Cut and Died

by Jeff Shelby

  Margaret’s cheeks colored. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. She bit her lip. “But it’s not like her to not answer her phone. Do you think...?” She swallowed. “Do you think I should be worried?”

  Asking the sheriff for his opinion was never a good idea.

  “How long has it been since you’ve heard from her?” I asked.

  Sheriff Lewis whirled in my direction. “Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

  I ignored him. “A couple of days?”

  She nodded, a little nervously. “I think so.”

  “Is this a friend of yours or a relative?” I asked.

  Margaret breathed in deeply, as if she were trying to get her emotions under control. “My sister. Stepsister.”

  I thought about the weather we’d had, and the fact that Mack had gone off the road the other night. I didn’t want to think worst-case scenario, but I could see why Margaret might be concerned. And why she would want to talk to the sheriff.

  The only problem was, he was the least likely person to offer any help.

  “Have you checked with any of her friends?” I asked. “People who might have seen her. Her employer?”

  Margaret shook her head, and her hair flew into her face again. “She isn’t working at the moment. At least not that I know of. And I haven’t checked with any of her friends.”

  I tried not to frown. It didn’t seem like Margaret knew her stepsister very well at all.

  Mack spoke up. “I’d give it another day. It doesn’t sound like the two of you are particularly close; maybe she went out of town? A vacation or something?”

  Margaret blushed a deep red. “Maybe,” she murmured. “I guess it’s possible.”

  Mack clapped his hands once, signaling the conversation was done. “Excellent. I’m sure the sheriff here will help if needed. He managed to find my missing car, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. A missing car and a potentially missing woman were not the same thing at all.

  “I’d keep calling,” I suggested. “Maybe swing by her house?”

  Margaret nodded, her eyes wide, as if this idea had never occurred to her. “I could do that,” she said slowly. She tugged on her purse, pulling it close to her body. “I’ll...I’ll keep you posted, Sheriff Lewis.”

  He nodded, a little distractedly, I thought. He was clearly ready to wrap things up so he could get Mack back to his car and himself back to his golf tournament.

  “Come on,” Mack said as soon as Margaret turned and headed for the door.

  I’d eaten exactly two fries. “But I’m hungry.”

  “I already said we can just take it with us.”

  “Taking it with us would require getting a container to put the food in,” I pointed out. I glanced in Dawn’s direction. She was standing at a table, her hands on her hips, glaring at a customer. I squinted. I was pretty sure it was Calvin, the elderly gentleman I’d delivered meals to, and the one who liked to put on one-man plays. “Which means asking her.”

  Mack’s expression changed. He darted a quick look in the sheriff’s direction and then said under his breath, “How fast can you eat?”

  I was already reaching for my plate.

  “Really fast,” I told him.

  TWELVE

  My stomach was uncomfortably full by the time we drove out of Latney. I’d inhaled my meal in less than five minutes, scarfing down my entire burger and draining my soda. Mack had done an impressive job on his, as well, and had even managed to eat most of his fries, too.

  The sheriff had stood there and watched us the entire time, tamping his foot on the low-pile carpet and glancing at the thick silver watch attached to his wrist.

  “That kid makes a good burger,” Mack said, patting his stomach.

  I nodded. “You don’t even know.”

  “He should head up to the city,” Mack said. “Put his talent to work up there.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, and I knew it was something Mikey had once considered. His goal had been to become a chef—well, after he’d realized priesthood wasn’t for him—but his ties to Latney ran deep. His grandmother suffered from dementia and he was her only caregiver, and his sister, the only other family he had left, lived just a few doors down from him. I couldn’t imagine what the circumstances would need to be for him to consider a move away from the only family he had left and the tiny town he’d grown up in.

  I was following Sheriff Lewis, who was cruising down the highway as if he were the grand marshal in a local parade, well below the posted speed limit. At this rate, it might be nightfall by the time we reached Mack’s car.

  Eventually, though, the sedan in front of me slowed even more, the brake lights illuminating, and the sheriff turned off the road, onto a flattened stretch of packed snow that was just barely visible.

  Mack’s knee was bouncing up and down, his fingers drumming his thigh.

  “What?” I asked.

  He glanced around, craning his neck to take in our surroundings. “Lots of trees,” he commented. “Wonder how bad she got scratched up.”

  I shook my head and said nothing, hoping I’d never be as invested in a car as he seemed to be in his.

  After a couple of minutes rumbling down the bumpy, snow-covered road, we emptied into a clearing of sorts, an open patch of land. An old battered Chevy pickup was parked next to a dilapidated camper that looked to be at least thirty years old. Parked next to that and looking remarkably out of place was Mack’s car.

  “There she is,” Mack breathed.

  I pulled to a stop behind the sheriff and Mack was out of the passenger door before I had a chance to turn off the engine. He bolted to his car, running his hands along the sides of it, and I couldn’t tell if it was a loving caress or if he was checking for scratches and dings.

  The door to the camper opened and a young bearded guy maneuvered down the stairs. He was wearing snow pants and a thick camo jacket, along with a knit hat that covered most of his hair. He glanced at Mack, then me, and then approached the sheriff.

