Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  “I hardly recognized him when he came to the back door this morning. He had the stub of a cigar between his teeth and with his hair cut short and his army coat freshly clean, he looked like that guy from the A-Team. Remember that show? For a second there I thought a real television star was knocking on my door.”

  Blake couldn’t help but laugh. “He did clean up pretty nice.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “The dirt and hair and beard were his suit of armor against the world, Blake. He needs that anonymity for reasons we don’t even have the right to know. He may disappear into the woods after this, and I’m afraid of what will become of him. Jack’s too old to be out there alone,” she said, her voice cracking unexpectedly. Apparently she’d gotten a little attached to the old man too.

  “I’ll find him, Luanne.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She turned away and started mixing the bread dough she had sitting in a bowl on the counter, kneading and turning it as if he wasn’t even there.

  “Why’d he come here?”

  She used the back of her hand to rub at her cheek, leaving a smear of flour behind. “Because it’s safe. I don’t try to change him or clean him up, I just give him a job once in a while or a warm place to sleep. He trusts me.”

  “That’s all I was doing. I swear. He actually seemed really happy last night. He was discussing Shakespeare with Shelby and joking around.” He shrugged. Obviously his understanding of Jack’s mental state was not as finely tuned as Luanne’s. “He didn’t give you any clue as to where he was going?”

  She sighed heavily. “He wanted to put something in his box for safe-keeping. Said he might not be around for a while. He ate the piece of pie I offered him, and he left.”

  “What box?”

  “The box he keeps his personal mementos in. I let him store it here. It’s private. You’re not going to look in it. I don’t care if you were a detective in another life. Right now you’re just an unwanted visitor in my kitchen.” She waved a hand. “Skedaddle!”

  “I didn’t ask to look in his box. Believe me, I’ve met enough homeless people on the streets of the city to know their things are not to be messed with. But if it could help me find him…”

  She picked up a wooden spoon, a menacing light filling her eyes.

  He put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. No box.”

  “One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other,” she said, moving toward him with the spoon raised. “Now get out of here before I get angry.”

  “Before?” He backed toward the door. “I’ve seen that hell’s kitchen show. I’m out a here!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shelby called Blake’s cell phone and was surprised to get his recorded message. Unless he was in pursuit of a murder suspect or something equally dangerous, he always answered her calls. Until now. Was the whereabouts of a homeless man so important that he couldn’t pick up?

  At the beep she said, “Blake, where are you? I know you’re worried about Jack, but something else has come up. Farley Jones called about our meeting later today. Said he had to cancel because there was a break-in at his house last night. He called the county Sheriff’s office and they’re sending someone over, but he thought maybe you could come and take a look around too.” She paused, staring out over Lake Superior from where she sat on the deck, and stuffed her free hand into the pocket of the hooded sweatshirt she’d pulled on before coming outside. “See,” she said softly, “this town does need your kind of expertise. Call me. I’m worried about you.”

  She slipped her hand with the phone into the other pocket and shivered. The water looked choppy and cold. After an early thaw this spring, it seemed that winter was trying to steal back a little extra time.

  Alice rounded the corner of the house with two steaming mugs in her hands. She handed one to Shelby, and sat in the vacant rocker next to her. “I was craving some hot cocoa. Perfect day for it, right?”

  Shelby blew across the rim and took a tentative sip. “Mmm, that is good.”

  “What are you doing out here all by yourself? Did you get ahold of Blake?”

  She’d told Alice about Farley’s call and request for Blake’s help. “I left him a message. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Seems strange doesn’t it?

  “What’s that?”

  “Each time you two decide to make an offer and sign a buyer’s agreement, something happens to thwart your plans. There’s suddenly an awful lot going on in our quiet little community these days.”

  “Three times a charm. I told Farley we’d be around for a couple more days at least, so we should be able to get back over there to sign the papers once the police have come and gone.”

  “Hmm.” Alice crossed her legs and rocked gently, careful not to tip her cup. “Are you two quite sure you’re up to this? Moving away from the city is one thing but taking on the responsibility of a place like this with all it entails, that’s really...”

  “Awe-inspiring?”

  “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of crazy.”

  “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”

  “Let me guess,” Alice said, slanting her an amused look. “Shakespeare?”

  Shelby heard sarcasm lacing her words. “Don’t you appreciate the classics?”

  “I appreciate the simple English language we speak here in the U.P. Yes means yes and no means no. I’ve always thought of Shakespeare as an uppity English professor who thought adding a lot of extra words and speaking in riddles was his way of feeling superior.”

  Shelby knew where her new friend was coming from. She’d met lots of people who felt the same way. But the man was a true genius when it came to the turn of a phrase. Just because his phrases were out of date now, didn’t mean people quit using them. They just used them in abbreviated ways. Most of the time without even knowing they were inadvertently quoting Shakespeare. “Would you like it better if I said, there is method to my madness?”

