One Bad Egg (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 5)

by Jeff Shelby

  He froze. “What? Who?”

  “Owen.” I kept my voice measured, calm. “He stole your girlfriend. Owen was killed with a pillow. And you were a pillow fight champion.”

  It was all circumstantial evidence, at best. I was pulling at straws, but for some reason, it just felt right, like I had hit on the answer to the mystery surrounding Owen’s death.

  Hushed voices began to whisper around the table. Laura’s eyes were wide, and most of the color had drained from her face. Connor had reached for the closest wine bottle and instead of pouring what little remained in the glass, he brought it directly to his mouth and downed it. Declan was watching the exchange, his finger resting on his lip as if he were deep in thought, and Jill’s eyes were brimming with tears. I was pretty sure they were leftover from the declaration of Eric having a girlfriend and not the accusation I’d just thrown at him.

  “Am I right?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  Instead, he stood up, a panicked expression on his face. His eyes scanned the table and his hand shot out, grabbing the basket of pillow rolls. He picked one up and hurled it at me. He launched another and another, rolls flying through the air like grenades as he aimed for me and the rest of the people gathering in the room, all of them too stunned by what was happening to move or react.

  When the last roll was gone, Eric tossed the basket into the air and sprinted for the door. I wiped crumbs from my eyes and without a second thought, chased after him.

  Eric was a pretty fast guy.

  But I was fast, too.

  Or maybe I caught up with him because he was swerving a little on his way out the front door. I’d apparently been right about the amount of wine he’d consumed.

  He shoved the door open and I knew I was in danger of losing him. Once he got outside, he could take off in any direction; the playing field was going to open up significantly.

  So I did the only thing I could think of.

  I imagined myself as one of Mikey’s pillow rolls, light and practically weightless, and launched myself into the air.

  And I landed right on the back of Eric’s legs, tackling him on the front porch. His chest thudded on the wood floor and he let out a rush of air. My chin hit his shoulder blade and I was pretty sure my lip was bleeding, but it didn’t matter.

  Because I’d stopped him.

  “Well, well,” a voice drawled from above us.

  A voice I recognized.

  My eyes traveled from the pair of shoes standing on my steps…up the slacks…eventually landing on a sweatshirt. A sweatshirt with a turkey dinner emblazoned on the front.

  Sheriff Lewis smiled. “What do we have here?”

  THIRTY EIGHT

  Sheriff Lewis slapped a pair of handcuffs on Eric’s wrists.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” he announced. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.”

  I’d picked myself up off the floor, wiping dust off my pants. Along with my split lip, I’d also banged up my knee pretty good, and I was pretty sure there was a splinter lodged under one of my fingernails, but I didn’t mind. Too much.

  Owen’s killer was in custody.

  And I had solved the crime.

  I watched as Sheriff Lewis guided Eric out to his patrol car. He was wearing his sheriff’s hat and this combined with the turkey sweatshirt made me giggle out loud.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder and I spun around, my defenses kicking in by default.

  But it was only Gunnar. “Are you okay?” His voice was laced with concern.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. The sheriff is taking him in.”

  Everyone who had been seated at the table was crowded around the front door.

  “What happened?”

  “How did you know?”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I told you he killed my brother!”

  The questions and statements blurred together and I ignored them. I headed down the steps to the sheriff’s car. Because I had some questions of my own, questions only he could answer.

  Sheriff Lewis slammed the passenger door shut and hitched his pants, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

  The smile disappeared. “Make it quick,” he muttered. “My dinner is getting cold.”

  “How did you know it was Eric?”

  He shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. “That’s classified information.”

  “Classified?” What did he think he was, a spy? I tried a different tactic. “Look, I tackled him for you. If I hadn’t done that, you might still be chasing after him.” When he didn’t look like he was buying it, I added, “And your dinner would have been even colder.”

  His moustache twitched and his eyes narrowed. I crossed my arms and waited.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “The motel manager called me at home. Said they found something in the room when they were cleaning it this afternoon.”

  I wanted to ask how the manager had managed to find a piece of evidence after the sheriff had supposedly searched the room. But it was a moot point. I knew how he or she had done it; they had simply been more thorough than the sheriff could ever hope to be.

  So I just nodded, hoping he would continue.

  “It was one of those”—he waved his arms—“those beer things. Those tube things the young folk drink beer from.”

  “A beer bong?” I suggested.

  He gave me a curt nod.

  “It was in Owen’s room?”

  He nodded again.

  “And did you dust it for prints?” I asked. Part of me hoped that was what he’d done, but another part of me was going to be a little disappointed that the sheriff had shown a little competency for once.

  “Well, no…” His voice trailed off. “We didn’t need to.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it had Eric’s name on it. A little plaque on the bottom, like some sort of award or something.” He harrumphed. “Didn’t know they gave out awards for drinking beer the fastest.”

