Murder at Stake

by Constance Barker

  “That’s not what she was going to tell him, Mercy.”

  I turned my head toward him quickly, curious about what he knew. “How do you know that, Brody?”

  “Well, I interviewed Florence Carwinkle for almost an hour the day after the murder. She was the only one who really spent any time with Josie after we found the body.”

  “Yes, I remember, she stayed in the house there with her for the rest of the afternoon. So?”

  “So, she told me what Josie was going to tell Carl that night.”

  He slowed down for the railroad tracks just outside of town, but didn’t say any more. From his smug look I knew that he was waiting for my female curiosity gene to make me beg him to tell me more.

  “Oh. That’s interesting.” I smiled at him politely. “It looks like it’s really going to be a lovely day, Brody. Why don’t you drop me off by the side of the road right here. I think I’ll pick blueberries in the woods today, and you can pick me up on your way back after your target practice – and after you’ve solved this case by yourself.” I smiled politely again, trying to do my best impression of a Southern belle.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Right. Well, Josie told Florence that she felt terrible for spending so much time away from the house lately, and now she realized that Jonesy was everything she ever wanted. She wanted to apologize to him and reconcile. And now it was too late.”

  “Hmm. Interesting. So, if that’s true, then she doesn’t really have a motive for killing him. Did she tell Florence if she was having an affair?”

  “She just told her that she had become bored with her life and felt like she needed more – midlife crisis stuff, I guess. So, maybe it was an affair or maybe she ran off and drove race cars for a little excitement a few nights a week. Hard to say.”

  We passed the Incarnation Church and pulled into the parking lot in front of Tully’s Shooting and Archery Range just a couple hundred feet further down the road.

  “Oh! There’s that little red Smart Car again. I have to find out who it belongs to so I can ask them how they like it. It seems so practical, and kind of cute too.”

  “That car? That belongs to Pastor D’Arnaud.”

  “Really? I thought he had a regular-sized car.”

  “I think he does, but his wife drives the other one. That’s the only one I’ve ever seen him driving. The holy man must be practicing again. I see him out here fairly often, maybe because he lives practically next door.”

  “Huh.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Hey, there, Mercy!” Tully greeted me when we checked in at the desk. “I haven’t seen you out here for a while.”

  “Well, the Sheriff thinks I need some practice, Tully.”

  “Practice? Why, you earned your Sharpshooter badge when you were 12, Mercy, and became a High Master before you graduated high school. That’s the black belt of marksmanship. The Sheriff here just became a Marksman-2 last month. He might make Sharpshooter again by fall if he keeps practicing.”

  Again?

  Brody looked at me with his jaw open. “High Master?”

  I shrugged. “Some girls twirled batons. I shot pistols and rifles.”

  Tully gave us the guest book and the standard waiver to sign. “I hope she didn’t rope you into any big money bet before you got here Sheriff,” he said with a wink at me.

  Brody shook his head weakly. “Just lunch.”

  Tully chuckled and looked at me. “At the Hideaway?”

  I nodded enthusiastically and licked my lips.

  “I recommend the 12-ounce filet with sautéed mushrooms and Béarnaise sauce, Mercy.”

  “Hey! This is just lunch, you guys!” Brody was getting worried.

  I patted his chest with my hand. “Don’t worry, cowboy. When I’m in blue jeans, I’m a burger girl – but when you see me in a red dress and four-inch heels, watch out. Let’s go shoot.”

  “Are you going to use your little Beretta, Mercy, or do you want something a little more substantial for target practice?”

  “I brought a 9 millimeter Glock for her, Tully,” Brody said. “We’ll see how she handles a real gun.”

  “Ha!” Tully scoffed. “You want the .357 or the .44 Magnum, Mercy?”

  “I don’t want to scare him, Tully. I’ll go with the standard law enforcement Glock so we’re on a level playing field today.” Besides, Tully’s Dirty Harry .44 Magnum Smith and Wesson kind of scared me. The last time I used it my wrist hurt for two weeks from the recoil.

