Sunday morning was like any other. The church bells rang, parishioners filed in and out, and Ted Davies drove his mother home from services before heading down the highway to Ashland, where he would meet up for his weekly tryst with some woman and they would drink themselves into oblivion.
Jack cruised down the highway ten miles under the speed limit, also heading toward Ashland. When he saw the hazard lights up ahead, he slowed even more and pulled over behind Ted’s pickup. The original tailgate was missing, but he had strung a net across the end to keep the contents from rolling out. Mounted on the back of the cab above the window were the antlers of a six-point buck.
There was no recognition on Ted’s face as he approached the car. Not surprising really. Jack had gone into Ashland earlier in the week to get a fresh haircut and shave, and pick up a new set of clothes at the Baptist church. He’d heard about their free clothes closet from a hitchhiker a month back. He found himself a pair of jeans, a red flannel shirt and a faded denim jacket. The nice lady even offered him a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. It fit fine. He’d never taken a handout before, but since it was for a special occasion, he figured this once wouldn’t hurt.
He rolled down the window and leaned out, his cap pulled low over his eyes. “What’s the trouble?”
When he was a boy, rumor had it that adding sugar to a gas tank would disable it, but that wasn’t a sure thing. In Vietnam, he learned from experience that a much surer bet was water. Gas floats to the top, thus causing the fuel line to fill with water first and disabling the engine.
Ted stepped close enough that Jack could smell beer on his breath. “Don’t know. I’m no mechanic. The thing just quit on me. Like that.” He tried to snap his fingers but failed.
“I’m heading to Ashland. Need a lift?”
Ted stood there for a few seconds, mouth twisted in indecision, then he nodded. “I called a friend but she’s not answering.”
Jack unlocked the passenger door, and Ted climbed in looking around with an appraising eye. “This is a beauty. Still looks brand new. You had it long?”
“Since ‘64,” Jack slanted him a glance from under his cap. He pulled onto the highway, looking in his rearview for signs of traffic.
Ted reached out to turn on the radio.
“Don’t touch that!”
“I was just gonna put on some music.”
“Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?” He pressed down on the gas, sending the Mustang flying eighty miles per hour in another minute.
“You’re gonna get yourself a ticket, mister. Cops round here love to pick up muscle cars.” Ted reached for his seatbelt and realized there wasn’t one.
Jack pressed harder. The speedometer hit a hundred and four.
“Are you crazy, old man?” He braced his hand on the dash. “I didn’t take you up on a free ride to heaven, just to Ashland.”
“No chance of heaven for you, son.” He slammed on the brakes, sending the car into a skid. Hot rubber squealed against cold asphalt, until his back tires hit the gravel shoulder and sent up a cloud of dust and rock. He slipped the car in park and pointed at the door. “Get out,” he said, his tone as hard and flat as iron.
“What the…” Ted shot out a string of profanities and threw open the car door. “You’re insane! I ought a call the cops! They should revoke your license!”
“I don’t got a license.”
Ted slammed the door and started walking, kicking up dirt and waving his arms. Jack watched him for a minute, then put the car in gear and made a U-turn in the middle of the highway. He headed back the way he’d come. A semi-trailer gained on him, and he waited for it to pass. Once it had put a little distance between them, he pulled over on the side of the road and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Steady.
He was a natural born killer. That’s what his platoon sergeant had said. He had a knack for knowing how to attack and when. A glimpse of Clara’s sweet face filled his mind. Remembering the way she hung on his every word when she was a kid. Wanting to tag along with him wherever he went. She thought he knew everything there was to know about life, and begged to hear the stories he made up about adventures he’d never really been on and places he’d never actually visited.
She was the best person he ever knew. She would never ask him to mete out justice on her behalf. That was a fact. She was better than that. Better than him.
But he couldn’t forgive and forget.
He waited for an empty stretch of road, made a U-turn and pressed down on the accelerator. In a minute he was within sight of his target again. He painted the white line like Sandy Koufax pitching a no hitter, as close to the shoulder as he could get without sliding off into loose dirt.
The man, walking along the road, turned around and stuck his thumb out. A moment later, he recognized the car and his arm dropped. He stood there hesitating, and too late he turned to run. Jack kept his foot on the gas until the last second… but he couldn’t do it. He jerked the wheel and crossed the centerline. Another car was coming toward him and they sounded their horn, riding the gravel shoulder to avoid a head-on collision. He pulled back on his side of the white lines in the nick of time.
Glancing in the rearview, he saw Ted, alive and well, in the middle of the road, waving his arms and yelling. Relief swept through him. Taking another life on this side of the war was more than he could live with. He’d dealt with so much death already.
He imagined Clara looking down from heaven and smiling. She’d always been his compass. He knew what she’d say if she were here now, because she’d said it before, when he’d struggled against enacting vengeance against Robert all those years ago, after Jess was found dead on the beach.
“A day is coming when God will judge everyone’s secret life,” she’d told him, “and he won’t be guessing whether he’s punishing the right person.”
