by Lynn Cooper
Because of the hot temperatures of the air, the water punches me like a hard, icy fist. The shock makes me gasp, and I gulp a mouthful of brackish liquid before I can think to close my mouth. The bottom comes up to meet my feet. I instantly push upward, desperate to get both my and Bear’s head above water.
When we break the surface, the first thing I do is choke and cough while I hold Bear up high. Looking like an otter with his black hair slicked down, he gives me a sharp What-the-heck-happened? expression. “Are you okay, baby?”
I’m so relieved when he opens his mouth, pants a smile and shakes his little tail. Shivering, I find a gravelly shelf in shallower water and wade toward the bank with him in my arms.
Up on the bridge, I hear tires screech to a stop and a car door open. I get ready to run in case whoever tried to kill me has come back to finish the job. In the next moment, Zeke is leaning on the wall and staring anxiously down at us. “Miss Shore, are you all right?”
Teeth chattering, I frown. “Smitty Shingleheimer, that’s cold.”
Chapter Eighteen
BY THE TIME I carry Bear out of the water onto dry land, Zeke comes barreling down the stone steps and meets us with a blanket. He wraps it around me and starts briskly rubbing my shoulders.
Great. I finally manage to get the man’s arms around me, and I have to look like a drowned rat. “How’d you know we were down here?”
“Your handbag’s on the wall. What happened?”
“Well, it being such a hot day and all, Bear and I decided to go for a swim.” I roll my eyes, the jitters of adrenaline still coursing like tiny fish through my veins. “Somebody tried to run me over. I’m going to go out on a limb and say it was whoever killed Bluff.”
“Let’s see. Tug’s lawyer got him released on his own recognizance late last night. Lonnie’s still at large. I cut Vince loose right before I called you, and Yvonne was with him. Could you tell if any one of them was driving?”
“Sorry. I was a little busy at the time. You know, trying to save our lives.”
“Did you get a description of the vehicle?”
“Yes. It was black and had a bumper that got very big very fast. How’d you manage a blanket so quickly?”
“I keep it in the trunk in case I have to cover a body—usually ones that aren’t upright and shaking. Come on.”
Keeping the blanket and his arms around me (Yaay!), Zeke walks me up the steps. He lets go just long enough to grab my handbag off the wall before he puts us into the passenger seat of his Nissan. He starts the car and turns on the heater, jacking it up on high. My teeth are still chattering but not as violently now.
“Let’s get you home and out of those wet clothes,” he says in that sexy, commanding voice.
“Boy, one date in a shopping mall attic, and you think you own me.”
He reaches over and pats Bear’s wet, spikey-haired head. My little dog eagerly licks Zeke’s palm.
“It doesn’t mean he likes you,” I tell him. “He licks the toilet bowl, too.”
ZEKE WAITS DOWNSTAIRS WHILE I towel dry Bear and lightly blow him with my hair dryer. Even with a big, strong man just below, I still feel uneasy about someone being here in my room yesterday.
After I get Bear his supper and a couple of treats, I take a hot shower and put on fresh clothes. Snug-fitting jeans, a white T-shirt and white socks. It’s sort of a rule of mine. When I have to change clothes three times in one day, the last time is going to be super-casual. My hair is going to be up in a bun, and I’m not reapplying makeup.
Like I said, if we’re going to be married someday, Zeke might as well start learning my ways now.
I come halfway down the stairs, lean nonchalantly across the banister and say, “The only comfortable furniture is here in my bedroom. Come on up.”
“Boy, one ride in my car with a blanket around you, and you think you own me.”
As Zeke tops the stairs, he surveys everything from the cathedral ceiling to my unmade bed as if my place is on the market. “Cozy. And convenient. You just wake up in the morning, get dressed and walk down the steps to your job.”
“I don’t consider it a job. It’s more of a calling,” I say, plopping down on one end of the love seat and pulling my sock feet underneath me. “‘Do what you love, and you won’t work a day in your life.’ Do you love detecting, Detective Worthy?”
