A uniformed officer walked them back out to the truck and the two men drove off with the empty trailer.
Curtis reappeared on the front porch with a big man wearing a Stetson. I assumed he was the sheriff. He had a potbelly, and under his cheap, faux leather jacket, he wore a navy-blue uniform. I was surprised that he didn’t look that much older than me. I would have expected the sheriff of Cascada to be more like Andy Griffith than Woody from Toy Story.
Curtis glanced our direction before taking off across the lawn toward his house.
Jake took the lead this time. “Hey, Curtis. Tell us what’s going on.”
He glanced over his shoulder. All the officers went back inside and closed the front door. “I don’t know if I should say anything. The sheriff is talking to Beverly.”
I walked up beside Jake. “Talking to her about what?”
It was obvious Curtis wanted to tell us something, but he was holding back.
“Just tell us,” I said.
“It’s about Harold’s death. That’s all I can say.”
He turned back toward his house.
Jake called out to him, “Curtis, what did you do?”
He glanced back at us. “It wasn’t me,” he said and pointed a finger in my direction. “Ask her, she’s the one who started it all.”
MY FATHER USED TO TELL me not to point because it was rude. I never really understood why it was such a big deal until that very minute. It was as though I had personally gone into Beverly’s house and set off a bomb. Suddenly, I was a Stephen King character, and everyone was running away in fear.
Even Jake gave me a sideways stare.
I held up my hands. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
Saved by the bell. Jake’s cell phone rang. He turned his back to me and spoke quietly. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Wait here.” He crossed the front yard toward Beverly’s house and disappeared inside.
I could feel the curious, condemning eyes burrowing in the back of my head. I could hear their whispers. I could sense them hatching a plan to run me out of town. Of course, it could have been my imagination.
I strolled nonchalantly to my front porch and sat in the glider. The squeaking of the rusty metal added further to my Boo Radley persona. Cricket appeared from the bushes and jumped into my lap. “What do you think, Cricket? Does everybody hate me?”
The neighbors grew tired of waiting for more action and peeled off to their houses. I was about to unload the cat supplies from my car when Jake and a young woman with long dark hair came out of Beverly’s house. He walked her down to the street and opened the car door for her. She gave him a quick hug and then got in the car and drove away.
Hmm. Apparently, Jake Faro wasn’t as hard up for female companionship as he had let on. Something jabbed at my insides. Was it jealousy? Surely not. I sat perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
Cricket let out a loud cry and Jake looked back in my direction.
“Traitor.” I pushed the cat out of my lap and waited as Jake walked up.
“You’ll never guess what happened.” He leaned against the concrete pillar on the porch.
“Your girlfriend discovered bones buried in Beverly’s backyard?” Had I really said that out loud?
“What? My girlfriend? No, that was my kid sister.”
I bit my bottom lip.
“I had a feeling she might be in there. That was one of the trucks she uses to move furniture.”
“Your sister is a furniture mover?”
“No, she’s a realtor.”
“I don’t understand. What happened over there and why did Curtis say I had started it?”
“Beverly is fine. It’s cold out here. Why don’t we walk down to my house and I’ll make us some coffee. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Cricket raced in front of me toward the street, although I didn’t need her to tell me I wanted to spend more time with Jake. Obviously, I didn’t know much about him. I hadn’t even asked what he did for a living. I also wanted to know more about his sister.
Hopefully, the neighbors were spying from behind their pulled shades to see me as I held my head high and strolled casually—and innocently—with Jake. From what I had surmised, they seemed to like Jake. Maybe some of his good karma would rub off on me.
At some point on the journey to his house, his grip slipped from my arm to my hand. David had never liked holding hands. He had always preferred to put his arm around my waist. Didn’t guys know how much girls hated that? There was always a feeling in the back of your mind that the guy might feel your thickening waistline or those five extra pounds that seemed to accumulate at certain times of the month. I always felt like I had to hold in my breath and tighten my stomach muscles.
Jake opened the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t judge the décor.”
“Me? Judge?” I pretended to be indignant. I glanced around at the sparsely decorated front room. It was neat and had the feeling of a room mostly unused. The furniture was a cross between doctor’s office waiting room and the DMV. Only thing missing was the oversized aquarium. There was no real personality.
I followed him to the den, which looked like a combo home office and man cave. It looked as though someone got a new credit card and burned it up in Ikea. At least it looked lived in.
“I’ll get the coffee.” He motioned for me to sit on the plush brown sofa and disappeared around the corner to the kitchen.
The television was tuned to a news station with the volume muted. On the desk across from the TV was an elaborate computer setup with two large monitors, multiple components, two hard drives, headphones, and speakers.
Uh-oh. Don’t tell me he was one of those big-time gamers who spent all day trying to destroy the virtual world with his nerdy online friends. The last thing I wanted was to hang out with a fifteen-year-old disguised in a man’s body. Even if that body was to die for.
He reappeared with the coffee. “I didn’t know how you liked it so I made one black and one with cream and sugar. Take your choice.”
