Shelby moved to the table and closed the encyclopedias, checked the spines, and headed to the appropriate aisle. About halfway down the row, she slipped the huge books into their places. Moving further down the aisle, she ran a finger along titles until she found one that sparked her interest.
The sound of the front door opening caught her attention. She leaned back to glance around the end of the bookcase. A man stood in profile, near the desk. Backlit by the window his features were unclear, but the trench coat and fedora he wore made her think of a 1950s Hollywood private eye. He didn’t seem to notice her lurking in the aisle. His attention was focused on the checkout counter.
Jerri came through the office doorway, whistling softly. When she saw the man her eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her chest. “My word, George! Do you have to sneak up on people? You nearly gave me a coronary.”
“Sorry, Jer. Old habits.”
She hurried out from behind the counter and nearly threw herself into his arms, knocking his hat from his head. “It’s been months since you’ve written. Where have you been all this time?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Right,” her voice was droll, “then you’d have to kill me.”
He pulled back. “Not me. They have special people for that.”
Shelby cleared her throat and stepped out of the shadows. The man tensed and slipped his hand inside his trench coat. She froze.
Jerri put a hand on his arm until he relaxed. “Looks like you’re losing your touch, 007.”
He shook his head. “I keep forgetting this is Port Scuttlebutt. There are spies everywhere.”
She laughed.
Shelby licked her lips nervously and moved toward the door. “Sorry, Jerri. I didn’t know you were expecting company. I can come back another time.”
“Hold on. What did you need?”
The man’s gaze swept over her with interest.
She lowered her voice. “I was going to pick your brain about a certain blonde we both know, but I can see you’re busy, so…”
Jerri caught her arm and tugged her back. “Shelby, this is my brother, George. He stops by about once a year to see if I’m still alive or not. Strangely enough, it’s only been eight months this time, so I’m rather surprised to see him again so soon.”
“Nice to meet you, George.”
He bent to pick up his hat. “Shelby.”
George was a good four inches taller than his sister and a few years older if the grooves around his mouth had anything to say about it. He sported a deep tan as though he’d just vacationed on a tropical island. Close-cropped hair, liberally sprinkled with salt at the temples, set off angular features and hooded eyes. Even with a coat on, Shelby could tell he was lean and fit.
“Sorry for showing up at closing time. I’ll catch you later. Have a good evening you two.”
She slipped out the front door. A black sedan was parked nearby. Four-door. Nondescript. Darkened windows. A man in a suit waited in the driver’s seat. Maybe she was being paranoid but…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They pulled off the road and parked near the tree line. Blake shut off the ignition and leaned back, exhaling. In the dark cab, the moon seemed to glow much too brightly for what he had in mind. He glanced over at Tucker. His friend looked nervous, chewing the inside of his jaw and staccato tapping the door handle with two fingers.
“Don’t look so worried. We’re only sneaking up on Heath’s house, not heading into a vampire’s lair.”
“Are you sure about this? What if he catches us? We could be arrested for trespassing.”
“I doubt it. Heath hates cops. He’s not going to voluntarily invite them onto his property, even to get back at us. He’d shoot us first.” He grabbed the duffel bag from the back and opened the door. “Come on. Time’s a wasting.”
The temperature had dropped since sundown. He clicked on his flashlight to make sure it was working and saw his breath puff out on the still night air. He switched it back off and waited for Tucker to join him at the front of the Bronco. The engine offered a source of heat and he placed his hands flat on the hood for a moment.
“Ready?”
“Not really,” Tucker said, zipping his jacket. He pulled his stocking cap out of a pocket and slipped it on. “Are you sure we’re not going to get caught?”
“There’re no guarantees, Skeleton. If you don’t want to do it, then stay in the car.” He yanked on his gloves and slung the bag over his shoulder. A rickety barbed-wire fence separated the ditch from the woods. He put a boot up to test the strength of the wire. It would be easier to just slip between the wires but if he had to cut them he would.
