Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

  Right on cue, headlights flashed on the street again. Brakes screeched. Another car door slammed. The mysterious man in the driveway looked up.

  “Hey!” I heard Monty shout outside. “I lost my dog. You haven’t seen a little beagle around, have you? Answers to Snoopy. I’ve been looking everywhere for the little shit.”

  The man in the driveway looked toward the house once, then started walking toward the road. When he turned, I caught a glimpse of a full beard and a baseball hat pulled low. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but the voice was enough to identify the man.

  “Where’d you lose him?” he asked Monty. Diggs and I seemed to take a breath at the same time.

  “Jed, right?” I said.

  “I’m pretty sure. He’s probably here to check up on the place—he used to do a lot of yard work for my father.”

  Jed Colby was a local mechanic who, as far as I’d known up till now, had little to do with Reverend Diggins or the Episcopal Church. He did, however, have something to do with the Payson Church: his sister-in-law died in the Payson fire. His nephew was none other than Will Colby, the kid who’d just joined Allie Tate in haunting the visions of my past.

  “He’d be someone good to talk to,” I said.

  “Agreed.” Diggs holstered his gun. “Will you make the call?”

  “Yeah. No problem.”

  He returned to the dining room table to look through his father’s prodigious piles of paperwork. Meanwhile, I could hear Jed and Monty shouting for Snoopy outside. I punched in Monty’s number.

  “You found that damn hound yet, woman?” Monty answered.

  “Nice work saving our asses,” I said.

  “Anytime, baby girl. What’s the word?”

  “The guy’s a friend of ours—you can actually let him go. We’d like to talk to him.”

  “You sure?” He lowered his voice. “Maybe we should have a talk about what staying under the radar actually means. Because as far as I can tell, you and your boy toy are doing the exact opposite.”

  “We’ll be all right,” I promised.

  “I hope so. You people are gonna make me go gray before my time.”

  He hung up without waiting for a response. A second later, I heard him say something off-color to Jed about his wayward hound and the wife’s little pussy. Jed laughed. I groaned.

  Another few seconds of suspense followed before the backdoor opened. Diggs and I had decided there wasn’t really a way to do this without scaring the holy hell out of poor Jed, so we just stood out in the open in the dining room, waiting.

  Much to my surprise, however, before he came in, Jed stopped in the mudroom. He fumbled with something for a minute or so, and every light in the house magically came on.

  “Crazy old loon,” I heard him mutter. He started slinging trash bags out the backdoor, while Diggs and I continued to wait.

  Eventually, he made his way to the dining room. By then, we were seated at the table going through Daddy Diggs’ files.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jed said when he came through the door. He clutched his chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What the hell are you doing? Have you just been sitting here in the dark?”

  “I thought the electricity had been shut off,” Diggs said.

  Jed frowned. “No, not yet. Your dad would turn everything on at once, though, and end up blowing a fuse. Half the time, he couldn’t pull it together enough to flip the breaker and get things back on again. I’d usually check on him, but Gracie and me took the kids up north for Christmas. We just got back, and I heard the news.”

  He looked around the room again, and shook his head. “It’s a crazy world out there.”

  “Do you have any idea who it could have been?” Diggs asked. “Reports are saying it was a black or navy-blue sedan that hit him. Does that sound familiar?”

  Jed went to the table and started picking up dirty dishes. There were a lot of them, most caked with dried food. Diggs and I followed suit, then followed him into the kitchen. He cleared out the sink, got some dish liquid from the cupboard, and started the water going.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Diggs said.

  “I’ve been doing it for the better part of the past six months,” Jed said. “It won’t hurt me to do it one more time.”

  Diggs opened kitchen drawers randomly until he found the dish towels. It looked like this was a two-man job and they had it well in hand, so I cleared some space on the sideboard, washed it down, and hopped up there to get out of their way.

  “So you were coming in to see Reverend Diggins since the stroke?” I asked.

