Praise for Rolynn Anderson
Recipient of an InD'Tale Magazine Reward of Novel Excellence Honorable Mention in the Thriller/Suspense Category
FADEOUT:
“...an excellent story that runs very deep with themes, characterizations, and understanding of the human condition...very well-written and kept me interested the whole way through... Loved it!”
~Lisa R... (5 Stars)
~*~
“By introducing some great characters and providing a plot and action that draw you in and keep you turning pages...the unique concept will grow on you and have you anticipating not only more from this author, but more from these characters.”
~Laura R... (5 Stars)
~*~
“I really wasn't sure how a story about a funeral planner would keep me interested. Wow was I surprised; I was immediately hooked and could not wait to find out how all these characters would handle the twists and turns in the plot.”
~Susan M... (5 Stars)
LAST RESORT:
“A Must Read!...a book every mystery reader will love! And so will those who like romance novels!”
~Candy
“Perfect blend of suspense and character development... A superb first novel for this fine author.”
~Brian G... (5 Stars)
Lie Catchers
by
Rolynn Anderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 by Rolynn Anderson
Originally published by Wild Rose Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
eISBN: 9781503985926
Cover Designer: Kim Mendoza
This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.
Dedication
To Steve, who loves me, our trawler, Intrepid,
cruising in Alaska, and a complex thriller
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
A word about the author...
Acknowledgements
After twenty years of boating, I summoned the courage to cruise the Inside Passage to Alaska in our trawler, Intrepid. It's a long trip with several harrowing sections of sea to cross, but now I wish I'd ventured to Alaska sooner.
Petersburg, in particular, charmed me. Set on Mitkof Island, first settled by tribes of Tlingits and later, Norwegians, the town's intriguing story had this Scandinavian hooked the minute I stepped off the marina gangway. When I found out a local 1932 crime was yet to be solved, a plot began churning in my head.
In Lie Catchers, I changed names, stretched truths and ratcheted up the conflict to create a page-turner, but I hope I also captured Petersburg's intrigue and warmth. All fabrications and errors are mine, not those of the people or books I consulted.
Kudos to my faithful book group for their critiques - Carol Scalise, Barbara Wyckoff, Sue Ratty-Seeman, and Marti Valley. Barb Cutshaw helped me hone the first three chapters and Susie Miner played detective for me on her last trip to Petersburg. Craig Tomash helped with details about 1932 pistols. Jim Engell, a teacher in Petersburg, and Brenda Nordheim, of the Wild Celery were kind enough to offer details and encouragement; the adventurous Rite in the Rain company allowed me to use their product name. Laura Kelly, my amazing editor, raises my confidence and my craft to new heights every time. And as always, my husband, Steve, cheers me on and offers enough wild ideas for plot twists to keep my imagination stoked. Thank you all!
Chapter One
Brief. Attorneys know all about briefs. Foreplay with a lawyer? A guarantee…brief.
Liv Hanson stopped typing and hissed an exhale. She picked up her coffee mug and positioned the tiny square cup heater so it aligned with the plastic mat under her computer. On this gray Petersburg, Alaska, morning, she pretended to muse over a serious writing project. But in half a second, she’d dropped her shoulders and closed her eyes to the drivel she’d typed for The Giggler. Three hours of writing and she’d fine-tuned fifteen hundred words lamenting the terrible trials ahead for women dating lawyers.
Liv rolled up to the desk and put down her cup. “‘Trial?’ Should I use ‘trial’ in the title with a punched-up double meaning? ‘The Ultimate Dating Trial.’ Or ‘Dating an Attorney: One Trial After the Other.’” She hunched in the chair. “I’m insufferable.”
Her phone vibrated, the screen showing ‘Renee.’
With a swipe on the screen she set the speaker option. “Is this a deadline nag?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Renee answered.
“It’s done. Give me one hour of polishing and I’ll e-mail the damn thing to you today.”
“Ah-hah! It’s a good one, I can tell. The madder you are about what you write, the funnier it is.”
“It’s too easy to dump on lawyers. Hell, women will start laughing the minute they read the title.”
“And you’ll grin all the way to the bank, Liv. Two thousand per e-zine article, lampooning one career a month.”
Liv tightened her hold on the phone. “One a month? That’s their new deal? God, it sounds like a prison sentence.”
“Your sarcasm sells, Liv. Makes this agent happy.”
“TJ Hawk’s humor sells, you mean. I can’t attach my name to this series, Renee. I won’t.”
Movement out her window caught Liv’s attention. Tuck Barber stepped out of his second story apartment and descended the stairs to their shared alley. She appreciated the way he took the steps. No looking down or grabbing of the railing. Head erect. Confident. Imagining his big hands on her, right one solid on her back and the left grasping her hand, brought a shiver across her shoulders. We dance tonight. And then?
“Liv?”
