“So you do know who I am,” Blake said, remembering the less than exuberant welcome at the front door the day before.
“Course I ’member ya, Achy Breaky. I had a stroke. I’m not brain dead.”
“Sir, I don’t know what you…”
“He’ll do it,” Shelby interrupted, avoiding his glare. “If anyone can find out what happened to your wife, Blake can. He is the best detective Minneapolis ever had. His unsolved case log was the shortest on record, because he can’t rest until a killer is brought to justice.”
Mr. Booth slapped his good hand down on the table. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
<<>>
Shelby knew Blake would be angry, but she couldn’t help it. He was the only man for the job. The only one who would dig and prod until the truth was brought to light. He was a detective, and whether he chose to admit it or not, he would always be a detective. At least where it mattered. In his heart of hearts.
Maybe she was a blatant romantic, but she believed a person had to follow their heart. Just because he wasn’t on the payroll of a police department didn’t mean he couldn’t investigate on his own dime. These people needed someone like him. Someone they could trust. A hometown boy with the instincts of a cop.
After breakfast, Blake hurried upstairs, grabbed his jacket, pulled on his Minneapolis Police Department cap and went to meet Tucker, leaving her to fend for herself. All for the best. He needed time alone to cool off, and she wanted to check out the B&B from top to bottom and inside out. Alice gave her carte blanche but with a good-natured warning as she started up the stairs.
“Don’t stir up too much dust in the attic. We had to drop our dust mite insurance. The rates went through the roof.”
Shelby grinned, hand on the bannister. The attic was not exactly at the top of her list, even if it was technically at the top of the house. “I may be the stirrer of marital bliss, but I never mess with mites.”
“I’m sorry about my father’s outburst,” Alice said, lowering her voice in case he was listening from where he still sat at the kitchen table in the next room. “He can be very stubborn and heavy-handed at times. Before his stroke, he was running all over the county trying to get the police to do something. When they wouldn’t or couldn’t do anymore, he started pursuing leads on his own.”
“What did he find out?”
She shrugged. “He never really discussed it with me. My father was schooled in the generation where men are all action and no words. I know he still grieves for mom, but he can’t seem to share his pain. And as you said, until the killer is brought to justice, I don’t think he’ll ever be at peace.”
“My husband took a few courses in that school as well. Don’t worry. He may say he’s no longer a cop, but I know for a fact that he was working your mom’s case all night in his head, and he won’t be able to let it go until the person responsible is found.”
“Then you’re going to be staying here a lot longer than two nights. We may have time to become kindred spirits after all.”
<<>>
Tucker met Blake down by the dock. He brought two of Luanne’s coffees from the café. They stood companionably for a few moments and sipped the dark brew without speaking, watching seagulls hover over the harbor looking for breakfast. The sky was clear blue again and although there was a chill to the breeze off the lake, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day.
“Want a smoke?” Tucker finally said, unzipping his windbreaker and pulling two cigars from his shirt pocket. “I still got ’em.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Those can’t be the original demon cigars we snuck from your father’s stash, can they?” He took one and held it under his nose. “Uuh! Yep. Those are the ones.”
Tucker’s grin was wide and toothy, reminding Blake of the nickname he’d been called back in high school. “I stole four, remember? The first two made us so sick we decided to save these.”
“Skeleton, those are nasty! Why didn’t you throw them away?”
“Because you promised when you came back, we’d smoke them together. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” He laughed and sat on a bench to light up.
Blake joined him, and bit off the end of his cigar, grimacing with the bitter taste of old, cheap tobacco. “I’m thinking death may be preferable.”
“Don’t be a wimp, Achy. This is a celebration. You’re finally home.” He grinned and held the match to the end of Blake’s cigar.
Sitting there, smoking and joking, they didn’t notice the old man approach until he was standing right beside them. He leaned over and put his hand on Blake’s shoulder, patting it gently like a caring father. He smelled like yesterday’s fish guts mixed with a good, strong wallop of unwashed body and a complete lack of oral hygiene. The smoke from their cigars could not mask the scent of homeless Jack.
Blake jumped up and gave the old guy a hug, filth and all. “Jack! I can’t believe you’re still hanging around here,” he said, trying not to breathe through his nose. His eyes started to water, and he stepped back some. “How are you?”
“’Bout the same,” Jack mumbled. He scratched at a sore on his cheek that had scabbed over, wistfully eyeing the cigar in Blake’s hand. “Where else would I go? This is my home.”
Blake generously gave Jack the lit cigar. “It’s really great to see you,” he said, and meant it.
“You too, son.” He squinted at Blake’s cap. “What’s them letters stand for?”
“Minneapolis Police Department.”
“You’re a policeman?”
“I was a detective in homicide,” he said, and shrugged. “But now I’m thinking about moving home.”
“Home is where the heart is,” Jack quoted, and puffed on the cigar a moment, his eyes watering up. Blake couldn’t tell if it was the sentiment that caused his tears or the horrible choking smoke.
Tucker kept his distance, but he said, “Luanne lets Jack stay in the back room at the café on cold nights. He helps her skin and butcher the deer if someone shows up with fresh road-kill. He’s got a knack with a knife.”
