Two Lethal Lies

by Annie Solomon

  Law enforcement in Crossroads consisted of a chief and two deputies. The slaughter of a dog didn’t warrant a full-court press, and only a deputy, Nate Burgess, got out of the car. He left it blocking the mouth of the alley and headed to the gathering at the other end.

  Clearing a path through the crowd, Nate took one look at what was left of the dog and then glanced back at the clump of people. “This what the screaming was about?”

  “Little girl found him,” someone said.

  Nate frowned. “All right, folks,” he said. “Show’s over. Go on back, now.”

  Slowly, he cleared the area. “You, too, Miss Neesy.” But he was walking around the carcass and not paying her much attention. “Sheesh. Looks like something had a good feed. You see anything back here? Another dog? A bobcat maybe? Been a couple of farmers complaining, but I wouldn’t think you’d find one in the middle of town.”

  By now the shock had worn off, and Neesy was remembering the last time she’d been in that alley. “I don’t think it was an animal,” she said slowly. “At least, not the kind you mean.”

  He looked up from the body. “What are you talking about?”

  She told him about Boyd’s run-in with the dog. “One of these days, he’s going to do the same to Mary Nell.”

  “Now, don’t go all Rambo on me,” Nate said. “More likely that bobcat.”

  “I’m telling you, it was Boyd.”

  “Okay, I’ll check it out. Don’t you be spreading rumors, though.”

  “Don’t you be sitting on your duff telling yourself it’s just a dog. Killing’s easier once you start.”

  “Now, Neesy, I know you’re upset, but ain’t no call to get personal. I said I’d check it out.”

  “You find a reason to put Boyd Collier away and there’s a week of free breakfasts for you.”

  He bristled. “Don’t need no incentives to do my job.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t like that man. He’s dangerous. You come on in and I’ll give you some coffee.”

  But he was already radioing in to the county animal control.

  Back in the kitchen, Neesy saw Julia curled into Mitch’s lap, her body hiccupping from sobs. Neesy wondered what it must be like to have a daddy you’d run to, not away from.

  “She all right?” Neesy whispered.

  “Of course I’m not all right,” Julia said. She looked up with those amazing blue eyes, now red rimmed and sorrow filled. “Why would I be?”

  “It’s just something to say,” Mitch soothed.

  “Why do people need to say anything?” Julia asked.

  “Because we want to comfort and don’t know how,” Neesy said.

  “Oh.” Julia hiccupped, and Neesy gathered towels to clean up the food and broken plates on the floor.

  “I’ll do that,” Mitch said.

  “No trouble.” Seemed like Mitch was needed right where he was, and Neesy was no stranger to cleaning up messes.

  Another hiccup. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’.”

  “Deputy thinks it was a bobcat,” Neesy said, wiping up the eggs and bacon.

  “A bobcat?” Julia looked up at Mitch.

  “Could be,” Mitch said. “Everyone’s gotta eat, Junebug. Maybe he was starving, too.”

  That seemed to calm her, at least a bit. Knowing it was the natural course of things was easier to accept than human evil. Neesy suspected otherwise, but she didn’t say so.

  The rest of the day seemed interminable. Business picked up at lunch. Mainly rubberneckers finding excuses to go around back and examine the body for themselves. Took animal control most of the day to come by and pick up the carcass, so there was plenty out there for the sightseers.

  “Bunch of ghouls,” Loritta said under her breath. “Come in and eat first,” she barked to one group who were arguing among themselves whether to go around back or have lunch. “You’re not going to be too high on your appetite afterward.”

  Shelby Townsend was one with an iron stomach. She stopped by the alley with her camera, and when she was done outside, she came in for lunch.

  When Neesy came to take her order, Shelby tried to get her to open up about what had happened and eyed the kitchen all through the meal. Finally, Neesy told Mitch.

  “She’s finishing up, but she’ll be asking questions in a few minutes.”