“The sweeter the better.”
“I would have guessed that about you.” He handed me the mug.
“I see you have a lot of computer stuff. Is it for business or pleasure?” I crossed my toes. Please say business.
“It’s for work, mainly.”
“Oh good.” I tried not to show my relief. “What do you do?”
“I work for a company out of Albuquerque.”
Could he be any more vague? Before I could ask for specifics, he picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “I noticed you went over to Beverly’s house this morning,” he said. “What was that about?”
“She asked me to come over to take her picture. While I was there, she mentioned she wanted to redecorate. You’ve seen her den. Can you blame her?”
“Did you tell her to get rid of her furniture?” His tone was all-business.
“No, well, maybe. We talked about how she could replace what she had, but I never dreamed she would do anything this fast. In fact, I was hoping she’d drop the whole idea, especially after what her son-in-law, Dale, told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he planned to sell the house and have her move in with him.”
“Did you remind her of that?”
His eyes, alluring as they were, seemed to bore into me. “I mentioned it, yes. But she said she had no plans to move. You should have seen her face. She was so excited at the thought of remodeling. I got the impression she was going to get her way.”
“So that’s how this started.” Jake rubbed his forehead as though a headache were coming on. I had a feeling I was the headache.
“Why are you asking me all these questions? I thought you were going to tell me why the sheriff was there.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Apparently, Dale called my sister the other day about selling Beverly’s house. Nancy—that’s my sister—decided to stop by today and take a look
at the property. Beverly told her she wasn’t selling her house after all, but that she wanted to get rid of the den furniture. Since realtors often use old furniture to stage open houses, Nancy agreed to come back with some guys and haul it away.”
I pictured the carpet and the red stains on the floor. Had Nancy seen them and gotten suspicious? Did she call the police? “So what happened?”
“Well, that’s where Curtis comes in. He said he was going over to thank Beverly for something. My guess is that he saw the furniture being loaded on the truck and just got nosy. Anyway, according to Nancy, he saw what he thought were bloodstains on the floor and decided to call the sheriff.”
“But Beverly said her husband hit his head on the fireplace and died. Wouldn’t that explain the blood?”
“Near the fireplace, yes. But on the opposite side of the room…”
So it wasn’t just me. Curtis thought it was suspicious, too. “I guess Curtis said I started all this mess because I talked to her about redecorating.”
“Looks that way.”
“Just what I need. Now everyone is going to think I’m a troublemaker.”
“I doubt that. Grady will probably ask a few questions and have this cleared up in no time. If you ask me, Curtis is the troublemaker.”
“Who’s Grady?”
Jake took a long swig of coffee. “Tucker Grady. He’s the sheriff, at least that’s what his badge says. You might remember his wife, Sherry Spitzer. She went to school with us.”
Sherry Spitzer, my high school nemesis. I was hoping she’d have moved away. She was the last person I wanted to see in Cascada. Just thinking about her made me want to binge on a gallon of ice cream.
“Do you remember her?” Jake asked.
“Do I ever. Tell me where she works so I can be sure to avoid her.”
“She doesn’t work.”
“Really? Does being sheriff of this podunk town pay that much?”
“Not really. Her father has money. He took over the town’s waste management contract.”
“There’s money in garbage?”
“Only if you’re willing to get your hands dirty.”
Jake didn’t need to hear about my high school drama. I wasn’t ready to air my dirty laundry to someone I knew so little about, especially since he didn’t seem all that interested in opening up to me. For all I knew, he was the biggest gossip on the block. “Let’s just say we were never really friends.”
“Hmm. Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“If I tell you all my secrets now, I will lose all my allure.”
“Secrets. Everybody has them, but they always come out sooner or later.”
Not if I can help it.
Chapter 9
The lodge my parents owned had become a popular tourist place. They had taken it over from one of my father’s uncles in the late seventies. My first memories of it as a child were of fishing off the dock with my dad. Apparently, the way to properly put a worm on a hook was as controversial as how to put toilet paper on the holder. Do you wrap the loose end over or under?
He taught me how to poke the hook into the worm at just the right angle and then spin it around and set the hook so that the worm hung straight down. He said some people would just wind the worm around the hook, but then they wouldn’t get the wiggle movement to attract the fish. He must have been right because we caught a lot of fish in that lake.
My parents ran the place more like a bed-and-breakfast. Lots of evenings were spent with guests grilling fish outdoors and singing around a campfire. There was a lot of weed smoked and a lot of beer consumed in those days. Not by the kids, of course. That’s before I realized that everyone’s parents weren’t as freewheeling.
It was when my brother first got in trouble with the law that my parents turned things around. That, and finding God, set them on the straight and narrow. Unfortunately, it was a little too late for my brother, Tyler. One thing I learned from those early days was to avoid conflict. I became the family peacemaker and problem solver. But part of me was still like my brother. When pushed, my first instinct was to push back. I was like Jekyll and Hyde.
