This building was officially the main location for police in the county, but most of the time officers were out on patrol or at the auxiliary office in Bakerstown, so I guess they didn’t need a big space. Like I said, Creek wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. Most of the time the cops were just dealing with out-of-town speeders or the same handful of drunks and domestics week after week.
Matt was the only one there, seated at one of the desks on the left. “Hey, Maggie.” He waved me over.
I sat down across from him. “How bad is it?”
He studied me for a long moment, clearly trying to make a decision.
I waited, knowing that most people have a need to fill silence and that the more he said the more I’d be able to help my grandpa.
He rubbed at his chin where some late afternoon stubble had appeared. “You know, after my mom and I moved to Bakerstown I got into a lot of trouble. I was headed down a real bad path. Even landed in jail a couple times. Finally, my parents gave up on talking sense into me and my dad dragged me over to your grandpa’s house. Seems your grandpa had sat him down when he was younger and out of control and helped him turn things around.”
“I could see him doing that.”
“Yeah, he’s good that way. Your grandpa gave me some hard truths that day. Made me realize I didn’t want to end up in jail or dead before I was thirty. So I enlisted. I needed the discipline and to get out of here for a while. Sometimes you don’t appreciate what you have until you lose it.”
That hit a little too close to home for me, but I shoved the thought aside. I was here about my grandpa, not to remember my own mistakes and hurts, so I just nodded. And waited, hoping he’d get to the point soon before someone walked in.
He sighed and rubbed at his chin again. “Which is all to say, I owe your grandpa. But I don’t know how to help him. Ben—Officer Clark—is so fixated on your grandpa for this that he’s not even willing to consider other suspects.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“How?”
I jerked back in offense and he held out a hand to calm me. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m not saying you can’t help, I just…How?”
“Let me see what you have. Maybe there’s something there you missed.”
“Are you a trained detective? A forensics expert?”
I counted to five, not wanting to say the first thing that came to mind. When I felt calm enough, I said, “No. But I’m someone else who wants to see the real killer caught as much as you do. And since Officer Clark doesn’t, you should be grateful for any other set of eyes. Even those of a rank amateur whose only exposure to law enforcement has been watching the Justice Channel.”
I couldn’t help but add that last bit. He was right. I’m not a trained detective or forensics expert. But I am smart. And observant. And, most importantly, I cared enough to keep pursuing this to the end.
“Okay.” Matt opened a folder on his desk and turned it towards me. “This is what we have. Your grandpa and Jack had a disagreement the morning of the sixteenth. Your grandpa threatened to shoot him. The weapon used was your grandpa’s, and the only prints on the weapon are his.”
Before I could argue all the reasons that didn’t mean my grandpa had shot Jack Dunner, Matt raised his hand and added, “But…Your grandpa could’ve shot Jack when they had that disagreement and he didn’t. That makes it far less likely that your grandpa tracked him down later and shot him. Only your grandpa’s prints were on the gun, but there weren’t fingerprints on the barrel or the trigger, which means somebody probably wiped the gun down after using it. Also, the gun was stored in an unlocked location where anyone who knew about it could’ve found it and used it. We also found various shoe and boot prints along the trail, none of which matched your grandpa’s shoe size.”
“Okay. So you could argue it either way.” I nodded, thinking. “Would it help to know that my grandpa spoke to someone else that day and told them about what had happened with Jack and that he was laughing and not angry when he did so?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Who was it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Maggie…” He leaned forward, fixing me with an intense blue gaze that made my thoughts skitter.
I shook my head. “I can’t. I promised. But suffice it to say that he talked to someone about it later that day and that he was not the least bit angry.”
“He could’ve already shot him by then.”
“No. This would’ve been before that.”
Matt narrowed his eyes at me, but I refused to let him rattle me.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Okay, then. So we throw in this conversation with this other person and it’s clear it wasn’t my grandpa. Who else could it be? Do you have any other suspects?”
He shook his head. “Plenty of people hated Dunner—you saw what he could be like. But I haven’t found anyone who hated him enough to kill him.”
“Any signs he was caught up in drugs?”
“He definitely used them. But on a larger scale? Not that I found. I could ask around, see if he was making any moves in that direction. Why?”
It sounded silly now that I was about to say it out loud, but it was the only lead we had. “Well…I was thinking that maybe Mr. Jackson shot him. Over drugs.”
“Your neighbor, Mr. Jackson? The old man with the raspberry bushes? Why would he shoot Jack Dunner?” He closed the folder and pushed it aside, not even reaching for a pen.
“First, he knows how to use a gun, right? He served in ‘Nam and hunts regularly, even off-season. So we know he’s willing to break rules he doesn’t agree with.”
“Hunting deer is not the same as killing someone.”
“I know. I’m just saying. Also, the day I arrived, I saw him maintaining that path. He was up there trimming back tree branches to keep it clear, so there’s something up that way that matters to him. Another day when I was out walking Fancy in the early morning I saw him headed up the trail with a pack.”
“Okay. So the man likes to hike in the mountains and keeps a trail clear so it’s easier to do so. Doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“He should’ve found the body before I did, though, if he uses that path regularly.”
