by BJ Bourg
She noticed me staring and grinned, her face turning a darker shade of red. I liked that she still reacted to my outward display of appreciation for her beauty.
“How am I supposed to work with you walking around dressed like that?” I complained playfully. “You know how much of a distraction you are to me.”
She reached for the top of her robe and smiled slyly. “Maybe I’ll just take the whole thing off—”
“My work here is done!” I slammed my notepad shut and started to gather up the pictures, but she stopped me.
“We can’t make love while our mothers are downstairs,” she whispered. “I would be mortified at the thought of them hearing us.”
I grumbled and reopened my notepad. “This is the very definition of cruel and unusual punishment.”
She laughed and hobbled to the bed, where she sat beside me. “What’re you trying to figure out?”
“I’m going through each suspect and trying to guess who has the strongest motive for killing Mitch. Try as I might, I can’t get Connie to move down the list of suspects. I think she’s our best candidate.”
“Why are Foster and Joyce higher on the list than Jack?” she asked. “Jack was at the scene, so he had opportunity. We already know he stole money, so he’s got motive. If you ask me, he should be number one on that list for now—at least until you get the GSR results back. If he’s clean, then I’d drop him to the bottom.”
“I just don’t think he’s got the stones to commit a murder. Plus”—I pulled out a picture showing the floor of the crime scene—“the floor was bone dry. If Jack would’ve shot him from outside and then entered to steal the money, there would be water marks on the floor.”
Susan cocked her head to the side and nodded. “That’s true.”
She asked if either Foster or Joyce had said anything to make me suspicious of them, but I shook my head. “They each provided an alibi defense for the other, so they’d both have to be lying.”
“By the very nature of their cheating ways, they’re already liars,” Susan said.
“Correct.”
While I went over my notes from Foster’s statement, Susan began studying the crime scene photographs, picking them up one at a time and holding them up to the light. She even got up and retrieved a magnifying glass from her nightstand and went back to studying the pictures.
“All of the pictures are on my laptop,” I offered. “You can enlarge them and zoom in better on the screen. The printed copies are a little grainy.”
Instead of making her struggle across the room, I got my laptop and handed it to her. I rubbed my tired eyes and offered to fix her a cup of hot cocoa. It was feeling seasonal outside—after a long warm spell—and hot chocolate was usually a winter favorite of hers.
“With tiny marshmallows?”
“With tiny marshmallows.” I smiled and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Is there any other way?”
While she continued to study the photographs, I lumbered down the stairs in my bare feet and found my mom and Lisa Wilson sitting at the kitchen table. I overheard my mom discussing our earlier conversation and her voice was laced with sorrow. She looked up at me and smiled when she saw me. “Son, I’m so sorry again for everything I’ve done.”
I walked over and put an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize anymore, Mom. It’s all in the past now.”
“But now I wonder how different your life might’ve been had I been honest with you and Garvan. Maybe you would’ve had better opportunities if your real father had been in your life. Maybe you could’ve become a doctor or a lawyer or—”
“Hold the phone,” I said, interrupting her. “What makes you think I’d ever want to be a doctor or a lawyer?”
“I don’t know. Most kids want to be doctors or lawyers or super heroes. They make lots of money, and I figured everyone wants a job where there’s a potential to be rich. I mean, who doesn’t like money?”
“I have a job where I have the distinct privilege of saving lives and bringing bad people to justice.” I pursed my lips and nodded solemnly. “Sure, I could’ve become a doctor or lawyer or CEO of a large company, but that’s not who I am—it’s not what I want to do. There’s no greater calling and nothing I’d rather be doing with my life than what I’m doing right now.”
“Amen to that,” Lisa said. “I’m scared to death every time I think about Susan being out there facing those bad people, but I am so proud of my baby girl. To me, she is a superhero and I wouldn’t want her—”
“Clint, get up here!” Susan called. “I’ve got something!”
CHAPTER 35
I rushed to the sound of Susan’s voice and could hear Lisa and my mom following up the stairs. Lisa was fretting out loud, asking if Susan was okay or if she’d fallen. I called over my shoulder that Susan was fine and entered the bedroom to see her bent over my laptop screen.
“Mitch wasn’t the target!” She stabbed my laptop screen with her index finger and waved me over. “Look at this photo.”
I moved up behind her. “What are we looking at?”
Before Susan could explain, my mom and Lisa bumped into me and I nearly fell forward.
“What is it?” my mom asked. “Did you solve the case for Clint?”
“That’s my girl,” Lisa said, reaching around me and patting Susan on the back. “I knew you could do it.”
Susan lifted a hand. “If you’re not law enforcement, raise your hand before you speak. Clint, check out the piece of paper taped on the wall at the back of the bar.”
I put a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer to the screen. I nodded. “That’s the work schedule. I took a picture of it while I was out at the scene.”
“Look who was slated to work Friday night.”
I squinted. There, in the box for the Friday evening shift, was Foster Blake’s name. “What the hell?”
