Bad Bones (Claire Morgan)

by Linda Ladd

  McKay considered her for a rather long moment, and then he chuckled and shook his head. “If I were you, my unrequited future lover, I wouldn’t use any of what you just said in the heartfelt wedding vows you recite to Nick at the altar. He might wonder if you have a few misgivings about the whole thing.”

  “He knows I don’t have any misgivings, zero, nada, nil,” she said firmly. But truth was, Black did think that, and she knew it. She guessed it was true, too, if she was being completely honest. But she wanted to be with him enough to marry him, if that’s the way it had to be. And apparently, it was. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, after all, and it wasn’t that she was dead set against a wedding. She was just a little nervous to take the plunge, that’s all.

  “So do you have your dress yet?”

  Claire’s frown was quick and massive. “I cannot believe that all you big, tough, grown men, and you a Marine, Joe, are so hung up on what I’m gonna wear to the wedding. What difference does it make, anyway? It’s just a dress to put on when I walk down the aisle, and that’s all it is. A bunch of fluff and lace and seed pearls.”

  “I wouldn’t include that cynical little insight in your vows, either.” McKay took a big bite of his bagel and eyed her askance while he chewed it. “Are you really gonna wear fluff and lace and seed pearls? You? Claire Morgan? That’s a little hard to wrap my mind around. And I’m gettin’ the distinct feeling that you are not exactly gung-ho about your upcoming nuptials.”

  “I am, too. I’m very gung-ho. I want to marry Black in the worst way. I just have my mind on other more important things right now.”

  “Okay. When’s the worst day of my life gonna be? I don’t want to miss it. Miss it in that I want to be a million miles down the road when you say I do. Besides that, I don’t intend to give up on having you for myself until you actually tie the knot with Nick.”

  Claire sighed. He was just kidding, she knew that, but the subject was truly getting old. What did she have to do to discourage him? Tattoo Black’s name on her forehead? “Okay, now you’re coming off creepy, Joe, sleazy, even. And no, we haven’t set the date yet.”

  “And again, I hear the heels of your Nike high-tops dragging a trail through the dirt.”

  “He said I could set the date, and I’m giving it a lot of thought.”

  “Well, that was his first mistake.” He grinned, and looked like his cocky self when he did it. “What’re you gonna do? Wait a decade or two, and then pick a day the poor guy can look forward to?”

  “What’s it to you, Joe? It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, truth be told? I just think Nick deserves better than that outta you, although I envy him every single day of my life for landing you as his woman.”

  Claire laughed. “You make me sound like a big fat bass. And uncaring.”

  “Don’t torture the poor besotted guy. I’m just sayin’. Hell, if it were me you said yes to, I’d hogtie you and carry you to the altar with my brute animal strength. Elopement, that’s the only way to go. Get it done, get you bedded and pregnant and tied to me forever. Then reap the rewards.”

  “Yeah, and you’re a Neanderthal chauvinist, too. But don’t worry your little head about Black. He knows exactly how I feel about him, and he knows that we’re gonna get married. He isn’t insecure about me, believe it. In fact, I asked him to marry me. And, oh, yeah, he doesn’t carry a big club to knock me over the head with, like you knuckle-dragging cavemen do.”

  “Well, good. I guess.”

  They laughed together a little and started eating their bagels, but Joe McKay was no fool. Between bites, he said, “Okay, what’d you need me for? Something for one of your cases, I take it? Otherwise there’s not a bluebird’s chance in hell that you’d come up here to my house in the dead of winter and sit down and slather up some breakfast bagels with me.”

  “Yeah, but don’t say it that way. It makes me sound like a jerk.”

  “I’m happy to see you anywhere, anytime, that goes without sayin’. Even if you’re just usin’ me again.” But he grinned and winked.

  “Alrighty then. We found a victim frozen to the bottom of a cliff a few days ago. He turned out to be one of those cage fighters that are so popular now. My investigation led me up this way. I’ve heard a lot of these young fighters hail from around here. That true?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that. What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Paulie Parker. Wife’s name is Blythe.”

