by D P Lyle
“That’s because you’ve never tried turkey hunting,” Dixon said.
Cain knew that to be true. During his hunting days, when he and Harper were still part of the gypsy family, turkeys were by far the most difficult game to bag. Smart, tough, stealthy. Getting even a single shot at one took great skill and patience. Cain had only ever taken down three in all the hours he and Uncle Al had spent scouring the woods for game.
Tyler smiled. “Maybe if you guys hunted each other it’d be fair. A more even playing field.”
“Like The Most Dangerous Game?” Harper asked.
Tyler nodded. “Richard Connell’s story. One of my favorites.” He shrugged. “Of course, General Zaroff didn’t exactly play fair. He had home field advantage.”
“But, Rainsford did turn the tables on him,” Harper said.
“You know the story,” Tyler said. “I’m impressed.”
Harper smiled. “One of my favorite stories, too.”
“Didn’t you tell me you’d done some bow hunting as a kid?” Stenson asked Cain.
“I did. But that was long ago.”
“Sort of like riding a bicycle though,” Norris said. “You never forget.”
Cain smiled. “Just get rusty.”
Dixon stood. “Let’s go thump a few targets.”
“I’m in,” Norris said. “Bobby, want to join us?”
“Sure.”
The group followed the two men and Stenson around the pool.
Cain and Harper met the three men who were shooting. They said they had to hit the road.
“Before we eat?” Stenson asked.
“My wife’s doing lasagna,” one of them said. “She’ll kill me if I don’t bring home an appetite.”
The other two had similar excuses. The trio began packing up their gear—four bows, two crossbows.
Harper pulled out her iPhone. “Can I grab a group picture before you go?”
“Harper likes vacation pictures,” Cain said.
“That would be good,” Stenson said. He smiled at Harper. “If you send me a copy.”
“Of course.”
Everyone except Cain and Cutler lined up and Harper snapped a couple of pictures. Cain noticed Harper work the phone as she scanned the group back and forth.
“All done,” Harper said.
After the three men lifted their gear bags and left, Stenson picked up a crossbow. “Ever use one of these?” he asked Cain.
“Can’t say I have.”
A lie. In fact, one of the Marines he had deployed with was an expert. Taught Cain the ins and outs of the weapon. More than simply an expert bowman, the Marine, a kid from South Carolina, was an assassin. Like Cain. Cain employed knives, he a crossbow. In a tiny shit-hole village near Kabul, Cain saw him take down a Taliban sniper from two hundred yards. At night. Wind blowing hard across. One shot. Done. The kid was good.
“It’s pretty easy. Let me show you.”
Stenson hit the red circle just right of center.
“Nice shot.”
Stenson held up the bow. “This one’s my favorite.” He handed it to Cain. “Give it a try.”
Cain did. Missed the center by six inches. As planned.
“Not bad,” Norris said. “First time I tried one of these I missed a barn.” He laughed.
CHAPTER 43
Tyler, Harper, and Cutler left the men to play with their bows and walked back around the pool to the patio. Harper and Tyler sat. Cutler said she needed to make a couple of calls and wandered toward the grill at the far end. Phone to her ear. Juanita brought more lemonade along with a bowl of guacamole and a basket of chips.
Once they were alone, Harper said, “Can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you and Ted… What’s his name?”
“Norris.”
“Are you two related?”
Tyler laughed. “No. But we get that all the time. People think we’re brothers or something. Or sometimes they think he and Dad are brothers.”
“Your dad does look young.”
Tyler looked that way. “He does. I hope I inherited his genes.”
Harper smiled. “I’d say you did.”
Tyler almost blushed. He nodded toward her. “Hope you’re right.”
“I understand you went to Princeton,” Harper said.
“I did. Got an MBA. Now I run our software company.”
“You create software?”
Tyler laughed. “Neither Dad nor I are that smart. We bundle software packages from several companies and offer discounts. That sort of thing.”
“Bet that keeps you busy.”
“Some. But I’ve got good people so I can do most of my work from home. Online.”
“Where do you live?” Harper asked.
“Couple miles south of here. Dad gave me about twenty acres so I built a house on it.”
The road she and Cain had passed.
“Sounds wonderful,” Harper said.
“Not this kind of wonderful.” He waved a hand. “Dad likes grandiose. I like simple.”
“Nothing wrong with simple.”
Tyler looked across the pool to where his father stood, crossbow resting on one shoulder, talking with Cain. “Tell that to my father.” He shrugged and looked back toward Harper. “He thinks I should have bigger appetites. For more stuff. More adventures.”
“Such as?”
He looked down at his feet, his head shaking slightly. “His hunting trio would be one thing. He and his buddies, mostly Ted and Hank, go on hunting trips all the time. Deer in Michigan, Bighorn sheep in Wyoming and up that way. Even wild boar hunting.”
“And you don’t go along?” Harper asked.
“No. I did once. I was fourteen. Hated it.” He smiled. “I mean, sleeping in tents when it’s cold and wet, and trying to prep food on an open fire? Not my idea of fun.”
“You like things more comfortable?”
