Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries)

by Barbara E Brink

  They heard the front door open and a moment or two later Blake stood in the doorway. He declined Alice’s offer of coffee. “Looks like we have our afternoon mapped out for us. Pete gave me permission to look around his property while he’s here. He said the police have already finished out there. So we can take our time checking out the burial site. They didn’t find the actual crime scene where she was killed, but who knows…we might get lucky. You up for it?”

  Shelby stood. “I’m wearing my best jeans, aren’t I?”

  Alice reached for their coffee cups. “You two have fun looking for blood spatter. I’ll be here taking care of business.”

  “Are we expecting guests today?” Shelby hesitated, surprised it was the first she’d heard of it. The Drunken Sailor Bed & Breakfast wasn’t booked nearly as much now that people’s summer vacations were over and autumn temperatures were dropping, but they usually had at least one room booked on weekends. Hunters dropped by occasionally but they didn’t like to pay the high-end price of a B&B when they could drive down the road and crash in a cheap motel. “I can stay and help prepare a room if you need me to.”

  Alice shook her head. “I’m just pulling your chain. Our guests won’t be here until Saturday. By the way, you did a fantastic job of re-enameling that claw foot tub yesterday. It looks wonderful. I’ll put a fresh coat of paint on the walls today and the room should be ready for the weekend. What do you think we should name it? Mom called it the dim room, because of the terrible lighting in there, but after all the improvements we’ve done it deserves a better title.”

  “With those flowing curtains you put up last week and that antique headboard and dresser, it should be our Somewhere in Time room.”

  “I’m beginning to see a trend with you,” Alice said, a smile in her voice.

  “If we want to turn this into a couples hideaway, then we need to make it sound more romantic. Familiar movie titles will pull them in.”

  “Don’t you think The Grand Hotel already has dibs on Somewhere in Time?”

  “That’s a long way from here. People visiting Port Scuttlebutt need romance too.”

  “Okay. So we have…” she ticked them off on her fingers, “The Lake House room, Somewhere in Time room, and our honeymoon Suite, the Casablanca Room. What about the red room? I don’t doubt you already have a more romantic name picked out for that one too.”

  Blake laughed. “Let me guess… Shakespeare In Love!”

  “Hey!” Shelby smacked his arm. “How did you know that? Get out of my head!”

  They all laughed and Alice shooed them toward the door.

  “You two only have so long to solve this murder before the trail goes cold. You better hurry.”

  “Grab your jacket, Shel. That wind is pretty harsh.” When she started for the stairs, he called out, “Could you get my cane too?”

  He followed Alice back to the kitchen where she was wiping down the countertop. “Mind if we take some of that coffee with us?”

  She filled two travel mugs and handed them over with a smile.

  “And a couple snacks?”

  “Help yourself. But remember to stop and get a gallon of milk on your way home, okay?”

  “No problem.” He rummaged in the refrigerator and found just the thing. He shoved the half empty package in the pocket of his jacket.

  Alice leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Tucker told me his father is particularly interested in your progress on this case, Blake, and expects regular updates.”

  “I can imagine. When we were boys and he gave us a job to do, he was fond of saying he only trusted us as far as he could throw us, so he’d be checking up on our work. I love Mr. Thompson, but I’m glad he’s in Florida. I’d hate to deal with him looking over my shoulder in person.”

  She laughed. “I think Tucker feels the same way about running the store. If his dad hadn’t retired when he did I’m pretty sure Tucker would have taken his business degree and run away from home.”

  “Glad he didn’t?”

  Color rose in her cheeks to clash with her red hair. “Well, I’d hate to live in Port Scuttlebutt without a Ben Franklin store,” she said, hiding her grin by turning to rinse the empty coffee pot in the sink.

  <<>>

  Blake’s ’96 Bronco was once again in mint condition after an unfortunate evening drive along the lake back in the spring when someone had taken potshots at them from the cover of the trees and blown out the side windows. Luckily, there was no serious damage, but Blake was a little leery of driving his baby into unknown territory now. He chose to take Shelby’s car instead.

