Cut and Died

by Jeff Shelby

  The sheriff set his hands on his hips. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  That was an easy question to answer. The sheriff most definitely did not look like he was joking around.

  “You do remember that the car hasn’t been in my possession for the last 24 hours, right?” Mack said. He’d recovered a bit from the initial shock of seeing a dead body in his trunk. The color had returned to his face but he still looked agitated, upset. I didn’t blame him.

  “What does that have to do with it?” Sheriff Lewis said.

  Mack pointed at Tim. “He’s had my car since last night. Ever occur to you he might be responsible?”

  Sheriff Lewis glanced at Tim. He was still pale, and if I didn’t know different, I might have thought he was coming down with the flu or something.

  “Now, hold on,” James said, taking a step forward, his hand extended. “We can’t just go around accusing people of...of murder. What exactly happened?”

  Mack glanced at him but said nothing.

  “There’s a dead body in the trunk of the car,” I whispered.

  James eyes widened.

  “Well?” Mack demanded, his eyes back on Sheriff Lewis. “Did you ever think of that? That your buddy Tim here might be responsible? He is a thief, after all.”

  Tim blinked. Mack’s words were finally registering with him, and his mouth screwed up in irritation. But before he could answer, Sheriff Lewis spoke up.

  “I’ve known this boy for years,” he snapped at Mack. “He didn’t steal your car and he didn’t put that woman in your trunk. You did.”

  “You know what happens when you falsely accuse someone of a crime, right?” Mack said.

  The sheriff frowned.

  “I’ll tell you,” Mack said. “You get sued. Big time.”

  The sheriff harrumphed.

  “Don’t believe me?” Mack chuckled, but there was no mirth behind it. “I’m a private investigator. I’ve seen my fair share of lawsuits brought on by clients who were accused of wrongdoing. My lawyer will be all over this if you so much as slap cuffs on me or read me my Miranda rights.”

  It probably wasn’t a good time to point out that, to the best of my knowledge, Sheriff Lewis didn’t actually follow procedure and read people their rights. Because I’d never seen him do it.

  “Hogwash,” the sheriff sputtered. “It’s clear, plain as day, that you’re responsible for this.”

  “You wanna know what’s plain as day?” Mack countered. “The fact that I will sue you for every penny you have if you bring charges against me without evidence.”

  “The evidence is right there!” Sheriff Lewis roared, pointing to the still open trunk.

  “One piece,” Mack said, holding up his index finger. “You haven’t examined the body, dusted for prints, interviewed me or Tim. So right now, you basically have a victim. That’s it.”

  I didn’t know how much of what Mack was saying was actually true. The sheriff could certainly take him in for questioning, but bringing him up on charges at this point did feel a little premature. And I had no idea if Mack could sue him over false accusations...but I was positive the sheriff wouldn’t know, either.

  Sheriff Lewis folded his arms across his chest, his elbows resting on his protruding stomach. Tim and James were both frozen in place, watching the exchange between the other two men.

  “Guess I’d better call Melvin,” the sheriff muttered, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

  Mack glanced at me. “Who is Melvin?”

  “The medical examiner,” I said.

  Mack gave a quick nod. “Finally, something he’s supposed to do.”

  “I’m keeping your car,” the sheriff announced, his eyes back on Mack.

  Mack, to his credit, didn’t argue with this. In fact, he stayed quiet.

  “Of course,” I said for him. “Since it’s evidence.” And technically part of the crime scene.

  The sheriff frowned. “No.”

  “No?” I repeated. Did that mean he wasn’t going to treat it as evidence? I was confused.

  “I’m keeping it so he doesn’t try to skip out of town. You are staying put while I investigate this crime, you hear?”

  Mack stared at the sheriff and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Because it was what I was thinking, too.

  Sheriff Lewis didn’t have a clue as to how to investigate a murder.

  Which meant it would be up to us to figure out just what had happened to the woman in the trunk of Mack’s car.

  And who had put her there.

  SIXTEEN

  Mack and I drove back to my house in silence.

  This surprised me, because based on what had just happened, the man sitting next to me should have been anything other than quiet.

  He’d just found his car, only to have it taken away.

  More importantly, though, there was a body in said car. A dead body.

  And the illustrious sheriff of Bueller County had just accused him of murder.

  Mack wasn’t one to stay silent on most occasions, and certainly not in a situation like this.

  It felt like I should say something, but I was at a loss for words. Expressing sympathy about him not getting his car back seemed shallow at best. Apologizing for finding a dead body in his trunk seemed even worse.

  But I didn’t have much else.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be going home this afternoon,” I said, settling on a broader topic.

  Mack stared morosely out the windshield, his eyes not focused on much of anything. “Me, too.”

  Pine trees dusted with snow dotted both sides of the road, blending to a soft blur of white as we drove past. A car passed us going in the opposite direction, a black SUV that sprayed the windshield as it sped by. I flicked the wipers on.