  Sheriff Lewis slammed his car door shut. “This here’s Tim,” he announced, motioning to the guy walking toward him. “He’s the one who found your car.”

  Tim. His name sounded familiar. I stared at him, trying to do so covertly, and I finally made the connection. Mikey had mentioned a Tim a couple of months ago, some guy he knew who was a doomsday prepper—whatever that was. I scanned my surroundings, taking in the camper and the woodshed and the pile of what looked to be junk sitting next to it.

  Maybe this was the same guy.

  Mack finished inspecting his car, apparently satisfied that it was in the same condition he’d last seen it in. “Hey, thanks for finding it,” he said as he walked toward Tim and the sheriff.

  Tim just nodded. “No problem, man.”

  Mack hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. He had to be cold, standing there in his button-down shirt, because I was wearing a jacket and scarf and was still freezing.

  “Where was it?” Mack asked.

  “The car?” Tim asked.

  Mack nodded.

  “Oh, well...” Tim toed the snow-packed ground with a weathered work boot. “I, uh, found it on the side of the road. Right outside Latney.”

  Mack’s eyebrow arched. “You found it?”

  Another slight nod.

  “On the side of the road?”

  More nodding.

  “And so you towed it...here?”

  Tim jerked his head in the direction of the pickup. “Got a hitch on the back of that. Makes it pretty easy to tow stuff.”

  Mack had gone perfectly still. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone icy as he stared at the kid standing in front of him. “You saw a car in a ditch and just decided to tow it to your—” He looked around, trying to figure out if this was where Tim actually lived. “—to your property?”

  “Uh...yeah.”

  THIRTEEN

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Ma
ck as angry as he was at that moment.

  “You stole my car?” he asked, his voice nearing a shout.

  “I didn’t steal it,” Tim countered. “It was abandoned.”

  “It was in a ditch on the side of the road because of a snowstorm,” Mack shot back. His eyes were like daggers as he stared at the kid standing in front of him. “It was not abandoned.”

  Tim shrugged. “Sure looked that way to me.”

  Mack huffed out a breath, and I could tell he was close to really losing it.

  I took a tentative step forward. “Let’s just calm down for a second,” I said. “Talk about this rationally.”

  Mack exploded. “He stole my car!”

  “You abandoned it,” Tim countered.

  “So you just decided to take it? What, for a joyride or something?”

  “Joyride?” Tim snorted. “I was going to strip it for parts.”

  I reached out and grabbed Mack’s elbow, mostly so he wouldn’t take a swing at the kid.

  Mack glared at the sheriff. “You hearing what he’s saying?”

  Sheriff Lewis glanced at Tim, then back at Mack. His gaze moved to the car. “You did leave it on the side of the road...” he finally said.

  A strange sound gurgled out of Mack and I had to use all my strength to restrain him as he lunged forward.

  “Stop it,” I hissed, yanking him back to my side. I pulled him further away from the other men and glared at him.

  “These people are insane,” Mack growled. He’d stopped trying to get away from me but his chest was heaving and I knew he was still spoiling for a chance to get at the kid who’d taken his car.

  “I know they are,” I said calmly. “I told you what would happen if you tried to involve the sheriff. You didn’t listen.”

  “That kid stole my car! There’s no other way to spin what happened.”

  “I know,” I repeated. “But it doesn’t matter.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Just take your car and go. Trust me. That’s the best option. The only option, really.”

  Mack’s jaw twitched, and I could tell he was wrestling with what to do.

  “Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. He fished his keys out of his pocket and headed toward the car.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sheriff Lewis asked.

  Mack stopped.

  “A thank you to Tim for finding it?” the sheriff suggested.

  My mouth dropped open. I wasn’t sure how Mack was going to respond but I couldn’t believe it would be pretty.

  “Mack,” I warned, trying to position myself between him and the other two men. Not that I would be able to stop him.

  Mack took several deep breaths, similar to what I’d done when I was in labor with the kids. I could tell he was doing his best to get his emotions under control.

  “Let it go,” I said in a low voice.

  He nodded, a quick jerk of his head, his lips pressed together.

  I expelled a breath and hoped for the best.

  He continued toward his car, and I wondered if he’d now be inspecting it not for scratches and nicks but for missing parts.

  Tim and the sheriff fell in step behind him, which struck me as odd. If I were them, I’d want to steer clear of Mack for the time being.

  I hurried past them, joining Mack, making sure I was in a position to say goodbye to him before he peeled out of there. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to never come back to Latney.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” I said.

  Mack nodded. “Guess so.” He made a face. “Realized I left my jacket at your place. You can just send it to me when you get a chance.”

  “You sure? We can run back by and grab it.”

  He shook his head. “No, I should get going. It's fine. I've got plenty more.”

  He did love his clothes, so I knew he wouldn't be hurting without it.

  “I’m sorry about the circumstances of your visit, but it was nice to see you,” I told him, smiling.