  Shelby drove while Blake watched for the turn off. Pete Dugan had given him verbal directions but finding the right gravel road to a cabin in the woods was like a criminal lineup. They all kind of looked the same. They’d already slowed at four different turnoffs before moving on.

  “There! That must be it.”

  A highway marker confirmed he was correct and Shelby slowed to turn. A red pickup pulled out of the road ahead of them and roared off down the highway toward Ashland. The windows were tinted and the two men inside wore hunting caps. It was the season. There were probably lots of hunters looking for a place to put up their deer stands.

  When they turned onto the well-worn and rutted road, he wished he’d brought the truck, but Shelby maneuvered around the deepest ruts and holes with the finesse of a pro, despite the Passat’s lack of all-wheel drive. About a quarter mile in they spotted a house through the trees. A rusty mailbox along the road bore the name, DUGAN, in black block letters. Shelby eased the car slowly down the driveway, still muddy with recent rain.

  Dugan’s place was overrun with weeds where a lawn once grew. Bushes and vines climbed wild and unpruned around the sides of the house, and towering spruce and pine trees closed in on the open space of driveway and yard like a Disney curse. Dusty blue paint peeled from wood siding and there was a gaping hole in the screen door.

  Two seconds after they’d turned onto the property a dog came bounding through the broken screen, baying loud enough to tree a mountain lion. His ears flopped up and down as he loped to the side of their car and stopped. The skin around his head and neck hung in deep folds and his tongue lolled dripping from the side of his mouth.

  “An attractive fellow.”

  “Now what?” Shelby asked, eyes wide with fright. She’d never been around a lot of dogs, even though she kept needling him to get one. Her hesitation at stepping out of the car with a bloodhound waiting to greet her was understandable, but he couldn’t help teasing her anyway.

  “It’ll be fine, babe. Just move slowly and carefully. Remember, his name is Jake. You don’t want to call him Jacob or Jay or anything else. It could make him angry.”

  “Really?” She continued to stare into the dog’s sad, droopy eyes. He hadn’t barked once since he came to a stop outside her door. “He seems sort of gentle to me.”

  “It’s only an act. He’s a vicious beast. We may have to drug him,” he said, pulling the package of hotdogs from his pocket. He extracted one, opened his door, and tossed it away from the car.

  Jake bounded off in pursuit like… well, like a hungry dog. Blake stepped out of the car and followed, bending over to pet the hound while he chewed. “Hey there, Jakie, old boy. How ya doin’?”

  “I thought you said…” Shelby glowered at him from the comparative safety of her side of the vehicle. “You are so going to pay for that.”

  “Come on over and meet Jake. He seems pretty tame to me, but you can never be too sure,” he said, handing her a hotdog as a peace offering.

  After Jake had been satiated with processed meat, he flopped down under the rickety front steps of the house for a nap. Shelby climbed the steps and bent to inspect the broken screen, peering through to the large flap in the wood door that gave Jake access to the house. “Doggy door,” she said. “That means Jake can go in and out anytime he wants.”

  “You’re stating the obvious, why?”

&nbs
p; “Mr. Dugan told you he’s rarely gone for the night, so either someone stopped by and buried his wife in broad daylight, at a time when they knew he’d be away, or they did it while he slept. The thing is, Jake might be friendly to strangers who bring him hotdogs, but his welcoming bark is loud enough to compete with a foghorn, and I imagine he does that every time a car pulls onto the property. I doubt even Mr. Dugan could sleep through that.”

  “True.” Blake scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Dugan if he remembers Jake’s barking waking him up recently. In the meantime, let’s have a look around.”

  The tool shed was as large as a triple car garage. Blake rolled up the carport door and found an ancient tractor, a tool bench, and some woodworking equipment. The light bulb was out so it was hard to see into the dark corners, but it looked like Dugan mostly used it for storing junk or wood. Blake gave it a cursory glance and pulled the door shut again.