  I bet he didn’t know they also gave out awards for winning pillow fights. But I kept my mouth shut; he’d find out that little tidbit soon enough.

  “And that was enough to bring him in?” I asked doubtfully. “And read him his rights?”

  It sounded like the classic case of Sheriff Lewis jumping the gun in the suspect department. But this time, he had actually been right.

  “Course not,” he snapped. “I decided to run his name, just to see if anything clicked, and it turned out our guy had been brought up on assault charges a few years back.” He paused. “Attacked someone with a pillow.”

  “I see,” I said.

  I was reluctantly impressed. Not because the sheriff had exhibited superior investigative skills but because for once he hadn’t completely ignored evidence in favor of a wild goose chase. Of course, any investigator worth their salt probably would have done that at the beginning of the investigation, just to rule out the people closest to the victim, but Sheriff Lewis wasn’t an ordinary law enforcement officer. Not by a long shot.

  “One last question, “ I said as he started to turn back to his car.

  He made a face. “My dinner is getting colder. And I still have to bring this turkey in and book him.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding. “I was just wondering…how did you know he was here?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I frowned. “Then why did you come here?”

  Sheriff Lewis tipped his hat and squinted at me. “Because there’s one thing I’ve learned these last few months.”

  “What is that?”

  “If something is amiss, visit Rainy Day.” His moustache twitched again, but this time it looked like he was fighting a smile. “Because trouble follows you around like a shadow.”

  THIRTY NINE

  “Did we get them
all?”

  I surveyed the kitchen, looking for any stray dishes. Laura was standing next to a sinkful of soapy water, her hands encased in rubber gloves. She had appointed herself the official dishwasher, which was just fine with me.

  “I think so,” I told her.

  It was just after seven o’clock and the last of our dinner guests had left a half hour earlier. After Sheriff Lewis hauled Eric away, we’d gone back to the dinner table and started our meal. Somehow, Declan was able to persuade Martin and Dawn to stay, so we pulled up another chair and set another place setting and they ate dinner with us. I hadn’t been thrilled about having Dawn as a guest, but it was Thanksgiving, and she did have the decency to at least mumble an apology about barging in uninvited and unannounced.

  It was only later that I found out Martin had ruined their own turkey and their meal at home was going to consist of powdered mashed potatoes and boxed stuffing. Martin at least deserved better than that, so I was glad they’d decided to stay. Especially since he’d polished off three pieces of pie, which meant there would be less for me to worry about having around the house…and ending up in my mouth.

  The kitchen door pushed open and Connor stepped inside, blowing on his hands to warm them up. He’d just finished taking the last of the empty wine bottles out to the recycling bin.

  “Well, I think dinner was a success,” he announced.

  I picked up a platter from the dish drainer and dried it. “I think so, too.”

  “People really seemed to enjoy the chestnut soup,” he said.

  The chestnut soup hadn’t been bad. I’d avoided the duck cracklings he’d insisted on sprinkling on top of my bowl and ate quickly, before they could deteriorate and contaminate the soup.

  “Would you like to keep the rest of the duck?” he asked me.

  I raised my eyebrows. “What? What for?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. You like to cook—maybe there’s a recipe you want to try using duck meat?”

  I shook my head, probably a little too vigorously. “No, thank you. That’s your duck.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Laura as she drained the sink and pulled off her gloves. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to use the rest of it,” he said with a sigh.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  He nodded in Laura’s direction. “She wants to hit all the Black Friday sales. Which means we’ll be gone all day tomorrow. And the duck is already a couple of days old.”

  “Can’t you freeze it?”

  He made a face. “Duck is best fresh. Not frozen.”

  I wasn’t in any position to argue with him. “That’s too bad.”

  He shrugged. “Really is. Can’t be helped, though.” He pushed off the counter. “When did you want to leave, hon?”

  Laura laid the gloved over the faucet. “Probably soon. We need to get home so we’re ready for the sales. Some of the stores open at 4 am.”

  If Connor was upset about having to get up that early to go fight throngs of shoppers, he made no indication of this. He just nodded and said, “I’ll start packing up.”

  He disappeared down the hallway and Laura and I were alone for what seemed like the first time all day.

  “Dinner was delicious,” she said as she sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Her sleeves were pulled up from dishwashing and she yanked these down.

  I was still drying dishes. “I'm glad. And thank you for helping with it.”

  “And the company was...interesting.”

  I nodded, but didn't say anything.

  “Are you happy here, Mom?”

  I put the final dish in the cabinet and turned to face her. “Yes. I am.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I just want to make sure. I just worry about you.”

  “And water is wet.”

  “Mom.”

  “I appreciate the worry,” I said, smiling. “I do. But I am fine. I'm better than fine. I like it here. I like my house. I like this goofy town. And I like having both you and Connor come to visit. I hope you'll do it more often.”

