MUCH ADO ABOUT MURDER
A Double Barrel Mystery
Barbara E Brink
Smashwords Edition
Copyright May 2016
ISBN 9781311339485
Barbara Ellen Brink
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Cover by Graphic Designer
Katharine A. Brink
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Lapdog Publishing
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Praise for Double Barrel Mysteries
“…an on the cozy-side mystery, fast-paced suspense, and laugh out loud humor. Her characters are strong, easy to like or not, and I found myself easily stepping into the world of Port Scuttlebutt. Author Barbara E Brink’s talents shine most brightly in The Double Barrel Mysteries series.”
~ Joy DeKok, author of Between the Lies
“Barbara E Brink exhibits quite an imagination and skill at setting up a mystery. I loved all the teasing threads and how she tied them together. The characters were real and natural and some so quirky I couldn't wait to see what they'd do next. By the final chapters, I was rushing to get to the resolution. I sincerely hope she makes a series out of Roadkill.”
~ Felicia Mires, author of The World In Between
"Fast-paced, witty, quirky characters and just a touch of romance - the perfect cozy mystery! Shelby's tenacity balances well with Blake's drive for justice. I loved Alice, Tucker, Jack and even Oliver. I'm hooked!"
~ Tammy Doherty, author of She’s Mine
“…an intriguing story with quirky and lovable characters, multi-faceted bad guys, plenty of action, and just the right blend of love and hate. If you love a good mystery, you won’t want to miss this book.”
~ Jan Hines, author of Not Actually Engaged
Table Of Contents:
Scene One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About The Author
SCENE ONE
Gray skies and drizzly rain accompanied the discovery and removal of the body beneath Mr. Dugan’s woodpile. Exactly the kind of day you’d expect death and decay to make an entrance. Clouds moved across a leaden sky with about as much enthusiasm as an organist playing a dirge. A row of stately balsam fir trees lent their overshadowing height to the area, blocking out any stray sunlight. The ground was mucky and strewn with leaves and bits of wood. A chilling wind grasped exposed limbs with fingers of dampness and slithered down spines as coats were zipped and shoulders hunched against the premature onslaught of winter.
The two police officers that responded to the call and arrived first on the scene had already obliterated any possible evidence in the surrounding mud. Tennis shoe prints had been lost amid the deeper crisscross pattern of boots and the staccato paw prints of the excited bloodhound, Jake, who found the body hours earlier and had tried to pull it from behind the woodpile, managing to sever three fingers in the process.
Wrapped in a blood-encrusted blanket and bound with red twine, the body had been buried in a shallow grave behind the shed, under five feet of stacked wood. Readying for winter, Dugan had gone out to the pile to fetch a load of kindling and logs for his wood box. As he filled a wheelbarrow with split logs from the end of the row, his nose was assaulted with the pungent scent of death. Assuming it was an animal of some kind that had crawled under his shed during the summer and died, he didn’t think much of it. But later, when Jake came to the door with a severed finger in his mouth, dropped it on the welcome mat and looked up expectantly wagging his tail, Dugan nearly lost his Wheaties. The police took Mr. Dugan’s statement, the coroner took the body, and the wind took the storm and blew it north to Canada.
The next day was a blessed respite from clouds and wind. Sunshine returned full force. But despite the beautiful weather, Mr. Dugan was taken into custody and his house searched for evidence of foul play. Without a reasonable explanation for a body turning up under his woodpile, the police considered him the most plausible suspect.
CHAPTER ONE
Blake leaned over the sawhorse and braced one hand on the two-by-four he was cutting. The smell of pine floated on the air as the sharp-toothed handsaw steadily chewed through the wood, leaving a sprinkling of sawdust below. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his white t-shirt, making it cling to his chest. A length of sawed off wood dropped to the ground and he straightened, satisfaction in his blue eyes.
“Okay, I was wrong,” Shelby said, eyeing him with renewed respect. “You really do know your way around a construction site, babe. I never should have doubted you.”
“I told you I worked with a construction crew for six months before I became a cop.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d look so good in a tool belt you could sell chain saws to old ladies.” She shielded her eyes with one hand, looking up at the house. “Hey, isn’t that Tucker’s pickup in the driveway? I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Probably came by to see Alice over his lunch break.”
“I don’t think so. He’s headed this way.”
Blake leaned the two-by-four against the sawhorse and slanted her a grin. “Maybe we can put him to work. The sooner we get these offices finished, the sooner we can take on clients and pay for the place. Double Barrel Investigations may have been your brain child, but I got to be truthful with you Shel… when it comes to wielding a hammer, you suck.”