  Joe put down his mug and leaned back. “I know him. I’ve seen her around, too, I think. Does she have real white skin and look like Casper the Ghost’s skinny sister?”

  “Yeah, pretty much, although that’s not exactly the kindest way to put it.”

  “Parker’s from a farm family who live out here. There’s a whole clan of ’em up the road. And they are not to be trifled with. In fact, their property line backs up to mine. So does the Fitch property, and somebody else’s by the name of Dale. All situated back behind my woods. There’s a stream that runs back there, too, between all four properties. Forms a little lake, of sorts.”

  “Okay, I take it that you’ve trifled with the Parkers?”

  “They have a kinda general store thing not too far up this road. Sells groceries and guns and ammunition and booze. They raise dogs and provide vet services and raise holy hell, now and again.”

  “Want to go up there with me, Joe? Nose around some? See what kinda dirt we can scrounge up on them?”

  “Yeah. Like I want a hole in my head.”

  “Thanks for the enthusiasm.”

  “They’re pretty much rednecks, I guess you’d say, and a little on the rough side of that spectrum. And I don’t mean the Willie and Jace Robertson kind of rednecks, either.”

  “Who’re Willie and Jace Robertson?”

  “Hellooo? Duck Dynasty? Don’t you have a TV? The Robertson family’s got a reality show set down in Louisiana. Makes duck calls. Real good people. But listen up, Claire, the Parkers are the real thing and they can be dangerous. Especially if the Fitches are around.”

  “The Fitches?”

  “That’s the other family that lives up around there. They breed those fighters you’re talkin’ about, too. Those two families have got a real Hatfield and McCoy type of thing going on, one that you do not want to get involved in. I’m not kiddin’ anymore, either. You need to stay clear of all that.”

  “Is there a Fitch out there who goes by the name Malachi? Mal, for short.”

  Joe shrugged. “Hell if I know. I don’t know them all by name. There’s lots of them. On both sides.”

  “Any of them have it in them to bludgeon somebody to death with a blunt instrument?”

  “Yeah, each and every one, I’d say.”

  “You sound a little scared of them.”

  “I respect their proclivity to violence and the relish with which they indulge in it, true.”

  Sometimes, Joe actually shed his tough guy, bumpkin act and revealed his intellect and education. Not very often, true. In fact, it had taken her a long time to find out that he was college educated at UCLA and attained a high rank in the Marine Corps. He had a softie side to him, too, all right, especially when it came to his little daughter, Lizzie.

  “I’ve gotta go up there today and check things out. See if Blythe has notified Paulie Parker’s kinfolk about his demise. See if they know who might’ve done this to him. She thinks it was somebody in the Petrov organization.”

  “You don’t mean those badass wiseguys out of East St. Louis?”

  “Yeah, afraid so.”

  Joe sighed. “You just cannot keep your pretty little butt out of trouble, can you? It’s a gift I guess.”

  “I just do my job. Law enforcement is dangerous work. We carry guns, and everything.”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing, and you can mark my words in red ink. The Parker clan is gonna think it was a Fitch who killed Paulie, and then they’ll seek out one of them and kill him. Then the Fitches will retaliate and
beat to death another Parker as payback.”

  Claire leveled shocked eyes on him. “No way.”

  “Oh, yeah. They’re that dangerous, if you mess with them. Otherwise, they keep to themselves and cause no trouble. That feud runs hard and deep, I know that, but I don’t know what caused it. They probably don’t, either. I don’t hang around up there and ask nosy questions, believe me. You shouldn’t, either, if you value your good health and want to be a healthy physical presence at your own wedding.”

  “I’m getting similar warnings at every turn in this investigation. Well, sorry, but I’m going up there, as soon as I finish another cup of this delicious coffee.”

  “Are you armed?”

  Claire smiled. “Well, what’d you think, Joe? And take a look at this sweet little Glock 19 that Black got me.” She slid the new nine out of its holster attached to her belt and handed it over to him butt first.

  “Nice piece,” he agreed, examining it carefully. “I’ve heard about them, but I haven’t shot one yet.”

  “Wanna help me sight it in?”

  “Sure.”

