Downright Dead

by Pamela Kopfler

  Buster spun around and nearly blinded Jake with his high-powered flashlight. “That’s Chief Deputy Sheriff Fuller. I don’t go by Buster anymore, and don’t touch anything.”

  “Got it, Sheriff.” Jake said, shielding his eyes and adding rank to stroke Buster’s ego. It couldn’t hurt.

  “This is all a crime scene,” Buster said from behind the light. “Official personnel only.”

  Jake fished his ICE ID from his pocket and held it in the air. “Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. Is that official enough?”

  “No jurisdiction in this,” Buster called out. The beam darted to the left of Jake’s face, giving him a bit of relief. “You know where the door is.”

  Jake glanced over his shoulder at the spotlight on the door, then back at the wannabe sheriff. “I’m following up on a bust I did here a few months ago.”

  Which he was, but only for his own peace of mind. There had been no intel of activity at Holly Grove or nearby on the Mississippi River. Mostly, he wanted to look out for Holly, and that could be a full-time job some days.

  “Yeah, I remember that.” Buster aimed the high-powered beam back at Jake.

  Jake tented his hand over his eyes. “Could be connected. I don’t want to find any loose ends involved with this. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Hadn’t thought of a drug angle.” The blinding beam clicked off. “What ya got?”

  How’s that bait taste, Bust-a-jock? Of course, a murder connected to a drug bust would be even better for the wannabe sheriff’s ambitions. Jake held back a grin and ambled over to Buster. “Murder you said, right?”

  “Definitely.” Buster licked his lips and his eyes lit up as though he’d been called off the bench for his one chance to play in the game. “First degree.”

  “No kidding.” Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. Buster had probably never investigated a murder. “How’d you eliminate the other possible reasons for his demise?”

  “Oh, I, uh . . .”

  Either he hadn’t thought of that or didn’t want to for political reasons? Neither competent reasons. The reported theft and concern for the victim’s safety could have been a cover for a suicide. Someone else could have made the call and fed the dispatcher a phony story to throw them off the real murderer’s trail. “My first thought was a jumper.”

  “Nope.” Buster’s thin lips flattened out in a proud grin. “No suicide note. No goodbye posts on social media. No depression or anxiety or any other meds in his room.”

  Just what I wanted to know. “And there’s no possibility he simply fell off this thing?” Jake glanced around. “Lots of trip hazards here and not much to keep him from going over the edge.”

  “Tell me about it,” Buster said, tipping his hat back and scratching his forehead. “That’s why I told my men to be extra careful up here.”

  “They should be. You see that hole in the floor? Mackie fell through that a couple of days ago when he was prepping to raise the railing.” Jake nodded toward the door he’d come in through. “You noticed all those construction notices and keep-out warnings on the door, right?”

  “Hard to miss.” Buster pulled his hat back in regulation position. “Didn’t keep the victim out, obviously.”

  “Why do you think Tru came up here against all those warnings, or do you think he was lured up here by his killer?”

  “My deputies found a cigar on the floor over there.” He pointed to the edge of the railing near where Jake had found the canister. “More in the sand bucket and three of the same brand in the victim’s pocket. We’ve got a parish ordinance against smoking inside historic buildings. The victim probably came up here to smoke.”

  Being a Boy Scout paid off for old Buster. “Alone or with his soon-to-be killer?”

  Buster shrugged. “No way to know.”

  “It’s the difference between an accident and murder. Alone, he had an accident.”

  With a downward glance, Buster shifted his weight before making eye contact again. “Well, he wasn’t alone then, was he?”

  Textbook body language of a lie in action Jake had seen too many times. Buster had nothing. Tru could have known his killer or someone could have laid in wait for him knowing he’d be up there for his nightly smoke. “No sign of a struggle.”

  “That’s because he knew his killer.”

  “So, he just let the killer push him off the roof?”

  “Look.” Buster folded his arms over his scrawny chest. “He told me he feared for his life at this place. His property was stolen.” Buster hitched up his utility belt and stared up at Jake. “Then someone pushed him over the edge.”

