He didn’t respond, but let her stew in her personal dissatisfaction with the way God was running the universe. Life was not fair if someone like Cynthia could continue to lead good men astray and not pay the price. Blake slowly drove the twisting gravel road up the hill from town, obviously in no hurry to get back. She could tell he was still thinking about this new turn of events.
Thick posts flanked the entrance to the bed and breakfast, connecting the crossbar above. The name, Drunken Sailor, was carved in the wood, along with the image of a sailing ship. Every time they turned in through the gates Shelby felt a burst of pride that they owned this part of Lake Superior history. The huge, rambling two-story had been in Alice Booth’s family for a hundred years, battered by storms, used as a home, boarding house, and now a bed and breakfast. She liked the idea that babies had been born here, grew up, and started families of their own. She hoped someday to do the same. Although, giving birth in a hospital would probably be preferable.
Tall cedars lined the drive like soldiers on guard duty. The terrain rose as they approached the house until they could see Lake Superior stretched below, shimmering in the sunlight. Blake drove the Passat around the snow-covered knoll where Mr. Booth’s flagpole always flew the stars and stripes, and parked close to the house.
“Let’s grab a sandwich or something quick and then head over to Heath’s place. It’s time I had a talk with my old football chum. Sunday afternoon is probably a good time to catch him at home.”
“Do I get to say anything this time? Or are all your high school friends off limits when it comes to our investigation?”
“I never said she was off limits.”
“You think I’m way off base to even consider the notion that she’s not an innocent bystander.”
He put a hand on her knee and squeezed. “Shel, believe me, I’m under no delusion when it comes to Cynthia. I just don’t think murder is in her repertoire. She has other means of getting what she wants.”
“And she always gets what she wants, doesn’t she?” She threw open the door and climbed out, closing it a bit firmer than she needed to.
Blake was beside her before she reached the top step. He grabbed her arm and turned her around, a slight grimace on his face. She felt bad for making him chase her. It had been nearly two years since the shooting that shattered his leg and ended his career as a Minneapolis homicide detective. He struggled through months of physical therapy and continued with strength training and exercise even now, but still had bouts of shooting pain down his calf whenever he sat for a while. Being in a cramped car for even a few minutes could set it off.
Guilt overcame jealousy and she tamped her drama queen back down inside. “I’m sorry. Come in the house. Let me massage that for you.”
“No. First, I want to tell you something.”
She stared up at him, her mouth going dry with fear. What had she done? Would he confess something that would bring an end to their perfect world? She didn’t know if she could bear the truth. Perfect love casts out fear. The words came to her from Pastor Donaldson’s sermon the week before.
“You don’t have to look so scared.” Blake gave her his sexy smile and cupped her face with his hands. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
“Not today,” she murmured.
“I love you more than anyone or anything in this world.”
“More than your Bronco?” she asked, lifting a brow.
“More than my Bronco.” He dropped his hands. “Besides, I’m thinking of turning that old thing in for a new model. Jack can’t figure out why the heater won’t work. It’s like a money pit on wheels.”
She knew he didn’t mean it, but she played along. “So true. Maybe we can get one of those new SUV’s with heated seats and a backup camera and a built-in navigation system and…”
“Hey! I thought you loved the old girl.”
“One truck is as good as another, right?”
“Watch your mouth, woman! You speaketh blasphemy.”
She shivered. “Can we go inside to finish this conversation? I’m freezing.”
When Blake opened the door they heard Oliver Booth yelling from his bedroom. Gwen, the once confident schoolteacher, stomped toward them from the kitchen, her face flushed with color and her book bag flung over one shoulder.
“He’s all yours!” she stated for the record before she made her escape through the open door.
Shelby and Blake watched her jump into her vehicle and power away down the driveway, nearly driving head-on into Tucker’s pickup as he came up the hill. She swerved to the right to avoid him, hit a patch of deep snow and spun out, narrowly missing the row of nearby cedars before her tires gripped the road again and she was gone. Tucker hit the brakes and stared wide-eyed into his side mirror. He finally shook his head and pulled forward to the house.
“Well, that’s just great!” he said, climbing out of the truck and flinging his arms wide in frustration. “I plan this perfect day and your dad runs off the help before church is out!”
Alice was dressed to the nines today. Unlike her usual ponytail, t-shirt and jeans, she had on a short black skirt with high-heeled boots and a silky emerald green top. Long red curls flowed over her shoulders and down her back as she clicked up the sidewalk, mouth set in a grim line. She swept past them through the door without a word, dropped her coat and purse on the dining room table and proceeded through the kitchen. A door slammed and they could hear her voice, louder than usual, and then her father’s bellow as he tried to shut her down by speaking over her.
“Maybe we better get changed and head out,” said Blake. He watched his best friend climb back in the truck and hit reverse, churning up ice and loose gravel in his wake. “I don’t think we want to be around for the fireworks.”
“That wasn’t the fireworks?”
