by Jan Dunlap
She nodded, her gaze on our joined hands. “I thought I did,” she slowly said. “I can’t believe he shot Jack. And I’m the one who sent him after Jack Friday night.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “If I’d just left things alone, maybe Jack …”
“Don’t do that to yourself, Shana,” Tom warned, sitting down on her other side. It suddenly occurred to me that we could have been matching bookends with Shana playing the part of the Encyclopedia Britannica. All thirty-two volumes of it. “You can’t play ‘what ifs’ here,” he told her. “It’ll eat you up, and I can’t believe Jack would want that for you.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his and I caught a weak smile flitter across her face. “Thanks for going with me, Tom. I really appreciate it.”
To my astonishment, I watched a pink blush creep over Tom’s cheeks.
What the heck?
“What about Billy, though?” I asked, all at once feeling self-conscious about holding Shana’s hands with Tom pressed against her other side. I released her fingers and leaned back against the sofa cushion. “Does the sheriff have any leads on who shot him?”
I saw Tom and Shana exchange a look.
“What?”
“This is where it gets weird, Bob,” Tom said, his cheeks having resumed their natural coloring. “The medical examiner found a dart wound in Billy’s back, up near the neck. The sheriff told us it was exactly like the puncture mark you’d expect to find in a large animal that had been shot with a dart from a tranquilizer gun. Apparently his killer shot him with the dart, then dragged him to the woodpile, where he finished him off with the bullet.”
Yeah, bullets have a way of doing that. Especially when they end up in your chest. Dead center.
“Geez,” I said. “Guess the killer didn’t want to leave anything to chance, like maybe Billy waking up and walking away before he was really dead.” I shook my head. “But if that was the case, why bother with the dart? Why not just shoot the guy with the bullet to begin with?”
A dart.
From a tranquilizer gun.
I realized what Shana and Tom hadn’t told me yet.
“It’s Kami, isn’t it? She’s got to have tranquilizer darts to use on Nigel if he gets out of her compound. Sheriff Paulsen has to know that.”
Shana nodded. “The sheriff was going up to Kami’s place when we left to bring her in for questioning. But I don’t know that Kami killed Billy, Bob. Tom says that Kami was here yesterday afternoon with your friend Eddie when he stopped by the hotel to leave you his note. I’m sure that’s one thing the sheriff needs to talk to Kami about: where she was and with whom early yesterday morning. If Eddie can back her up, then Kami has an alibi.”
“But if Kami didn’t kill Billy, then whoever did sure left a trail that leads straight to her door because of the dart.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “If you ask me, it sounds like somebody wants to frame Kami.”
“And Billy,” Shana suddenly added, her face lighting up with excitement. “I knew there was something wrong when the sheriff said that Billy shot Jack.”
She pushed herself up from the couch and turned to face Tom and me, rubbing her hands along the sides of her extended belly. I could have sworn she looked even bigger this morning than she had yesterday.
“Billy hated guns,” she explained. “He didn’t even know how to shoot one. I know, because one day last month, Jack and I went to a shooting range, and Billy came along to brief Jack on some legislation while we drove to the range. Once we got there, Billy stayed in the lounge while we did some shooting. He told us that a good friend of his was killed in a gun accident when he was just a kid, and, because of that, Billy had sworn that he himself would never touch a gun, let alone learn to shoot one.”
Shana paced away to the front desk, then back again to stand in front of us. “I’d bet the farm that Billy didn’t kill Jack.”
“So who did?” Tom asked her.
Shana threw her arms in the air. “I don’t know!” Then her eyes locked on mine, like she suddenly saw me very clearly, and that surprised her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking the group birding this morning.”
I debated how much to tell her. If she was already feeling guilty about sending Billy after Jack and finding them both dead the next day, she wasn’t going to be too happy to hear about my close call and Bernie’s injury.
“A change in plans,” I finally said.
She narrowed her eyes at me, her hands massaging the top of her belly. “Where’s Bernie?” she asked suspiciously.
“Where’s your car?” Tom added. “I didn’t see your BRRDMAN plates in the parking lot.”