Matt thought about it, but shook his head. “Still not seeing it.”
“Also, someone’s growing something down in the valley behind Harm’s Ridge. If it’s Mr. Jackson and what he’s growing is illegal and Jack Dunner found out about it and tried to steal it…”
He grimaced. “Then that might be motive for murder. But that’s a lot of ifs.”
“It has to at least be worth investigating, right? I mean, Mr. Jackson also knew about the argument. And I assume he knew about the gun.”
“True. He’s really the only other person who knew about the argument, isn’t he? Hm.” Matt rubbed at his neck, thinking. “Well, it is better than what I have right now, which is nothing. I guess I could check it out.”
“Can I come with you?”
Just then Officer Clark came in through the front door, slurping from a McDonald’s cup. He tossed a bag that smelled of grease onto Matt’s desk and glared me down until I stood up and stepped out of his way. The seat groaned under his weight as he sat down.
“Interviewing a witness without me, Matt?”
“Nah. Maggie and I go way back. We were just getting caught up.” He opened the bag and laid out a Big Mac and fries in the middle of the desk. “Thanks for this, man. I owe you.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem.”
I looked at Matt’s pathetic excuse for a dinner and shook my head. “Is that how you eat all the time?”
“Not a lot of fast food options around here, you know.”
“You could cook.”
Matt laughed. “You don’t want to see me try to cook. I can burn water.”
I bit my lip. Which was more important to me? Keeping my distance from Officer Handsome or saving my grandpa from jail time?
“How
about you come around for dinner tomorrow night? We can finish catching up and you can have at least one meal that isn’t a heart attack in a sack.”
“Really?” He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling. I instantly regretted inviting him over. But done was done.
“Really. Six o’clock. Don’t be late. My grandpa’s a stickler for timeliness.”
I left before I could change my mind, but that twinkle in Matt’s eyes followed me all the way home.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time I closed up shop and drove home the next night I was already regretting my dinner invite to Officer Handsome. I could’ve just called the station to see what he’d found, but no, I had to go invite Mr. Distraction to dinner. I swear, sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.
My grandpa made it worse when he insisted that I set the table in the dining room. And not with normal plates, but with my grandma’s china instead. And wine glasses. I stared in shock as he set a bottle of merlot on the table.
“Wine? China? You do know it’s just Matt coming over for dinner, right?”
“Company is company, Maggie May. You think your grandma would’ve let us have guests over and sit on the couches with TV trays?”
“Well, no. But…”
“Just because she’s gone does not mean I’m going to devolve into some sort of savage.”
I shook my head as I finished setting the table. “Grandpa, Matt’s probably used to living on MREs and eating off of dirt floors. And I’m not talking about his time in Iraq either.”
“All the same.”
I continued to grumble as my grandpa sliced up the roast from the slow cooker while I whipped up gravy to go over the top and put the vegetables into a separate serving bowl. The last thing I needed was for Officer Handsome to go getting any sort of ideas.
When Matt arrived he was freshly showered and smelled like some sort of very pleasant cologne. He also had a small bouquet of flowers in his hand that my grandpa insisted I place in a vase and put on the table. I studied both of them, but from what I could tell they’d each come up with their part of things independently.
Still. I wasn’t going to let this sort of thing continue. China and wine and flowers…What was this? Didn’t they realize we had a murder to solve?
“So, what did you find out? Was Dunner getting into dealing drugs? Is that what someone’s growing in the valley? What did Mr. Jackson have to say?”
My grandpa leaned out of the kitchen. “Maggie May, that is no way to treat a dinner guest. You want to talk business, you can wait until after the meal. Talk about something else.”
That meant small talk. I hate small talk.
Matt and I stood there awkwardly, staring around for something, anything to say that wasn’t connected to the investigation.
“So, Iraq…” I said at the same time he said, “I can’t believe that’s still here,” and gestured to where I’d scrawled his name on the wall all those years ago.
Since he’d knelt down to run a finger over the shaky letters, I was stuck with his chosen line of conversation. I knelt down next to him. “My grandpa claims nothing will take it off. I suspect he just likes to leave it there so he can tease me about it.”
“He teases you about it still? How?”
I had to look away before I drowned in those blue eyes of his. “Every single time I start dating someone new, he makes a joke about hiding the permanent markers. Or asks me if I scrawled the guy’s name on my walls yet. Every. Single. Time.”
My grandpa came out of the kitchen, Fancy trailing along at his side, her nose in the air to smell the roast. “That’s why Maggie’s stopped telling me when she starts dating someone new.”
“No, I’ve just stopped dating, thank you very much.” Before either of them could pursue that one further, I stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a plate for Fancy. As I took my seat, I set the plate on the floor next to me.
My grandpa glared at me, but I chose to ignore him. We might have guests, but too bad, Fancy deserved to be a part of the meal, too. Matt looked at the plate on the floor and then back at me. “Dare I ask what that’s for?”
“It’s a sharing plate. For Fancy.”