  Mitch looked over to the counter where Julia was playing absently with some pie dough. Bless her heart, she looked all worn out. “Not if I can help it,” Mitch said.

  “Why don’t you call the Blunts? See if they can pick her up.”

  Mitch hesitated. He didn’t like it when Julia was out of his sight. Then again, he liked her being questioned by Shelby Townsend even less.

  He put in a call to Bitsy, but she and Sara Jean were at the mall, which was half an hour away. By the time they’d get back to pick up Julia, Shelby would have run all over her. Tommy was playing golf, so he was unavailable as well.

  The sudden lack of options sent a rush of foreboding through Mitch. There was something about the savagery in the alley, something he refused to think about and didn’t want Julia near.

  The hell with it. He ripped off his apron and flung it over a hook. He’d leave. He’d put Julia in the truck and go.

  “What are you doing?” Neesy said.

  “Taking off.”

  “You can’t leave. We’ve got people out there.” She pointed toward the dining room. “Orders to fill.”

  “I’m not letting Shelby Townsend—”

  Loritta pushed through the swinging door. “Shelby’s wanting the check. And I need a grilled cheese and ham.” She slapped the order on the counter, then seemed to notice something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shelby wants to interrogate Julia about”—Neesy gestured with her head toward the back door—“and Mitch wants to leave so she can’t.”

  Loritta glanced over at Julia and back at Mitch and Neesy. “And you’ve got a better idea,” she said to Neesy. “Well, okay, go on. I can handle it. What do you think I did before you? Go on, scoot.”

  Neesy took down Mitch’s apron and held it out to him. “Okay? Me leaving won’t put Crick’s out of business.”

  He didn’t like it, but it was the best solution at the moment. He took the apron. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank Loritta here. She’s the one who’ll be doing double time.” Neesy gave the other woman a swift peck on the cheek. “You are a real peach.” She flipped through her order book, tore out Shelby’s, and gave it to the older woman. “I’ll do your makeup for you—anytime you ask.”

  “I’ll take you up on that,” Loritta said.

  “Junebug,” Mitch said. “Neesy’s going to take you to the mall to meet Sara Jean.”

  Julia frowned. “I don’t want to go to the mall. I want to stay here.”

  Mitch lifted her down from the stool he’d put her on so she could reach the counter. “Do it for me, okay?”

  “Come on,” Neesy said, pulling her toward the back door. “We’ll have fun.”

  “At the mall?” Julia said, as if Neesy might be crazy, but then the girl stopped dead as she saw where they were heading. “I don’t want to go out there.”

  “Oh, God, of course you don’t.” Neesy looked around helplessly.

  Loritta said, “Go on, I’ll run interference for you. Just give me a two count.” She plodded through the swinging door.

  “What’s going on?” Julia asked.

  “Shelby Townsend’s out there,” Mitch said. “She wants to ask you a lot of questions.”

  “About what?”

  “About what happened in the alley,” Neesy said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Julia said.

  “Didn’t think you did,” Mitch said. “Which is why Neesy’s going to take you to the mall.”

  Neesy peeked through the window in the kitchen door. Loritta was making her way to Shelby’s table.
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br />   “Can’t I just go home?” Julia asked Mitch.

  “No, and if I’m not home when you get back from the mall, you stay over with Sara Jean.”

  “I’m not a baby. I can stay by myself.”

  “I’m sure you can. But not today.”

  “Come on, sugar,” Neesy said. “I think we can make it now.”

  She grabbed Julia’s hand, and just before she raced out with her, Mitch stopped her. “Don’t just drop her off. You make sure she meets up with Bitsy. Personally.”

  She crossed her heart. “Yes, sir.”

  Then they were through the swinging doors. Loritta was at Shelby’s table blocking her view. Neesy and Julia ran out the front and past the shop window without a word from the reporter.

  “Slow down,” Julia said.

  Neesy stopped racing. “Sorry.” She was breathing fast, and fanned herself. “My car’s just ahead.”

