Wow, there were some advantages of small-town living. Word traveled fast. Really fast. Now that I thought about it, that could be an advantage or disadvantage depending on the circumstance.
“Evie and Sherman, how about if you guys go and get another car. I’ll wait here and ride out to the garage to see how long this will take. I’ve got to file my police report also.”
“If you’re sure,” Sherman said.
“I’ll be fine.” I hoped my words were true. I could never be certain about these things.
I also hoped it would warm up because it was bitterly cold, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of staying out here on the sidewalk much longer. The wind went right through me until my veins felt like pipes that were about to freeze and burst.
Evie and Sherman piled into Talmadge’s SUV and took off with a promise to be in touch.
I backed up against a building to wait.
I still couldn’t get over it. I’d made a lot of people mad in my day. Like, a lot of people. More than I could list on two hands. Or four. Or fifty.
But usually I’d done something first. In this case, I was only skimming the surface of the investigation. I had no reason for someone to feel so threatened by me. It made my head spin.
I scanned the street one more time, making sure the bad guy hadn’t stayed close to gloat. I saw only a family strolling by and a somewhat homeless-looking man riding his bike. No one that raised suspicions.
Just then, my phone rang. I’d hoped it was Riley—I could use his rationale to talk me through this. I also needed to tell him I wouldn’t make it for the showing today. Not without a car.
My heart sank.
I’d so been looking forward to that.
But it wasn’t Riley. It was Garrett. I tried to transform myself into the professional I knew I was deep down inside and not the snarky girl who was feeling frustrated and mouthy.
“How’s it going?” His British accent made everything sound exotic and fascinating, like I should be Sherlock Holmes, at best; a character in Monty Python, at worst.
As another gust of wind swept over the city street, I slipped into the doorway of the Rock Fish Tavern, hoping the alcove would help protect me from the wind until the police and a tow truck arrived.
“I’ve already made enemies,” I told Garrett. “How’s that for a start?”
“Usually it’s the sign of a good beginning. One with a bang.” He lowered his tone. “You are safe, right?”
Hmm . . . how did I answer that? “I’m alive. So far.”
“I’d never want you to put yourself in danger, of course.”
“Of course. And I’m great at staying out of danger.” Why did everyone always think it was impossible for me to simply live a safe existence?
“I believe you’re joking.”
I smiled and nestled closer to the bricks around me. “You believe correctly.”
“Well, I thought I’d let you know that Jessie seemed very impressed after your initial meeting. She’s trying not to get her hopes up.”
“Well, I have a 100-percent success rate when it comes to solving cold cases. Unfortunately, I’ve only really ever tried to solve two.”
He chuckled. “I love your honesty, Gabby. I never have to worry about you lying to me.”
“If only everyone loved my honesty.” I was truthful, but it was in a different way than Evie. If I said something off balance, I usually realized it and apologized. Evie seemed clueless. Or like she didn’t care. And I’d learned to temper my honesty. After all, one attracted more bees with honey than vinegar.
“If you need anything let me know, okay?” Garrett said.
“Of course.”
Just as I hung up, Detective Hanson came to a stop in front of my car. Great. He was just the person I wanted to see. Because I wanted to talk to him about Dewey.
“We’re usually a more welcoming town than this,” Detective Hanson said.
We were sitting in his sedan, and the heat had never felt as wonderful as it poured from the vents in front of me and at my feet.
I told him about my tires, and he’d already taken photos to document the vandalism.
“You heard about the gas leak yesterday?” I asked. Apparently, the detective hadn’t been able to make it himself because of an accident on the highway.
“I sure did. I talked to the fire chief already. That’s a shame.”
A shame would be an understatement.
All these setbacks were only serving to . . . set me back. Yes, I had a way with words. Even the mental ones that no one heard but me.
“I agree,” I said. “I’m just glad we caught it before anything bad happened.”
“I’m glad too. I can assure you that, on an ordinary day, our biggest concern is a scuffle between neighbors or a traffic accident. Nothing like this. How’s the investigation going? Have you been pushing some buttons?”
“If we’re pushing, we’re not pushing hard. We haven’t uncovered enough evidence to do that yet.” I paused. “I do have a question for you. Did you ever look into Dewey Witherspoon?”
His cheeks flushed. “I know what the rumors are. People think that I turned a blind eye to him because we’re related, but I wouldn’t do that.”
“Where did he get the money that he flashed all over town?”
His jaw visibly tightened. “We can’t verify it. And it’s not illegal to have money. Dewey leases that land to farmers, and that’s what he lives off. As you might know, he doesn’t spend any of that money on his house or cars. He just likes to show the cash off and make people think he’s important.”
“So, you found no evidence that he was behind the murders?” I clarified.
“That’s right. No evidence at all. That’s why he wasn’t even listed as a person of interest in our files.”
I crossed my arms, disappointed that I hadn’t gotten more information yet. “I have to admit, the answers aren’t coming to us easily, nor are the leads.”