  “You two should come out here and take out your aggressions on each other with a little paint ball on the weekends. It’s been real popular since we added it this spring. You can shoot each other all day long.”

  “That does sound delightful, Tully!” I looked at Brody with a devilish grin.”

  “We’ll definitely do that, Tully,” Brody said, “but today we’re going to try our luck in Old Dodge City after we practice inside.”

  “Sounds good, but I thought you didn’t like that course Sheriff...reminded you too much of kicking in doors in Afghanistan...”

  Whoa!

  “...There’s a rack of vests by the back door – they’re required, of course. The reverend is probably still out there. He likes to go through it quite a few times when he’s here. Say, Mercy, do me a favor.”

  “Sure, Tully. What is it?”

  “Holster up this paint ball gun and give it a try when you’re done with the course. I got a fence back there at the end of the course lined up with whiskey bottles and beer cans. This is supposed to be pretty accurate at 10 yards or so, but I’d like your opinion before I order up a bunch of them. Some of the customers aren’t happy with the ones I got now.”

  “Will do, Tully.” I strapped on the belt and holstered the large CO2 pistol. “Ready, Sheriff Hayes?”

  “After you, High Master.”

  All of the evidence we had discussed on the way was rolling through my mind, and I was trying to make sense out of it as we shot the targets. I emptied my clip into the paper target 15 yards away.

  “So, where do you suppose Josie is, Brody?” I asked as he slowly lined up a shot on the target, which was a black silhouette of a man’s torso and head.

  “I suppose someplace far away by now, Mercy. She must have left in a hurry. Didn’t look like she packed anything, not even her toothbrush. She didn’t even grab her sweater off the coat rack by the door.” His hand seemed a little unsteady, and he kept aiming the whole time he was talking. Then he finally shot once.

  “I think the bad guy would either be gone or would have a half-dozen rounds in your chest by now, Brody. This isn’t precision rifle practice, it’s self-defense and law enforcement quick response in here. You don’t have anything to prove to me, Brody. Just plug a few shots in the bad guy – center of mass – before he gets away.”

  He shot seven more times quickly, and we hit the button to bring the targets to us on the zipline so we could see how we did.

  “Too much coffee this morning, Brody? You seem a little jittery.”

  “Uh...yeah, yeah. I must’ve drunk a whole pot.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Brody. I don’t think Josie would run away without a word. I’m worried about her.”

  We looked at the targets. Mine had a tight cluster of four bullets in the head and four in the heart. Brody’s had six spread out around the whole torso and two that missed to the left.

  “Nice groupings,” he said.

  “Your guy is just as dead. Let’s make it fair this time,” I said as he attached a new paper target for each of us. “You bring yours in to 10 yards, and I’ll move mine out to 25 yards. This one is for lunch.” I could tell his manhood felt challenged, but we set our targets at those distances. “Five seconds to unload your clip from the time you pick up your gun. You go first.”

  He picked up his gun and put eight quick shots into the target. He had done pretty well and looked pleased with himself. �
�Your turn, ma’am.”

  My mind was still whirring over the evidence as I picked up the Glock, aimed, and pulled the trigger one time. Then I stopped as a revelation came into my mind. Brody looked confused as we brought our targets in. We looked at his first: three in the belly, three in the right shoulder, and two in the left shoulder.

  “Looks like he’s in for a few hours of surgery,” he said. “I thought I’d done better than that. But, unless your one shot – at 75 feet – hit him right in the heart, you might be buying lunch today after all. Let’s take a look...”

  Brody took a look at the single bullet hole right between the eyes of the target image and just shook his head. “Nice work, Mercy.”

  I was still silent and had a faraway look in my eyes.

  “What’s wrong Mercy? Is everything all right.”

  “Brody,” I looked at him with a serious and unblinking gaze, “I know who the killer is.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “So, am I going to have to go into the woods and pick blueberries, or are you going to tell me who killed Carl Jones, Mercy?”