“Hold on.” Tucker stepped up beside him and lifted the top wire.
He clapped him on the back and slipped through the fence. On the other side, he pulled up on the wire and waited for Tucker to climb through. A dog howled in the distance and he paused, listening. They were still half a mile away from Heath’s place. Could Arthur have already heard them coming?
“Come on.” He led the way, moving through the brush as quietly as possible.
The sound of a car engine reached them seconds before the crunch of gravel and headlights pierced the darkness. They stopped and crouched low. He hoped whoever was speeding down the road wouldn’t notice the Bronco in the ditch. He’d covered the license plate with mud to keep the reflection down, but an observant neighbor might possibly call it in.
Rather than slowing, the car picked up speed, zooming past at a dangerous rate. The heavy thump, thump, thump of rap music filled the night air for a couple seconds and then slowly trickled into the distance. Teenagers. Terrific. Must be out for a joy ride to park in the woods and drink. He’d heard complaints in town about a bunch of kids using the wooded areas around Port Scuttlebutt for their nightly playground. There were reports of drinking, trespassing, littering, and most vexing to the neighbors nearby, loud soul-killing music. A special meeting of the council was set for the beginning of the month to discuss ways to discourage underage drinking and to find activities in town for teenagers. Good luck with that.
Blake led the way through the trees, over an incline and around a gully. He was glad the snow had melted and they could blend into the shadows more easily. The damp leaves and earth acted as a sponge, soaking up the sound of their steps. They’d both worn black jeans and jackets and he’d talked Tucker into smearing Eye Black sport grease under his eyes and across his cheekbones just like when they played football together for the Port Scuttlebutt Barges. He knew Shelby would roll her eyes at this added touch, but it was a guy thing. Tucker and he were a team and they were going up against their old nemesis. They needed their game face on. Besides, it made him grin every time he looked at Tucker.
When they neared the property, he quietly opened the bag, took out his night vision binoculars and slipped them around his neck. He motioned for Tucker to move to the west as they crept closer still. He’d noticed the ridge at the back of the house when he and Shelby had made their Sunday afternoon visit. It was the perfect vantage point to surveil the yard and house before committing to his plan.
Blake did his best Great-Horned owl impression – hoo hoohoo hoo – the signal for Tucker to sit tight. When his friend was positioned safely behind a tree on his side of the ridge, Blake dropped to his belly. He slid closer, lifted his binoculars, and scanned the entire yard. Just as he’d hoped, Heath’s truck was gone. Arthur was curled up at the bottom of the steps, chained outside to deter visitors. How inhospitable.
There was still a chance someone was inside, but they’d deal with the big dog first. He opened his bag, put his binoculars inside, and took out what he needed for Arthur. The German shepherd was trained well, but he’d already met Blake and had been fed from his hand, so hopefully that memory would be enough for them to be friends. If not, he’d brought along something stronger to manage the situation.
He slipped the bag over his back and made his way down the sl
oping incline. Arthur’s head came up and he growled low in his throat. The sound sent a frisson of worry down Blake’s spine. What if Arthur wasn’t chained? He’d seen the post and chain there by the porch in the daylight, but that didn’t mean Heath had actually attached Arthur to it before he left. Maybe he left him loose to chase down trespassers when he was gone.
He saw Tucker moving down the hill from his side and put up a hand to hold him back for a moment. He took a chunk of jerky from his pocket and held it out, edging slowly and carefully nearer to the dog. Arthur leapt forward until he hit the end of his chain and was stopped cold. He barked ferociously, making Blake a true believer.
“Hey boy. Look what I brought you.” He held the dried meat inches from bared teeth. “Remember me, your Uncle Blake?”
Arthur lunged again, pulling so hard on the chain that the post started to bend. Blake tossed the meat close to the post but remained outside the circle of trust. Arthur ran to pick it up, swallowed it in one bite and came back for more.
