Mud Run Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  Very carefully, I tiptoed toward the bathroom, taking care not to step on the creaky parts of the floor as I went. The bathroom door was open, and I used my cell phone once again to determine if anyone was in there. It was empty. I slipped into the room and very gingerly pushed the door almost closed. But not totally. This guy might remember that the door was open, and if he saw that it was closed, I'd have given myself away.

  It bothered me that there'd still been no sound. I didn't even hear any breathing. I knew this guy was inside, but unless he'd gone out the front door, he was in one of the bedrooms. I loosened the grip on my gun.

  With a deep breath for resolve, I slid my cell around the corner and into the bedroom. It seemed empty. But then, I had a bed blocking half of my view and a walk-in closet with its door slightly ajar.

  Was this guy planning to jump out of the closet and kill me in the middle of the night? That would suck. It was a bit jarring to realize this jerk was either in here or lurking about my guest room. And why was he so quiet? This would be a problem because the floor in my bedroom was pretty creaky. Stepping almost anywhere would give me away.

  I thought about the bed and smiled. A few months ago I'd gotten one of those memory-foam mattresses. Maybe if I crawled over that, he wouldn't hear me. But then again, crawling would leave me in a very vulnerable position should he take me by surprise. I pictured myself frozen in mid crawl and how stupid that would look to my attacker.

  Looking around me, I spotted a flashlight I kept on the dresser. I could bounce that off the door, which might lead the intruder to come out, guns blazing. But if he wasn't in the closet, that meant he was across the hallway in the guest room, so he'd have time to prepare before I joined him.

  If he was in the guest room, he was hunkered down. Either he was working silently, or he knew I was here. I had to either sneak up on him or flush him out. But which one? When this was over, I was going to install hidden cameras in every room. Well, maybe not the bathroom. No one wants hidden cameras in the bathroom.

  I still had no idea who this guy was. I kind of wanted to shoot him just for that. So many decisions—each with an equally disturbing outcome. And I had to act fast. So I came up with another idea.

  Very carefully, I made my way back through the bathroom and into the hall. I held my breath as I tiptoed to the guest room door and very gently placed my ear against it. Nothing.

  I grasped the doorknob and turned it quickly, flinging the door open. I entered the room, gun raised. No one was there. I had cleared the closet and was just walking around the bed when I saw him.

  He was definitely dead. The man I'd seen outside stared at me with lifeless eyes, a small hole in the middle of his forehead. I jumped back against the wall and kept my gun trained on the window. A few minutes ago this guy had been alive. Whoever had killed this guy had escaped either through that window or…

  Under the bed. If he was under the bed, he could shoot me in the foot at any moment. But if I got up on the mattress, he could shoot up at me through the bed. Five feet away, a rocking chair sat empty. It had belonged to my grandmother. And it was my only chance.

  In two long strides I was on the chair, balancing precariously. While I held the gun in my right hand, I used my left to ease open the curtains to the window. It was still nailed shut on the inside. The killer had to be under the bed. How to get him out without him shooting at me?

  Oh well. I hated that mattress anyway. I took aim and fired right into the center and waited. Nothing. I fired two more times and waited again. Not a sound. Very carefully I got to my knees on the wobbly chair. Holding on to the bed frame with my left hand, I lowered my right hand to floor level so that the intruder would see my gun. And waited.

  Nothing. Not so much as a slight scuff on the floor. Either this guy was dead, or he had nerves of steel. So I fired. Two or three times. The closet door on the other side splintered in protest, but no one made a sound or came out.

  I stepped down onto the floor and looked under the bed. There was no one there. The door to the room was still at the exact angle I'd left it ajar when I'd burst in.

  With a heavy sigh, I pulled out my cell to call Rex.

  "Merry?" My boyfriend was already in the doorway, staring at me, gun drawn. In his back pocket I could hear his cell buzzing from my call. I guessed he wouldn't have to answer it now.