Even upstairs in the second-floor hallway they could still hear Alice and Oliver arguing. Shelby felt awful for her. The poor girl never had a day off from caring for her father and he didn’t seem to appreciate all she did, but rather berated her for not doing more. He was not an easy man to live with; often spewing his frustration at being an invalid onto the person who cared about him most. She wondered how long Tucker would put up with the situation before he gave up on Alice and moved on.
Blake opened their bedroom door, but before she could step inside he pulled her to the side and flattened her against the wall. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to stay put, then drew the gun from his ankle holster. He’d finally received his permit to conceal-carry a month back. With his background, the state of Michigan allowed him to forgo the basic carry class, but red tape was still rampant whenever government was involved and it had taken longer than it should have.
He pushed the door wide and moved slowly into the room, the gun steady in his hand. The window was up and lacy shears billowed inward allowing wind blowing off the Great Lake to turn their living quarters into an icebox. Shelby peeked around the corner and saw Blake check the bathroom and closet before lowering his weapon.
She moved beside him, shivering. “What in the world is going on?”
The room had been completely tossed. Dresser drawers were upside down on the floor, clothes scattered and strewn far and wide. Their mattress was flipped half off the box springs and rested sideways on the floor. She moved into the closet and found things in the same condition; clothes ripped from hangers and dumped unceremoniously in piles along with her scattered shoes.
Blake pushed the window closed and locked it. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clamped so tight she could see the muscles working. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”
“Hard to say in this mess.” She blew out and shook her head. “How could someone break in with Oliver and Gwen right downstairs?”
“Do you really think it would be that hard? They were in the back of the house arguing while the front door was left unlocked.”
“So they didn’t come in through the window?”
>
“No, it was just a parting gift to jack our heating bill up.” He pointed. “See outside? The snow hasn’t been disturbed, and anyone other than Spider Man would find that climb rather death defying. Especially with ice on the house.”
“Of course.” She started turning drawers right side up and putting them back on the runners. “This day continues to get better and better.”
“Oh yeah. Hold on. I didn’t finish what I was going to tell you.” He pulled out the chair to the desk and offered her a seat.
She shook her head, facing him bravely with arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I never told you this before because…” He spread his hands and shrugged. “At the time that it happened my male pride was pretty raw, and what man wants the love of his life to know he wasn’t always as cool as he is now?”
“Say it isn’t so.” She feigned wide-eyed shock.
“Anyway, when we were seniors, Cynthia was my date to the prom. We had one dance and when I went to get us both a drink, she disappeared. I searched the entire school before giving up and deciding to go home. Tucker tried to get me to stay and hang out with him and his date, but that seemed awkward. So I headed out to my car. On the way through the parking lot, I heard noises coming from another vehicle. Cynthia had gotten bored with me and found someone with more potential for the future. I recognized the car. It belonged to my football coach.”
“She dumped you and was making out with your coach on prom night?” She shook her head, disgust curling her lip. “Then how can you stick up for her now when you know what she’s capable of?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t want you to think I’m giving her a free pass. I’m not. But I do know what makes Cynthia tick. Her dad ran off when she was five. It may seem cliché but she’s been looking for a father figure ever since. Someone with enough money to fill all the holes in her heart. So far, it doesn’t seem like she’s had much luck with that.”
“Well, I’m sorry she had a hard childhood but that’s no excuse for the way she acts.”
“No, but I don’t think her motives are murderous, just thoughtless.”
“Fine.” Shelby glanced around the trashed room. “Do we need to call the police? I’d rather not have to tell Alice someone snuck in here when she was out. She has enough to deal with right now.”
“Wait here while I check the other rooms on the floor.” He was gone for only a couple of minutes. When he returned, he wore a puzzled frown. “Doesn’t look like our intruder bothered searching anywhere else. They obviously figured out which one was ours. Either they have a grudge against us and thought it would be fun to make a mess in here or they were looking for something specific they think we have.”
“It must have to do with the case we’re working on. Who’s feathers did you ruffle in Houghton?”
“No one that I know of.”
She dropped a sweatshirt into the drawer and slowly rose to her feet. “Wait a minute. What about the ring? You gave it to the police, but Dalton Guthrie doesn’t know that.”
Blake was digging through the clothes for something to change into. He found a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt on the closet floor. “How would Guthrie know we found the ring in the first place?”
“Because he was listening in to our conversation at Sadie’s house before he snuck out of the shower and attacked me. Remember? We talked about finding the ring when we were going through that box of photos.”
“You’re right. And if he came here to find it, then he either needs the money or the ring holds sentimental value.”
“You mean like a family heirloom? It did have an intricate design, didn’t it? I thought it looked like something from the early 1900s.” She set another drawer into the dresser and straightened, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you think ex-cons have family heirlooms?”
“I’m leaning more toward the first option. He needs the money.”
“Maybe he’s trying to fund an escape over the border before the police catch up with him.”
He reached out and stroked a lock of hair away from her face. “After putting you in the hospital the other day, he ought to be a lot more worried about me catching up with him.”