“Yeah, Foster Blake isn’t a suspect—he was the target.”
I mulled this over. Susan was definitely on to something. First, if someone knew Foster was supposed to be working that night, they could’ve easily mistaken Mitch for him in the heavy rain. Second, as I’d been investigating possible motives someone might have had for killing Mitch, I’d uncovered one reason someone might want Foster dead, and I already had two suspects.
“I think you’re right about this,” I told Susan, still trying to put the pieces together in my head. “The killer had to know Foster was supposed to be working that night, but they didn’t know he got Mitch to cover his shift. The killer then heads out to the bar under the cover of darkness and heavy rain and shot who they thought was Foster through the screen door. I wonder what they did when they realized they got the wrong man?”
Susan was chewing on her lower lip. “We have to start from scratch now and figure out who had a motive to kill Foster.”
“Oh, I already have two good suspects…” I let my voice trail off as another theory entered my mind. “Wait a minute, what if this is a switcheroo?”
“How so?”
“What if Foster asked Mitch to cover his shift so he could kill Mitch and then make us think someone wanted him dead?”
“You just made my head hurt.” Susan shook her head to clear it. “You think Foster got Mitch to cover his shift so he could kill Mitch?”
“It’s possible.”
“Why would he want Mitch dead?”
“I’m still working on that,” I admitted. “Of course, I do have a better reason for wanting Foster dead, and I have two possible suspects to go along with that theory.”
“I’m all ears.” Susan turned away from the laptop and stared up at me. “Lay your theory on me.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I could tell my mom and Lisa were “all ears” too, as they leaned forward and hung on our every word. I thought about asking them to leave, but I figured they wouldn’t cause any harm. “Foster left his house earlier in the day and rented a motel room in Magnolia Parish, where Joyce Reynolds meets him for
their little rendezvous. Only the people familiar with the bar and its employees would know who worked what shifts, and that would certainly include Joyce’s husband and Foster’s wife. If Joyce’s husband somehow found out about the affair, he could’ve snuck out there in the rain and killed off the competition.”
“Or Foster’s wife could’ve found out about it and put him down herself.”
“Right, you are.” I nodded. “When I went over to Foster’s house to look for him, the first thing his wife asked was if he was okay. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but now I think it was a slip of the tongue.”
Susan scrunched her face. “I guess it would be a normal reaction for this woman—what’s her name?”
“Pearly Blake.”
“I guess it would be normal for her to think something bad had happened when a cop showed up at her door. Did she mention if he had to work that night?”
“Nah, she just said he’d gotten into an argument with the family and left. She said he was staying at a motel for a few days while their family was in town.” I paused, scratched my face. “Hmm, there was the issue of his face.”
“His face? What about it?”
“It looked like most of your opponents do after you finish kicking their asses—the furniture in front was all rearranged. He’d obviously been in some sort of fight and his nose looked broken. When I asked him about it, he said there’d been a disagreement out at the house. Pearly had characterized it as an argument. What if the injuries didn’t come from the house?”
“What are you getting at?”
“What if Foster got into a fight with Mitch?” I said. “I hadn’t noticed any obvious marks on Mitch’s knuckles when I bagged his hands, but it’s possible he beat the crap out of Foster without injuring his fists. If they got into a fistfight—no matter the reason—Foster would have a good reason for coming back and shooting him.”
“Ah, that makes sense! If they got into an altercation that led to blows, Mitch probably fired Foster. Once he fired Foster, he had to cover Foster’s shift, which opened the door for him to be killed.”
“And Foster could’ve very well been the only person who knew Mitch was working that night.” I drummed my fingers against my leg. “I need to establish an exact timeline of events to nail down Foster’s whereabouts and try to figure out when this fight could’ve—”
Movement from my left caught my eye and interrupted me. I looked to see my mom with her right hand high in the air. She was squirming like a kid who knew the answer to a question and was waiting for the teacher to call on her.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
“Susan said we need to raise our hand before we speak if we’re not law enforcement, so I’m raising my hand.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Foster Blake didn’t kill Mitch Taylor, but I know who did.”
CHAPTER 36
Susan and I traded glances and I almost started laughing at my mom’s comment, but didn’t. I put on a serious face and asked her who killed Mitch Taylor.
“It’s a young man named Matthew Bernard.”
“Matthew Bernard?” I scowled. “Who the hell is Matthew Bernard? That name hasn’t come up once during this investigation.”
“Matthew is the young man who was on the swamp tour Friday morning. Don’t you remember?” She shoved both fists against her hips. “What kind of investigator are you? He was in the military and he came down to visit his sick mother for Thanksgiving. His wife’s name is Jill and they were living in Hawaii—”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I remember now, but how do you know he’s connected to this case?”
“Well, I heard you mention the name Pearly Blake.” She adjusted the front of her collar. “When I asked Matthew who his momma was, he said it was Pearly Blake. I can’t imagine there’re two women named Pearly Blake in this small town.”