  I inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. “Let me just noodle it around for a while first, see if there are any flaws in my logic. We’ll talk about it during lunch.” I sent off a detailed text to Deloris at the diner, put the safety on the Glock, and tucked it under the holster belt. “Nice handgun, well-balanced and accurate. Are we going outside to shoot some outlaws?”

  “Yep. Let’s stop in the cantina – I’ll treat you to a soda and a bag of chips.”

  “Trying to fill me up before lunch?”

  He laughed. “That’s not a bad idea!”

  It was a nice break, and I began to see things in Brody’s face and eyes that he had never shown me before. He didn’t want to talk much about Afghanistan, but I got the feeling that he had been part of a special forces unit.

  “Well, time’s a-wasting!” I said, standing up. “That five-minute break turned into 20, but it was nice. The vests are over here.”

  We got suited up and went outside. The red light was on, indicating that another group was still on the course. A lovely teenaged girl was in a chair, monitoring the flow for Tully.

  “You have to wait for the light to turn green,” she said, “and then you have to stay together so you don’t...”

  “...shoot each other,” I said with a smile as we sat on the bench.

  She nodded. “Follow the green line through the course, it’s kind of a maze, and be ready for things to pop out at you. There will be life-sized posters appearing quickly in doorways, around corners, and even in upstairs windows. Some will be criminals and some will be innocent bystanders – don’t shoot them, or it will really hurt your score. Just two shots per target are allowed. That will get you through the course with three 8-round clips. One of you can take all the targets on the left and the other can take the ones on the right, or you can take them both and get a composite team score. How long it takes you to shoot once the target appears and how long it takes you to get through the course are just important to your score as accuracy. Any questions?”

  “I think that covers it...Mandy. Great job!” I said, looking at her name tag. The name sounded familiar. “Are you Lurleen’s daughter?”

  “Yes, Miss Howard.”

  “My gosh, you were just starting school when I left town, and look at you now!”

  The light turned green, and we wandered off toward our adventure 20 yards away.

  “Team?” I suggested.

  “That’s fine.”

  Pastor D’Arnaud gave us a friendly wave as we crossed paths as he walked back into the waiting area.

  I’m going to have to ask him about that Smart Car when we’re done.

  “Now tell me who killed Jonesy, Mercy.” Brody said, almost whining. “You said you got it all figured out, so let me hear your theory.”

  There was a six-foot high wall of stone with steel rising another six feet above that to keep stray bullets from hitting the building. We walked around it to the starting point. There was a big sign with all the rules that Mandy had already told us, and a big industrial looking button to start the round. I pushed it.

  “Let’s move. Partner,” Brody said, and led the way along the green line toward the first building in town. The sign on it said General Store. The front door popped open and poster of a lady pushing a baby carriage came out.

  “I don’t know – she looks pretty mean,” I said. “Maybe we should shoot her.”

  Brody raised an eye brow at me but a gunslinger popped out from behind the corner of the store, and Brody shot him in the chest in a split second.

  “Wow. Good reaction time, partner.” I was impressed how quickly he reacted and took the accurate shot. But Brody was silent, and his eyes were focused. It was as if his instincts had taken over, and he was totally in the zone.

  “It sounds like there’s something going on in the blacksmith shop up ahead,” he finally said.

  His ears must be tuned in extremely well too, because I hadn’t heard anything. “Maybe something’s getting ready to pop,” I said. “I’ll check on it, so keep any shots to the left side of the street for the time being.”

  He nodded and took out a pair of bad guys by the saloon.

  I poked my head inside the open front wall of the blacksmith shop, expecting to see a blacksmith or an outlaw. Instead, I got the surprise of a lifetime. I heard the click of an old-fashioned revolver being cocked and then a low quiet voice.

  “Drop the gun, Mercy. Your life depends on it.”