“I do.”
She raised her lemonade glass. “I’m with you there.”
She flashed on a few nights spent in Iraq and Afghanistan, curled in the basement of a bombed out building, bad guys scouring the streets for her and the operatives she oversaw. Waiting for their pursuers to rush down the stairs, or an IED to tumble to their feet. A tent and a campfire would’ve been nice. Even a cold and wet one.
“Not to mention the actual hunting,” Tyler said. “That was the worst part.”
“In what way?”
“That first hunt—actually the only one I went on—Ted bagged a Bighorn. It wasn’t pretty.” He again glanced back to where his father stood, Ted Norris nearby. “He used a crossbow. The first shot struck its hindquarters. Needless to say, it bolted. Took well over an hour to track it. Following the blood trail, we found it. Cornered, hobbled, weak from blood loss. It was pathetic. Ted shot it in the heart.”
“No wonder you don’t like hunting.”
“I don’t. Like I said, it’s not exactly fair.”
“Like it would be if they hunted each other?” Harper smiled.
“Exactly.”
Again she tilted her lemonade glass his way. “To your more pastoral life.”
“I like that,” Tyler said. “Pastoral. The perfect word. You should come by my place and see it some time. I’ll cook dinner.”
“On a campfire?”
“No.” He laughed. “I even have indoor plumbing. And a commercial stove.”
“Love a man who cooks,” Harper said.
“I do know my way around the kitchen.” He smiled. “In fact, this guacamole is one of my creations.”
“Then I better try it.” She scooped some on a chip and ate it. Dabbed her lips with a napkin. “That’s excellent.”
He gave a mock bow. “You should try my chicken cacciatore.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“It is.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Not sure how much longer we’ll be around.”
“Since the girl you were looki
ng for was found? So to speak?”
She nodded.
“Do you think Chief Cutler will ever find out who did it?”
“Eventually.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Killers always screw up. Get caught.”
“Don’t some go unsolved? Become cold cases?”
Harper shrugged. “Sometimes the bad guys do get lucky.”
“Isn’t luck part of just about everything?”
Harper laughed. “That’s true.”
“Dad said you and Bobby are siblings,” Tyler said.
“Yes.”
“You don’t look it.” He smiled.
“We get that a lot.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“All over,” Harper said.
“Military?”
“That came later. Navy for me, Army for Bobby.”
“Makes for an interesting Army-Navy game, I imagine.”
“Sure does,” Harper said.
He took a sip of lemonade. “So why all the moving? When you were growing up?”
“Our family was a little unusual. We moved around a lot.”
“Doing what?”
“Putting on shows. Living off the land.”
“Which explains the hunting,” Tyler said.
“Had to if we wanted to eat.”
Tyler studied her. “That I get. Hunting for food has been part of human history since the cave days. It’s the trophy hunting Dad and his buddies do that I have a problem with.”
“So you said,”
He looked back across the pool. “Seems cruel.”
“You the sensitive type?” Harper asked.
He turned back to her. “You sound like Dad.”
“If it helps any, neither Bobby nor I would hunt anymore. And definitely not for sport.”
“You hunted too?” Tyler asked.
“Sure did. Not as much as Bobby and the men in the family, but some.”
“The men? How big was your family?”
“About sixty.”
“What?”
Harper shrugged.
“Sounds like a gypsy troupe or something,” Tyler said.
“Exactly.”
“Wait a minute. You’re saying you guys are gypsies?”
Harper laughed, shook her head. “Not really. But we sure lived that way. Town to town. Putting on shows. Scratching out a living.”
“What kind of shows?”
“A bit of everything. Bobby was known as Bobby Blade. He was a knife thrower.”
“Dad mentioned that. Said he was very good.”
“Lucky for me that’s true.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was the target.” She told him about the show, the board, the spinning wheel.
“You’re very brave,” Tyler said.
She smiled. “I was young and stupid.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“You have a spinning wheel?” Harper asked, smiled.
Tyler grinned. Easy, relaxed. “No. But, Dad does have targets.”
Harper opened her purse. She pulled out a pair of throwing knives. “Let’s go.”
“You carry knives in your purse?”
“And lipstick.”
That drew a broad grin from Tyler.
“They’re Bobby’s,” Harper said. “He doesn’t carry a purse. So, lucky me.”
As Harper and Tyler circled the pool, Cutler, sliding her phone in her pocket, joined them.
“Get your calls made?” Harper asked.
“Yeah. Jimmy broke up some fight down by the marina. Couple of high school boys.”
“The life of a cop,” Tyler said.
“Better than paperwork, I guess.”
They joined the men just as Cain fired a crossbow bolt into the target. Several inches from the red center circle.
“Good shot,” Dixon said. “You’re getting good at this.”
Harper buried her smile. Bobby screwing with them. He could handle anything with a point. Or a cutting edge.
“Even a blind dog gets the bone every now and then,” Cain said.
“Here,” Harper said, handing him the two knives. “Tyler wants to see you do your thing.”
“I told Ted and Hank about your throwing skills,” Stenson said.