“Neither did I, White-man.”
I looked over my shoulder towards the lobby doors. My best friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law was taking off his battered cowboy hat, mid-morning sunshine streaming in behind him.
I put my head in my hands and groaned.
“Take me now, Lord,” I prayed.
Alan walked over to our little tableau and offered his hand to Shana.
“You must be Shana O’Keefe,” he smiled at her warmly. “Alan Thunderhawk. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. O’Keefe. Your husband was a good man doing good things for Minnesota.”
Shana shook his hand briefly and thanked him for his sympathy. By then, Tom was on his feet, too, moving to stand beside Shana. He introduced himself to Alan.
“I know that name,” Alan grinned. “You’re the guy who calls Bob to get birdcall IDs over the phone. That’s crazy, man. Kind of like remote bird watching, you know?”
“Alan,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He smacked his hat against his leg. “What, a man can’t go for a drive on a beautiful Sunday morning without having a reason other than to enjoy God’s good handiwork?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fillmore County isn’t exactly in your neighborhood, Alan. Not when you live in Scott County, two hours away. And especially not before noon on a Sunday. Hell, I don’t think you’ve seen a Sunday morning since we roomed together at Southwest State back in the nineties.”
He inspected the band around his hat, carefully avoiding my eyes. “Not true. I saw a sunrise just last weekend. Of course, I’d been up all night, but, hey, I did see that sun come up. And it was pretty, too.”
He smiled like a goof.
I groaned again, and then it hit me.
“Lily put you up to it, didn’t she? I didn’t call her back last night, so she sent you to ream me. Geez, Alan, I can take care of myself.”
“You’re the groom-to-be,” Shana deduced. “You’re marrying Bob’s sister.”
Alan turned his smile back on Shana. “Yes, ma’am, I am. And while I love that woman to distraction, I’m not letting her get away with firing my best man, here.”
He faced me again. “Sorry, Bob, but you’re not getting out of the biggest show on earth that easily.”
“Ah,” I replied, leaning back into the sofa cushion. “Now I get it. She’s making you crazy with the wedding plans, too, isn’t she? What did you do, volunteer out of the goodness of your heart to come track me down and drag me home just so she wouldn’t have to worry about me instead of the color of the place cards at the rehearsal dinner?”
He tossed his hat down on the couch next to me. “Close. Very close. Let’s just say the thought occurred to me that a little absence this morning might make the heart a whole lot fonder, not to mention restore some of my natural equanimity which has been sorely depleted as of late.” He threw a glance at Shana, his eyes measuring her girth. “Do you need to sit down?” he politely asked her.
“No, I’m fine,” she answered. “Thanks. So you’re here to keep an eye on Bob for his sister?”
Alan nodded. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”
“You know, Bob, you don’t have to stay on here in Spring Valley,” Tom said. “Since Sheriff Paulsen says she’s closing Jack’s case, she said we can all go home.”
“But I think she
’s wrong,” Shana reminded him. “Billy didn’t kill Jack.”
“Then hire an investigator, Shana,” Tom pressed. “A professional. Let him pursue it. You’re not helping yourself or your babies hanging around here, wearing yourself out trying to make sense of this.”
“Babies?”
“I’m expecting twins, Alan,” Shana explained, then resumed her argument with Tom. “If I leave now, believe me, I’m going to be more miserable at home doing nothing and wondering what’s happening than if I stayed here. Just another day or two. That’s all. Then I promise I’ll go back to the Cities.”
“Actually, I can’t go home today, anyway,” I announced. “My car … well … it needs work. It’s at the garage in town. Hopefully they can fix it first thing in the morning. But in the meantime, I’m stuck here in Spring Valley.”
“What happened to your car? It was driving fine last night,” Tom pointed out.
“Well, yeah. This morning I had some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Shana locked her eyes on mine. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not telling us something important?”