  “You can say it however you’d like. But please explain to me where the method lies amid the madness.” She licked her lips, coated with melted marshmallow. “This place has made me a bit mad, and I’ve lived here my whole life, with very few expectations. You, with your dreams of the stage, and Blake’s instincts to solve crime, may be too evolved for our little lakeshore burg.”

  “You said yourself that this little burg has a whole lot more going on these days. Maybe it’s always had a lot going on… underneath. Sometimes it takes an outsider to shake things up and bring a little change. Not bad change. I’m referring to the kind that brings community together.” She dipped her chin toward the boathouse. “There’s my dream. A stage with a view. Local tryouts. Me, directing and guiding a hand-picked cast to love and appreciate Shakespeare and other great writers the way I do.” She sipped her cocoa and sighed forlornly. “I was hoping one of them would be you, but it seems you have a bias against a certain famous playwright.”

  Alice was unable to keep a grin from her lips. “If anyone could change my mind, I’m sure it would be you.”

  “I am persistent.”

  “Undeniably.”

  <<>>

  Blake climbed in the Bronco and slammed the door a little firmer than usual. Frustration was giving him a headache. Probably from gritting his teeth. He yanked the glove box open and took out his cell phone. He’d already missed three calls. Two of them from Shelby.

  He listened to Shelby’s messages and then clicked on the unknown number. It was Farley Jones. Shelby must have passed his number on to the realtor so he could contact him personally. The man’s voice was excitedly wound up, and a little breathless. Having your home broken into made even the most stoic, calm person feel vulnerable and nervous. He listened as Jones gave directions to his house. Blake recognized the address. Apparently, Farley Jones still lived with his mother.

  The Jones family had always lived at the top of the cliffs to the east of town, about a mile past
The Drunken Sailor. It only took five minutes and he was turning off the county road onto their private entrance flanked by stone lions, like some medieval castle – minus a moat. The paved and well-maintained driveway wound through a dense tree line of birch and pine, successfully blocking a view of the house from the road. It came out into an open and inviting area, planted with hardy bushes and shrubs. Brick pavers edged the looping driveway in front of the house, and matching bricks, placed in the shape of a J, marked the front sidewalk. He could see a grouping of Aspen trees, their pale bark and thin trunks stretched high over the back of the house, accenting the graceful, curving design and architecture of the place.

  The huge house was built off the hard work of Farley’s father, who owned the only local grocery store back in the day. He also had his finger in the fishing industry, with a trawler that he manned with local fishermen, and a small fish house where their catch was gutted, filleted, put on ice, and sent to nearby stores.

  Blake had been to the Jones’ residence twice before. The first time was after he and Tucker broke into the old bank and got caught. Mr. Jones had them peddle up the hill on their bicycles one day to deliver grocery items, when they were still working off their prison term. The second time was when the Port Scuttlebutt Barges won the football championship, and they were invited to celebrate in style in the big house on the hill. For a kid from a tiny U.P. town, it was like an invite to the White House.

  It was strange to be invited back now for a totally different reason. Not as an employee, or a football hero, but as a cop. He shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He wasn’t a cop anymore, he reminded himself. Those guys would be showing up any minute, and he’d probably be kicked off the premises. Cops hated outside interference. He hurried to the door and rang the bell.

  The door was opened almost immediately, but not by anyone he recognized. The petite, dark-haired woman, wearing a maid’s uniform, waved him in without saying a word. She pointed across the wide entry toward a set of double doors. If he remembered correctly, the room was an office. Mr. Jones had ushered him and the rest of the team into that room, and wrote out a check to cover the cost of new jerseys for everyone the following year. They’d all been extremely impressed.

  When he stood there unmoving, staring at the closed doors, the maid took his arm to urge him forward, bobbing her head and pointing.

  “You want me to go in there,” Blake clarified, pausing just short of putting his hand on the knob. “Is Mr. Jones in here?”

  She shook her head.

  The doors opened and the woman his wife referred to as buns of steel, stared back at him, her lips stretched as tight as her hair. “Mr. Gunner, please don’t stand there. We have work to do. The county police may be here any minute.” She waved him inside and shut the door.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if…”

  “The maid is mute. I hired her for her ability to be seen and not heard,” the woman said, without a twitch of amusement. Her eyes slanted left, indicating he sit in one of the brown leather chairs facing the massive desk. She moved behind the desk and sat, her back as ramrod straight as a Russian ballerina.

  “Your son called me,” he began, wondering why Farley wasn’t here to greet him.

  She ignored his unspoken question and turned slightly to open a sliding drawer. “This is connected to our video security system. Before this goes any further, I wanted you to see something.”

  “You caught the intruder on camera? That’s great,” he said, leaning forward to see the computer screen she turned toward him. “Should make it a lot easier to find the guy.”

  The camera system was obviously not state-of-the-art or infrared. The picture was a bit grainy and unclear. There was a bright moon and sky last night, but even so, the figure creeping across the Jones’ backyard was blurry and shadowed. Blake squinted and leaned closer, recognizing something about the gait of the man. What was it about this burglar that made the hairs on his arms suddenly stand up?