  “What was stolen?”

  “It’s pretty unusual, but he said it was worth a fortune.”

  That’s relative, but Jake didn’t want to press Buster too hard. “What was it?”

  “A memory card with videos on it. Said it was worth big bucks.”

  “Legal videos or . . .”

  Buster shrugged. “Worth killing for, but keep that confidential until I finish my investigation.”

  Jake cocked his head to the side and hammered the county mounty with a stare. “Suspects?”

  “Unless they can provide an alibi, everyone who was here at the time of the murder.”

  “Everyone?”

  “You mean Holly, don’t you?” Buster dropped his arms to his side and shook his head. “You never got over her, did you?”

  “Would you?” He’d thought he had until an investigation called him back a few months ago. He’d tried to get over her since. Buried himself in his assignment. Limited his calls, but it didn’t work.

  A thin-lipped grin crossed Buster’s face. “Probably not.”

  “Hey, Chief,” a deputy called from the other side of the widow’s walk. “I’ve got something.”

  The deputy trotted over to them with a clear evidence bag that held the cylinder Jake had found earlier. “I don’t know what it is and couldn’t open it up ’cause I might bugger up the prints. Got any ideas?”

  “Good job,” Buster said. “What’s in it is probably more important than the container. Put it with the other evidence and bring me exhibit number one.” Buster gave a turd-eating grin. “Agent McCann needs to see it.”

  This couldn’t be good.

  A few seconds later the deputy returned with another evidence bag. Jake knew exactly what that bit of evidence was and what it meant.

  Holly had some explaining to do. She’d really stepped in trouble this time.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “There you are.” Thomas’s voice came from behind Holly. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  She twisted around from her perch on the steps. His gray brows slanted over eyes filled with concern. Her heart drank up the gesture, too, probably because she was an emotional mess right now. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m just so sorry this happened. I know this was a bucket list trip for you and that’s ruined. And Tru . . . I-I don’t know what to say except how sorry I am this happened to him.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Thomas coated her in a sympathetic gaze. “He had no business up on that widow’s walk. I saw all the notices you’d put up there. He took that risk, forewarned.”

  “I still feel responsible. After what happened at the séance, I knew my business would take a hit, but this.” She held back tears. “This could end it once and for all.”

  “It was an accident, and I don’t think anything is going to come of the recording tonight out of respect for the dead.”

  “Have you met Sylvia?”

  Thomas chuckled. “What a night, huh?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” A shiver ran up her spine as she recalled seeing Tru raise from the dead and then go straight to . . .

  Thomas sat beside her on the steps and watched the coroner’s car ease out of her driveway, which left one lone officer standing duty and the rest canvassing the widow’s walk for evidence.

  “Do you really think someone pushed Tru off
the roof?”

  “Buster seems to think so.” Holly pulled Jake’s jacket closed across her chest and hoped he was able to get more information out of Buster.

  Thomas tilted his head to the side and a fine line pinched between his brows. “Buster?”

  “The temporary sheriff. Tru reported something stolen from his room not long before he fell. Buster thinks the theft and the murder are related.” Crapola. I should have asked Tru what happened when I had the chance.

  Thomas’s Adam’s apple rode up and down his throat as he stared into the distance. “And you told the sheriff about the theft?”

  “No. Tru didn’t report it to me. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms after what happened at the séance. He called the sheriff’s office to report it before he fell. I didn’t even know about it until Buster told me.”

  “What was stolen?”

  Holly stood and dusted off her backside. “Buster wouldn’t tell me, but I’ve got my suspicions.”

  The static of a police radio crackled from the deputy guarding the driveway. He covered his mouth and spoke into his radio as he walked across the driveway toward them. “Ten-four.”

  “Any suspects?” Thomas asked.

  “Ma’am.” The deputy tipped his hat as he approached them. He looked barely of legal age to vote, much less enforce the law. “The sheriff says you’re needed inside.”