An hour had passed when my cell phone rang and startled me back to the present. I answered it before realizing it was my mother. Not surprisingly, she had heard about the ruckus at Beverly’s and wanted to know what was going on. I assured her I would call when I knew more.
She put Dad on the phone.
“How’s my little girl?”
“Fine. I’ve just about got everything unpacked.”
“Can we do anything for you? I know you said you wanted your space, but I want to come see the house. I’m sure there’s some things that need fixing. Are you eating?”
Truth? Not so much. “Of course. Why don’t you and Mom plan on coming over on Sunday. I’ll cook lunch. Unless you’re too busy at the lodge?”
“That sounds great. It’s slow in late November except for a few people who are here to fish and shoot birds. We can put your brother in charge and escape for a few hours. That is, unless you wanted him to come.”
“No, it’s probably not a good idea.”
“I didn’t think so. Well, call if you need anything—anything at all.”
“I will.”
It was dark out now, and I still hadn’t unloaded my car. I peeked through the front blinds. The sheriff’s department cars were gone but there was an SUV I hadn’t seen before. I pulled out a heavier jacket from my closet and picked up my keys. Cricket followed me out the door.
This was going to take multiple trips. I grabbed the litter box and as much stuff as I could carry. As I went out to get my third load of kitty swag, I could see the silhouette of someone lumbering across Beverly’s yard toward me. Was it Jake?
When he got closer, the streetlight shone on his face. Oh great. Dale Pratt.
“What did you do?” he asked. The wind made the top of his hair stand up like a beret.
“What do you mean?” I had a feeling I was in for a tongue-lashing.
“I thought I made it crystal clear we have no need for your decorating services. Yet, you come waltzing over and get Penelope’s mother agitated again.”
“First of all, I didn’t go ‘waltzing’ into your house, although I can waltz. I can tango, too.” I grinned.
He held down his hair with one hand and put the other on his hip as though exasperated.
“Actually, Beverly came to my house and practically dragged me over there. She wanted me to take her picture, which I did. She brought up the redecorating. I wasn’t sure if you all had worked things out or not.”
His nostrils flared. “Regardless, you got Beverly thinking she needed to get rid of all her furniture.”
“Like that’s a shock. There’s more plaid in that den than inside a Catholic schoolgirl’s closet.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No, you’re right,” I conceded. “Look, she asked me to take her picture and I did. I mean, yes, I pulled back the rug and saw the blood, but she said it was spaghetti sauce. You’ve got to admit, it does look a little suspicious.”
“Whether it does or not is none of your business and neither is my house.”
“Your house? Aren’t you jumping the gun just a bit? It seems to me that Beverly’s prepared to fight you for it.”
“That’s for me to deal with, not you.” He turned and stomped away.
Dale Pratt. You’d think he’d be a little more concerned about his wife’s parents. Didn’t he know it was Curtis who called the police?
Dale seemed like more of a threat to Beverly than me.
Chapter 10
Obviously, I wasn’t making many friends in the neighborhood. Maybe I’d have better luck with Curtis. Not only had he extended a personal invitation, but I wanted to get a firsthand account of his little visit with the sheriff.
Curtis was apparently one of those people who believed in going big or going home. It looked like Santa had thrown up on their front yard. A blow-up
snowman waved his arms and bowed like one of those displays in front of the pawn shop. There were lighted grapevine reindeer, twinkle lights crawling up every tree, and even a plastic nativity scene.
I rang the bell before remembering I was empty-handed. I probably should have baked a cake or brought a bottle of wine. Too late. The door opened.
“Hi there.” A pretty redhead held a baby wrapped up like a sausage in a blanket.
Not having kids myself, I always had a hard time figuring out the age of babies. I couldn’t tell if they were six weeks or six months old. This one was obviously not a newborn because it didn’t have the red, wrinkly skin that made some babies look like bloodhound puppies. “I’m Wendy Fairmont. I just moved in next door.”
“Oh, hi, I’m Lana and this is Delilah.” She held up the bundle for me to see.
“Hi.” I waved at the baby. Dumb, I know. “She’s absolutely adorable.” I had learned that if you don’t tell a new mommy her baby is the cutest you’ve ever seen, you might ignite a fit of postpartum depression or something. Soon, you’re the talk of the baby-vine and everyone is speculating if you are fit to be a mother yourself.
“My husband was talking about you earlier,” Lana said. “Come on in and I’ll get him.”
Uh-oh. I wondered what he had said. I waited in the front room. It looked like it had been decorated by one of those designers you see on TV. Everything was new but made to look shabby and repurposed. Just a bit too cliché for my tastes, especially with everything perfectly placed in little vignettes on the shelves and walls. Even the magazines on the side table were fanned out exactly the same distance apart. Looked like someone here had a raging case of OCD.
Then something caught my eye. Something was definitely out of place. A lone golf club was perched against a corner bookcase. Without much thought, I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of the club.
“What are you doing?” Curtis asked.
“Oh—I was just taking a picture of this lovely room. You know us photographers. Always looking for inspiration.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
Negative Exposure (Killer Shots Mysteries Book 1) Page 6