  “I was, yeah.”

  “You never answered my question: do you have any idea who might have run him down?”

  “You hadn’t talked to him in a while, I guess.”

  “We saw him the night he was killed,” Diggs said. “I didn’t even know about the stroke until then.”

  “To be honest, the stroke was kind of the least of his problems, if you ask me. And as for who was behind the wheel…after what he’s been up to the last few months, it could have been a few people.” He hesitated, unwilling to say whatever had just crossed his mind.

  “Including me?” Diggs said.

  Jed shrugged. “It’s not like I’m judging. My dad was my best friend, right up till the end—the guy I’d most like to have a drink with after a long day, the guy I still work my ass off to be. I know it wasn’t the same with you and the reverend.”

  “I didn’t kill my father, Jed,” Diggs said.

  “That’s good,” Jed said. “But like I said, I’m not judging. I saw him more than most this past year, and I got to know that firsthand.”

  “Do you have any idea what was going on with him?” I asked. I looked around Daddy Diggs’ hovel. “I mean, clearly something was up.”

  “You could say that,” Jed agreed.

  “So spit it out already, Jed,” Diggs said.

  “Some accusations were made.”

  “Accusations about what? Jesus, Jed, give it up. You said it yourself: there was no love lost between us, it’s not like you’ll shock me. What did he do?”

  He let some water out of the sink, squirted more dish liquid in, and added fresh hot water. When that was done and a new wave of bubbles were bubbling, he looked at Diggs and me. “He was accused of sleeping with one of the members of his church.” He shifted uncomfortably. “A young member.”

  “How young?” Diggs asked, expressionless.

  “You know Jake and Alice Smith? Jake runs the Littlehope Lobster Trap place—distributes his traps all over the East Coast. It’s their girl. Laurie. She’s eighteen—barely.”

  I thought of the reverend’s words when we met in the church last night. Clearly, the year has had its ups and downs. He wasn’t kidding.

  “After that,” Jed continued, “the shit hit the fan fast. Most everyone left the church, even though Laurie wouldn’t press charges. So obviously it wasn’t business as usual. After the stroke, though…that’s when Gracie and me really got worried. She had me start checking on him.”

  “Why? Was she worried for the reverend, or someone else?” I asked.

  “Both,” Jed said. “He’d walk around town at night talking to himself, or else talking to someone it seemed like he saw. I was at the grocery store a few months ago—a couple months after the stroke, I think—and saw him go to the backseat and lean in…” He shifted again. “It looked like he was buckling someone in back there. I got nervous, knowing what had happened with Laurie, so I went over.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “There was no one there. The reverend got weird, though. Said he needed to get home, he was late for dinner. The way he was acting, it was clear something was going on. I asked him who he had with him, even though the car was definitely empty.”

  “What did he say?” Diggs asked. He’d stopped drying, clean dishes now crowded in the strainer. He had a stranglehold on the dishrag.

  Jed hesitated again. He scr
ubbed a hand along his jaw. “Josh,” he said. “He said him and Josh were making dinner for your mum. I asked him then, if he’d heard from you lately. If maybe you might be coming soon.”

  Silence fell in the room, heavy as a wool blanket.

  “And he didn’t know who I was,” Diggs guessed. Jed looked torn.

  “No—he did,” he said. “But he got…agitated, as soon as I mentioned your name. I ended up having to take him to the psychiatric crisis unit over to PenBay. They kept him for a few days. Got him hydrated, gave him some food, and that seemed to help a little. But he wouldn’t stay, and once he was making sense again they couldn’t hold him. They had to let him go.”

  “What did he say?” Diggs asked.

  “Diggs—” I said. He held up his hand, his eyes never leaving Jed. Jed turned a woeful gaze toward me.

  “He wasn’t in his right mind, Diggs.”

  “What did he say, damn it? It could be important.”