He drew a deep, cleansing breath and slowly expelled it, along with the anger. His secret was out. He wasn’t just a homeless guy anymore. Hiding in the shadows and living a life of anonymity, was no longer possible for him. As Blake’s grandfather and the only real family that young man had left, he needed to be there for him. Really be there. And if he wanted his grandson’s respect, then he had to respect the law Blake had sworn to uphold.
He pulled over and waited for a clear space to make another U-turn.
It was time to go home.
After
Ted couldn’t believe how wrong his Sunday afternoon was going. He was supposed to be in Ashland by now, spending some quality time with Rhonda and a six-pack. First, his truck quit on the side of the highway, and then a crazy old man picked him up, dumped him out, and tried to run him over. He stood on the gravel shoulder, cell phone to his ear. If Rhonda would just pick up the stupid phone… Instead, he got her voicemail.
“This is Rhonda’s phone. If it’s important, leave a message. If not, quit calling me.” Her deep, throaty laughter filled his ear and then the machine beeped.
“Rhonda, call me! I’m standing out here on the highway, in the middle of nowhere, halfway between Port Scuttlebutt and freaking Ashland!” He tagged a few choice swear words to the end of his message before he ended the call.
A carload of teenagers, going in the other direction, slowed when they saw him. When he looked up expectantly, they laughed and mocked him, and roared away. Yelling and flipping them off, he shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket, but it missed the opening and dropped. He kicked out his foot to keep it from hitting the ground, full impact. The rubbery case bounced off his boot and flew sideways, onto the pavement. Swearing a blue streak, he stepped off the shoulder and picked it up.
He straightened, phone in hand, and realized his mistake. But it was too late to do more than stare like a deer caught in the headlights. The blast of the Semi’s horn hit his ears almost simultaneously with the crushing impact of the rig’s heavy-duty, stainless steel bumper guard.
Exeunt
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u enjoyed this novel, please consider leaving a short review on the online site where it was purchased. This helps independent authors like myself tremendously. Happy reading!
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About The Author
Barbara E Brink lives in the great state of Minnesota with her husband and pups, and their two adult children living nearby. She spends much time writing, reading, motorcycling, running, and enjoying life with the family and friends that God has given her.
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Other Novels by Barbara E Brink:
Fredrickson Winery Novels
Entangled
Crushed
Savor
Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy
Chosen
Shunned
Reckoning
Split Sense
Second Chances Series
Running Home
Alias Raven Black
Double Barrel Mysteries
Roadkill
Much Ado About Murder
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Connect with me online
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/BarbaraEBrink
My Webpage/blog:
http://www.barbaraellenbrink.com
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Barbara Ellen Brink, Novelist
*Read on for a sneak peek at book #2 in The Double Barrel Mysteries:
MUCH ADO ABOUT MURDER.
Scene One: Dead Body
Gray skies and drizzly rain accompanied the discovery and removal of the body beneath Mr. Dugan’s woodpile. Exactly the kind of day you’d expect death and decay to make an entrance. Clouds moved across a leaden sky with about as much enthusiasm as an organist playing a dirge. A row of stately balsam fir trees lent their overshadowing height to the area, blocking out any stray sunlight. The ground was mucky and strewn with leaves and bits of wood. A chilling wind grasped exposed limbs with fingers of dampness and slithered down spines as coats were zipped and shoulders hunched against the premature onslaught of winter.
The two police officers that responded to the call and arrived first on the scene had already obliterated any possible evidence in the surrounding mud. Tennis shoe prints had been lost amid the deeper crisscross pattern of boots and the staccato paw prints of the excited bloodhound, Jake, who found the body hours earlier and had tried to pull it from behind the woodpile, managing to sever three fingers in the process.
Wrapped in a blood-encrusted blanket and bound with red twine, the body had been buried in a shallow grave behind the shed, under five feet of stacked wood. Readying for winter, Dugan had gone out to the pile to fetch a load of kindling and logs for his wood box. As he filled a wheelbarrow with split logs from the end of the row, his nose was assaulted with the pungent scent of death. Assuming it was an animal of some kind that had crawled under his shed during the summer and died, he didn’t think much of it. But later, when Jake came to the door with a severed finger in his mouth, dropped it on the welcome mat and looked up expectantly wagging his tail, Dugan nearly lost his Wheaties. The police took Mr. Dugan’s statement, the coroner took the body, and the wind took the storm and blew it north to Canada.
The next day was a blessed respite from clouds and wind. Sunshine returned full force. But despite the beautiful weather, Mr. Dugan was taken into custody and his house searched for evidence of foul play. Without a reasonable explanation for a body turning up under his woodpile, the police considered him the most plausible suspect.
CHAPTER ONE
Blake leaned over the sawhorse and braced one hand on the two-by-four he was cutting. The smell of pine floated on the air as the sharp-toothed handsaw steadily chewed through the wood, leaving a sprinkling of sawdust below. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his white t-shirt, making it cling to his chest. A length of sawed off wood dropped to the ground and he straightened, satisfaction in his blue eyes.