“If they did, we would have solved this ten years ago.” Detective Hanson stared at me.
Was that challenge in his gaze? Satisfaction? Or was it just a statement of fact? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t like not being sure.
“That could be true,” I finally said. “We’re retracing Margie’s and Ron’s footsteps today.”
“I hope those footsteps lead you to some answers.”
“Me too.”
The tow truck pulled up, and it was time for me to face the music—and that meant figuring out how this was all going to work. I knew I needed to call my insurance company and get a copy of the police report and probably fill out a bunch of other paperwork. Plus there was my deductible. My sweet deductible. I’d chosen a higher one in hopes of never having to use it.
I’d been wrong—something I hoped I would not be saying about this case.
Maybe a mystery in a town where time had stood still was a great way to start this cold case squad. Because in most places, people would have come and gone, and tracking down people who’d been around a decade ago would have felt next to impossible. Here in Cape Charles, it was seeming easier by the second. People put down roots here. Deep roots.
For example, even the mechanic had been in town ten years ago and remembered the murder. His name was Big Al, which was funny since he was a small man with red hair. He was a walking contradiction from the images stirred by the name of his business—a big, burly Al Capone-type of man who spoke with a New Jersey accent.
“That’s the kind of thing you don’t forget,” he said, squatting down to examine my tires.
Nearly everyone had said that, and I could understand it. People had been traumatized by the crime. Was there a psycho on the loose? Would he attack again? Or did one of their own have some deadly secrets that no one had known about? It was unsettling, to say the least.
“What theories did you hear circulating?” I asked, beginning with my normal spiel.
I leaned back against the greasy counter full of wrenches
and other tools I couldn’t identify. Thankfully, I was wearing dark-wash jeans that would conceal any residual stains. The scent of motor oil was oddly comforting to me now.
“I didn’t hear many rumors, other than the normal. A serial killer was targeting people on Lankford Highway. I also heard it was a murder suicide.”
“I hadn’t heard that first theory yet.” Someone had suggested a random killer traveling down the road. Perhaps that was what he was talking about.
He stood, tires properly examined. I assumed, at least.
“People were coming up with all kinds of crazy theories,” he said. “I guess a theory was better than no answers at all. Everyone started sleeping with their doors locked at night. No more open windows. And that was the one thing about this area. People always felt safe, you know?”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” I tilted my head the other direction. “If you were investigating, and you had to start by questioning one person, who would it be?”
He thought about it a moment. “I’d start with Jessie’s old boyfriend, Jarrod Hedges.”
“Jarrod Hedges?” His name was another first for me.
I liked that. I needed a bigger pool of suspects.
“No one ever looked into him, as far as I know. But I told the police that I saw him arguing with Ron a few days before the murder.” He turned to his computer and began entering some information there.
“Jessie was only thirteen when the murder happened, though. She had a boyfriend?”
I thought back to when I was that age. Did I have a boyfriend? Maybe. It all seemed like such a long time ago. It was the time when text messaging was just in its infancy. Before the Kardashians were famous. Before fidget spinners were a gleam in their inventor’s eyes.
He quirked an eyebrow. “I guess you never saw pictures of Jessie at that age? Yeah, she had a boyfriend. She matured early, as some people would say. She looked like she was at least sixteen, if not older. Jarrod was seventeen, and, needless to say, the family didn’t approve of their relationship.”
“I can see why.” Funny that Jessie hadn’t mentioned Jarrod. “Is he still in this area?”
“Sure, he is. He works at a vineyard over near Onancock. Graceland. It’s easy to find.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Now about your car . . . I need to special order these tires. It’s going to be a couple of days, at least. Or I can have it towed over to Virginia Beach, but crossing the Bridge Tunnel will be a pretty penny. Three dollars a mile, plus a seventy-five dollar hook-up fee.”
I did a mental calculation. “I’ll wait two days then.”
So much for seeing that house with Riley tonight. I pulled out my phone so I could break the news to him.
On a positive note, I guessed it was a good thing that Evie and Sherman were here. Otherwise, I’d be walking home right now. Because, sure enough, Uber didn’t service this area. I’d checked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Twenty minutes later, Evie and Sherman had picked me up, and we continued with our plan for the day. Using my expert navigational skills—also known as my GPS—I guided her on where to pull over along the highway.
When we found the approximate location, we eased to a stop on the gravel-lined shoulder. I wasn’t sure exactly what this would prove—probably nothing except give me a better idea of the Simmons’s last day. And I was okay with that. I needed to get inside their heads.
I stepped out of the sedan and maneuvered away from oncoming traffic. Cars zoomed by, the smell of exhaust hung in the air, and the ground shook from eighteen-wheelers careening toward their destinations.
Evie and Sherman joined me as I paused there and glanced around.
Woods stood tall and thick beside me. Across the road was a field of crops. I couldn’t spot any businesses or houses in any direction.