  I hated to give up my weapon at the one moment when I might, for the first time in my life, actually need it. But I was no fool; I tossed it to the ground a few feet behind me. Then a shadowy figure began to emerge from behind the anvil. I knew who it was before I even saw him.

  “Good morning Pastor D’Arnaud. I’ve been meaning to ask you about your Smart Car. It looks like it might be pretty economical for running around town.”

  “Cut the happy talk, and turn around.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re the one making the rules right now.”

  “So, you think you know who killed Carl Jones?”

  “Yes...in fact I’m almost certain of it.”

  “I suppose you think you’re pretty smart. Now, very slowly, raise your hands, turn around, and walk out into the street.”

  I felt his gun in my back, and he nudged me forward. Brody was across the street in front of the saloon, and he quickly raised his gun when he saw me being held hostage. The Pastor put his left arm around my neck and put the barrel of his gun on my shoulder.

  “Do you like my perfume, Pastor? It’s called Woman on Top. Kind of ironic right now, I guess, since you clearly have the upper hand.”

  “Shut up. Tell your cowboy to disarm, or his pretty little girlfriend will get a bullet in her head.”

  “Brody! He wants you to throw down your gun.”

  “I can take the shot, Mercy.” Brody hollered back from 20 feet away. “I can get him right in the forehead, no problem.”

  The Pastor nuzzled his head a little closer and halfway behind mine.

  “I know you can, Brody. But there’s no need to kill him.”

  “Drop it, Sheriff!” He ordered, “Or so help me, I’ll kill her.”

  I could feel my captor shaking. “Don’t drop it, Brody, but go ahead and lower your gun.”

  “But, Mercy...”

  “Trust me, Brody.”

  He slowly lowered his gun and stood up straight.

  “You’re playing with your life, Mercy.” The Pastor sounded distraught, and the tone of his voice sounded like he was begging me. I could feel the sweat on his face against the back of my neck. “I said I would kill you, now make him drop it.”

  “But you’re not going to kill me, are you, Pastor?” I took his left hand in mine and pulled it gently away from my neck. “Because you’re not a killer.” I slowly turned halfway around so I could see both him and Brody. “You’re not a kil
ler, are you, Pastor?”

  “Of course, I am. I killed Jonesy. Why else would I be doing this right now?”

  “Because you’re trying to protect somebody.”

  The Pastor jerked as a poster of a fat blacksmith lurched forward. I reached slowly for the barrel of his gun, pushing it lower. Then I took the gun and carefully released the cocking mechanism. I spun the revolving chamber and saw that there were no bullets in the gun. Then I heard some motion beyond the far corner of the saloon and saw a shadow of a woman jutting out towards me. She stepped out into the street with her pistol raised.

  “You’re not the killer, Pastor, because she is.” I pointed to the gun-toting woman who had just joined us. It was Vonnie D’Arnaud, the Pastor’s wife.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “There’s no way you could know that I killed that son-of-a-bitch, Mercy,” Vonnie said in an almost calm manner. “I had every detail covered perfectly.”

  Wow. This was not the same Vonnie I had known for several years. Her demeanor, her crude language – this was a whole different personality. She kept on talking.

  “But he had it all coming, keeping Josie a prisoner in that marriage, just like I’m prisoner in mine.” She took a few steps closer. She was still 30 feet away, but she was strolling a small step closer with every sentence or two. The sun would be up above the high roof of the two-story saloon and in my eyes in a few minutes.

  Come on, Vonnie...a little bit closer...

  Brody’s eyes met mine. I knew what was on his mind, as he still had his Glock in his hand, but I shook my head and diverted my eyes downward toward my holster. Vonnie kept talking.

  “Hey, you know, Kentucky is a death penalty state, so they can only kill me once. Which means I might as well kill all of you. So, I guess it won’t hurt to tell you the whole story before you die.”

  “You see, Jonesy thought that Josie was sneaking out of the house to have an affair with my Donny...”

  The Pastor’s name was Donald D’Arnaud.