  "Guess what." I said. "You have mice."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Mice? That's why you're shooting up your guest room? Most people just get traps." Rex frowned as he rounded the bed.

  He stopped dead when he saw the body on the floor. "Oh" was all he said.

  I watched as he knelt down and examined the dead man. "What happened?"

  I knew that voice. That was his detective voice. It wasn't the I'm worried about my girlfriend voice. I liked that voice.

  "I was making dinner," I started.

  Rex looked up at me curiously. "You mean you got the spaghetti and sauce out of the cupboard."

  I shrugged. "Well, that's the first step in making dinner, isn't it? So, technically, I was making dinner."

  "Then what?" he persisted.

  "I saw this guy knocking on my front door. He went to his car—which should be in the driveway—retrieved a box, then walked around back."

  "And you thought it was a good idea to follow him." It wasn't a question. Rex was making a statement that implied I'd made a questionable decision.

  "What if he set up lethal booby traps inside? Or rigged the house to blow? I had to make sure."

  He got to his feet and shook his head. In the distance I could hear sirens. Of course he'd called for backup. For the second time in a few days, the police would swarm this neighborhood and remove a body from the premises.

  "No," Rex said. "You didn't have to make sure. You should've called me."

  I shook my head. "And risk something happening to you? I don't think so."

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm a trained police officer. I can handle danger."

  I threw up my hands. "So can I! What do you think I did for a living?"

  The sirens stopped screaming outside and, in a matter of seconds, two uniformed officers joined us. Rex must've left the front door open. I'd have to talk to him about that.

  Detective Boyfriend barked out orders to have forensics search the car out front and look after the body inside. Then he motioned for me to join him, so I followed him to the front yard.

  The neighbors were gathering again. At least Elmer was wearing pants, and Ethel was nowhere to be seen. Rex and I had provided a lot of entertainment for these people. This time, however, Kevin and some other policeman were keeping the crowd at bay.

  "Go back to my house and wait," Rex grumbled.

  "No." I folded my arms over my chest to show him how serious I was. "This is my house. And my dead guy. I'm staying."

  My boyfriend looked me in the eyes, and I matched the intensity of his gaze. Then he walked away. I guess I'd made him too angry to respond.

  Maybe I shouldn't have pushed him on this. Still, I hung around and waited. The forensics team arrived quickly, just before Dr. Soo Jin pulled up and got out. I watched as she commiserated with Rex for a moment. He pointed at me. She smiled and nodded before heading my way.

  "Merry," Soo Jin said. "This is awful, isn't it? I'm so sorry this happened. Are the cats okay?"

  I was tempted to ask her why she was sorry. I didn't understand why some women were so apologetic. Unless she was behind all of this, I didn't think she should apologize. I let her know that the cats were at Rex's house across the street.

  "Rex told me to tell you to stay out of the crime scene." She gave another apologetic face, and I nodded. The coroner went inside the house.

  The forensics team pulled something out of the car in my driveway and handed it to Rex. It looked like a manila folder filled with paper. Every single ounce of me was screaming to tackle him and find out what was in the file. But then I remembered something. The window. How did the k
iller escape through the locked window?

  I casually wandered over to it and looked around. No footprints. I glanced at Rex who gave me a sharp look. Well, he couldn't stop me from thinking about the investigation now, could he?

  I ignored his nonverbal warning and bent down to examine the dirt below the window. Not even the partial imprint of a shoe. I thought about the time frame of the murder. The killer was in the room with the mystery guy. I'd moved in quickly. Somehow the murderer had escaped the room in a matter of seconds. But how had he done it? Perhaps more importantly, why was he in there in the first place? Was that bullet meant for this guy or for me?

  I straightened up and looked at the windowsill. It didn't look like anyone had come through it. Reaching up, I tested the window. It didn't budge. My guess was that the shooter hadn't come through here.

  A classic locked-room scenario. I loved that sort of thing in books. In reality, it was less than appealing.