  “You don’t run much, do you?” Julia asked.

  Wiseass. “Not if I can help it.”

  9

  There were few times that Shelby Townsend missed her former life. She’d been happy to retire from the Detroit News and head back to her childhood home in Crossroads. Journalism—the kind she’d spent her adult life practicing—was dying. Newspapers were going digital, and she wasn’t going with them. When she’d come back to Crossroads, she hadn’t intended to run the Sentinel, but it was a natural fit when the previous owner wanted out. And it gave center and purpose to her life. If not a little amusement.

  But her instincts for a story hadn’t retired. And when she received a message from an anonymous caller a few days ago, those instincts kicked up. So when she heard about the dog in the alley behind Crick’s, she headed to the restaurant. She’d been looking for an excuse to follow up on Mitch Turner. Wasn’t every day someone walked into town out of the blue and saved one of their own. If she’d been curious before, she was downright suspicious now.

  “Mr. Turner is not who he says he is.”

  All righty, then. Who was he?

  The caller didn’t say. He didn’t leave a number, and she hadn’t gotten around to replacing the old phones in the house, so she didn’t have caller ID, either. She hadn’t recognized the voice, not that she’d know everyone in town over the phone. But there was something about the speaker that made her think he wasn’t from Crossroads. So, where was he from?

  As much a mystery as Mitch Turner.

  And she didn’t like mysteries. She hadn’t missed Mitch’s reluctance to have his picture taken. Was he just camera shy? Or was there a reason for it?

  She went to Crick’s late in the day, just before closing, and she made sure to sit at one of Neesy’s tables. Denise Brown was one of those women who was always hungry for what wasn’t on the menu. And Mitch was definitely a blue plate special. Not particularly handsome, but strong-bodied and solid. Rugged, some would say. Hardy enough to tackle the Forbidden River, but not a muscle-bound lughead. And being a hero was always an attraction.

  But the waitress was surprisingly closemouthed, and before Shelby could get anything out of her, she disappeared into the kitchen. It was Loritta who brought her check and hovered over the table wanting to chat. She stayed long enough to mention the bobcat theory and drop Boyd Collier’s name before she was called away by another customer.

  Shelby poured a river of sugar into her coffee and sipped it slowly. Boyd Collier was interesting, but not as interesting as the other name she was pursuing.

  When her cup was empty, she paid her bill, then quietly slipped around the corner and through the kitchen’s back door.

  Since that anonymous tip, Shelby had spent a lot of time online but had come up with nothing. She’d tipped the News about the rescue, but the story had been reduced to a few lines on an interior page. She’d called a friend at the paper, told him about the phone call, and asked him to nose around. He’d called back this morning, saying he’d drummed up zilch.

  Which in itself should alert her.

  No bank accounts, no credit ratings.

  What kind of man lives like that?

  Shelby didn’t want to jump to conclusions. They’d found no liens or bankruptcies. No criminal record, either.

  Was he clean? She couldn’t say what bothered her about Mitch Turner. Too good to be true? Most things were.

  And, of course, there was that anonymous call.

  She watched him through the screen door. He was cleaning the grill with strong, muscular strokes and complete concentration on his craggy face.

  “Quite a day,” she said.

  Mitch turned, saw who it was, and for a minute seemed to freeze in place. Then he went back to cleaning. “What can I do for you, Ms. Townsend?”

  She didn’t wait for an invitation but marched right in. “Oh, call me Shelby. Everyone does. Just wanted to see how Julia was doing.” She looked around. “Heard she was back here with you.”

  “She’s spending the afternoon with the Blunts.”

  She frowned. “Oh. Well, hope she’s okay. Hear she was fond of the dog.”

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “She’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Not what she’d call a talkative type.

  “Hey, did you hear? Our story got picked up by the big-city papers.”

  “What story is that?”

  “You know—about your derring-do. Told them I’d arrange an interview if they liked. Waiting to hear back. I’ll let you know.”