There was nothing in this area except the highway. No visible or obvious reason for them to stop here. I wanted a reason to hit me like a stray rock shattering a car windshield.
On second thought, maybe that wasn’t the best analogy, considering where I was standing.
Their truck had been in working condition and without any visible problems. There were no flat tires or anything else the police had found that would have caused them to pull over.
So what had happened?
Even more so, the two would have had to cross these four busy lanes to reach the other side of the road. It was uncertain if they’d gone somewhere on foot or if they’d gotten into a car with someone else. But this was a busy place to stop.
I couldn’t believe that no one had seen anything.
I walked farther down the road’s shoulder, hoping to get some inspiration, and paused. There on the edge were several pieces of broken glass. I knew this wasn’t from Ron and Margie’s truck—it hadn’t even crashed—but I couldn’t help thinking this was symbolic of what had happened here.
Tragedy. A future suddenly broken. Evidence of a happy past left in shards.
I snapped from my thoughts when I heard Evie and Sherman bickering behind me about whether couponing was the best use of people’s time and resources. It was an odd argument considering both were single and neither seemed like the couponing type. But Evie just liked having something to argue about, I feared.
I needed to end their argument before it gave me a headache. “How far away was the actual scene of the crime?”
Evie checked something on her phone “Less than a mile.”
“This is all so strange,” I muttered. “I just don’t understand why their car would be right here of all places.”
“What if someone pulled them over?” Sherman suggested. “A police officer, maybe.”
“That should have been in the report, if so,” Evie said.
“Not if it was a dirty cop,” Sherman said, wagging his eyebrows. “Maybe they were pulled over and forced to walk to the scene of the crime.”
“That would be risky,” I said. “There’s a good chance someone would have seen a police cruiser behind this car and reported it once the story about their deaths came out. This is a busy highway.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Evie said. “No one saw anything?”
“If they did, they didn’t report it,” I said. But this line of questioning was on the right track. We needed to think through each detail “So, what’s another reason? Remember—there are no bad ideas when brainstorming. Unless they involve Chuck Norris.”
“What?” Evie asked.
“Never mind.” I tried to use pop-culture humor on someone who had no interest in either pop culture or humor.
My mistake.
“What if someone had broken down here and the Simmons pulled over to help?” Sherman said.
“It’s a possibility,” I said. “Especially if we subscribe to the Lankford Highway serial killer theory.”
“What?” Evie asked.
That’s when I realized I hadn’t shared that theory. “Some people believed there was a serial killer hunting people on this highway. That’s what Big Al told me.”
“Who?” Evie asked.
“The friendly neighborhood mobster—I mean, mechanic.”
“Is there any evidence of a possible serial killer?” Sherman asked.
“I don’t know. I just heard about it, and I haven’t had any time to do research.”
“Well, it’s certainly an interesting theory.” Evie crossed her arms and her breaths came out in frosty poofs. “If it was someone just passing through then there’s a good chance this killer could never be found. And that’s a daunting thought.”
Sherman nodded and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “I agree. Our chances of finding the killer would be slim to none, virtually making this the perfect crime.”
I didn’t like the thought of that. Failure was not an option.
“I don’t think we’re going to get anything here,” I said. “We’re just theorizing. How about if we go to the crime scene and check it out instead?�
��
“Let’s do that,” Evie said. “But I don’t expect to get any more there than we did here.”
Thanks for that, Little Miss Sunshine.
But, as much as I wanted to argue with Evie, she was most likely correct. I just hoped we weren’t spinning our wheels too long.
As we traveled, I made some mental notes.
Ron and Margie had eaten in Cape Charles. They’d then traveled north eight miles from the town, up toward Machipongo, and had pulled over on the highway. The death scene was a mile away from their car, toward the bay. Their bodies had washed up three miles south of the spot where they’d died, near Eastville.
We tromped through the woods and then a field. Finally, we reached a shoreline—a beautiful shoreline with a sandy beach and glorious water. There was a lone pier there and an eerie old farmhouse stood just beyond it, partially concealed by underbrush and overgrown trees.
Detective Hanson knew the owner and had cleared us to check it out. No one had lived on the property for years. In fact, it was up for sale and had been for nearly a decade. Part of the white clapboard house had been burned down by an arsonist four years ago.
After testing a few boards, I walked out onto the pier and paused, staring at the water. I would have stayed longer and pretended this was a peaceful moment but, again, the wind nearly took my breath away. Waves splashed against the pilings and sent a mist over my legs. A crab swam by below, surfacing for long enough to say hello.
“It was a miracle this crime scene was ever found at all,” Evie said, pulling her black leather coat closer around her.
It had been a near miracle that the death scene had been discovered at all. Some boaters had just happened to pull up to an old pier while they were out. One of the men had spotted the blood and the bullet casings and called the police.
“I guess the police were able to calculate the current and the wind and placed their death in this general area,” I said.
Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13) Page 8