“Sorry. My mind wandered.”
“You’ll sign the contract, won’t you?”
“With Giggler? I have no choice, Renee. I need the money.”
“What profession will you harpoon next, doll?”
“Maybe yours.” Liv paused. “Kidding. Send the contract. I’ll sign it and fax it.” With that promise, her new idea for a writing project thumped to the bottom of her to-do list. Two years after her return to Petersburg, she was no closer to pulling her family out of debt and she had yet, at age thirty-three, to have written anything worthy to call her own.
****
The pungent odor of smoked salmon greeted Parker Browne when he opened the door of The Smiling Coho, but the sight of Liv Hanson, teetering on the third rung of a stepladder, made him forget about fish.
The chief’s sister was stacking jars of smoked salmon on a shelf, her expression a study in concentration as she turned container labels front and center, perfectly aligned. She certainly wasn’t dressed for ladder-climbing: fashion-model pretty in a short black sheath over black skin-tight leggings, decorated with black lace at the calf. Ebony, yellow, and white jewelry jangled on her arm and adorned her ears and neck.
Back to the lace encircling her calves. Jesus, she’s wearing high heels on a ladder. He strode to her side and cleared his throat, poised to help her down.
She turned her head, her shiny blonde hair forming a parenthesis around a howdy-customer smile.
“Liv Hanson? Did I say that right?”
“As in ‘leave’ not ‘live,’” she corrected. “Welcome to The Smiling Coho.”
“The chief…uh…Ivor, meant to come along and introduce me, but a fight broke out at the marina.”
She pursed her lips. “My brother’s good at settling territorial disputes. My boat, my fish, my fishing spot, my beer.”
Parker stood by as she came down the ladder. She took the hand he extended and thanked him.
“Nice place, Ms. Hanson.” He smiled his approval of the cozy store, the left wall filled with shelves of jarred smoked salmon and fronted by a counter set up for sampling the fish. A variety of merchandise filled the rest of the store, including clothing and purses. He leaned over the jewelry display and said, “Great selection.”
Liv touched her necklace.
“I have three older sisters who used to drag me around malls. They’d like this place.” He cleared his throat. “Your brother says you live upstairs and work here in the afternoons.”
“I do. I’m the buyer for the clothing and accessories, but our main focus is salmon canning,” she said, proudly pointing to the salmon display. “My family’s business for fifty years. And you are?”
“Sorry to start asking questions before I introduce myself. Parker Browne, Detective. Seattle PD.”
“Hard-boiled, laconic, dogged. Single.”
He stared at her.
“I wrote a story about detectives. Saw the statistics.”
“I’d like to read it.”
Vigorous shake of her head, rosiness blooming on her cheeks. “A silly feature. Filler. Stereotyped.” Pulling in a breath, seeming to collect herself, she asked, “Why is a Seattle detective questioning people in Petersburg, Alaska?”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Everett Olson’s body was found in Puget Sound a couple of days ago.”
A hand went to her heart. “Oh, my God!”
“Died sometime last week.”
“Drowned?” she asked, eyes wide. “Was his zipper down?”
Parker winced, imagining all of Petersburg more enlightened about drownings than he was. “Yes. And they found his rented boat adrift in Elliot Bay.”
“But you’re guessing foul play?”
“It’s possible. We have an autopsy underway.”
“His girlfriends, Tilly and Susanna. Do they know?”
He shook his head. “Chief Hanson thought I should tell you first, so you can support Ms. Grant.”
“I appreciate that. Tilly and Ev split months ago, but she’ll be very upset. We all thought theirs was a temporary separation, anyway.”
“Your brother said as much.”
She gave him a measured look and folded her arms, back against the cashier’s desk. “You’ll question my neighbor, Tuck Barber.”
“Everett Olson was Barber’s friend.”
“So you’ll take a hard look at Tilly, too. And Susanna.”
When Parker glanced down to think over his answer, the lacey decoration on her leggings caught his attention. Liv Hanson might dress stylishly but she also had a quick mind. You want smart people in your camp. “Your brother thinks you’ll be able to help us with some details about Tuck Barber, in particular.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Why…uh…why did Ivor think that?”
Parker wondered about her sudden nervousness. “Barber’s your dance partner.”
“Yes.”
“You write free-lance,” he said pointing up the stairs to her apartment. “Ivor told me your desk window looks toward Mr. Barber’s second story front door. Is there something your brother left out about your connection to Everett Olson?”
“No.” She scratched the back of her neck and said hurriedly, “No. That’s it.” Liv glanced at the door. “Here comes a customer. Are we finished?”
“For the moment. Later, I’ll want to ask a few more questions about Olson and Barber.”
She waved a hand, seeming to dismiss the idea she had anything to offer on the two men. “Suit yourself. Thanks for the heads up so I can help Tilly.”