“If that’s your idea of flattery, I’d hate to be on your bad side.”
“I haven’t got a bad side,” he said flexing his muscles.
She rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “Who do you think you are, Fabio?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
He held out the newly sawn board.
She shook her head.
“You want me to do it?”
“You’re the master.
While Blake was busy pounding the two-by-four into place, Tucker stepped into the gutted boathouse. He gazed around with wide-eyed interest at the office area they were busy framing. The smack of the hammer echoed off the walls before Blake turned around with a welcoming grin.
“Hey, Skeleton! You’re just in time.”
“In time for what?” Tucker’s gaze narrowed.
“To help us out. As I recall, you’re an experienced drywall installer.”
“A part-time job for one summer doesn’t make me an expert.”
Blake shrugged. “Okay. You’re a wet-behind-the-ears drywall installer. But we could still use your help. At this rate, we won’t be done before the snow flies.”
The boathouse fire had damaged the entire front wall, door, and part of the roof. Bla
ke had torn down the charred wood, leaving the entrance open to the elements for now. They planned to keep the exterior as rustic as before, while updating the front section with insulated walls and flooring for the offices of their new business. Another door would lead to the rear of the boathouse and the lake beyond. There was still ample room to store a small sailboat there if they ever found spare money in their budget to purchase one.
Tucker slipped his hands in the front pockets of his oversized green hoodie and leaned nonchalantly on one hip. “I’ll do you one better. What if I could promise you free help from a real construction expert?”
“That has the definite twang of tight strings attached.”
Shelby gave Blake a playful swap on the backside. “Look a gift horse in the mouth much?” She grinned at Tucker. “Don’t mind him. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. What’s your deal?”
“It’s not exactly my deal. Think of me as your agent. I have a client for you who’d be willing to pay your fees in hard labor.”
“Bartering? How medieval.”
“Wait a minute. A client? What are we investigating? A cheating spouse?” Blake’s brows pulled together.
“Hear him out, Gun. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. We need the help.”
“Fine. Who cheated on who?” he asked, slipping the hammer into the loop on his tool belt.
Tucker shook his head. “You got it all wrong. This is serious and right up your alley. Pete Dugan and my father go way back. They’ve been friends since high school. Dad wanted me to ask if you would take on this case as a personal favor to him.”
“Well, I can’t really say no to that, can I?”
Shelby sat on an overturned bucket. “What are we investigating?”
“Pete found a body buried on his property a couple days ago and now the police are treating him like their number one suspect. He thinks someone set him up and he needs you to help clear his name.”
“A murder?”
“Looks that way. Bodies don’t usually bury themselves, do they?” Tucker asked with a straight face.
Blake stroked a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Shelby knew he was intrigued and ready to take off in pursuit of a killer, happily leaving manual labor behind. She could see his wheels spinning already. He was still a cop at heart, despite his forced retirement last year after a shooting that left him with a bum leg and a burning desire to move back to his hometown.
“The police don’t usually jump to conclusions without good reason. Who was the victim?” he asked.
Tucker’s gaze shifted to the partially framed wall. He cleared his throat. “Dugan’s ex-wife.”
Blake’s laughter was anything but mirthful. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A man’s ex-wife turns up buried on his property and you think it’s strange the police see him as a suspect? Nine times out of ten it’s the husband or boyfriend.”
“I know. I know. But my dad is certain Pete’s innocent and I had to ask.” He blew out a breath and slowly backed toward the dock. “Sorry to interrupt your work.”
“Hold on!” Shelby jumped up and ran to Tucker. Clasping his hand, she tugged him gently back. “Blake didn’t say no. He’s just stating facts. That doesn’t mean your father’s friend is a murderer. He may well be that one time out of ten. Right, Blake?” she said, shooting him a hard look.
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything. If I think he’s guilty of murder, hell or high water won’t keep me from assisting the police in their case.”
“That’s fair.” Tucker gave a short nod and dug his pickup keys out of his pocket. “I’ll let Dad know.”
Blake swiped sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “Your dad was always good at seeing through lies and deception, Tuck. He certainly never fell for any of our wild stories. It’s hard to believe he’d be a lifelong friend to a man capable of murder. I’m going to work this case on the assumption that Pete Dugan is an innocent man, because I trust your dad’s instincts.”
“Thanks.”
“What about the construction help?” Shelby reminded him. “If Blake and I are investigating the murder, someone has to be here to finish this.”
“Dugan was a construction foreman for over thirty years. He’s newly retired, but if he’s anything like my dad he’ll jump at the chance to get back into it.”
“So you haven’t actually discussed bartering labor in exchange for our services, have you?”