Jack clenched the cigar in his teeth and pulled his grimy, green, army surplus coat open with both hands. Strapped to his thigh was a new leather sheath holding a hunting knife with an eight-inch blade. He grinned around the cigar, showing a gap for a missing lower front tooth. “Luanne bought it for me,” he said proudly, pulling it from the sheath. “It cuts through deer skin like goin’ through butter.”
“That’s a beauty,” Blake said, admiring the shiny blade and black grooved handle. He owed this man much more than he could ever repay. When his father was gone for a week at a time, he was one of the people who had been there when he needed a friend. Jack taught him survival skills in the woods, how to live off fish if he didn’t have anything else, and most of all, how to be kind. “Luanne must really trust you, Jack,” he said, knowing trust was the one thing this man valued above all else.
He lit up at the words, his head bobbing up and down. “She’s a fine lady. If I were a tad younger, I might set my cap for her myself,” he said, tugging on the brim of his felt hat. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I know who’s sweet on her though. Ronnie Evans. He supplies her with fish for the café when she needs it. He’s a good man, but that partner of his…” he shook his head, a grimace of disgust wrinkling his face. “He’s a bad seed. Watch out for him, boys.”
“Will do.”
Jack strolled off without saying goodbye. He never really did hellos or goodbyes, just showed up and then was gone, like the seagulls that come and go along the beach. He turned and waved once or maybe he was shooing away a hoard of pesky gnats. It was hard to tell.
“Wow,” Blake said, “that’s a blast from the past.”
Tucker laughed. “Yeah, remember when we used to follow him around the woods? He could snare a rabbit with a piece of string. That man has skills, that’s for sure.” He blew a couple of smoke rings and then started coughing.
Blake
reached over and helpfully whacked him on the back. “He really sleeps in the back of Luanne’s café, huh?”
“Not often. You saw him. He’d rather be out in the elements. But he’s getting old, and the cold does a real number on creaky joints. So when it’s below zero, he’ll usually knock on the back door before closing time.” Tucker stubbed his cigar out in the last dregs of cold coffee in his paper cup.
Blake grinned. “Enough male bonding for today?”
“How in the world did my dad ever smoke these things?” Tucker coughed again and tossed the cup in the trashcan.
Blake pulled the zipper on his jacket partway down. The sun was beginning to feel almost spring-like. He watched a father and his young son walk down toward the boat harbor. They each carried a fishing pole over their shoulder. The boy didn’t look old enough to be in school yet, but he was already learning the important stuff.
Thinking about Jack and Luanne and the other people in Port Scuttlebutt who had managed to make the strange circumstances of his childhood seem almost normal, reminded him of Shelby and her analogy of Mowgli. He couldn’t stay mad at her for long. She was his mooring. And she made him laugh.
Tucker stood and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He looked like he did before a big game, nervous and worried about the outcome, waiting for Blake to assure him that the Port Scuttlebutt Barges could plow through anything and come out the victors as long as they stuck together. “So how long are you here for?” he asked, squinting into the morning sun.
Blake knew that Tucker must have already heard the local gossip, but he needed to hear it directly from his old friend. “Well, when we first got here, it depended on whether or not we decided to buy the Drunken Sailor, but… This morning Shelby volunteered my detective services to Mr. Booth until I solve his wife’s hit and run.”
Once he said it out loud, he realized he was still harboring a bit of resentment. He didn’t want Tucker to get the wrong impression of Shelby. She was only doing what she thought best for everyone. Including him. He just wished she’d discussed it with him before she made promises that he would have to keep. Solving a murder was not a three-act play. It took hard work, perseverance, and sometimes a whole lot of luck.
Tucker gave a long, low whistle. “Wow. The police already investigated that, you know. I heard it was a complete dead end. Absolutely nothing for them to go on. The whole town was pretty shook up about it. Clara Booth was well liked around here.”
“Then I hope it wasn’t a local. I wouldn’t want to see this town split apart by a trial.”
“Neither would I.” Tucker looked thoughtful, biting at his bottom lip. “So, you’re really buying the B&B?”
“We haven’t made an offer or anything. Shelby’s pretty set on it though. Sort of a love-at-first-sight thing. You know how women are.”
“Not really. Ever since my father retired to Florida and left me the store, she’s been the only woman for me. I don’t have time for a romantic relationship.”
Blake grinned. “Ben Franklin is a woman?”
“Hey, all the boats around here are named after women. I guess I can refer to old Ben as a female if I want.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “You know, Clara always walked the same road with Buddy every day. Most people around here knew that. I probably saw her out walking a million times myself.”
“You don’t think it was an accident?” Blake threw his cup in the trash and leaned against the railing of the dock, easing the weight on his bum leg.
“Don’t see how it could be. The speed limit on that stretch of road is only 40mph. If I remember correctly, it was a cold, clear morning that day, once the sun came up. Would be hard to miss seeing a woman walking a big dog like that.”
“Maybe she was walking before the sun came up,” Blake suggested, not even questioning his friend’s knowledge of the weather. He’d always been a weather nut.