“Yeah,” Dixon said. “I want to see that.”
Cain took the knives. “You got a balloon to hold?” he asked Harper.
“Yeah, right.” Harper looked at Tyler. “He’s not as good as he used to be.” She slugged Cain’s shoulder. “And I’m not as stupid.”
Cain faced the target, ninety feet away. He flicked his right hand, then his left. Thump, thump, the two knives struck the center circle, only an inch between them.
“Wow,” Norris said.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Stenson said.
“How’d you do that?” Norris asked.
“Misspent youth,” Cain said.
That garnered a round of laughter.
“I think it’s time for some barbecue and whiskey,” Stenson said.
Cain retrieved his knives, handing them to Harper. The group settled around the patio table Juanita had set up. Two platters of ribs and brisket, large bowls of potato salad and marinated green beans, and a basket of corn muffins appeared. Looked and smelled wonderful.
Harper sat next to Tyler. She snugged her chair a couple of inches closer to his. She could play the game. Keep him interested. He was an inroad to Stenson’s world and maybe, just maybe, the killer. Any pathway angled that way was worth exploring. Besides, he was handsome and charming. Spoiled, for sure. And, of course, living off daddy’s money. But, if he could offer anything that pointed them to Cindy Grant’s killer, it was worth a shot.
The barbecue was spicy, the whiskey smooth, and the meal was relaxing, even fun. Of course, it crossed Harper’s mind she might be dining with a killer. But who? There were several candidates at the table.
While she chatted with Tyler—okay, flirted—she kept an ear in the other conversations. She heard nothing that suggested guilt or even a passing interest in Cindy’s murder from anyone. Maybe this was a dead end. Maybe the killer wasn’t part of Stenson’s group. Maybe he was one of the guys who packed up right after they arrived. Maybe she and Cain were running in circles. The wrong circles.
Afterwards, Tyler walked them to the car. Cutler jumped in the back seat. Cain climbed in and cranked the engine. Tyler grabbed the passenger door handle but, before opening it, said to Harper, “I meant what I said about dinner.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Harper said. “I think we’re headed back to Nashville in the morning, but I’m sure we’ll be back.” She smiled and touched his arm. “I will, for sure.”
“When?”
“Not sure. But I love this town. I can think of worse places to spend a weekend.”
Tyler smiled. “I’d love that.”
PsyOps came in many forms.
CHAPTER 44
“Look at this,” Harper said.
“I’m driving.”
Cain was. Back to Nashville. After another great breakfast thanks to Lily Butler.
“Here.” She extended her iPad his way.
He gave it a quick glance. The main website page of The Tennessean, Nashville’s major newspaper. The headline: VANDY STUDENT DEFACED, MURDERED.
“We knew this would happen,” Cain said. “Sooner or later.”
“I was hoping for later.”
“What does it say? How much do they know?”
Harper scanned the article, relating the high points to Cain.
Cindy Grant was named, and her relationship to General Kessler was spelled out but that the General could not be reached for comment. That her body had been found in the “small, bucolic town of Moss Landing.” That a homicide investigation was “underway” but no suspects had been identified. Thankfully, there was no mention of how she was murdered, how she was “defaced” or displayed or, most importantly, th
at she had been hunted.
“That’s better than I thought,” Cain said. “It’s going to be big news but less so than if they knew she had been stalked and killed with a crossbow.”
“How do you know it was a crossbow?” Harper asked.
“Don’t. But yesterday, while shooting with Stenson and his crew, it all made sense. The wounds could only have come from target arrows or from crossbow bolts.” He glanced at Harper. “I don’t think any hunter worth his salt would go after game of any sort with target arrows.”
“Game?” Harper said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Makes sense. Not the game. The crossbow.”
“Of course it does.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. What now?”
“Better give General Kessler a call. See how he’s handling this.”
Harper lifted Cain’s iPhone from the console tray near the Navi screen. She scrolled though his favorites until she found Kessler, and tapped it.
“Bobby Cain.” Kessler’s voice came through the Mercedes’ speaker system.
“It’s Harper. We’re in the car.”
“Headed up to Nashville,” Cain said. “I take it you saw the paper this morning?”
“I did.”
“Any fallout yet?” Harper asked.
“Alice Shaw, my attorney, has been grabbing the calls. Apparently she’s already received over a dozen. From all over. And it’s not even ten yet.”
Alice Shaw was a name everyone in Nashville knew. Founder and senior partner of Shaw, Merkel, and Marks, one of the largest firms in the city. And the most expensive.
“At least they don’t know the details,” Harper said.
“Not yet,” Kessler said. “Any idea who might’ve leaked this much?”
“No,” Cain said. “But I suspect it came from either the Nashville PD or over in Moss Landing. Apparently some guys at a service station down there were talking about it.”
“Really?”
“Not in any great detail,” Harper said. “They simply know she was tattooed and dropped at the post office.”
“That’s too much,” Kessler said.
“You knew it would happen,” Harper said. “This story can’t be controlled. Only delayed.”
They could hear Kessler’s sigh through the speaker. “How’d it go over there? In Moss Landing?”