  “Do you want us to stay?” she asked. A look of uncertainty crossed her face. “I don't have to go shopping.”

  “Yes, you do,” I said. “So, no, I don't want you to stay. Go do your thing. Just make plans to come back.”

  “We will. I promise.” She paused. “But I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “What the heck is the deal with you and Gunnar and the pastor guy?”

  I leaned against the counter. “What do you mean?”

  She frowned at me. “Mom. Come on. There was some crazy vibe between you guys.”

  I was hoping it hadn't been that obvious, but clearly she'd picked up on all of it.

  “It's just...nothing,” I said.

  “That's a lie.”

  I sighed. Laura would always be able to read me like a book. “It's complicated. But it's nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”

  “Do you like the pastor guy?”

  “Of course I like him,” I said. “Declan has been a great friend to me since I moved here.”

  “I mean like him like him,” Laura said.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You're misinterpreting.”

  “Well, I know I'm not misinterpreting that you like Gunnar,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I could see that a mile away.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Oh, really?”

  “Oh, yes, really,” she said, chuckling. “So I was just curious if you were playing the field here or—”

  “I am not playing any field.”

  She held up her hands. “Alright, alright. But it's obvious that there's something between you and Gunnar.” She paused. “But I know you're going to tell me it's none of my business, so I will stop asking. For now.”

  “Wise decision,” I said. I also knew that her pausing her question “for now” could last anywhere from five weeks to five minutes—but my guess was on the latter.

  She stood from her chair. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am.”

  She walked over and hugged me. “And safe.”

  I hugged her back. “I am.”

  She pulled away from me and held me at arm's length, studying me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “If you have any questions, you can ask me,” she said. There was a playful twinkle in her eye, one I hadn’t seen in the entire time she’d been at my house.

  “Questions about what?”

  “The birds and the bees.”

  She scrambled away from me before I could smack her.

  FORTY

  I helped Laura and Connor pack up their car and waved to them as their headlights backed away from the house. I stood there until I couldn't see their car on the road any longer.

  I was happy to have my house back to myself, but a tiny part of me was sad to see them go. As much as Laura drove me nuts, it was nice to have her back for a couple of days. And I'd never enjoyed Connor more. I needed to remind myself of those things when I got so worked up over Laura's incessant questioning.

  I walked back into the house and saw Gunnar's salad bowl and spoon on the table. He'd left them when he and Jill left. Laura and I had cleaned them up and now they were staring at me.

  Not actually staring at me because they didn't have eyes, but it felt like they were, imploring me to do something.

  I hesitated for what seemed like forever before I made a decision. I pulled on my coat and boots, gathered up the bowl and spoon, and headed across the road. The wind had picked up and the cold worked its way into my body. By the time I got to Gunnar's front door, I was chilled to the bone.

  “Rainy,” he said, when he opened the door. He had changed clothes, or at least shirts. “What are you doing?”

  I held the bowl out to him. “Returning this.”

  He took it from me and stepped out of the way. “Come in.”

  I waited for a second, contemplating,
but the biting wind made my decision for me. I hurried inside, desperate for warmth.

  He closed the door behind me. “Temperature's dropping.”

  “Got that.”

  We stood there awkwardly for a moment, Gunnar hugging the bowl to his midsection and me trying to figure out something to say.

  “Get everyone on their way?” he asked.

  “Laura and Connor just left,” I told him, nodding. “She wants to go shopping. Black Friday and all.”

  “I heard her mention that.”

  “Yep.”

  There was another moment of silence. “Thank you for dinner,” he said. “I can't remember if I thanked you in all the commotion.”

  “You're welcome,” I said. “I can't remember, either.”

  It was silent again and there was something there, something weird that hadn't been before.

  “Are you still angry about Declan?” I finally blurted out.

  “Still?” He shrugged. “I don't recall being angry in the first place.”

  I sighed. I knew what I’d seen, what I’d witnessed. I knew what his body language had been telling me, and I was pretty sure I knew the underlying meaning to the words he’d spoken before and during our meal.

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “What?”

  I stepped past him to the door. “I do not have the energy nor desire to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  I turned around. “Would you stop putting everything in the form of a question?”

  He squinted at me, confused. “Um, okay.”

  “You know what I'm talking about,” I said. “Please stop pretending you don't. It just irritates me. To no end. I understand you were angry about Declan being there and—”

  “I was not,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at all.”

  I stared at him for a moment. I hadn't misread his body language nor misheard his sarcasm. And I resented his trying to make me feel that I had. It was petty and arrogant and silly.

  And it got me thinking that maybe I had misjudged Gunnar entirely.

  “I'm gonna go,” I said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  He reached out a hand to stop me. “Rainy, I don't—”