And for all that it’s seven dead, it’s all the same family. It’s not as sexy—if you’ll excuse the term—as a serial killer targeting brunettes. Or hookers. Or gay guys. That makes for better copy.”

  Rafe nodded.

  “Are you any closer to figuring out what happened?”

  “You know about as much as I do,” Rafe said. “Darrell was a dog. Robbie was a wife beater. I don’t know much about Art, but he grew illegal drugs and ran dog fights. There are plenty of reasons for murder there. Money or revenge or just fighting against wrong. People against drugs. People against cruelty
to animals.”

  “You haven’t narrowed it down to one yet?”

  He shook his head. “Could be any or all of’em. The M.E. finished all the autopsies. Cause of death was gunshot for everybody. Everyone but Robbie was killed with a single shot to the head. There were two different weapons. The same weapon was used on Art, Linda, A.J. and Darrell. A second weapon was used on Cilla, Matty, and Robbie.”

  “So two shooters?”

  He shrugged. “Seems like it might be. Time of death was between two and three am for everyone. One person coulda done it all—the crime scenes are all close enough—but why use two different weapons? Not like there wasn’t plenty of time to reload the one.”

  That made sense. Unless the shooter wanted to give the impression that there were two of him. Just to throw off the scent.

  Rafe nodded. “There’s just no way to know. Two guns, but it mighta been the same finger on the trigger. Or not. They started at Art and Linda’s place. One of’em went into the mobile home and killed Art, Linda, and A.J. The other went into the trailer and killed Cilla and her boyfriend. Then they split up. One went to Darrell’s place, one to Robbie’s. Or they started with Darrell and Robbie, and met up at Art’s after.”

  Or one person did it all. “Any thoughts on why Robbie was shot in the stomach and not the head, like everyone else?”

  “Plenty of thoughts,” Rafe said. “Coulda been deliberate. Whoever did it hated Robbie more, and wanted him to have some time to think about what he’d done. Or it mighta been because Robbie woke up when the shooter came into his trailer, and tried to rush him. Or her. No time for a neat shot to the head, so the shooter did what he could and booked it outta there.”

  I nodded.

  “Or it coulda been that Robbie killed everyone else and then shot himself, thinking he’d have enough time to make it to the car and outta there, and get help. And instead he died, too.”

  “Why would Robbie kill the rest of his family?”

  “A million dollars in pot?” Rafe suggested.

  “I thought you said the Skinners were close. One for all and all for one.”

  “They were. But I haven’t seen’em in fifteen years. And a million dollars is a lot of money.”

  He had a point. We drove in silence a minute. Up ahead, I could see the bright lights of the Mexican place on State Street. Fiestas de Mexico lighting up the night in neon blue and orange.

  I pointed. Rafe nodded.

  “So I guess you’re looking for two people who are willing to alibi each other for the night the Skinners were killed.” A man and a woman? Or two homosexuals? Or a mother and daughter, like Sandy and Kayla Skinner?

  Rafe shrugged as he pulled the Volvo into the parking lot next to the restaurant. “Most people don’t have alibis for the middle of the night. Unless it’s somebody that’d be together anyway, I’d be more suspicious of people who do have alibis, since it would be ‘cause they expected to be asked.”

  Good point. “You’re smart,” I told him.

  He chuckled. “Not so much that you’d notice. Stay there.”

  He exited the car. I waited for him to come around and open the door for me. The smell of grilling meat hung in the air. I could hear his stomach growl from several feet away, and it had been a long time since lunch. Longer for him, but he wasn’t eating for two.

  “I’m starving,” I said.

  Rafe nodded and put an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go feed that baby.”

  Nineteen

  Darcy and Patrick Nolan were finishing up dinner when we came in. And Nolan did not look happy to see us. Whether it was the prospect of us raining on his date with Darcy, or the prospect of us asking him questions about the Odom case, I’m not sure, but it was beyond obvious that he wished we hadn’t shown up.

  Since Darcy seemed delighted, he did his best to hide it, though, and forced a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Collier.”

  After about five months of marriage, it still gave me a thrill to hear that. However— “Since you’re dating my sister, you should probably call me Savannah.”

  “And under the circumstances,” Rafe added, straight face, “I’ll be Agent Collier.”

  Nolan grimaced. “That’s clear.”

  Rafe grinned and pulled out the chair next to him. “Sorry I took your partner away from you.” He gestured me into it.

  Nolan gave in to the inevitable. “It’s all right. Gives Chief Carter a chance to keep his finger in both pies.”

  “I guess you don’t usually have so much excitement in Columbia,” I said, watching as Rafe pulled out the chair next to Darcy and seated himself on it.