“Good boy.” He took out another chunk and tossed it up above the dog’s head. Arthur caught it smoothly out of the air. “Aren’t you the clever pup. Where’s Agatha? Isn’t she out here keeping you company tonight? Must be lonely with your master away.” He took out a handful of jerky and held it just out of reach. The dog whined and pulled on his chain trying to reach the treat. His tail was wagging and he seemed to have lost that killing feeling, so Blake took his chances and moved closer.
Arthur ate right out of his hand, chomping down the jerky like manna from heaven. When it was all gone he licked Blake’s hand thoroughly and sat down as though waiting for more.
“Good boy, Arthur.” He scratched the big dog’s head and patted his thick coat. “How about we go inside and look around now.”
Tucker had been standing as still as a statue during the feeding ritual. He cleared his throat and asked, “Is it all right if I move yet?”
“At your own risk.”
“What?” A hint of hysteria made his normal baritone an octave higher than usual.
Blake chuckled. “Just kidding. You didn’t eat the jerky I gave you, did you?”
“No.”
“Then come over here and share it with our new friend. I don’t think he’s had his fill yet. I’m going to open the door.” Blake went up the porch steps and checked to see if Heath had left the door unlocked, but no such luck. “Criminals are so untrusting,” he grumbled, taking out his lock picking kit.
Tucker emptied his pockets, letting Arthur have it all at once. While the dog searched for the pieces on the dark ground, Tucker made a dash for the porch. He kept his back to the house and his eyes on the yard. “That dog is huge. You made it sound like it was a tiny little ankle biter, but that dog is huge.”
“I think you said that already.” Blake was about ready to give up and look for another way in when it clicked. “Yes! We’re in.”
“Terrific. Breaking and entering can be added to our trespassing charges.”
“Aw, don’t be a party pooper.”
As soon as they were inside, Blake shut the door and clicked on his flashlight. “We need to make this quick. Who knows how much time we have. Heath could return any moment, so let’s spread out. You head upstairs. I’ll start in the kitchen.”
Tucker clicked on his flashlight and moved down the hall.
Blake turned into the yellow room, now much less neon without the overhead lights. The glow-in-the-dark face of the cat clock and the microwave’s digital numbers were the only source of light other than his flashlight. He opened cupboards, checked inside the oven, and opened the refrigerator.
A brand new 24-pack of diet cola filled one whole shelf. Apparently Heath entertained a lot of ladies. For a single guy he stocked his fridge like a lumberjack camp. Three dozen eggs, a gallon of milk, a sack of apples, two loaves of bread, cheeses, lunch meats, and a gallon of deli potato salad. The freezer section was full as well.
The scrabbling of toenails on wood flooring made him turn just in time to have a bundle of dirty fur jump into his arms. “Agatha,” he said in a playful voice, “you shouldn’t make a habit of throwing yourself at strange men.” He petted and scratched her beneath the chin the way she seemed to like, then set her back on the floor.
“Sorry, girl. I’ve got work to do.” He glanced in Arthur’s room, but decided there was nothing in there to find, other than fleas, and moved down the hall with Agatha close on his heels.
The floor creaked above his head as Tucker searched the rooms upstairs. At the end of the hall he checked the door on the left. It was the tiniest bathroom he’d ever seen other than the time he and Shelby booked a cruise and got stuck in a budget cabin no bigger than a child’s playhouse. He opened the miniature medicine cabinet built into the mirror and glanced over the contents. Ibuprofen, Midol, bandages, disposable razor and shaving cream, toothbrush... Midol? He really did have women over a lot.
He made sure to leave everything exactly as he found it. Agatha trotted down the hall toward the kitchen and he followed. She went between the refrigerator and stove and scratched at the floor. A thick rubber mat covered the space with a rolling serving cart parked on top. The shelves of the cart were filled with non-perishable grocery items. The little dog scratched at the mat and whined, then looked up at him as though he should help. Maybe she’d dropped a treat behind the cart. He couldn’t resist those eyes in his flashlight beam.
After glancing out the window to make sure there were no headlights approaching, he went over and bent down. “What is it, Agatha? Is there a mouse back there or something?”