“Yes…I’ll—”
Liv brushed by Parker, cutting off his sentence by hailing the customer, a waft of her perfume as well as her behavior unsettling him. Her surprise about Olson’s death and the girlfriend’s probable reaction to the drowning seemed appropriate, but she was evasive about Tuck Barber and something else.
He left the store and walked to the alley separating The Smiling Coho from a two-story building. Liv Hanson’s apartment windows, lighted from within, lined up with those in Tuck Barber’s place, across a narrow gravel one-way road. She accessed her apartment through the front door of the family store; Barber climbed stairs to get to his entrance. So she danced with the man at Lito’s Landing, lived only steps away from his apartment and she had a front row seat to observe his daily rituals.
Parker was beginning to understand the chief’s discomfort. If Tuck Barber was a suspect, the chief’s sister, Liv Hanson, was a person of interest, too.
****
“He brought his father along? What kind of a detective does that, for God’s sake?” Liv asked.
Ivor shrugged as he bit into his reuben sandwich. Liv could tell he wasn’t thrilled she’d hunted him down at Mama Bear’s, his favorite place for a light dinner. But dammit, she had questions about Parker Browne, and she wanted the answers now.
Pointing to his full mouth, Ivor shook his head. With his short blond hair and warm complexion, Ivor had the look of a surfer, not an Alaskan cop who hadn’t seen sun for weeks. Liv noted the tension in his brow line and the sag in his shoulders. He’s worried about this case.
“I don’t care if you talk while you’re chewing.” She blew on her tea. “I want to know about this guy, especially since he’s planning to interrogate me.”
Ivor swallowed. “You put him off, didn’t you?” He quirked an eyebrow. “He’ll need the whole town’s cooperation, Liv.”
She leaned toward him. “I’ll help if I can, but I don’t see why he comes to me first about Ev’s death. What did you tell him?”
“You’re Tilly’s friend, you dance with Tuck, your desk window is open to Tuck’s comings and goings. That’s it.”
Gripping her mug of tea, Liv asked, “Does the guy even know what he’s doing? He came waltzing into our store, more interested in rescuing me from the ladder and gawking at my jewelry than in Ev’s drowning.”
Ivor lifted his shoulder a bit and went on eating.
“Why did he bring his father along?”
“Parker’s mother died about a year ago, in Seattle, and his father’s in a pretty deep funk about it. Chet, his dad, likes to fish, so while Parker is asking questions around town, I arranged for Matt Harkins to take him out fishing two times a day.” Ivor held his palm out. “Kind of unusual, I agree.”
Liv frowned. “He seems like a lightweight. You’re a hard ass, Ivor; a grill and driller. People duck and cover when you come their way. Even I’m afraid of you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right.” Dill pickle raised, Ivor hesitated, then said, “Look. Browne’s been candid with me. He was an administrator until budget cuts eliminated his former position.”
“Ah, that explains it. He’s been a desk jockey so long he doesn’t know how to conduct an investigation with real pe
ople. He talked about my merchandise, for God’s sake. And he seemed fuzzy about drownings.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to write him off. And since Ev died in Seattle, Browne’s technically in charge of the task force.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She rubbed her forehead, irritated by the ironies surrounding their lives. “None of us get to do the things we’re good at, Ivor. You should be the lead officer in the same way I should be writing about important stuff.” She swallowed some tea and blurted, “Well, maybe you can stand aside and let this green detective botch the investigation. Me? I’m going to write about my own case.”
“Huh?” Ivor stopped chewing.
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to write a column for the paper. My Petersburg debut as an author.”
Ivor’s eyes widened.
“I’m going to take on the Sing Lee murder.” She rubbed her hands together. “He died in November, 1932; Ev died in November. It’s meant to be.”
“Why in the world would—?”
Liv spread her hands on the table. “This is my ‘coming out’ article, a way for the people to get to know me and my writing. It’s Petersburg’s big unsolved crime, the elephant in the town, and eighty years later it’s still on people’s minds. I’m going to serialize the investigation in the present tense.”
Ivor wagged his head. “Fucking fabulous. You bring up the town’s failure to find a murderer from 1932 while I’m struggling to find Ev’s killer. Your timing sucks,” he hissed.
She waved away his concern. “I think the town will appreciate my efforts to walk them through the crime and re-examine evidence.”
“While we don’t have a single clue about Ev’s death,” Ivor grumbled.
Grabbing his hand, she said, “I’ll show them how hard your job is. And who knows, maybe I’ll find something they missed in the archives. Shed a new light on the old investigation. Besides, I’ve found only six people in town who lived in Petersburg when Sing Lee was alive. They’re in their nineties, Ivor; it’s important to interview them before they die.”
He pushed his empty plate away. “You might get something out of Nels, Anette, and Jenny, but the other three have dementia.”
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