“Not technically, no.”
“Great!” Blake threw up his hands and huffed. “We’re back where we started.”
“Quit being a whiner, Acky Breaky. I got this covered. If Mr. Dugan chooses to pay you in cash rather than hard labor – which I can’t see happening – I promise to come back and help out as much as I can. I’ve got a new kid working part-time at the store now and he’d probably love some extra hours.”
“Thanks, Tuck,” Shelby gave him a hug and wasn’t surprised to feel ribs beneath his baggy sweatshirt. He definitely lived up to his nickname. He ate like a three hundred pound linebacker but never seemed to gain an ounce. “You should stop up at the house and have some of that raspberry pie Alice baked this morning. You are wasting away.”
“I thought you told me you were working out,” Blake said.
Tucker lifted a brow. “This is me in the best shape of my life. You can’t see it? I’m totally ripped. Alice says I’m buff.”
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” Shelby teased.
His cell buzzed and he slipped it out to read the message. “What a coincidence. I’ve been invited for a slice of pie. Later, you two!”
CHAPTER TWO
Mr. Dugan was released on bail and turned up at The Drunken Sailor the next day with a pickup full of tools and a stack of two-by-fours. He shook Blake’s hand with enough energy to prime a pump. Obviously delighted and relieved to be free, Shelby thought she saw tears in his eyes.
“You won’t regret this, Mr. Gunner,” he said hitching up his pants and strapping on a tool belt. The handle of the hammer dangled along his thigh and he gripped it tight. “I’ve never been so glad to get back to work. I promise to build you the finest set of offices anybody’s ever had in Port Scuttlebutt.”
“I don’t think I can afford the finest,” Blake said with a grin, “but we’re happy to have your professional services. I’m sure you can do a much better job than I’ve been doing.”
Dugan’s grey beard was a good ten inches long and twisted into two beaded braids beneath his chin. A leather strip held a thin scraggly ponytail together at the back of his neck, but when he swept off his Harley cap to scratch at his scalp, the sun glared off a shiny freckled orb. He pulled his cap back down and gathered up an armful of wood. “I had these just sitting around in my shed so I brought a few.”
“That’s great. We were running short. Now I won’t have to make a run to Ashland.”
While Blake took his new client down to the boathouse to work off his fees and probably quiz him on the details of finding his ex-wife’s body under a woodpile, Shelby took the opportunity to look over the man’s pickup.
His black Ford was so tall she had to climb up on the shiny chrome sidestep to peer inside. A full ashtray and a crumpled cigarette package on the floor of the cab was a sure sign he was feeling a bit anxious that morning, but it didn’t necessarily make him guilty of murder. Anyone who’d spent a night in jail would naturally be wound tighter than a mummy and hanging on the edge of a mental breakdown. Especially if they’d been falsely accused. He was actually pretty tidy for a construction worker. At least according to her own preconceived ideas. Other than a bad smoking habit, the truck was fairly clean. He had an empty McDonald’s food sack wadded up on the front seat and an orange windbreaker hanging from the headrest of the passenger side.
“Are you snooping again?” Alice asked from the porch steps.
Shelby jumped down and dusted off her jeans where they’d rubbed against the
pickup’s door. “I like to call it investigating. But yeah. I was snooping.”
“Was that Pete Dugan?”
Shelby nodded and turned to look down at the boathouse where the man in question was still busy talking with Blake. “He’s starting work on the offices while we solve his ex-wife’s murder.”
“Well, aren’t you full of self-confidence.” Alice’s tone was droll but her lips curved in a smile.
“More like Blake-confidence. I have a lot of faith in my husband’s detective skills.”
“Me too.” She held the screen open. “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Want some?”
Shelby joined Alice at the kitchen table for another cup, although she’d already had three at breakfast and was as jittery as a spring sparrow. Alice’s father, Oliver, was happily ensconced in his back bedroom with the door closed, but the television was turned up so loud she could hear the canned laugh track every few seconds and knew he was watching one of those silly sitcoms he enjoyed. She poured in a splash of cream and stirred thoughtfully.
“So what do you think?” Alice lifted her cup and took a tentative sip, watching her over the rim. “Is he guilty or innocent?”
“I think it’s a little too soon to make a guess. He seemed pretty happy to have Blake take his case though.”
“He ought to be. Ever since you and Blake solved my mom’s murder, this town hasn’t quit talking about it. He knows your services are the best chance of clearing his name.”
“Or proving he’s a murderer.” Shelby raised a brow. “Blake won’t let an innocent man take the fall, if he can help it, but he also won’t let a guilty man get away with murder.”
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 1