  “We rarely even get one murder, let alone seven. But the Skinners lived outside the city, so until you wanted information about the drug scene, the chief had no reason to get involved.” Nolan shrugged. “Any news?”

  I wondered whether Rafe was going to tell him anything. Then again, with Lupe Vasquez right in the mix, there was no real point in being reticent. Anything that happened, she’d have to relay. And would probably choose to share with her partner.

  Rafe gave him the information about the two different weapons, and Nolan came to the same conclusion I had: that there had likely been two shooters, or someone wanted us to think so. He also brought up the same point Rafe and I had discussed on the way over here, but took it a step further.

  “If Robbie shot himself, there would have been a gun in the trailer, wouldn’t there?”

  Rafe nodded.

  “Was there?”

  Rafe shook his head.

  “So Robbie couldn’t have shot himself.”

  “He coulda. If someone else was there to take the gun away.”

  Nolan chewed on that for a second. “So there were two shooters, and one of them was Robbie. Robbie wanted the rest of his family dead so he could keep all the pot for himself.”

  “It’s a theory,” Rafe said.

  “And Robbie shot himself so it would look like he was attacked, too, but he accidentally ended up killing himself. And he had a partner in the marijuana trade, who took the gun away.”

  “Or his partner might have killed him,” I suggested. “Accidentally—to make it look like Robbie was also attacked—or even on purpose.”

  Nolan tilted his head. “Why’d he do that?”

  “Same reason that Robbie killed everyone else. To keep all the money for himself. This way, he wouldn’t even have to share with Robbie.”

  “I dunno.” Nolan shook his head. “That’s a big risk to take. He’s getting nothing now, that the sheriff found the pot.”

  “But the sheriff didn’t find the pot on his own. It took someone calling and telling Rafe where to look.” And that someone couldn’t have been Robbie’s hypothetical partner, since the partner would have had every reason to want to keep the police from finding the pot. Especially if he’d been a party to seven murders. Not like anyone would want to draw attention to that.

  “Tell me about Detective Jarvis,” I said, since there wasn’t much more to say about the Skinner case at the moment. We could speculate until the cows came home, but that’s all it would be: speculation. “I saw him at the cemetery earlier, when they were exhuming Beulah. He was with the Odoms. How did they convince him that she was murdered, when the medical examiner said it was a heart attack?”

  “I wouldn’t venture to guess,” Nolan said, and closed his mouth primly.

  “Is everybody in your department trying to get on the news, Nolan?”

  This was Rafe’s question, and Nolan bristled. “No. Jarvis doesn’t care about that. He likes to close cases, but so does everyone else.”

  Not much anyone could say to that.

  Nolan added, a little reluctantly, “The chief probably told him to look into it. The Odoms leaned on Chief Carter, and Carter told Jarvis to check it out.”

  “Do you have any idea whether he actually believes it’s murder,” I asked, “or is he just trying to humor the Odoms? And his boss?”

  Nolan shrug
ged. He’s a tall and pretty skinny guy, with a long neck, but the shoulders were broad inside a faded denim shirt. “Could be either. I don’t think he would have gone to the trouble of getting an exhumation if he hadn’t thought there might be something to it, though. We don’t dig people up as a general rule.”

  I would hope not.

  “I don’t suppose the M.E. has had time to do the second autopsy yet?”

  “If he has,” Nolan said, “nobody’s told me.” He glanced at Rafe and added, “Not like they haven’t had plenty of other bodies to keep them busy at the morgue.”

  Rafe nodded.

  Throughout this whole conversation, Darcy had sat quietly and watched one after the other of us speak. Now she opened her mouth. “We were just about to leave.”

  I think she followed up with a nudge under the table, because Nolan nodded and pushed his chair back.

  “You’re welcome to stay and have dessert,” I said, since I didn’t want to feel like we were chasing them off, and that’s what it felt like right now.

  But Darcy shook her head. “We’re just going to head out. No offense.”

  “None taken.” She’d had dinner with me—and Mother and Catherine—yesterday, and she hadn’t seemed eager to get away then, so she must just want to spend some alone-time with Patrick Nolan.

  I looked at him, as he held the coat for my sister. “Will you let us know if anything happens with the Odom investigation?”

  Nolan didn’t answer, and I added, persuasively, “I really think this is the Odoms doing everything they can to get their hands on Beulah’s restaurant. They failed to get the will overturned yesterday. And today they’re accusing Yvonne of murder. If they believed all along that Yvonne murdered Beulah, I can’t imagine that they would have wasted time with a competency hearing. Can you?”

  Nolan had to admit that he couldn’t. “I’ll give you a head’s up if they get an arrest order.”

  That was probably the best I could hope for, so I thanked him, and watched them walk out. “Did you get the impression they couldn’t wait to get away from us?”