I returned her stare, wondering why all the women in my life seemed able to read my mind at whim. Lily had made a habit of it since we were kids; Luce had elevated it to a fine art. Now it seemed Shana had joined their club. At work, I prided myself on my repertoire of counseling faces; depending on the situation, I could do “Sympathy” or “Encouragement” or “Time to buck up and face the music, because you are so busted, kid” with just a quirk of my eyebrows. Yet no matter how many faces I could assume, I never seemed able to hide what I was really feeling from these three. Even that summer I was crazy about Shana, she could always read my mood and anticipate my reactions.
Oh, shit.
Shana had known I was in love with her.
Good thing I was already sitting down, because if I’d been standing, I would have found myself knocked on my butt.
Shana had known how I felt.
She’d never said a word about it, but she’d known. All these years I’d thought I’d hid my feelings that summer so cleverly, and she’d probably been thinking, “Aw, he’s such a cute kid to have a crush on me.”
Geez. Did I feel stupid.
Before I could really get a good case of total self-mortification going, though, Shana snapped me back to the present in all its glorious confusion. “Bernie was in the car with you. Is she all right?”
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I answered, maybe a little too quickly, since I could see Shana’s eyes narrowing. “Well, she’s a little shook up,” I amended. “And her one rib might have gotten cracked when the airbag exploded, but—”
“WHAT?”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Alan suggested to Shana again. “I have the distinct feeling this story isn’t going to get any better. Am I right, Bob?”
I let out a long breath and looked at both Shana and Tom. “Someone cut my brake line. My brakes went out. I managed to spin out my car to stop it before we ended up tearing into a tree or going off the road. It could have been a lot worse.”
For a moment, no one said anything.
“Yeah,” Alan finally agreed. “You could have been dead. Then I would have to let Rick stand in as my best man. Nice save, White-man.” Then he smacked me—hard—with his hat. “You idiot. What the hell is going on around here?”
Chapter Nineteen
Jack’s note,” Tom said. Shana paled and sat down in the armchair across from me.
“What note?” Alan asked. “I swear to God, if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I am going to get Lily on the phone right now to send that scary guy down here to make you all talk.”
I made a grab for his hat, which he was waving in the air in front of my nose, and tossed it beside me on the couch. “Are you talking about Scary Stan?” I glanced at Shana to be sure she hadn’t passed out. “How do you know Stan, Alan?”
He picked up his hat and sat where I had dropped it.
“He came by Lily’s place last night. After apologizing profusely for stopping by unannounced, he said he needed to call you about something urgent, but he didn’t have your cell number. When she asked what it was, he just told her to watch the news.” I noticed he took a quick check on Shana, too. “He was kind of odd. It’s like his eyes don’t have any light in them, or something. I just had the feeling I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, you know?”
Yeah, I knew. Stan had that effect on everyone, except, apparently, Lily. Lily didn’t think he’d been odd at all when they’d been dating. She’d once told me he was “refreshing” because he didn’t waste words.
I always thought he didn’t “waste words” because he held the rest of humanity in utter contempt. Although if Stan had apologized “profusely” to Lily, as Alan had reported, then I guess my sister was the exception to his rule, too.
Go figure that one.
Anyway, that solved one mystery: how Scary Stan got my private cell phone number. It also told me who tipped Lily off to the newscast, which in turn revealed where I was temporarily seeking refuge from the Biggest Show on Earth, as Alan had termed it.
Thanks, Stan. I owe you big time for that one, buddy.
“So here’s the deal,” I told Alan. “Jack’s dead. Billy, his assistant, is dead. The sheriff thinks that Billy shot Jack, but no one knows who shot Billy, though Kami’s being questioned about it by the sheriff because of the tranquilizer dart. In the meantime, Shana found a note that Jack wrote to kill me, which she thinks came from Big Ben’s pocket. Then this morning, my brakes failed and now Bernie’s getting X-rayed.”
“You forgot the part about Chuck cooking the books to slide money to Big Ben,” Tom added to my report. He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of Shana. “And that he’s accusing Shana of planning the whole thing.”
Alan rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I think I got lost at the dart part. So who shot the sheriff?”