  Jed finally met Diggs’ eye. “He said you weren’t his son. That you’d never been his son. That you were sent there to hurt him—that if you had the chance, you would rip him limb from limb.” He studied Diggs’ reaction, sad now. “He said you were the punishment he’d earned for his sins. Those were the words he used.”

  It was like Diggs sort of…shrank, before my eyes. He took a step back. Jed turned to me. “I told you, he was out of his mind.”

  Diggs set the dishtowel down and went into the dining room. I followed, Jed behind me.

  In the cluttered room, my gaze returned to the articles Diggs’ father had taped to the dining room wall. I’d been too preoccupied with whether or not Diggs was going to lose it to pay much attention before, but looking more closely now I noticed a definite theme: “Father Saves Son from Burning Building”; “Father and Son Die in Fatal Accident”; “Boy Drowns in Bath, Father Charged with Negligence”; Father and Son Survive Deadly Plane Crash.”

  Story after story about fathers and sons and the tragedies that befell them, all over the world. I tried to imagine what kind of connection the reverend had made in his twisted mind; what he had decided happened. Did he really think Josh was still alive? And Diggs was…what? That Diggs had died instead, or that he’d never existed at all? And how had any of that led to the arsenal upstairs and whatever he’d been planning before his death?

  “Listen,” I said, when it became clear that Diggs had checked out of the conversation, “have you been through the rest of the house recently? Noticed anything strange about the reverend’s behavior? People he was maybe spending time with?”

  “Other than the Smith girl?” he said. “Not really—after they split, or…whatever, he was pretty much a loner. And he never wanted me going upstairs, so I respected that. I helped out with the chores down here and around the yard. Figured since Diggs wasn’t around, he’d appreciate knowing someone was looking out for the old man.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I hesitated. “I know this is a weird request, but we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention seeing us tonight. Just for now. We’ve got some things we need to sort out.”

  “No problem,” Jed agreed. “You know I’m not exactly on speed dial with the sheriff’s office, so it don’t make any difference to me.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Just one more question, and we’ll let you get out of here. Do you know anything about Mike Reynolds?”

  “Other than he’s bat-shit crazy?” he asked. “Not much, no. I steer clear of that whole bunch up there on the ridge.”

  “Do you know if he had anything to do with my father?” Diggs asked.

  Jed started to shake his head, then stopped. “They did get into it a few months ago, come to think of it. I don’t know what it was about, but him and the old man had a fight in the parking lot at Wallace’s. Something about a girl, I think.”

  “The Smith girl?” I asked.

  Jed shrugged. “Hell if I know. Any girl the two of them were fighting over, I figured they could keep.”

  Diggs strolled back over to the window, so I finished things up with Jed and thanked him for keeping an eye on the place. As he was leaving, though, I stopped him one more time.

  “We just checked out Diggs’ house yesterday, and somebody trashed the place. Any idea who might have done that? He’s missing something he’d really like to find.”

  Yet again, the poor guy looked uncomfortable. He glanced toward Diggs, then lowered his voice when he spoke.

  “If you’re missing something, there’s two places I’d check: here, and Laurie Smith’s place.”

  “You think Reverend Diggins trashed his place?” I asked. Diggs hadn’t turned around, but I could tell from his posture that he’d heard.

  “I told you,” Jed said. “He was nuts. And Laurie’s not playing with a whole deck, either.”

  “Okay. Thanks a lot,” I said. I scribbled the number of my Tracfone on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. “If you think of anything else, or you see someone nosing around over here, I’d really appreciate it if you’d give me a call.”

  “Will do. Take care of yourselves,” Jed said. “I don’t know what in hell’s going on, but it seems like you’ve stepped in something big. Be careful.”

  I promised him we would. After he was gone, Diggs returned to the table and sat down beside me. He leaned down and rested his head on the table—which was sad, but also disgusting given Daddy Diggs’ cleaning habits lately. I rubbed his back.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “About which thing?” he asked without looking up. “The fact that my father was banging a barely eighteen-year-old or the fact that he thought I was a demon sent to make his life a living hell? Or that he apparently thought my dead little brother was living with him?”