I studied my mom’s face. She was positive she was onto something, but I didn’t share her optimism. “Just because his mom is Pearly Blake doesn’t mean he’s a killer,” I said.
“No,” she acknowledged, “but you mentioned that there was a fight out at the family home. Well, Matthew’s knuckles were skinned up.” She pointed toward Susan’s fists, which were still damaged from her bare-knuckle workout Friday night. “They looked like her knuckles, and I know she’s a fighter, so I figured he’d gotten into a fight. I heard you say yourself that a fistfight would be motive enough for someone to shoot this man through the screen, but that was back when you were thinking Mitch beat up Foster. In light of this new evidence, we now know Matthew beat up Foster earlier on Friday. Foster was supposed to go to work, but he cancelled his shift and spent the night with that harlot—Joyce something-or-other—instead. Everyone at the house knew Foster was supposed to work that night, so Matthew went out in the rain and shot the man he thought was Foster through the screen door, but he ended up killing an innocent man.”
She provided more information from her conversation with Matthew and his wife, Jill, and we all just sat there listening. I didn’t want to encourage this type of behavior from my mom, so I simply nodded thoughtfully, but I was thoroughly impressed. She recognized the look of approval on my face and was beaming. It was as though she felt all had been forgiven and things were right between us; although I hadn’t been angry to start with.
I turned to Susan. “I guess I should have a conversation with Foster.”
“Don’t you need to interrogate Matthew?” my mom asked. “He’s the real suspect.”
“You never go directly at the suspect if you can help it,” I explained. “Before sitting down and visiting with him, I’ll want to be armed with as much information as possible about him and the case. If anyone knows who might want Foster Blake dead, I’m thinking it would be Foster Blake.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Still beaming, she turned to walk out the bedroom door, calling over her shoulder, “Now that my work is done here, I’ll let you kids get back to doing whatever it was y’all were doing before I stepped in and saved the day.”
I smirked playfully and Susan laughed.
“I wouldn’t laugh,” Lisa said. “From what I just witnessed, she singlehandedly solved this case.”
“I love you, Mom.” Susan leaned over and planted a kiss on her mom’s forehead. “Now, can you leave us to finish planning our strategy?”
Lisa grunted, but she left and caught up to my mom downstairs. As their voices faded in the distance, Susan and I began making preparations for tomorrow. I was going to head to the motel and meet with Foster, while she would run the criminal histories of Matthew Bernard, Foster Blake, and Pearly Blake to see what she could find.
“Your mom said Matthew and his wife were visiting Pearly for Thanksgiving and that Pearly had some kind of medical issues and needed a new kidney, but where were they from? Did they say?”
“I remember hearing one of them say something about New York and Hawaii.” While I hadn’t been listening to most of what was said between my mom and the guests on the swamp tour, I’d recalled bits and pieces of the conversation. “I think it was his wife who said Matthew was originally stationed in Hawaii, but they now live in New York.”
Susan nodded and scribbled down the information. “I’ll run a criminal history check on both of them in both states. Did you already run Foster?”
I nodded. “He’s got no record in Louisiana, but I guess I need to find out if he’s lived elsewhere and I need to find out what’s going on with his family.”
“Good idea.” Susan was heading for the bathroom and I was almost finished packing up the case file when I received a text message from Melvin, who was working the night shift, asking that I call him. It was almost ten o’clock and I wondered what was so pressing that he would need me to call him.
“Who’s texting at this hour?” Susan asked. “If it’s work it can’t be good.”
“It’s Melvin.” I dialed the number and put the phone to my ear. “He only calls when i
t’s important.”
“Hey, Clint, it’s me,” he said when he answered. He was panting as though he’d been running. “I was in the office writing a report when we got a phone call from someone saying the lights are on in Mitch Taylor’s Corner Pub. I’m heading there to check it out, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“For sure.” I heard a door slam in the background and his truck engine fired to life. “I’ll meet you down there in a jiffy.”
When I told Susan what was going on, she hobbled to the dresser and snatched a pair of jeans from inside. “I’m going with you.”
CHAPTER 37
When Susan and I pulled up to the curb near the Corner Pub, Melvin was standing in the doorway speaking with Foster. His right hand was resting near his pistol and he was pointing the index finger of his opposite hand up at Foster. I waited for Susan to catch up with me and we approached the two men. I overheard Foster explaining his reason for being there.
“Mrs. Taylor—Connie—called me and told me to have the bar ready to open up tomorrow. She said she was not going to see her husband’s hard work go down the drain. She said the business was going to be bigger and better than ever and she wanted to hire two more people to work extra shifts so we could be open longer hours.”
I stepped up beside Melvin and nodded toward Foster. “How’s it going?”
He shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”
“Anyone inside with you?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Joyce is cleaning up the kitchen.”
Melvin’s radio scratched to life and he stepped away from us to answer the dispatcher, who said she needed him to respond to a prowler complaint on the other side of town. He looked over at me and I let him know I’d handle this call. I turned back to Foster as Melvin walked away.