Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “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?”

  “You invited me, remember?”

  “Ah yes. About your loan. Actually, it’s not a good time, what with this thing with Beverly Attwood. Call the bank tomorrow and we’ll set up an appointment.” He took a few steps toward the door.

  “About Beverly, I heard you saw the stains on the floor and called the sheriff.”

  “Yes. So? That realtor saw the blood on the floor, too. If I hadn’t called the sheriff, she would have.”

  “What did he say? Does he think there was foul play?”

  “I have no idea. I’m sure Sheriff Grady will conduct a thorough investigation of the evidence and determine if indeed a crime had been committed.” The stuffy banker reared its ugly head.

  “Sounds like you have a lot of faith in the sheriff.”

  “Of course. He was elected by the town before we moved here, but I’ve never had any run-ins with him.”

  I took a step closer and lowered my voice. “So do you really think someone might have murdered Harold?”

  “Did you know him? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a lot of people wanted him dead.”

  “But surely it wasn’t Beverly, right? I mean, you two are obviously not besties, but—”

  “But that has nothing to do with it. I was doing my civic duty. Why was there a realtor there anyway?”

  “Beverly’s son-in-law, Dale, called her. He wants Nancy to sell the house.”

  “I’m not surprised based on the shape of his finances,” he mumbled. “Did you know Harold and Beverly almost got a divorce a few years back? He was a drinker. And when he drank, he’d get mean.”

  “What are you saying? Was he abusive?”

  “Not physically, not that I know of. People say he would berate her and ridicule her in public.” He glanced back toward the family room. “It’s late. I don’t want to stand here gossiping about my neighbors.”

  “I’ll go,” I said. “But first, can you tell me why was Beverly so irate when you offered to buy Harold’s golf clubs?”

  He looked down at his hands and his perfectly manicured nails. “Um, let’s just say Harold and I had our differences. I guess Beverly is carrying on the grudge.” He opened the front door and waved me out. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Fairmont. Don’t forget to call the bank. I’ll set you up with one of our loan officers.”

  As I headed back to my house, it seemed like I’d gone from a neighbor to just another bank customer in the course of one short conversation. I had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t be invited over to the Meeks’ house for supper anytime soon.

  Chapter 11

  With the morning light came a renewed sense of purpose. My to-do list was long, but I had made myself one promise and was determined to keep it. I was going to start exercising.

  I pulled up to the front of Cascada’s only gym, an old converted warehouse next to the railroad tracks. The sign over the door read “Francine’s Fitness Studio,” but I knew for a fact that Francine Winebacker had bought an RV and was traveling the country competing in bikini contests.

  I pushed open the door and was assaulted by what could only be compared to a porta-potty at the rodeo. C’mon, people. Spring for a can of Febreze, for goodness’ sake.

  A twenty-something guy wearing a shirt that read “I’d Rather Be Lifting” sat behind the front desk entranced by his phone. From the looks of it, he spent more time pumping beers than iron. No doubt he had a six-pack, but it was more likely under the bed in his mother’s basement than under his t-shirt.

  When he wouldn’t bother to look up, I slapped my hand on the counter a few times. “Hey, barkeep, pass me some pretzels.”

  “Huh?” He glanced up in a daze.

  “Hi, I’m new.” I looked at his nametag. “Chaz, is it? I’m interested in a gym membership.”

  He passed me a clipboard and pointed to a folding chair. “Fill this out. It’s thirty dollars a month in advance.”

  What a salesman. I picked up a pen and walked over to my assigned seat. Despite the smell, the equipment looked fairly impressive. There were some of those bike things and those boat things and plenty of bars and weights. The only other person I saw was a sweaty young woman wearing headphones, obliviously running on the treadmill. She had calves the size of softballs. I looked down at my own legs and tried to make a muscle. Feeling a cramp coming on, I stopped flexing and started in on the paperwork.

  Just as I was about to sign my name agreeing not to sue the owner in case of injury, two women strolled in from a side room. Before the tall brunette with tight curls had even finished wiping sweat from her face, I knew instantly who it was. Sherry Spitzer. She turned my direction and we locked eyes like a matador and a bull. In this case, I wasn’t sure which of us was which. I looked quickly back at the paperwork, wondering if the liability clause included injury caused by another member.

  Oh brother. She was coming over. I slapped on my resting bitch-face, the one that generally gets me out of conversations I’d rather not be in. It didn’t work.

  “Well if it isn’t the famous Wendy Fairmont. Or should I say ‘infamous’ Wendy Fairmont. I heard you were moving back to Cascada. What happened? The whole Mary Tyler Moore ‘I’m gonna make it on my own’ thing not work out for you?”