“No one shot the sheriff,” I said. “Kami uses the darts on Nigel when he gets loose.”
Alan laid his head against the back of the couch. “I don’t think I even want to know who Nigel is.”
“He’s a pussycat compared to Chuck,” Tom said. “I’m sorry, Shana, but I think your stepson is a snake in the grass. He knew Jack stopped funding Big Ben, but he kept the payments rolling. So the question is, did Chuck pass the bucks to Ben because he wanted to spite his dad for ignoring OK Industries while he worked on the eco-communities, or did Chuck have another reason, like an under-the-table business deal with Ben? You said Ben and Chuck have been friends for a long time; maybe they’d started some kind of partnership on their own since Jack was devoting all his time to planning the eco-communities.”
Alan snapped his fingers. “That’s right! The eco-communities!”
The three of us looked at Alan.
“What about the eco-communities?” Shana asked.
Alan sat up straight and scooted forward on the sofa cushion. “It was on the news last night. The reporter said that Jack’s untimely death was a real blow to the eco-community project down here because there has been so much opposition to getting the zoning approved.”
A quiet tone of intensity crept into his voice. As a high school social studies teacher at Savage High, Alan was pretty low key, but I knew from our college days that if there was one thing that really gunned his jets, it was political activism. He was also a local news junkie, which meant he kept tabs on all kinds of issues around Minnesota.
“Just last week,” he was saying now, “the state ATV recreational lobbying group asked for an injunction against Fillmore County to stop approval of the revised zoning that would pave the way for Jack’s eco-community to break ground. If it was granted, then there was a good chance that the battle would go to court. Which would, in turn, mean more expenses for the eco people, not to mention the loss of time as their proposed site continues to degrade.”
“And Jack was the eco-co
mmunity’s champion,” Shana pointed out. “He was the point man with the legislators.” She rubbed her belly. “And, of course, we were paying a lot of the group’s expenses out of our pockets for them, too. Jack really cared about this initiative.” Her voice sounded wistful. “He knew what a difference it could make for the future of the state. For our kids.”
Even from across the coffee table, I could see her eyes getting misty. Time for a diversion, I realized.
“Let’s get some air,” I announced, standing up. “I believe a little birding might do the trick, don’t you, Tom?”
With just a quick glance at Shana’s trembling chin, Tom caught on to my ploy. “Who’s driving?” he asked.
I clapped a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Alan is.”
“I am?” the mighty Hawk choked.
“My car’s in the shop, and Tom’s shocks—or lack thereof—might be too hard on Shana,” I explained. “Your Toyota’s ride is smooth as butter, buddy. We can bird in style.”
“But I don’t bird,” Alan tactfully reminded me. “I like spectator sports, preferably indoor and with a view from a hospitality suite.”
“I can drive,” Shana offered, pushing hard with her hands against the arms of the chair in order to get enough leverage to pull herself to her feet.
“No!” Tom, Alan, and I all said at the same time.
“Hey,” Alan suddenly enthused, “I’d love to go birding! I bet it’s just chock full of fun, right? Fresh air, nice trees, ah … all that good stuff. Can we make a pit stop in your room before we go, Bob?” he asked, turning towards me. “I’d like to clean up a little after making the drive down here.” He grabbed my upper arm and dragged me out of the lobby into the hotel hallway. Behind us, I could hear Tom and Shana planning to meet us back in the lobby in another ten minutes.
“Gee, Alan, I’m so glad you’ve finally had a change of heart about my hobby,” I told him as I slid the magnetic key card through my door lock. “Maybe I’ll take back all those nasty things I told Lily about you.”
We stepped into my room, and he closed the door quietly behind him.
“Do not even bring Lily into this,” he told me sternly, “who, for the record, was absolutely right in being worried about you. Come on, Bob! What are you doing here? Practicing being a sitting duck? Somebody’s got a death wish for you, and you’re going birding? And as for the lovely, and exceptionally pregnant, Mrs. O’Keefe, are you sure you’re just offering a shoulder here, and not wondering if a little detour down memory lane might lead to something special in the present?”