  “Hmm. That’s interesting,” Shelby said beside him.

  “What?”

  “There was no motorcycle in there.”

  “Were you expecting one? Just because the man has a ponytail and a beard doesn’t mean he’s a member of the Hell’s Angels.”

  “No, but what if a man has a ponytail, a beard, wears a Harley Davidson cap, and has a Start Seeing Motorcycles bumper sticker on his pickup? Wouldn’t you think he at least owns a motorcycle?”

  “Now you’re being a smart-aleck.”

  “It’s called being observant.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

  The shed was set well back from the house, connected only by a well-worn path of gravel looping around to the backside. The trail was narrow but wide enough for a tractor if Dugan ever planned to dig up the half acre of cleared land behind the shed and plant something. Right now it was overgrown with weeds and a few stalks of dried up volunteer corn.

  Blake and Shelby rounded the building and stopped. She took out her camera to record the scene. A few yards from the building a wheel barrel leaned against a tree stump. A piece of yellow police tape was wrapped around the handle and fluttered in the breeze. Hatchet slashes marked the flat surface of the stump where Dugan apparently split logs.

  Enough wood was stacked across the back of the shed to warm George Washington’s army, triple deep and nearly as tall as Blake, except for a large space in the middle where wood had been pulled out and tossed in a haphazard pile a dozen or so feet away. A shallow grave was left behind where the ex Mrs. Dugan had been found by Jake and dug up by the police.

  Shelby was hesitant to move any closer. Yellow leaves fluttered down around them from a nearby cottonwood tree. She pulled her arms across her chest and huddled against the wind, the sadness of the situation suddenly hitting her full force. “What was her name?”

  Blake squatted next to the hole and picked up a handful of sand. His gaze moved from the split logs to the scrapes on the back of the building, to the varied array of shoe prints in the still damp earth. “Hmm?”

  “The ex Mrs. Dugan. What was her name?”

  “Sadie.”

  “She sounds nice.”

  He squinted up at her. “You can’t tell what a person was like from their name.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, moving toward the scattered wood, “but until I learn differently I choose to believe she was named after her grandmother; a sweet, plump lady with a love of baking and bingo. She spent her childhood summers with Grandma Sadie and loved her more than anyone in this world.”

  “That’s quite a story. Can we get back to reality?” He scooped a handful of dirt into a plastic zip bag and pushed it into his pocket. Shelby’s drama would not solve this murder. “I want to know why there’s so much sand in this hole when the surrounding ground is clay. It’s almost as though someone dumped it in here with the body.”

  “I’m no geologist,” Shelby said, bending to pick up a chunk of wood, “but I’m pretty sure diamonds aren’t common in this type of soil either.”

  The lilt to her words convinced him that she wasn’t playacting anymore. He twisted around to get a look.

  The band of a ring was jammed securely in the crack of a piece of oak she held, displaying a diamond setting. Her tone was droll. “The police were obviously more focused on the grave than the surrounding area. Sort of like you.”

  “How in the world did you see that?” He slipped on a glove and carefully removed the ring, dropping it into another zip bag.

  She shrugged. “Right place at the right time, I guess. A gust of wind blew through a minute ago ruffling the leaves on that tree and a ray of sunshine peeked through. Diamonds tend to sparkle in the sunlight. Sometimes being a great detective just means you get lucky.”

  “Don’t tell our client that.” He fingered the ring through the plastic. “Dugan said Jake brought a finger inside the house and dropped it on the floor. That’s how he knew about the body. The ring must have slipped off before that.”

  “And the local cops in their excitement managed to step all over the evidence and embed the ring, then toss it away in their digging.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Shelby took a closer look. “This is an engagement ring. Did Mr. Dugan tell you Sadie was getting married again?”

  “He didn’t mention it.”

  “I hope that omission isn’t an admission of guilt.”