  “All of the above,” I said. “This begs a pretty big question, though. If it’s possible your father really was J.’s number-two guy for the mission in April, why the hell would they kill him?”

  Diggs considered the question. He really was off his game—I would have thought he would have gotten here before me. I had mercy and put the pieces together for him myself. “What if the person who ran your father down wasn’t someone from J.? What if instead it’s the same one who’s been killing the other J. operatives these last few months?”

  “Why would they start with the alternate instead of the go-to guy on the list?” he asked.

  “Killing the go-to guy hasn’t worked for them,” I pointed out. “They kill the guy, but J.’s plans still come through. But maybe they figure if they take out the alternate and Mike Reynolds…”

  “Which means Reynolds is next,” Diggs said.

  I got up, my mind already in overdrive. “We have to get over there.”

  Diggs didn’t budge.

  “Why aren’t you moving? Whoever is doing this could be about to off Reynolds as we speak.”

  He didn’t say a thing. Didn’t move.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I said. “If he dies—”

  “If he dies, what?” Diggs said. His voice was cool enough to drop the temperature in the room. “You heard what he said tonight. Saw the way he lives. Who knows what he’ll do to those kids, or what he’s got planned for this town. We can catch him, or someone else can just take him out.”

  “That’s a great plan if we’re now following the Sociopath’s Guide to the Universe. If it’s all the same to you, I’m not ready to resort to that yet. Besides which, what if he has information?”

  I started for the door without waiting for his response.

  “You’re just going to leave without me?” he called after me.

  “Unless you get your ass in gear, yeah. Come on.”

  I forced myself not to look back, but I won’t deny it was a relief when I heard him open and close the door behind me.

  Chapter Seven

  “Change of plan,” I said when we climbed into Monty’s van a couple minutes later. “And thanks again for coming to the rescue. I knew you guys would come in handy.” />
  Monty shifted his driver’s seat, currently reclined, to the locked-and-upright position. He cast a lazy glance over his shoulder at me. “Always glad to be of service. If there’s anything else I can do you for…”

  “There is,” I interrupted before he got too far down that path. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Whoever killed my father is most likely about to try and take out Mike Reynolds,” Diggs said, with considerably less urgency. “Solomon here is of the opinion that we need to stop them.”

  “Based on the story you told about what just went down over there, why the hell would we want to do that?” Monty said.

  Diggs raised his eyebrows at me. “See?” he whispered.

  “Just take us to Reynolds’ place, would you?” I said. “At the very least, we can try to get the kids out of there so they don’t get caught in the crossfire. Or does your newfound brand of vigilante justice mean we just leave them to die, too?”

  “Do you have a plan for how you would like to do that?” Carl asked. “Men like Mike Reynolds aren’t the type to simply relinquish their families.”

  “Just drive,” I said. “I’ll think of something on the way.”

  Monty put the van in gear.

  It was barely nine o’clock when we rolled up at the Reynolds’ place. It felt like midnight. The dog started barking before we reached the gate, and all three floodlights came on. Monty’s stealthy black van might as well have been painted lime green in the glare. The front door of one of the trailers opened, and Mike Reynolds appeared. Even from a distance, I could see the shotgun in his hands.

  “Get out of here!” he shouted, already moving. Our headlights illuminated him as he ran headlong toward us, shotgun up. “I’ve had it—get off my property!”

  I was guessing after his run-in with Diggs earlier that night, Mike would not be inclined to talk things out this time. Monty put the van in reverse, pulled a U-turn on the narrow road, and sped away.

  “What if we call the cops?” I asked as we drove off. “Tell them we have evidence suggesting Reynolds’ kids are in danger. You saw the conditions there. It’s not like anything we said would be unfounded.”