  Holly saluted the kid cop, then turned and climbed the brick stairs to the front door with Thomas at her side. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Thomas fell in step behind her. “Guess we will.”

  * * *

  “Glad you could join us, Mrs. Davis.” Buster stood as though he was holding court on the fifth step on the entrance hall staircase at Holly Grove.

  Jeez, Burl may be gone, but his last name is still haunting me. I’ve got to go back to my maiden name.

  Murmurs came from all six guests gathered near the staircase as she hung Jake’s jacket on the coat-rack.

  This can’t be good. Did Buster really have enough evidence to prove murder? Here at Holly Grove? Surely not. Sure, Sylvia is a pill, but I can’t imagine her or Angel getting their hands dirty enough to murder anyone. Liz and Bob didn’t have their reputations at stake. Thomas had nothing to gain. It just didn’t make any sense.

  Think positive. Buster has been on the widow’s walk. He’s seen the hazards up there and the signs I put on the door. Maybe he’s decided it was an accident after all.

  Behind Buster was his band of merry men and Jake. Holly squinted. He had either gone rogue on her or succeeded in buddying up to Buster.

  Jake winked at her.

  Heat spiked her cheeks.

  Mercy. Another reason he was dangerous to her heart.

  “I came as soon as I got the invitation.” She glanced over her shoulder at the baby-faced deputy, then folded her arms across her chest and stared at Jake. The least he could have done was given her a heads-up.

  Thomas and the deputy filed in beside her.

  A bright white flash lit up the room. Sam stepped out of the crowd and crouched in front of her and went all paparazzi.

  “Lordy, Sam. You’re about to blind me.” Black spots blanketed her vision. She held her palm up to block the rapid-fire flashes.

  Sam looked at the view screen of his camera, then gave a thumbs-up to Buster. “Get on with it,” Sam said. “It’s past my bedtime and I want this story in print for the Gazette’s special edition tomorrow.”

  “When can we leave?” Angel asked, sitting on her suitcase. Long lashes batted over blue eyes. “I can’t possibly stay here another night after what happened. The spirits are not pleased with any of this.”

  Holly shivered. Tru certainly hadn’t been happy, but he was gone now. Who was Angel talking about? The green orb that Tru had said was a laser pointer? The ghost that was so weak Holly hadn’t seen hide nor hair of it?

  “You can’t keep us here.” Sylvia cast a rallying look around the hall at the other guests. “We have rights.”

  Liz and Bob sat in the S-shaped courting chair and exchanged glances.

  “For Pete’s sake.” Miss Alice peered over her glasses from her perch on a folding chair. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. Say what you’ve got to say and let us go to bed.”

  “If any of us can sleep,” Thomas said.

  Everyone was there except Nelda. Maybe Buster had given her a pass since she’d been so upset. If he had, she certainly deserved it. Holly would give her the day off tomorrow. Nelda was too old for all this. So was Miss Alice. “My guests have had a difficult night, Buster. Can we finish this in the morning?”

  A faint siren sounded in the distance. Holly held back a grin and tried to be patient.

  Buster cleared his throat. “May I have your attention, please?”

  “Why on God’s green earth do you think we’re here?” Miss Alice stuffed her knitting in a basket on her lap and huffed.

  “As you know.” Buster raised his voice over the approaching siren. “Truman Jeremiah Stalwort, III, fell to his death on these premises tonight. After inspection of the crime scene and review of other evidence, the St. Agnes Parish Sheriff ’s Department will be investigating this as a murder.”

  A collective gasp echoed through the room followed by dead silence as Holly’s guests eyed each other.

  “What evidence?” Holly marched to the foot of the stairs and glared at Buster.

  “Shortly before he fell to his death, the victim reported a memory card with valuable information on it had been stolen. I’ll give more details as the investigation progresses, Mrs. Davis.” He directed his attention to the rest of the crowd. “I expect all of you to remain here until we can take your statements.”