  “Mr. Gunner, I’m an old woman. I’ve lived a long life, and I’ve seen and heard a lot of things in this town. Some secrets are best left buried. Unlike my late husband, my son is often the stirrer of pots. He fails to see the big picture.” She put a hand to her throat, lips slightly parted as her gaze slanted back toward the screen. She continued, not looking away. “Farley had already called the police before I spoke with him. Otherwise, our meeting today would be unnecessary.”

  “I don’t understand. You didn’t want the police or me to come to the house because of the break-in? Ma’am, you may be a very private person, and not care for the kind of attention this sort of thing brings in a small town, but catching the guy and getting back whatever he took depends wholly on reporting the crime. You know that, right?”

  “He didn’t take anything.”

  “What?”

  She folded her hands neatly on the desktop and held his gaze, pointedly. “There was only the slightest damage to the back door where he jimmied the lock. My thought is that he was cold and wanted to come in to get warm. I’d hate for the man to get in trouble when being homeless is his only crime.”

  He looked back at the screen. She had paused the video. The man was standing at the back door, looking directly up into the camera now. His coat was torn on the front sleeve, and he was wearing a familiar cap with the letters MPD. If he hadn’t seen him last night with his hair cut and beard trimmed, he probably wouldn’t recognize him now. How in the world did Mrs. Jones recognize Jack from a blurry video?

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to convince the police it was all a mistake, make them go away without writing a report.”

  He narrowed his gaze, suspicion creeping up his aching leg. There was something off about this woman. “Let me get this straight. Your son, the mayor, called the police to your house about a break in, and you want me, an x-cop who has nothing to do with this, make it all go away. Why?”

  She stood and walked back around the desk, her eyes never leaving his face. “Because if you don’t your friend will go to jail, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She gestured toward the door, dismissing him from her presence. “Farley is waiting for you in the sitting room. He will show you the backdoor, and you can decide how best to explain it away.”

  She must have pushed a hidden button or something because the mute maid was suddenly there, swinging open the door and motioning for him to follow. He felt like he was in a crazy version of Wonderland. Mrs. Jones would definitely make a great Red Queen. Although, she wouldn’t shout ‘off with their heads!’ Rather, she would draw a finger across her throat and the mute maid would carry out the deed.

  The little woman led him quickly down a hallway and into the sitting room where Farley nervously paced, a drink in his hand. He had on a navy blue blazer, black slacks, and a white shirt, and looked like he just stepped off a private yacht. His face was red and glistened with sweat at the edge of his brow, despite the cool temperature of the house.

  Blake turned to say thank you to the maid and realized she’d already disappeared.

  “Mr. Gunner!” The mayor said, louder than necessary, and hurried across the room. “Thank you so much for coming. I know this is last minute, but Mother insists it’s the best way. Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thanks. Your mother wanted me to have a look at the back door.”

  Blake crossed his arms. It was hard to get a bead on this man. First, he thought he was a slimy politician, and now he realized he was a mamma’s boy. That could be a very deadly combination. Did he become mayor because she wanted him to, or because he was trying to get out from under her thumb?

  He couldn’t believe he was having this inane conversation. As a detective, he would never let himself be manipulated into doing something illegal or unethical. Here he was letting an old woman, who thought she was in a boardroom scene from Dynasty, tell him what to do. She was asking him to go against everything he believed in. Truth, justice, and catching th
e bad guy. For what? To protect an old man, he may or may not have caused to have a break down last night. Why else would Jack suddenly start breaking into houses? It made no sense. The least he could do was keep him from going to jail.

  Farley was nodding like a bobble-head doll, fast and furious. He gulped the last of his drink and led the way through the house. There was no sign of the maid or old Mrs. Jones as they hurried down the hall, through the dining room and kitchen, and out the back door. The parquet floors were so shiny and clean they didn’t look like anyone used them. If Jack came in this way, where was the dirt? He had to have tracked in something. It had rained recently, and the ground would be muddy.

  He stepped out the door behind Farley and turned to look up at the camera. The light still blinked red, showing that it was working. Jack would have noticed it too. He was old, not stupid. Why did he choose to break in, when he knew he’d be seen? The patio area had been recently washed and swept. Nothing marred the perfect cement and surrounding pavers.

  “Well, what do you think?” Farley squinted against the sun.

  “About what? The fact that your mother already made all signs of a break-in disappear, like rum down a pirate’s throat? Pretty amazing.” Caustic self-blame burned a trail in his gut.

  “Can you make the police go away, keep them from asking too many questions?”

  “I can’t make them do anything. That would be your job, Mr. Mayor. You have to tell them it was all a mistake, and send them on their way. Police can’t investigate something that didn’t happen.”

  He scrunched up his face as though the thought of dealing with the police himself left a very bad taste in his mouth. “I can’t. Mother wants this to be completely off the books. Like I never even made the call. She said you would handle it.”

  “Did she?” The woman was a grade A, number one…

  “There are some scratches on the lock, but they aren’t very noticeable. Whoever did this, must have known how to pick a lock quite expertly. Here, have a look.”