She whined again and wagged her tail.
“Okay. Get out of the way so you don’t get run over.” He pulled the cart off the rubber mat and out onto the hard tile, skirted around the end and flashed his light over the floor. “I don’t see anything, girl.”
Agatha squeezed by his legs and the cart, went to the mat and started scratching again. She looked up at him, brown eyes imploring.
He sighed, flicked off the flashlight, slipped it into his pocket, and then reached down to pull up the rubber mat. Faint light showed through a square outline on the floor. A trapdoor. No way. He fell to his knees and felt around for a latch or handhold.
Tucker was suddenly in the doorway behind him. “Blake,” he whispered breathlessly, “let’s go. Headlights coming down the drive!”
Blake flipped the mat back in place, shoved the dog out of the way and pushed the cart back. He ran after Tucker, twisted the lock in place, and pulled the door closed behind him just as headlights whipped around the corner. They both jumped off the porch and ran for the backside of the house.
As they crested the ridge and entered the tree line Blake heard Arthur barking. He hoped he was barking to greet his master and not to warn him of the intruders who got away. They ran all the way to the truck. Well, Tucker ran and he hobbled as fast as he could, but they were both out of breath and wheezing by the time they got there. As soon as they were buckled, Blake tore out of the ditch, made a U-turn and put the peddle to the metal.
Tucker started laughing, pulled his stocking cap off and rubbed his hands over his head. “Unfreakingbelievable! I can’t believe we did that.”
“And we got away.” He lifted his hand, palm open and Tucker smacked it in a high-five. He chuckled. “Now I understand why criminals always run. They’re high on adrenalin.”
“My adrenalin was pumping, that’s for sure.”
A couple miles down the road Blake pulled off the highway and parked along a camping access road. “Did you find anything suspicious upstairs?”
“The second bedroom was empty except for a twin bed and boxes of women’s clothes. It looked like someone either left them there when they moved out or Heath has a secret hobby we probably don’t want to know about.”
“Nothing else?”
“There was a stun gun in one of his dresser drawers. I didn’t think you could own a stun gun if you didn’t have a conceal car
ry license.”
“No surprise he’d ignore that law. We already know he has a hunting rifle. He was carrying it when Shelby and I stopped by Sunday. Convicted felons can’t own a firearm of any kind in Michigan.”
Tucker shook his head. “I guess you were right then. No way would Heath call the cops to his place. He’s got too much to lose.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I found?”
“I thought we were already sharing. Spit it out!”
“Actually, Agatha pointed it out.” He snorted a laugh. “That‘s the kind of dog Shelby and I need. One with investigative skills.”
A dark sedan pulled off the highway and drove slowly past them. The windows were too dark to see inside, but Blake had a gut feeling something wasn’t right. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What’s wrong?” Tucker quickly clicked his seatbelt back in place.
Blake made a U-Turn and barely hesitated before turning back onto the highway. No traffic in either direction. What were the chances a black sedan would turn in at the exact same road they had? He hit the gas and got the Bronco flying along at 82 MPH. He didn’t like to push the old girl, but he wanted to get a head start on that car. Whoever they were. He glanced in his rearview, watching for headlights.
“Aren’t you being a little paranoid? What are you looking for? No way Heath could catch up to us. He didn’t even know we were there. I was very careful to leave everything just as I found it.”
“Good to know you actually listen to me when I give instruction,” Blake said, giving Tuck a thumbs up and a smug smile.
“I don’t, actually. I learned that from watching reruns of Psych.”
They were nearing the turnoff for Port Scuttlebutt. He slowed. The glare of headlights suddenly appeared in his rearview, blindingly close. He flipped the blinker on and prepared to turn. They blew right past, continuing down the highway as though they weren’t following him at all. It was too dark to tell for sure if it was the same car, but he knew. They’d been tailed tonight. He glanced at Tucker. His friend was picking dried cockleburs out of the side of his sock and completely oblivious.
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 17