  “The car was in good shape, though, right?” I asked, squinting through the blurry windshield. I sprayed washer fluid and the wipers continued to dance in front of us.

  He gave a slight nod.

  “So that’s good,” I said.

  Silence enveloped us once again.

  “And I don’t think you should worry too much about the sheriff,” I said.

  Mack’s gaze flickered to me.

  “I mean, I know he can seem intimidating and all, but he’s mostly hot air.” I offered a small smile. “Trust me, I’ve had enough run-ins with him to know.”

  Mack acknowledged this with a nod. “I know.”

  We had gotten to Latney and were slowly making our way through town. The sky was dusky, a combination of clouds and a rapidly sinking sun, and the streetlights were already on even though it was only late afternoon.

  I drove along the main drag, taking note of the slow afternoon bustle. There were cars at Toby’s, of course, and people walking in and out of the bank, but the other stores appeared mostly deserted. This didn’t surprise me. It was late afternoon on a Monday in January after a significant snowstorm. If people were like me, they were probably hibernating at home. After they’d gotten their burgers at the Wicked Wich, of course. Apparently that was one thing people would venture out of their houses for.

  Within a few minutes, the town of Latney was behind us and we were almost back to my house.

  And Mack was still stewing in silence.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  His brows furrowed.

  “I mean, besides everything that just happened.” A blush crept over my face when I realized how ridiculous the question I’d just asked was. “You’re just awfully quiet.”

  He acknowledged this with another nod.

  It was driving me crazy.

  “Look,” I said, trying to offer some reassurance, “this will all blow over before you know it. We all know this is a big misunderstanding. Someone else put that woman in your trunk.”

  “I know.”

  “And we will find who did it. I know we will.” I tried to sound confident. “Finding her there is probably just a big misunderstanding. I mean, you didn’t even know her!�
�

  Mack shifted in his seat and made a weird noise, something that sounded like a cough or a gurgle.

  “Actually,” he said in a soft voice, “I did.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I screeched to a stop on the side of the road, the driveway to my house within view, and looked at him. “What?!”

  “I knew her,” Mack said simply. His head was thrown back against the seat and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  I stared at him, my mouth agape. “You’re joking, right?”

  He shook his head.

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Oh my goodness.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady my suddenly racing heart. “Okay.”

  It wasn’t okay, though. None of it was. Not the fact that the woman in Mack’s trunk was someone he apparently knew, and not the fact that he was only just now telling me this. I felt the questions bubble up inside of me, right along with the anxiety.

  I couldn’t stay quiet.

  “Who was she?” I demanded. “How did you know her? Where did you know her from? When was the last time you saw her?”

  Mack held up a hand. His eyes were still closed, and he wore a painful expression, almost as if it hurt to listen. “Please...can we get to the house first?”

  I frowned. “Why? What does being inside the house have anything to do with answering questions?”

  “It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But I need a drink. A stiff one.”

  I considered this. A stiff drink was probably what both of us needed, not just Mack.

  I lifted my foot off the brake. “Fine,” I said as I pulled away from the shoulder and back on to the road.

  A few minutes later, we were sitting on the couch in my living room, a glass of whiskey in front of Mack and a tall glass of red wine in my hand. He’d kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, and I realized then that we hadn’t grabbed a single belonging of his from the car. I didn’t know if the sheriff would have let us—after all, it was probably all considered evidence—but the fact that neither of us had even brought it up spoke volumes about just how rattled we’d both been by the events of that afternoon.

  However, Mack’s confession in the car had shocked me even more.

  I swirled the wine in the glass. “Alright, tell me.”

  Mack grabbed the tumbler filled with whiskey and brought it to his lips. He took a long sip, wincing as he swallowed.

  “Her name was Miranda,” he said.

  “Miranda?” Alarm bells went off in my head. Was this the same Miranda the woman from the Wicked Wich had been looking for? “Miranda what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know her last name?”

  He shook his head.

  “Is she the same woman who Margaret said was missing? Back at the restaurant?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Miranda wasn’t a terribly common name, but it was conceivable that they were two different people. I went with that assumption.

  “So you must not have known her very well, then,” I said, which felt like a pretty obvious point.

  He didn’t respond.

  I shifted on the couch and took a sip of wine. It was one of my favorite merlots but I could barely taste it. “Was this woman a client of yours? Or someone you’d maybe met on a case?”

  That was a plausible explanation. Mack’s line of work had him constantly meeting and talking to new people.

  “No,” he said.

  I cradled the glass of wine in my hand and tried to be discreet as I studied him. He looked a little haggard; worried. And with good reason.

  “So how did you know her?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “I met her this past weekend.”

  “At the conference?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Was she a private investigator?” I paused. “That’s what the conference was for, right?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was a conference for PIs. And no, she wasn’t, at least not to my knowledge.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer to my next question, but I knew I needed to ask it.