Instead of taking the armchair, he sits down beside me on the loveseat, which I take to mean it’s only a matter of time before we’re man and wife. “Most days,” he says, continuing to look around the room. “Some days, I’m ready to forget it and go be a clam digger at the beach. Anyway, I called Doug. FYI, you were right: he didn’t find any prints anywhere when he did his thing this morning. Right now, he’s going to drive out to the bridge and see if he can get any paint from the big chunk the driver took out of the retaining wall. Get us a specific color. I’ve got cops on the lookout for a dark vehicle with major damage to its whole left side. Now that you’ve had a chance to catch your breath, is there anything else you remember seeing?”
“How about my life flashing before my eyes?”
“Sometimes the eye picks up things the mind doesn’t register until later. Did you see a hood ornament? Cracked windshield? The driver’s face?”
I shake my head wearily. All the adrenaline and endorphins and various other chemicals the body sends into action to protect it and make it work faster when it’s threatened are starting to ebb. My limbs feel like wet noodles. “Detective, I know you have to ask these questions. Just like you had to have forensics comb my shop. But, we both know when you finally find the vehicle abandoned somewhere or you dredge it up from a pond, you’re not going to be able to trace it back to the killer. He probably stole it. He’s too smart to use his own car or risk renting one.”
He exhales sharply. “Fine. Take me through it. You’re talking on the phone with me. You turn and see this vehicle—”
“No. First, my fur baby warned me by barking. Then I heard tires squealing, turned and saw the car bearing down on us.”
Zeke looks at him. Bear is over near the chest-of-drawers. He’s lying on his back, holding one of my crafts that didn’t pass quality inspection in his mouth and front paws and chewing on its lopsided ear. “Bear warned you,” he says in a flat monotone.
“Or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale. For what it’s worth, the vehicle was not a short sedan. It was like a Ford Crown Victoria, big and substantial, not new at all, either black or an extremely dark navy.”
“How about the driver’s face? Any flashes or impressions? A hat? Ski mask?”
“No. The glass was dark-tinted, and the sun was bouncing off right in my eyes.”
He shuts his eyes for a second. “What happened next?”
“I grabbed Bear up, and jumped backwards. I tucked my knees and did a backflip.” Shrugging, I say, “I was on the diving team in college. And then we hit that freezing water coming down from the mountains.”
Zeke laughs. “Yes, you made that clear. ‘Smitty Shingleheimer, that’s cold.’ Is that a real person?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. My late Grandma Mason liked to say Grandpa Sloan was ‘bad to cuss.’ She also like to say I inherited the habit from him. I got so potty-mouthed when I went off to college that it was starting to really bother me. So, whenever I felt the need to let an expletive fly, I just inserted Smitty Shingleheimer. He was a kid I went to first grade with.”
“Was he a cusser, too?”
“Nah. He just didn’t like to bathe. His name worked for me because it starts to sound dirty but pulls up short.”
“It’s cute,” Zeke says. I wait for him to follow it with Just like everything else about you, Madeline. But, it doesn’t happen (sigh). “What did you get from this Stan McCraven?”
“Just like I started to tell you at the bridge, the money you found in Bluff’s offshore account didn’t come from McCraven Brothers. Though I have a hard time figuring where else such a large sum woul
d come from considering the timing. The mall gets built and Bluff gets rich. That’s not just a coincidence.”
Zeke leans forward, elbows on knees. “Is it possible Bluff stole it from them?”
“Doubtful. Stan talked about losing money here and there being a natural aspect of big business. He said you reached a point where you didn’t even think twice about it. I don’t care who you are, if you lose $1.2 million and don’t think twice about it, you’re not going to be in business for very long.”
“Maybe he’s lying. Maybe McCraven Brothers did kick back money to Mr. Burrows.”
“No. I got the feeling Stan was telling the truth about not giving either Bluff or Tug any money.”
“Stan, is it? Oh, yes, he must’ve been your little date this morning. I tell you what, you get chummier with suspects quicker than a rabbit has relatives.”
“Why, Detective Worthy. Do I detect a note of jealousy in your tone?”
He spreads his hands. “Not at all. I’m just saying, losing that much money is an excellent motive for murder. We ought to put both those brothers in the box for questioning.”