  Blake put the bag in his pocket. “Guilt? He was probably thrilled he no longer had to pay spousal support.” He waved his arm toward the house. “It’s not as if he’s living the retirement dream. Looks to me like he’s lucky to still have a house to live in.”

  “That’s your perception. This might be his dream. And who says he was paying spousal support? Maybe Sadie was paying him.”

  While Blake took another quick turn around the yard and field, Shelby stayed behind to take more pictures of the grave and surrounding area. They met up at the car ten minutes later. Jake wandered over wagging his tail and eagerly looking for another handout, so Blake slipped him the last hotdog.

  When he finished eating, he laid down in front of the car door, blocking Blake from leaving. He squatted beside the sad-faced dog and rubbed the top of his head. Something orange caught his eye and he bent to take a closer look. Tiny orange flakes peppered the sandy gravel parking area beneath his feet. He scooped some up in his palm. Paint chips? He showed them to Shelby.

  Jake nosed his face under the edge of the car and sniffed.

  “What’s he doing?” Shelby asked.

  “Let’s see.”

  Blake dropped to his belly, took out his penlight and shined it over the ground beneath the car. A splotch of dark brown like an oil leak stained the soil. He pushed Jake to the side, reached under and scooped out some dirt from the spot. Holding it under his nose, he sniffed, and then rubbed the pad of his finger back and forth through the grains. It definitely wasn’t oil.

  He looked up at Shelby. “Blood. This is where she was killed.”

  “And the orange paint flakes?”

  “Not sure.”

  With another baggy of samples in his pocket, he stood to his feet. “Thanks for your help, Jake. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

  Shelby gave the big dog a parting hug.

  When they slipped into the car, she asked, “So when are we going to get a dog?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bright and early the next day Mr. Dugan was back at work on the boathouse. Shelby could hear the whine of the electric saw when she stepped out on the porch with her cup of coffee. Vanilla bean scented steam rose in the cold autumn air as she held her cup between the palms of her hands and sipped. She shivered in spite of wearing an angora sweater beneath a quilted jacket. It was hard to believe that days before Blake was working shirtless down at the boathouse. Today he’d need to wear long johns and flannel. It was already beginning to feel like Christmas. All they needed was snow.

  The radio came on in the kitchen where Alice was busy mixing bread dough. It sounded like the weather report.
Shelby gulped the rest of her lukewarm coffee and slipped back inside to catch the news. Maybe there would be something about the murder. The police had been tight-lipped about the case when Blake showed up asking questions. Even the brotherhood-of-blue mantra did little to open the way for him.

  Blake was still upstairs sleeping, but he’d be down soon. He had an invitation to visit his grandmother at the big house for lunch. Apparently it was a single invitation, since he hadn’t invited her along, but that was okay. She had plans as well.

  “Sounds like we might get snow by tonight,” Alice said, turning the radio down when the commercials came on. She slipped a clean towel over the lump of dough in the mixing bowl, and slid it closer to the stove to rise. “Good thing Mr. Dugan started early today. Maybe he’ll have the office windows and door in for you by this evening.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Shelby refilled her cup from the carafe and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Especially if he turns out to be guilty.”

  “Guilty? Did you find something incriminating out there at his place?” Alice peered over the refrigerator door as she pulled breakfast items from the shelves. “I mean… that would be terrible. For Tucker’s dad especially.”

  Shelby shook her head. “Nothing like that. But we didn’t find anything to prove his innocence either, so…” she shrugged.

  “Hey. Loose lips sink ships,” Blake said from the doorway. He pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth. “Mrs. Private Eye, may I have a word with you?”

  “Don’t worry,” Alice said, “I haven’t had time to get all the juicy details out of her yet.”

  Shelby followed Blake into the sitting room and faced him, hands on her hips. “What was that all about? Paranoid much? If anyone in this town can be trusted, Alice can.”

  “I know that. But sometimes things slip out inadvertently. I want to keep this ring business under wraps for the time being. I haven’t even questioned Pete Dugan about whether he knew his ex-wife was seeing someone else or not. First things first. Okay?”