  “So if she wasn’t there for the conference, how did you meet her?”

  “We met in the bar,” Mack said. His drink was now nearly empty. “Started talking the last night of the conference, after the sessions had ended.”

  Talking. He said talking. I took a deep breath, then exhaled. They had talked. Nothing wrong with talking.

  “And so you talked and that was it,” I said, nodding and smiling. “So it was totally coincidental that she ended up in your trunk. I mean, she probably talked to a ton of people that night, right?”

  I was babbling, trying to make nothing out of something. Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, there was definitely something there. A woman Mack had talked to at a conference miles away had somehow ended up dead in the trunk of his car. There was no way to simply dismiss it as sheer luck. Bad luck, of course.

  But I was going to try.

  Mack’s shoulders slumped. “She didn’t talk to anyone after she talked to me.”

  “Oh? Did she leave? What time was that?” I felt a flicker of hope, but it was small, like the flame of a fire starter that wouldn’t quite catch. “Maybe we can prove that she left way before you did or something. That would be the alibi you need to prove you had nothing to do with it.”

  “She left the bar around nine o’clock,” he said. And then he added, “The same time as me.”

  A weird feeling formed in my gut. “The same time?”

  He nodded. “We left together.”

  That flicker of hope turned to a pang of dread. “Together, together or together meaning at the same time?”

  His eyes met mine, and I could read the answer before he even told me. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

  “Together, together,” Mack said. “To my room.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I woke up the next morning tired and disoriented.

  Because I hadn’t been able to sleep.

  I’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, trying to make sense of what Mack had told me and how it fit with the rest of the pieces of the mystery unfolding in front of us.

  Mack had known Miranda. Well, not really known...but he’d gotten to know her long enough to sleep with her. This in and of itself was not terribly surprising, as Mack had always had a way with the ladies. I immediately thought of the mile marker comment when we’d initially gone out looking for his car. Yes, not surprising at all.

  But to have a one-night stand with a woman who turns up dead in the trunk of your car—I was pretty sure this was a first for him in the dating department.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. The muffins I’d made the day before were in a plastic bag and I unzipped it and reached for one. But I just held it in my hands, stared at it. I wasn’t terribly hungry.

  Mack had said the thing with Miranda had been a casual hookup, and nothing more. He’d said that she left his room early the next morning, wanting to get home before the snow rolled in. He had stuck around town. I immediately latched on to this: if we could find people who had seen him, if he’d attended workshops and conferences, then we could prove that he hadn’t been with Miranda.

  But the answer he gave deflated those hopes. He’d stayed in his room, working out the logistics of a case that had him stymied. He hadn’t gone down to breakfast, and he hadn’t ordered room service. He’d requested a late checkout, but he’d already settled his bill and had left his keycard in the hotel room.

  None of those helped establish an alibi.

  If anything, it made him look even more suspicious.

  I unwrapped the muffin but didn’t eat it.

  I hated that I was questioning what Mack told me. I’d known him for decades, for longer than I’d known virtually anyone. We’d spent countless hours together, and there had been several weeks over the course of our tim
e working together when I’d spent more time with him than I had my own husband. Considering the ridiculous number of hours Charlie had worked during our marriage, this wasn’t hard to do, even when I’d worked less hours with Mack when the kids had been babies and toddlers.

  Mack had told me everything about the night he’d spent with Miranda. Well, everything pertinent to the case. I didn’t need to know the specifics of how they’d spent their...time together. But he’d shared everything else and, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to what he told me.

  But these were not normal circumstances.

  Because a dead body had been found in Mack’s trunk.

  And despite the fact that I felt like I knew Mack about as well as I knew anyone, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he was probably the only person I knew who could pull off a murder—and get away with it.

  He was a private investigator. He had seen all kinds of cases during his time at Capitol Cases. He would know exactly how to kill someone without leaving evidence behind, and exactly how to hide a trail of said evidence.

  I thought about the route he took, and how he said his car went into a ditch. But was that what really happened?

  Tim had said he’d found the car abandoned on the side of the road—had this been done purposely, so that someone else could take the blame?

  “Stop it,” I said out loud, squeezing my eyes shut. I dropped the muffin to the table.

  All I was doing was speculating, and that wasn’t helping anyone.

  I knew what I needed to do.

  I needed to ask Mack the hard questions. Pose them as accusations, be blunt about how suspicious he looked, and let him defend himself.

  And I had to do it soon.

  Because I was pretty sure Sheriff Lewis would be calling soon.

  And, knowing Mack’s temper, I knew where that might lead.

  Probably to another murder.

  NINETEEN

  A knock at the kitchen door stopped me from going to rouse Mack for a round of questioning.

  There was a pause between the knock and the door opening, and I knew immediately that it would be Gunnar.