  There was one other option…suicide. But that option made no sense. This guy was shot square in the middle of his forehead. No one shoots themselves like that. And there wasn't any gun. Oh sure, I hadn't done a thorough search, but in my short time in the room, I should've seen the weapon.

  Also, no one shoots themselves in the head and then throws the gun away. Death would be instantaneous. The gun would've dropped to the floor, which meant it would've been in plain sight.

  So where was the killer? Could it be that I hadn't done a good job of searching the closet? It wasn't a large one, but I'd been in a hurry. And if so, the guy couldn't have left while I was in there because I'd have seen him, or Rex would've, when he'd tried to leave the room.

  I'd fired into the closet. If he'd been in there, he'd be bleeding. But no one was running out of the house shouting about a second body. There wasn't any commotion at all. Which meant the killer had gotten out of the room.

  Ugh! My brain hurt. I wandered over to my front door and hovered. I really, really wanted to go in. For some reason I obeyed the detective. And resented him for it. Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I called Maria. She didn't answer. I didn't leave a message.

  I called Riley next but hit a dead end there too. Was it possible that the dead man in my guest room was from the CIA? That might've made sense. After all, Maria had said they were coming. But she had also promised to let me know when that happened.

  Maybe the killer was from the Agency? He had seen this guy as a threat and taken him out.

  "Tim Pinter." Rex's voice was next to me.

  "Who's that?" I asked. "The dead man?"

  My boyfriend nodded. "He had ID on him, and that's the name on the car registration and insurance card. Do you know him?"

  "No. I've never heard that name." Which was totally true. "Not CIA, then," I mumbled.

  Rex asked, "Why not?"

  "For one thing," I said, "even if you operate domestically, you don't carry a wallet with your real ID or drive your own car. Never. And secondly, this place would be crawling with men in black suits."

  "They're running background checks," Rex said.

  "What was in the folder?" I tried to sound nonchalant.

  "Tell you what. I'll make a deal with you. If you go home right now…" He nodded toward his house across the street. I followed his gaze and saw that Philby and Martini were plastered to the glass in the front window, standing on their hind legs, front paws on the glass. "I'll talk to you about it when I'm done here."

  "You are asking me to leave an investigation at my own house?"

  He ignored me. "I'm serious. Head back to my house." He glanced at the window to see both cats pawing furiously at it as if they might be able to get through the glass that way. "And feed the cats."

  I considered putting him in a headlock. I considered a sharp, biting response. But in the end I caved and did as he asked. Then I stood in the window with the cats, my hands joining their paws on the glass, and watched until he was done.

  "So," Rex said as he walked in the front door half an hour later, "spaghetti?"

  I shook my head. "Frozen pizza. In the oven."

  The timer went off, and I went to retrieve the pizza. Rex wasn't big on frozen pizza, which is why we always ordered it out. But I'd found one in the freezer that I'd brought over a while ago, before I understood his snobbish ways, and tossed it into the oven.

  My boyfriend sighed and mumbled something about going upstairs to change. He was back just in time for me to serve it up.

  "Alright," I said, "I did as you asked. Now tell me what you found out."

  "We think this is the guy who killed Dewey Barnes. His fingerprints match the ones we'd found on Dewey's truck right at the driver's side window."

  "Did you find out what he was doing in my house?"

  "No. We didn't find a gun or the toolbox you told me about. Whoever killed him must've taken it."

  "So suicide is off the table, then."

  "It was never on the table," Rex said. "We just can't figure out how the killer fled the scene. We interviewed the neighbors, but no one noticed anything unusual."

  I took a bite of the pizza and chewed while I considered this intel. What was Tim Pinter doing at my house?

  "What did you find out when you ran him through the database?"

  "Now that's actually interesting." Rex leaned forward. "He's ex-CIA."

  "You're joking." I hoped he was. "Retired?" That guy looked way too young to retire. But then here I was, just short of thirty and retired.