I think the detective doth protest too much. As I said, I don’t know everything about men. But, I can spot jealousy from a mile away. “Since you turned him loose, I take it Vince Ellsworth didn’t confess to killing Bluff for bonking his wife.”
Rising, Zeke paces to the window. He pulls the curtains back and studies the parking lot. “Mr. Ellsworth admits he threatened Mr. Burrows. He even admits he Googled his address and drove out to Bluff’s house just before eleven on Sunday night to off him. Only he was deterred by the four extra vehicles parked outside.”
“The big card game with Tug, the McCravens and Lonnie Burke. Vince didn’t want any witnesses.”
“So, Ellsworth says he drove around for a while out there in the country, still stewing.” Zeke walks over to where Bear is still lying on his back, kneels down and rubs his tummy, which he loves. “He drove to his sister’s house in Jeffers County so she could help him figure out what to do.”
“Jeffers County is more than a hundred and twenty miles from Slocomb.”
Zeke nods. “He stopped for gas and used a credit card. Surveillance cameras at the station clearly show him at the pump less than an hour before Bluff was killed. There’s no way he could’ve gotten back to pick up Bluff at his house, take him on a magical mystery tour through the doughnut shop and up into the mall attic. He has an airtight alibi. So I called his wife to come down to the station. I wanted—”
Zeke’s cell phone rings. Taking it from his jacket pocket, he stands and frowns at the screen. “Why the devil would the desk clerk at the police station want to video chat with me?”
“Answer it. That’s Sheriff Rice,” I say, climbing off the loveseat and hurrying over beside him. “He doesn’t have a smartphone, so Trish lets him use hers.” Archie’s face appears on the monitor. “Hey, Sheriff Rice.”
“Sheriff,” Zeke says a bit less brightly.
“Well, hey you two. I thought I’d give this video stuff another whirl. I didn’t expect to get ahold of you both at the same time. Now, I can say my piece once and be done with it.” Squinting and moving his mug close to the screen, he asks, “Where are you?”
“In my bedroom,” I say with a wink, watching Archie’s eyebrows go up.
“Above her craft store,” Zeke says quickly. “I brought her home after someone tried to kill her.”
“Oh, my gracious. Honey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Zeke says. “Miss Shore’s a little shaken up, though.”
I grin. The man has a dry sense of humor. “I’m fine, too, Sheriff. Somebody—Bluff’s killer, no doubt—tried to smash me into the retaining wall at the Gunther Avenue Bridge. Bear and I managed to save ourselves.”
“Oh, I’m so happy. We can’t afford to lose someone sweet as you, child. Why don’t you come down here with Detective Zeke and give me all the exciting details?”
Zeke clears his throat. “Sheriff, you were getting ready to tell us something about the case.”
“Oh, right. Lonnie Burke called from the McCraven’s hotel room. He showed up there after hiding out in barns and woods and whatnot for the last few hours. They convinced him it was in his best interest to turn himself in. Officers Casey and Mel have gone out there to pick him up.”
Zeke looks down at me. I have sort of nestled my shoulder against his chest—so the sheriff can see me, of course. The boy’s got some serious muscle—Zeke, not Archie. It’s like leaning against a side of beef(cake). Just like he didn’t want to let go of my waist in the dressing room, I notice the detective does not seem the least bit eager to break intimate contact with me now.
“Are you saying he confessed to killing Bluff?”
“Not yet. But Lawyer Darren is chomping at the bit to get him into the interrogation room, and Trish has made an extra-stout pot of java.”
“We’ll be down there shortly,” Zeke tells Archie, ending the call.
With the sheriff gone, I’m suddenly keenly aware it’s just me and Zeke. Alone. In my bedroom. Standing so close to each other you couldn’t slip tissue between us. When I feel his sigh on the top of my head, my knees quake. My racing heart makes me clear my throat. “We? This is the second time today you’ve included me.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No, sir,” I say, heat flooding my body.
“You’ve been through a lot today, Miss Shore. Over the past three days, really. Through it all, you’ve been quite—quite—”
“What, Detective? What have I been quite?”