  A small smile formed on his lips. “Yes. It was nice to see you, too.” He toyed with the keys in his hand, positioning the key fob between his pointer finger and thumb. A shiver ran through him, and I imagined he was close to freezing at that point. He needed the warmth of a jacket or his car. Immediately. “Guess I should get going.”

  He hit the button on the key fob, but his finger must have slipped because instead of unlocking the driver’s door the trunk popped open.

  My eyes shot to the open trunk, surprise quickly giving way to horror.

  I gasped and stared at the contents of the trunk.

  A dead woman stared back at me.

  FOURTEEN

  The sheriff fainted.

  Tim took a giant step back, his face turning an alarming shade of white.

  Mack just stood there, gaping at the open trunk.

  “What is that?” I managed to ask.

  It was a stupid question. It was absolutely clear what was in his trunk.

  A dead woman.

  I stole a quick peek at the body. She looked to be in her twenties, with long blonde hair and green eyes. She was wearing black slacks and a thick, red wool sweater. There were no visible signs of trauma.

  “I have no idea,” Mack whispered. His mouth was drawn tight, his eyes wide. He looked visibly shaken.

  I shifted my gaze from the trunk to the man crumpled in a heap on the ground. The sheriff had passed out the minute he’d seen what was inside the trunk.

  I knelt down next to him and gave him a shake. He didn’t move.

  Panic seized me. Had he fainted or did he have a heart attack? He was old, after all, and didn’t appear to be in the best of health. I leaned close to his face and felt warm air coming out of his mouth and nose. At least he was breathing.

  “Can I get a little help here?” I asked Tim and Mack.

  They both stared blankly at me.

  I motioned to the sheriff lying prone on the ground. “With him?”

  Mack just stared at the trunk, obviously in some state of shock.

  Tim’s mouth was still open, his face still as white as a ghost. “But...but...” He pointed to the trunk.

  “She doesn’t need any help,” I said pointedly. “He does.”

  Neither man made any move toward me and I shook my head in frustration. How was it that I was the only one with my faculties still about me? The sheriff had fainted at the sight in the trunk, and Mack and Tim were both completely immobilized. Unbelievable.

  I shook Sheriff Lewis, trying to rouse him, but he just lay there, unconscious. His hand was resting on the ground, ice-cold from the snow, and I could see that his clothes were getting wet. I needed to move him someplace warm and dry.

  I grabbed him by the shoulders and started to haul him across the ground and toward the camper. It seemed like the best place to put him since he could lie down and recover there. Mack and Tim just stood there and watched me struggle.

  The door to the camper opened. “What’s going on out here?”

  I looked up in surprise. A man was coming down the steps, a look of concern on his face.

  “He fainted,” I explained, nodding my head at the man I was dragging across the snow.

  The man frowned. “Is that a policeman?”

  Considering he was wearing his sheriff’s uniform, it felt like a silly question but I just nodded an affirmative.

  The man hustled toward me and somehow managed to scoop Sheriff Lewis off the ground and into his arms. It wasn’t graceful and it wasn’t pretty, but at least the old man wasn’t sitting in snow anymore.

  I headed toward the camper, intent on opening the door so he could easily get him inside, but the man shook his head.

  “Not in there,” he said. “There’s no heat. The truck is a better option.”

  I didn’t argue. I hurried toward the truck and tried the passenger door. It was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. I started it and adjusted the heat so it wouldn’t blow cold air. Hopefully, the engine would wa
rm quickly.

  The man positioned the sheriff in the truck, reclining the passenger seat so he was almost horizontal.

  “Thank you,” I said to the man. “I don’t think I could have gotten him in here on my own.”

  “No problem.” The man smiled. He was probably in his thirties, with short brown hair and a slightly crooked nose.

  “Do you live here?” I asked.

  He wrinkled his nose. “No, my brother does. Tim. I’m James. James McIntire.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I told him. It felt like a weird thing to say considering the circumstances.

  The sheriff groaned then, and we both turned out attention to him.

  I squeezed his hand. “Sheriff Lewis? Are you okay?”

  His eyes fluttered. “Mmm?”

  I gave his hand a harder squeeze. James fiddled with the heat, and warm air began to pump out of the vents.

  “What happened?” the sheriff asked, weakly.

  “You fainted,” I told him.

  “What? Why?” His eyes were still closed.

  “Um, I think because of what was in the trunk...”

  His eyes shot open and I could tell that he immediately remembered what he’d seen.

  He bolted upright. “Where is he?”

  “He?” I repeated. “I think you’re mistaken, Sheriff. It was a woman...”

  He glared at me. “I know what I saw, Rainy Day. And I want to know where that man is.”

  I just stared at him. He wasn’t making any sense.

  “Mack Mercy,” he announced. He managed to pull himself out of the truck on unsteady feet. “Where is he?”

  “Mack?”

  He nodded. “Because he is under arrest.”

  FIFTEEN

  Mack laughed. “Excuse me?”

  The sheriff had his hands on the hood of the pickup, almost as if he were bracing himself. “You heard me,” he barked. “You’re under arrest for murder.”

  “Murder?” James echoed, and I realized he probably didn’t have the faintest idea what we were talking about.

  Mack’s look was incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”