  "No. Fired. And we couldn't figure out why. That info is classified apparently."

  "So Tim killed Dewey and then broke into my house to do…something."

  Rex nodded. "Seems that way."

  Philby jumped up on the table, and Rex gave her a piece of sausage. Martini had no interest in the sausage because she was busy attacking a piece of cheese that had formed a string. When it finally stuck to every inch of her body, she started munching on it.

  "You didn't feed the cats."

  I jumped up and poured out two portions of dry food. Both cats gave me a you've got to be kidding look that said, We don't have time for dinner—can't you see we are eating?

  "Dewey was after me and didn't make it. Tim killed Dewey and then took his place. But he didn't make it either."

  Rex saw where I was going. "What do they want from you though?"

  I shook my head. "No idea. I thought it was something to do with the movie." I told him about Flying Bicycle Productions and how the CIA had invaded Los Angeles.

  When I finished, Rex pushed himself back from the table. He'd barely eaten any of the pizza. My guess was that he was going to make a midnight sandwich later.

  "Do you know what was in that file—the one we found in Pinter's car?"

  I waited somewhat patiently for him to tell me.

  "A screenplay. For Spy Diary."

  I shot out of my chair. "I need to see that! Where is it?"

  "I don't have it anymore. In fact I'd just pulled up to the station when two men in suits walked over, flashed credentials, and took it."

  My jaw dropped. "You checked them out first. You didn't just hand it over without doing that!"

  Rex scowled. "Of course I checked them out. What do you think of me that would make you think that?"

  I deflated back into my chair. "Sorry. This whole thing is so bizarre."

  And it meant the Agency had sent someone after me without Maria's knowledge. I should've seen that coming. They're not stupid enough to let that leak to one of my best friends.

  "I guess I don't need to wait to see if they were going to send someone after me."

  Rex was still frowning. "Don't you think they would've made contact with you? What's the point of them 'coming for you,' as Maria said, if they don't actually come for you?"

  I put the dishes into the sink and poured myself a healthy glass of wine. "It doesn't make much sense. But then, I have no idea what their investigation of me is about. If you'd asked a few days ago—I'd have said they were trying
to catch me handing over classified info to Hollywood. But with all this…I don't know."

  I needed to get hold of Maria. Or Riley. This was getting ridiculous. If the Agency was here in my hometown, I wanted to know who and why. And who was killing these lowlifes? Was it the CIA? And what connections did all this have to the movie?

  "What did you mean when I found you shooting up your guest room? You said I have mice?"

  "Philby killed a mouse in your bathtub," I explained. "Ergo, you have mice."

  Rex sighed heavily. "I guess I'd better hit the hardware store for some traps." He got up and grabbed his keys. For a moment he hesitated, as if wondering if he should ask me to go with him. But he didn't. I wasn't sure what to make of that.

  I did the dishes, and after he got home, Rex went up to his room to read. He shut the door. I'd really made him mad with that crack about the credentials. Philby yowled outside his door and, when Rex didn't answer, gave me a furious look. Then she started pawing at the door just like she had with the window. I went to bed before finding out if she really could dissolve wood with her paws.

  It wouldn't surprise me a bit.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rex was gone by the time I got up the next morning. I'd really have to make it up to him. The man was acting weird though, what with talk about taking our relationship to the next level and being overly sensitive about me shooting up my closet. I mean, it's my closet.

  I got dressed and had a bowl of cereal. Staring out the window, I watched the crime scene tape fluttering on the breeze. I washed my bowl, put on a baseball cap and one of Rex's jackets, and made my way to the back of my house.

  The police had been nice enough to lock things up, but they'd also made a mess. Every surface was covered in fingerprint dust. At least that's what I hoped it was. Either that or someone had had a massive cocaine party overnight.

  I was careful not to step in the powder or touch anything I shouldn't. They were probably done with the crime scene, but I still had to be careful. Rex was a tinderbox of emotions lately, and I didn't need anything to light the match.