He smiles, and the slashes in his cheeks add a bit more tremble to my knees. “Helpful, Miss Shore. You’ve been quite helpful. Now that the case is coming to a close, I think you deserve to be outside the interrogation room, despite District Attorney Sparks’ objection. I’m also withdrawing mine.” Putting his phone back in his jacket, he takes me by the elbow. “I guess we should head on down to the station. Get Mr. Burke behind bars and put this baby to bed.”
I look up into those gorgeous, smoldering eyes and wink. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Nineteen
“SHERIFF RICE SAYS FOR both of you to come down to the interrogation room,” Trish tells us as we walk into the station. “Ooh, Madeline, those good-looking McCraven brothers are down there with him. Looks like you’ve got some competition in the hotness department, Detective Worthy.”
Smiling, Zeke says, “They can take a seat inside the box as soon as we’re done with Lonnie Burke.”
“That’s not why they’re here. The lawyer they want to represent Burke can’t get here for a couple of hours. Stan McCraven asked if they could hang around outside the two-way to make sure everything stays on the up-and-up until counsel arrives.”
Zeke exhales sharply as he ushers me down the corridor. “It’s getting awfully crowded down there these days.”
“Hey, Madeline,” Trish calls, “ask the McCraven boys if they’ll take a selfie with me before they leave.”
IT’S RATHER COMICAL TO see short, stocky Archie standing between the much taller, svelte brothers as we join them. On the other side of the two-way mirror, Darren is pacing the length of the metal table, again looking like an angry, disheveled juror frustrated by another not-guilty vote.
Sitting at the table is a square-jawed man with neck-length, flyaway blonde hair and Clark Kent glasses. He wears a red Henley shirt, unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows, that shows off his muscular shoulders, chest and biceps.
“Give it up, Lonnie,” Darren says as he leans down and puts his face close to the suspect du jour. “We’ve got you dead to rights. One, we found an electronic voice disguiser hidden in the tire well of your car. B,—”
“You’re mixing numbers with letters,” Lonnie interrupts. “Stop trying to confuse me. That cheap cologne you’re wearing is making me fuzzy-headed enough as it is.”
“Fine. Two, we found seventy-six hundred dollars in yo
ur sports coat. That’s the same amount witnesses say Bluff Burrows took from you in the poker game Sunday night. Care to explain that?”
“Why not? Burrows gave it back to me.”
All of us outside the mirror look at each other.
Darren snorts a sarcastic laugh. “You’re going to sit there and tell me, after Bluff took you for seventy-six hundred bucks, he just turned around and gave it back to you? How stupid do you think I am?”
“Pretty stupid. Who mixes numbers with letters like that when they’re listing things? So what’s three? Or is it C?”
“Okay, wiseguy. You know the access code to the electronic keypad locks on the mall.”
It’s Lonnie’s turn to make the sarcastic snort. “Let me see if I can couch this in terms even you can understand, shyster.” He holds up his index finger. “F, I wouldn’t know a voice disguiser if it bit me.” He extends his ring finger. “Q, I waited for Burrows at his SUV after the game broke up because I planned to beat the crap out of him. But he pulled the cash out of his pocket, plopped it in my palm and said, ‘Always bluff with your head, not your heart.’ And twelve—” He raises his middle finger while lowering the other two. “—Between executives, Slocomb bigwigs, bankers, construction foremen and on-site inspectors, not to mention the managers of 108 stores, there are at least 150 people besides me who have that access code, walrus breath.”
Tom McCraven smiles. “Hard to believe Lonnie’s a real people-person, but he is.”
Sheriff Rice sighs. “Better get in there with Lawyer Darren, Detective Zeke. That big ol’ people-person is liable to pick him up and swallow him whole before we can do anything about it.”
Not only loosening his tie but also whipping off his jacket (yowza), Zeke heads into the interrogation room.
Stan folds his arms. “Lonnie’s right, Sheriff Rice. Everybody from our electricians to your own mayor knows the keypad sequence. Plus, anybody with even rudimentary lock-picking skills could have planted the voice disguiser in his trunk.”