  “Here with a murderer among us?” Sylvia asked.

  “My deputies will be here at all times. After you retire for the night, one of them will be stationed at each building to make sure no one is roaming about. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “We might as well be in jail,” Angel said.

  Buster adjusted his utility belt. “Besides, there is nowhere else to stay in Delta Ridge unless you would like to spend the night at the city jail.” He eyed Angel.

  “I’m certainly not paying for my room tonight,” Sylvia said. “I doubt I can sleep at all after this.”

  “No one is paying for their rooms tonight,” Holly said. “Comping your rooms is the least I can do. I’m just so sorry this happened to Tru and all of you were here for it.” And one of you may have done it.

  Buster ripped open a manila envelope and pulled out a document. “This is a search warrant for the entirety of this establishment and the rooms of all registered guests. I’ll be taking statements from Nelda, Miss Alice, and Sam first. They were in the company or vicinity of one another when the death occurred, therefore, they are not under suspicion.” He paused. “Any questions?”

  Yeah. Plenty.

  The siren blared outside Holly Grove then stopped, followed by the slamming of a car door.

  Everyone turned toward the sound.

  Baby-face opened the front door and peeked out, then pulled the door wide open. It groaned on its hinges.

  Retired Judge Masion, the interim sheriff of St. Agnes Parish, trudged up the brick steps. The tail to his pajama top hung out from under his khaki uniform. Wisps of gray hairs in his comb-over flapped the wrong way in the crisp wind before he tugged his hat in place. He carried a large manila envelope in one hand, his hat in the other, and wore a scowl on his face.

  This could be good or this could be bad. When Holly had awakened him from a dead sleep about thirty minutes ago, the first thing he’d asked was what kind of trouble she was in. She’d told him what had happened and said something about Buster being Buster—making a mountain out of a molehill. The last thing he’d said was he’d look into it.

  Judge Maison nodded to Baby-face as he walked through the door, then delivered his scowl to Buster.

  Buster’s eyes widened. His Adam’s
apple rode a deep swallow all the way down.

  Holly held back a grin. This is gonna be good.

  “I understand there’s been a tragedy here tonight.” Judge Maison’s Baptist-preacher baritone voice hung in the air. He removed his hat and held it over his heart. “My condolences to all concerned.”

  “Judge, I-I mean, Sheriff,” Buster said as he made his way down the stairs.

  “If you good people will excuse us a minute,” the judge said, putting his hat back on his head. “I’d like to confer with my deputy sheriff and the owner of this fine establishment, so we can better inform you of the situation at hand.”

  Holly rushed out the door following the judge with Buster behind her. The judge stopped and turned to them at the far end of the porch.

  He pulled the envelope from under his arm. “It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning, and I get a call from Judge Verret. Then he sends me this, which I had to print half-asleep.” He shoved the photos at Buster.

  Holly looked over his shoulder at the photos of the widow’s walk under construction and poor Tru, downright dead on the lawn.

  The judge pointed at Tru’s photo. “And Judge Verret tells me you think this guy was murdered because someone stole a memory card that goes in some sort of spy glasses.”

  “Yes, sir. The victim was a debunker. He’d recorded a séance last night to prove there was no ghost at Holly Grove.” Buster jacked his chin up. “There was no ghost, but someone stole the proof and pushed him off the roof.”

  The judge shook his head. “Son, you didn’t watch that show everyone in town watched this week because Holly’s place was on it, did you?”

  “Inquiring Minds,” Holly said. “Millions of viewers.”

  “No, sir.” Buster said. “I work the night shift.”

  “I’m aware.” The judge blew out a slow breath. “According to my wife, almost everyone in town now believes Holly has a ghost.”

  “That’s right,” Holly said. “I do have a ghost.” Or she did.

  “I watched the show. Candles blew out in the dark. The medium seemed to communicate with the dead. The host of the show appeared to be possessed by the ghost. I did not see a ghost. No one did. But they felt like they did.”