“Don’t think so. Clara came into the store a couple weeks before the accident to buy one of those reflective collars for Buddy, shortly after daylight savings went into effect. She said the B&B’s outside lights weren’t very bright, and she didn’t want someone to run over him if they came onto the property. We got to talking and she told me she was afraid to drive after dark because her night vision was so poor. So I doubt she’d go walking in the dark either.”
“Do you know anyone in town with a grudge against her?”
Tucker looked up sharply. “You get right down to business, don’t you? I thought you weren’t too keen on getting involved.”
“My wife is more spontaneous than I am, that’s for sure. But she knows me well. If there is any chance of solving Clara Booth’s hit-and-run, then I’m the man to do it. I may not have a badge anymore, and I can’t run like I did in high school,” he said, patting his leg, “but I’m extremely good at solving mysteries.”
“About that,” Tucker said, eyes narrowed. “I heard you got shot. Some crazy drug deal gone wrong or something.”
Blake laughed. “That’s hilarious.”
“You mean you didn’t get shot?”
“I told Luanne I was shot in the line of duty. I never said how. That’s pure Port Scuttlebutt gossip.”
“What happened then?”
He stepped closer, looked around as though checking for eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice. “Can I trust you with the truth, Skeleton?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“I won’t read this in the local paper tomorrow?”
“I swear!”
“Okay, because if I do, I’m going to come looking for you, dig that cigar out of the garbage and make you smoke it to the end.”
Tucker just grinned, waiting.
Blake cleared his throat. “A naked girl shot me when I was cuffing her badass, gangster boyfriend.”
Tucker’s face went from shock to hilarity in half a second. He laughed, clapping his hands together, and managed to scare a couple of seagulls away from the area. “The great Achy Breaky let a girl take him out? A naked girl?”
“Hey! Sssh! Keep your voice down. I still got the perp. That’s what counts.”
He nodded, still grinning. “You’re right.”
A little 36 foot Catalina sailboat with red and white sails coasted into the harbor, and they both watched, as the crew moved about like a well-oiled team bringing it into dock.
“That the high school sailing team?” Blake asked.
“Yep. They practice every morning before school when the weather’s decent. They’re pretty good this year too. Sometimes I come down and watch them before I open the store in the morning. Bring my breakfast donut and binoculars and just hang out with the seagulls.” He glanced at his watch. “Oops! I got to go open the store. She’s all alone, and people could be banging on her door any minute.”
“You really do need a girlfriend,” Blake said and gave his friend a quick buddy hug, smacking him on the back. He watched him jog across the marina parking area and hurry up Silver Street before remembering that Tucker had never answered his question about Clara having enemies. Did he avoid the question or just get sidetracked?
Chapter Seven
Shelby went from room to room, writing down anything she thought needed to be replaced, updated, or restored. The list was getting longer than she liked to admit, but it was better to go into business with eyes wide open than as blind as a teenage girl high on her first crush. That’s probably how Blake pictured her immediate infatuation with the place. But it was not a crush or instant attraction that would slowly peter out. It was a feeling of coming home.
She moved out of bedroom number three, jotting down her thoughts.Cracked windowsill: repair. Bathroom sink: replace. The ancient claw foot bathtub was porcelain and chipped in spots, but re-enameling would probably be much less than replacement cost and help retain the wonderful back-in-time feelto the place.Bathtub: repair
As she entered the forth and last guest suite she heard an unfamiliar voice traveling up through the ventilation system. Unlike
the other upstairs heating vents that Alice kept closed during the day to make it stay warmer on the lower level, the heating vent underneath the little writing desk by the door was wide open and the perfect conduit to conversations held in the downstairs front room. She set her notebook on the desk and crouched to listen. Luckily, she’d dressed in a comfy cotton sweater and jeans this morning, so even though the voices were pretty clear, she crawled closer on her belly and pressed her ear to the vent.
A woman with a deep nasal tone was speaking. “You had other offers on this place and you turned them down flat. What’s different now? I knew that Gunner boy when he went to school here and he was nothing but trouble. From what I hear tell, he got shot by a drug dealer and then was released from duty. You know what that means. He was a bad cop.”
Shelby’s mouth opened and she almost yelled down the vent and called the woman a dirty liar, but Alice spoke up then and she wanted to hear what she said.
“I appreciate you coming to help out when I need it, but you’re wrong about the Gunners. They’re good people and Blake was a good cop. I looked him up on the Internet when they got here. He was awarded a medal for bravery. He retired because of his injury not because he did anything wrong. The other police officers had nothing but good things to say about him. So please don’t spread these rumors any further.”
“You’ll be sorry if you trust an outsider. Mark my words,” the nosy woman replied, a definite huff in her voice.
“Mrs. Davies, I don’t think we’ll be needing your services any longer,” Alice said, her words even and firm. Shelby was beginning to really like this kindred spirit.
“Fine with me. I don’t enjoy coming here and listening to your father mumbling snide remarks at my back. I was just doing my Christian duty and this is how I get repaid! Don’t expect me to return when you get desperate and change your mind. Have a good day!” she said, with quite the opposite meaning instilled in her biting tone. And then the front door slammed.
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 7