She caught his hand, pressing it to her cheek. “I bear a charmed life, with you by my side.”
He didn’t look convinced but kissed her cheek and started changing out of his dress clothes. She followed suit, not wanting to be left behind this time. She didn’t like the idea of Blake going to see Heath without backup. She might not be a tough-as-nails detective like the cops on Chicago PD – she thought of herself more as a female Castle helping her handsome partner solve mysteries and staying one step ahead of the bad guys – but it would be safer with her along. She’d heard stories about these backwoods pot growers. They could be pretty nasty characters and very aggressive if you trespassed on their land. Blake needed her with him. It was always safer going into an unknown situation with a partner. That way, if Blake found himself in a sticky predicament, she would be there with her finger on speed dial.
CHAPTER NINE
They turned down a gravel road marked by a rusty metal post box and a sign that warned, Trespassers Beware of Dog. They wended their way another quarter of a mile through the woods to a small clearing graced by an old square farmhouse with broken shutters. A drainpipe hung listlessly off the side of the roof, and two cracked windows had actually been mended with duct tape. Peeling paint and broken porch steps added to the overall tumbledown appeal.
Sure enough, a dog came scrabbling out from under the steps, barking its little head off. It darted straight for the driver’s side of the car as Blake opened the door. He climbed out, laughing. “This little thing is supposed to scare off trespassers?”
Shelby saw the front door of the house open and a huge black German shepherd shot through the narrow opening quicker than a greased pig at a rodeo. She slammed her door shut and yelled, “Blake, get back in here!”
The little dog, tan fur matted and muddy, jumped straight up into Blake’s arms when it heard the big dog’s low rumbling growl. Blake took a step back and prepared to jump in the car with the filthy creature, but someone inside the front door of the house gave a long, low whistle. The shepherd immediately stopped, turned and trotted back to the porch as though it had absolutely no interest in them at all.
The little dog though, wriggling with excitement, started licking Blake’s face. He held her at arm’s length, wearing a grimace of disgust.
Shelby laughed. “She seems to think you’re a vanilla ice cream cone, babe.”
“Ick! I’d rather get eaten by Cujo!”
“I can make that happen if you’d like,” a voice drawled. The shadowed figure inside the house, stepped out onto the porch, a rifle cradled in his arms. A grin split his shaggy blonde beard when he reached down to pat the shepherd’s big head. “Arthur here hasn’t eaten yet today.”
“Flintlock, is this the way you greet all your old friends?” Blake set the dog down and moved purposefully toward the porch.
“Can’t be too careful out here. I heard a woman was murdered just down the road.”
“Yeah, I heard that too.”
Shelby waited in the car with the door open, not sure whether she should join him or stay put. The little dog, deserted by Blake, hurried over to her side of the car and tried to jump in. She felt sorry for the pup. It obviously was desperate for some loving. The poor thing swished its tail about a hundred wags a second. But if she let it in she’d be covered in mud and grime in the blink of an eye. She pushed it gently away. “No, stay down.”
“Agatha!” Heath Flintlock shouted, “Get over here! Leave Blake’s lady alone.”
Agatha let her tail droop and trotted back toward the porch.
Heath gestured for Shelby to join them. “Come on in! We don’t bite. Usually.”
The front door opened into a narrow hallway with a tiny living room on one side and an even smaller kitchen on the oth
er. A set of steep stairs led up to bedrooms at the back of the house and one other door at the end of the hallway was either a bathroom or a closet. Shelby hoped it was a bathroom because if she needed to use it she didn’t want to be directed outside. The ceiling and wallpaper in the hallway were peeling and water-stained. There had been some serious roof leakage some time or other, but apparently Heath wasn’t the type to worry about outward appearance or living in squalor for that matter.
He indicated a huge brown couch covered in dingy blankets. They may have been placed over it to hide the threadbare condition, or more likely, to keep the occupant from falling into the springs. “Have a seat. Would you two like a drink? I got beer or…” he shrugged and grinned, “beer.”
“No thanks,” Blake said. “We’re good.” He sat on the couch and a puff of dust rose around him.
Shelby held a hand over her mouth and nose and tried not to sneeze. She chose a straight-backed wooden chair positioned directly in front of the extra-large flat screen television, turned it around to face the room and perched on the edge of the seat.
Heath had left his rifle on a rack by the front door and now leaned against the doorframe between the hallway and living room, a smug thin-lipped smile cutting a curve in his beard. “So, what brings you out to my neck of the woods? Felt like slumming?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blake said, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back. Shelby couldn’t help but worry he’d bring home bedbugs. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a sweet setup out here. Almost as good as the tree fort Tucker and I built in seventh grade. Minus this rotten couch.”
Heath laughed, scratching at his chin. “Would you believe that thing was here when I bought the place? Just haven’t gotten around to tossing it out in the yard.”
“You mentioned the murder down the road,” Shelby interrupted their banter, impatient to get out of here and back in the car where the air was safe. “Did you know Sadie Dugan?”
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 11