“Okay, I was wrong,” Shelby said, eyeing him with renewed respect. “You really do know your way around a construction site, babe. I never should have doubted you.”
“I told you I worked with a construction crew for six months before I became a cop.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d look so good in a tool belt you could sell chain saws to old ladies.” She shielded her eyes with one hand, looking up at the house. “Hey, isn’t that Tucker’s pickup in the driveway? I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Probably came by to see Alice over his lunch break.”
“I don’t think so. He’s headed this way.”
Blake leaned the two-by-four against the sawhorse and slanted her a grin. “Maybe we can put him to work. The sooner we get these offices finished, the sooner we can take on clients and pay for the place. Double Barrel Investigations may have been your brain child, but I got to be truthful with you Shel… when it comes to wielding a hammer, you suck.”
“If that’s your idea of flattery, I’d hate to be on your bad side.”
“I haven’t got a bad side,” he said flexing his muscles.
She rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “Who do you think you are, Fabio?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
He held out the newly sawn board.
She shook her head.
“You want me to do it?”
“You’re the master.
While Blake was busy pounding the two-by-four into place, Tucker stepped into the gutted boathouse. He gazed around with wide-eyed interest at the office area they were busy framing. The smack of the hammer echoed off the walls before Blake turned around with a welcoming grin.
“Hey, Skeleton! You’re just in time.”
“In time for what?” Tucker’s gaze narrowed.
“To help us out. As I recall, you’re an experienced drywall installer.”
“A part-time job for one summer doesn’t make me an expert.”
Blake shrugged. “Okay. You’re a wet-behind-the-ears drywall installer. But we could still use your help. At this rate, we won’t be done before the snow flies.”
The boathouse fire had damaged the entire front wall, door, and part of the roof. Blake had torn down the charred wood, leaving the entrance open to the elements for now. They planned to keep the exterior as rustic as before, while updating the front section with insulated walls and flooring for the offices of their new business. Another door would lead to the rear of the boathouse and the lake beyond. There was still ample room to store a small sailboat there if they ever found spare money in their budget to purchase one.
Tucker slipped his hands in the front pockets of his oversized green hoodie and leaned nonchalantly on one hip. “I’ll do you one better. What if I could promise you free help from a real construction expert?”
“That has the definite twang of tight strings attached.”
Shelby gave Blake a playful swap on the backside. “Look a gift horse in the mouth much?” She grinned at Tucker. “Don’t mind him. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. What’s your deal?”
“It’s not exactly my deal. Think of me as your agent. I have a client for you who’d be willing to pay your fees in hard labor.”
“Bartering? How medieval.”
“Wait a minute. A client? What are we investigating? A cheating spouse?” Blake’s brows pulled together.
“Hear him out, Gun. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. We need the help.”
“Fine. Who cheated on who?” he asked, slipping the hammer into the loop on his tool belt.
Tucker shook his head. “You got it all wrong. This is serious and right up your alley. Pete Dugan and my father go way back. They’ve been friends since high school. Dad wanted me to ask if you would take on this case as a personal favor to him.”
“Well, I can’t really say no to that, can I?”
Shelby sat on an overturned bucket. “What are we investigating?”
“Pete found a body buried on his property a couple days ago and now the police are treating him like their number one suspect. He thinks someone set him up and he nee
ds you to help clear his name.”
“A murder?”
“Looks that way. Bodies don’t usually bury themselves, do they?” Tucker asked with a straight face.
Blake stroked a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Shelby knew he was intrigued and ready to take off in pursuit of a killer, happily leaving manual labor behind. She could see his wheels spinning already. He was still a cop at heart, despite his forced retirement last year after a shooting that left him with a bum leg and a burning desire to move back to his hometown.
“The police don’t usually jump to conclusions without good reason. Who was the victim?” he asked.
Tucker’s gaze shifted to the partially framed wall. He cleared his throat. “Dugan’s ex-wife.”
Blake’s laughter was anything but mirthful. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A man’s ex-wife turns up buried on his property and you think it’s strange the police see him as a suspect? Nine times out of ten it’s the husband or boyfriend.”
“I know. I know. But my dad is certain Pete’s innocent and I had to ask.” He blew out a breath and slowly backed toward the dock. “Sorry to interrupt your work.”
“Hold on!” Shelby jumped up and ran to Tucker. Clasping his hand, she tugged him gently back. “Blake didn’t say no. He’s just stating facts. That doesn’t mean your father’s friend is a murderer. He may well be that one time out of ten. Right, Blake?” she said, shooting him a hard look.
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything. If I think he’s guilty of murder, hell or high water won’t keep me from assisting the police in their case.”
“That’s fair. Tucker gave a short nod and dug his pickup keys out of his pocket. “I’ll let Dad know.”
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 27