“A sharing plate.” I could see him struggling to keep a straight face, but I ignored him as Fancy settled down next to me, her paws on either side of the plate, a thin line of drool falling from her left jowl in anticipation of the yummy meal to come.
“Yes, Maggie May. Why don’t you explain to our guest what a sharing plate is.” My grandpa eyed me from across the table, but I chose to ignore him, too.
“It’s very simple. I like to feed Fancy scraps when I eat, and I don’t want to just throw the food on the floor, that would be messy. Or get my fingers all slobbery, either. So I set down a plate for her. Simple as that.”
I placed a small piece of roast on Fancy’s plate. She gobbled it up and immediately looked to me for more, silent and waiting.
Matt smirked. “You set down a plate for your dog? At every meal?”
“Every meal.” My grandpa nodded, his face grim, as he served himself vegetables.
Matt and my grandpa both tried to keep straight faces but failed miserably.
“You know, there are reasons I like living alone. Like not having someone sit there and judge me all day every day.”
“You’re welcome to live alone if you want to, Maggie May,” my grandpa said as he covered his roast and vegetables with a thick layer of gravy followed by a healthy amount of ketchup.
“But then I couldn’t help you out, Grandpa.”
“Like I said.”
I dropped a piece of carrot onto Fancy’s plate and then served myself as my grandpa proceeded to tell Matt how I’d decided I needed to move in with him because he was so old and helpless. Except, somehow when my grandpa said it, it sounded like the most absurd idea in the world.
I glared across the table at him. “Need I remind you that the first day I was here you pulled a shotgun on someone and are now the prime suspect in that man’s murder?”
He shoved a potato in his mouth and chewed, glaring right back at me. “Need I remind you that that happened even though you were standing right there?”
Matt held up his wine glass. “A toast.”
We both glared at him.
“To old friends,” he lifted the glass in my direction, “men of wisdom”, he lifted the glass in my grandpa’s direction, “lovable balls of fur that eat off plates like dainty old ladies”, he nodded to Fancy, “and a meal that isn’t a heart attack in a sack.”
“Cheers.” I clinked glasses with Matt and my grandpa and let the conversation drift towards less weighted topics, trying not to think about how easily Matt had managed to charm both Fancy and my grandpa.
And me.
Chapter Fourteen
After dinner my grandpa pulled out the Scrabble board.
“I thought we were going to talk about the case now,” I muttered. That was the whole reason I’d invited Matt over after all, not…this.
He handed me the tile bag. “No reason we can’t play and talk at the same time.”
I sighed and drew an H. Matt drew an A and pumped his fist in victory. My grandpa drew a Z and handed the bag back to him to let him draw his tiles. “Competitive a bit?”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to win.” Matt laid out his tiles and handed my grandpa the bag next.
I laughed. “Oh, you’re going to do well here. But don’t think that because you drew that A that you’ll actually win. We’re serious Scrabble players in this family.”
“Bring it on.” He grinned at me and I couldn’t help but grin right back.
We settled into an intense, but fun game of Scrabble. Matt tended towards longer words and trying to hit as many double-letter or triple-letter scores as he could while my grandpa focused on making multiple words in one play. Me, I just held in there and tried whatever I could that would earn me enough points to keep up with them.
As we played, Matt u
pdated us on the case. He’d checked out the valley, but it was a bust for now. The cabin was still there, but the plants were gone. Whoever had been using the valley wasn’t anymore. Whether that was Mr. Jackson and he’d become spooked by the police investigation or whether it was someone else, Matt couldn’t say. And without a good reason to do so he couldn’t order the lab techs in to take fingerprints or soil samples. A county like ours didn’t have unlimited resources.
He’d also swung by Mr. Jackson’s house to talk to him, but Mr. Jackson wasn’t answering his phone or his door.
“You know,” my grandpa said. “I haven’t seen Roy in a couple days. We don’t talk much, but usually I see him out back or up the hill at least once a day. Didn’t think much of it before, but if you couldn’t get ahold of him…”
“Does he have any family around here?” I asked.
“No. He has a daughter back east, but they only talk on major holidays. I have her number somewhere around here. Let me see if I can find it.”
While my grandpa searched through his old address book, I traded in all my tiles. I hate when I have only vowels to play. My grandpa wrote down the number of Roy Jackson’s daughter—it was a New York zip code—while Matt played off a triple word score. I might’ve called him a bad word for that, but let’s just pretend I didn’t.
My grandpa chuckled as he counted up Matt’s points. “Hm, Maggie. Looks like you’ve met your match.”
I chose to ignore that little comment. “Maybe Mr. Jackson skipped town.”
“What for?” My grandpa asked.
“Killing a man and getting caught growing illegal marijuana?”
Matt shook his head. “Too early for that. We hadn’t even questioned him. As far as anyone else in this town is concerned, your grandpa is the killer.”
“Thanks for that,” my grandpa said.
Matt shrugged one shoulder. “It’s true.”
I sat back, thinking. “Fine, so Mr. Jackson is a dead end. Who else could’ve done it?”
A Dead Man and Doggie Delights Page 7