  “You still have that shooting range set up out back?”

  “Yeah. It’s a little icy out there at the moment.”

  “Let’s go. My snow boots have traction. Then you can decide if you want to back me up when I ferret out the Parkers and the Fitches and read them their rights.”

  “Over my dead body you’re goin’ in up there alone, so I guess I’ll have to tag along. At least, I know some of them a little. They are the quintessential hillbillies. Distrustful, rowdy, dangerous, and unfriendly to strangers. Not to mention, deadly.”

  “Sounds like a fun bunch.”

  “Maybe to you.”

  “Well, if you ever hear a barrage of gunfire on your back forty, come running. It’ll probably be me taking down the Beverly Hillbillies.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my ears open.”

  But Claire had a feeling Joe was exaggerating a bit. After all, it was the twenty-first century. Out back, the two of them took turns shooting the 9mm for a while, and Claire was extremely pleased with the heft and the way the new Glock handled. The trigger was a little different than her other Glock, but it was a sweet little weapon, nevertheless. She loved it, but she wasn’t giving up her other guns just yet, either. Probably never, actually. She wondered if carrying three guns would weigh her down too much. Sure would help boost her self-confidence meter.

  McKay insisted on taking his pickup truck, and it didn’t take long before he was driving up the twisting, turning, and heavily wooded blacktop road, where all they saw were rusty mailboxes identifying overgrown and snowy entrance tracks that seemed to lead out into the middle of nowhere. If there was a feud, she wondered how they ever ran into each other to start fights in such rural and isolated surroundings. Finally, and after quite a stomach-turning journey, they rounded a sharp curve and came upon a rather large and rustic gasoline station/quick stop sitting on the right side of the road. It was really just a large white house with a sign on top identifying it as PARKER’S QUICK STOP. A hand-lettered sign taped on the front door read: NO DAMNED FITCHES ALLOWED.

  “Yeah, Joe. I’d say there’s a feud, all right.”

  “Told ya.”

  McKay pulled up next to one of the pumps, and they both got out. McKay said, “I’m gonna fill up here just so we’ll get off on the right foot with the proprietors.”

  “Scaredy cat.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I’m going on in, check things out.”

  “Don’t start interrogating them until I get there, okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll buy us some hot chocolate and some Snickers bars first.”

  “Just don’t get in a fight with them until I get there.”

  “You and Black, I declare. You both act like I’m some kind of bully or troublemaker.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Shut up and pump your gas.”

  Claire left him doing just that and warily watching the front of the store, as if goblins were going to fly out on brooms and dive-bomb them. She couldn’t help but notice several more signs around the station, all warning off the elusive Fitches. She wondered if that was even legal. She thought not. But she could think of more than a few people that she would like to ban from her property.

  Inside, the store looked a lot like the interior of a Cracker Barrel restaurant, except that the quaint gift shop had turned into a gun show. Of course, that was right up her alley so she browsed a time, but didn’t see a single thing that she liked better than Black’s prized gift, now snug in its bed on her right hip. The place also offered enough camouflage to clad the entire volunteer army, plus various and sundry hunters and fishermen. Yep, only Bass Pro Shop down in Springfield beat them in sheer quantity of hunting merchandise. There were also knives and army surplus and lots of insulated and thermal long underwear and fur-lined, ear-flapped, WWII era, leather bomber pilot hats for winter weather. She ought to buy one for Black as a joke. She laughed to herself to think of him sitting at his important conference table and wearing that kind of cap, maybe with the furry flaps down and snapped under his chin. Nope, not in a million years would he ever put something like that on his handsome head.

  The other side of the big building held groceries like any quick stop anywhere that was worth its salt: chips, candy, gum, lots of beer, sodas, ice cream, bottled water, not to mention the doe urine, gun oil, snuff, and chewing tobacco. She didn’t see much in the way of hairspray, combs, soap, perfume, body wash, or anything girly, not that she wanted any of it. There was also a little snack bar in the back with hot lamps blazing down on the food trays. She walked over and observed the goodies. There was fried chicken, fried fish, fried squirrel, fried potatoes, and fried pies for dessert. Smelled good, too. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad, after all.