  Tilting my head, “I’m sorry. And you are...?”

  “Very funny. Oh, this is Gretchen. Say hi, Gretchen, and then leave. Miss Fairmont and I have a few things to discuss.”

  The poor girl smiled, waved, and scurried off to the dressing room.

  “That was rude,” I said. “You could have at least let me give her the name of a good psychiatrist. Apparently, her current one hasn’t warned her to stay away from lunatics.”

  “Cute. Like you used to be.” She flung the towel over her shoulder. “I’m not surprised to find you at the gym. Looks like that ‘Freshman fifteen’ doubled and made a permanent home on your thighs.”

  “Aren’t you sweet to notice. ‘Sherry Grady.’ That’s an unfortunate name to be stuck with. Maybe you’ll do better with your next husband. Anyway, I’m just here to tone up a bit. Being a successful business owner gives one little time for frivolous activities. But you never had a career, so you wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Frivolous activities? You mean like taking care of my kids and a husband? Something you just can’t seem to get right, from what I hear.”

  Ouch. That one stung. “Look, I could enjoy exchanging pleasantries with you all day, but I’ve got more important things to do. So if you don’t mind—”

  “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’ll be glad to give you a tour of the place.” She grabbed the clipboard
from my hand and tossed it onto the counter.

  “Are you sure? I haven’t initialed the box saying I wouldn’t cause great bodily harm to other members with smart mouths.”

  “Ha. Too bad you didn’t come earlier. You missed kickboxing class. I could have used you for a demonstration dummy.”

  “Kickboxing, huh. I’m sure that comes in handy when you and the sheriff get in a little tiff over his excessive drinking.”

  She rolled her eyes. “C’mon. You can do better than that.”

  She led me to a room with five large bags hanging by chains from the ceiling. Against the wall was a rack holding various sizes of boxing gloves. This looked serious.

  “Forget about the gloves. I’ll just show you a bit of footwork.” She kicked off her shoes, stood in front of the bag, and bowed. She stood back up and took in a deep breath. With that, she flung her feet at the bag in a flurry of kicks and grunts like a ninja on crack.

  I couldn’t help but be impressed. Of course, I couldn’t let her know that. “Wow, nice. I’m sure that will come in handy if you ever get in a fight with the queen of England. But in that case, I suppose you’d curtsey instead of bow.”

  She steadied the bag. “Although kickboxing is a form of martial arts, it is commonly used for cardio and strength training. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t kick your butt if I had to.”

  We exchanged snotty grins.

  “Here, give it a try.” She stepped back from the bag.

  “No, thanks. I just got a pedicure.”

  “You can leave your sneakers on.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t get those thunder thighs off the ground?”

  Never one to back down from a challenge, especially from someone I had previously competed against in everything from beauty pageants to college scholarships, I decided to give it my best shot. I stuck my hand out toward the bag in a mock handshake. “Hi, nice to meet you. Now I’m going to kick you in the groin.”

  “It’s not a person.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who bowed to it.” I pulled up on my leggings and said a silent prayer they wouldn’t split in the seat. Taking a deep breath, I swung my leg up as high and as hard as I could. The sound that escaped from my mouth was more of a groan than a grunt. I had split something all right. But I think it was my thigh muscle. I fell to the mat and grabbed my leg.

  “Oh, I guess I should have warned you about stretching first. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

  I sneered back through wet eyes.

  She must have realized I was in real pain. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”

  When she left the room, I managed to pull myself into a chair. I wasn’t sure which stung worse: my leg or the blow to my pride.

  Sherry seemed genuinely concerned, something I’d never seen from her before. Maybe she’d actually matured a bit since high school. She put the ice pack on my leg. “Obviously, you’re not ready for kickboxing. How about yoga? It’s great for stretching and might help your leg. There’s a class tomorrow morning at ten.”

  The pain had taken away all my competitive instincts. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  Sherry gave me her shoulder to lean on and walked me to the front desk. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

  Balancing on one leg, I grabbed the clipboard and signed the papers. I pulled the credit card from my back pocket and tossed it at Chaz. I couldn’t believe I would be paying for this torture. “By the way, does Sherry Grady come here often?” I asked.

  He swiped my card and handed it back. “Every day.”

  Great. The last thing you ever want is to seem weak in front of your opponent. She may have won this round, but I was sure there would be plenty more to come.

  Chapter 12

  My online research revealed that Jake’s sister, Nancy Faro, ran the biggest realty company in town, especially when it came to commercial property. After a shower and a near overdose of ibuprofen, I drove across town to her office on the square. Colorful flyers of available properties were plastered across the front window of the small building. If you just went by those pictures, Cascada looked like a great place to live.