  That got his attention. He put down the grill brush. “You do that.”

  She hadn’t planned to throw that out at him; it had come out on impulse. But his reaction—or lack of one—was interesting. Maybe her suspicions were wrong. Maybe he was just camera shy. And maybe the caller was just trying to stir up trouble where none existed.

  She examined Mitch for a moment. Something there she couldn’t put her finger on. Something he wasn’t saying or couldn’t say. Or wouldn’t. Something deep and dangerous and altogether darker than the good-deed citizen act he put on.

  She shivered. “Well… just wanted to let you know.”

  She left through the alley again. Animal Control had shown up and was finally carting the remains away. She watched them absently. She wasn’t satisfied. Not by a long shot.

  Mitch did a half-assed job cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. First the dog, then the local Lois Lane. Which disaster to focus on first? If his picture had spread wider than Crossroads, he could be in big trouble. And if that dog wasn’t killed by a bobcat…

  All his muscles tensed.

  The urge to run was bubbling inside him. But it warred with that other urge. To do right by Julia. The time would come when she would force his hand. Would leave him rather than leave with him. He’d hoped he had a few more years before it happened, but more and more the choice was staring him in the face. What would happen when her two months were up?

  And then there was the other face he saw when he looked at the kid. The face that would have wanted a home with a yard and a tree swing. He owed that face everything—especially the well-being of her child.

  Or had he already paid in full?

  Truth was, he didn’t know if that account could ever be paid.

  He ran back over his conversation with Shelby. Innocuous. Small-town friendliness.

  He’d have to keep a close eye. Just in case. He didn’t want to do anything drastic, but he would if he had to. He’d done it before, God help him.

  In the meantime, there was the other worry. The sight of that mutilated carcass was embedded in his head.

  Was it coincidence that the eyes were missing? That it had been opened down the middle? Or did it look that way because the buzzards had gotten to it?

  Finished at Crick’s, he left quickly. Julia had been gone a couple of hours now, and he had that queasy, unbalanced feeling not knowing exactly where she was. But he had one more thing to do.

  The nearest Walmart was forty minutes away, and though he wanted to get there im
mediately, he drove just under the speed limit. It was habit as much as anything—do nothing to attract attention was his personal Golden Rule. He couldn’t afford a session with a cop. Not even for speeding.

  When he finally got to the store, though, he raced inside. Quick as he could, he found a disposable cell phone and stamped his foot impatiently waiting to pay for it.

  He drove fifteen minutes before the first sign of bars appeared. He pulled off the highway, found a secluded bend in the road, and parked.

  His mouth went dry as he dialed the number. He let it ring once, hung up, and dialed again. Let it ring twice. Hung up and called a third time, hanging up after the first ring again. Then he waited. Watched the way the gray winter sky outlined a bare tree branch. Leaned against the truck, his arms tucked under his armpits, his leg drumming fast against the hubcap. He walked five steps, turned, walked another five back.

  God, let him be there.

  When the phone finally rang, he jumped like a startled bird. Cursed his skittishness as he punched in the connection.

  “Aloha,” said the voice on the other end.

  “Same to you,” Mitch replied with the prearranged signal.

  A beat, and then the other voice said, “What is wrong?”

  “We’re fine. But there’s a dead dog in the alley.”

  A pause. “A dog? You’re calling me about a dog? Do you know what will happen if I am caught talking to you?”

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry, and I appreciate it. But the dog is important. Where was he last night?”

  “The hospital. He hurt his knee skiing. He had to get it cleaned out or something.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I dropped him off in the morning, saw him go in, picked him up today, and he was on crutches. He has a whole schedule of physical therapy in a couple of weeks. He had to postpone the Ricci gallery opening and cancel several social events. Your mother would have been furious.”

  A picture of his mother’s cool, severe face ran through his mind. She’d passed away four years ago, and it had been years before that since he’d seen her. Which, sad to say, was fine with him.

  “Thanks,” Mitch said.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s enough.”