  Only problem was, there didn’t seem to be any people within a hundred miles of the place. So she just made herself at home, moseyed around, looking for bloody baseball bats or other deadly weapons used recently and didn’t see a one. She made two supersized insulated cups of hot chocolate, sipped one as she picked up a couple of Snickers bars and walked over to the counter. She looked around again, noticing the myriad of surveillance cameras set up high in every corner and behind the counter. She placed her items on the counter, looked up at the camera, and pointed at her purchases. If that didn’t work, maybe she’d shoot a few slugs up into the ceiling and see what happened. Hell, she wasn’t a damned Fitch, was she? So what was the problem?

  Turning around, she watched Joe approach the front door and push it open. A rush of cold air came in with him and blew around the corncob pipes hanging on a rack beside the door. Joe came right up to her and said, “Where’s the clerk?”

  “You tell me. Shoplifters would have a heyday in here.”

  “Yeah, and they’d get their heads blown off by a Parker shotgun.”

  “Ssh, they might be listening and take offense.”

  “Maybe he’s out back with the dogs.”

  Claire handed him his drink. “Well, let’s go see, shall we? It’ll give us a good excuse to case out the property.”

  “They’ve always been right here at the register when I’ve come in. This is pretty unusual.”

  So they moved cautiously to a swinging door that obviously led to some storage rooms, or maybe to an office in the back. Joe yelled, “Anybody here?”

  No answer. Claire happily pulled her new weapon, and said, “C’mon, let’s go. Something might be wrong. A robbery in progress, or something.”

  “Well, don’t shoot anybody, or they’ll think we’re Fitches and all hell will break loose.”

  So they moved through the swinging door, Claire first, Joe right behind her. They found a storeroom in back with more camo and beer and ammunition. Surprise, surprise. There was a light coming from a door in the very back and they called out again and headed for it. They found a small and basically bare office with nobody in
it, either. The back door was shut but not quite latched so they opened it and walked out into the rear parking lot. Across the way, they saw a long kennel-barn kind of building with lots of dog runs built along one side. Eight hundred and some odd dogs began to bark and howl.

  “Well, they know we’re here now,” Claire said. She steeled herself, expecting to see somebody dressed like Grizzly Adams with a shotgun held braced against his shoulder walk out the kennel’s door. Mountain men or rednecks, who could tell the difference?

  Suddenly a tall man did thrust open that door. To her shock, he looked like a regular person, normal in every single way, truth be told. He had a curly mop of chin-length dark brown hair that made him look a lot like pictures of Achilles or other ancient Greek warriors and a dark green sweater that looked like it came from the Gap, and pressed gray Dockers. There was a neat mustache and beard trimmed close around his jaw with clean shaven cheeks, also in the Prometheus or Ulysses vein, big brown eyes with very dark lashes, nice even features, and a smile that he used to his advantage as he motioned them over. “Hey, Joe. Sorry I didn’t hear ya’ll. Got busy out here. Come on over.”

  “He doesn’t look so bad if you like reading Homer,” Claire said aside to Joe in a very low voice. “You had me expecting some kind of devil, or king cobra, or something equally poisonous.”

  “Give him time. Just don’t mention the Fitches in his earshot.”

  Claire headed for the refreshingly clean-cut guy posthaste. She would give him time all right, time to tell her everything she needed to know about Paulie Parker and his possible Fitch enemies.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Up close, the Parker guy looked even better. Fairly hot, in a rugged hillbilly, Cabelis sorta way. She looked for cauliflower ears for proof of cage fighting adeptness but found his ears regularly shaped and clean of oil and grime. He was clean all over, actually. His nose was slightly crooked from a possible left jab, though. He kept his eyes on her the entire time they were walking over to him. Hmm. Now why would he do that? Checking her out for concealed weapons?

  “Hi, Joe. Long time no see.” Mr. Neat as a Pin glanced at Joe and then quickly returned his gaze to her. He must find her downright fascinatin’ or want to sell her a fourth gun, probably at twenty percent off with a free box of ammo thrown in to sweeten the deal.