  Once inside, a perky girl with pink tips in her dark-blond hair greeted me. “You must be Wendy Fairmont. Come on in. Can I get you some hot tea or something?”

  “No, thanks. I have an appointment with Ms. Faro.”

  “Call me Nancy.” The brunette I had seen at Beverly’s house with Jake came around the corner extending her hand.

  “Wendy,” I said. In this light, it was obvious she was Jake’s sister. She had the same warm eyes and strong jawline.

  “Let’s go back to my office.”

  I followed her down the hallway, trying not to limp.

  “I’m glad you called,” Nancy said. “Jake told me you had moved into your grandparents’ place.”

  “News travels fast around here.”

  “Don’t I know it. I could get a zit on my chin in the morning, and by the time I get home from work, my brother would be calling with one of his home remedies.”

  “You’ve got to love a small town.”

  “Yeah, especially if you’re a realtor and the small town puts a roof over your head.”

  “Have you ever thought about moving away?” As soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I wished I could corral them back. “I’m sorry. That’s personal.”

  Nancy laughed. “Have you forgotten how things work around here? There’s no such thing as ‘personal.’ I don’t even know why they bother with a weekly town newspaper. All you have to do is sit on a bench in the square, and soon you’ll know everything from who’s cheating on whom to how much money Mrs. Hadwell put in the collection plate last Sunday.”

  “Is Mrs. Hadwell still alive?”

  “Yep. Finally retired from teaching last year. They had to peel that old yardstick out of her hand.”

  I laughed. “So, how much behind Jake and I in school were you?”

  “Four years. I remember you when I was a freshman. You were—”

  “Please,” I said, holding up my hand. “Spare me the list of clubs and titles.”

  “I was going to say, you were a real pain in the backside.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “I’m just kidding. But you did cause me grief.”

  Still puzzled, I stared wide-eyed. “Why? What did I do to you?”

  “It wasn’t what you did to me, it was what you did to Jake. He had a big crush on you. Every day after school, he had to drive past your car in the parking lot. I think he hoped you’d be stranded one of those times and offer to give you a ride home. Never happened.”

  “I had no idea.”

  She opened a large binder in front of her. “By the way, Jake would kill me if he knew I told you that.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I said and threw away the imaginary key.

  “So, let’s find you an office, and then we can talk trash about some of the other people in town.”

  “Now, Nancy, is that any way to impress Cascada’s newest resident?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “You bet it is.”

  As she showed me the available properties in my price range, I felt an instant connection.

  She turned the pages. “What exactly are you looking for? You’re opening a photography studio, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll need several rooms to set up with backdrops. I’d like a separate area for an office and a front reception area. Then there’s storage for props.” I looked at Nancy. “This may all be wishful thinking. The bottom line is price, of course.”

  “I get it. Let’s start with the most affordable properties.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  “And by affordable, that means further away from the square,” she said. “Are you okay with that?”

  “I was afraid of that. I doubt I will need foot traffic for my portrait business, but I hope to have a gallery of my own photography work at some po
int, too.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find you the perfect place for the perfect price. Guaranteed.”

  “Guaranteed? That’s a big promise.”

  She grinned. “I know. It’s just something I say to brainwash clients into trusting me. After all, I’m a realtor, not a miracle worker.”

  “I hear that. But, if you could manage to work a miracle, I’d be okay with that.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter 13

  Cricket was waiting for me when I returned home from looking at office properties. She paced back and forth across the front porch while I hobbled up the steps and unlocked the door. I set my purse and the stack of real estate flyers on the entry table. Why was it so cold inside? I kept my coat on while I checked the fancy furnace Gran had installed a few years back. It appeared dead. I kicked it. Nothing happened.

  Hopefully, the wood stove was still in good working order. I grabbed a scarf off the hook by the back door and wrapped it around my neck. Maybe there was some wood out back. Cricket followed me outside. Although the back of the property was surrounded by a chain link fence, there wasn’t an actual lawn. The ground was covered in weeds and pine needles. Around the back of the garage, I found a stack of wood. As I picked up a few logs, a man in a golf cart drove past.

  “Did you have a good round?” I called out.

  “Shot my handicap,” he said with a grin and drove on.

  The doorbell rang. Please let it be a furnace repairman.

  The man on the other side of the door smiled warmly. “Hi there. I’m Andy. Beverly sent me over. Said you might need a handyman to do some work around here.”

  I glanced up at the sky and whispered, “Thank you.” I stepped back. “I’m Wendy. Come on in.”

  Andy was dressed in lumberjack plaid, complete with a fur-lined trapper cap. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Is your furnace working?”