Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Grady scowled. “Whatever. Listen up, and listen good. You two need to back off this Attwood thing.” He pointed a stubby finger at me. “Ever since you came to town, you’ve been nothin’ but trouble. Sherry warned me you’d be a problem, but now I’ve seen it for my own self. And you, Jake, you should know better than to get mixed up with the likes of her.”

  “Why do you think I’m driving her out of town? I plan to shank her and leave her up by Porter’s Hollow.”

  “This isn’t funny, Jake,” Grady said. “I talked to Curtis Meeks. He said Beverly gave him that golf club. The boys in the lab checked it. It’s clean as a whistle.”

  Jake tilted his head. “Exactly how clean is a whistle? Is that before or after people put it in their mouths and spit saliva in it?”

  “Listen, Mr. Funny Boy Secret Agent, one phone call from me and you’re finished.”

  Jake held up his hands as though surrendering. “Hey, I don’t want any trouble, you know that. But do you really think Beverly Attwood whacked her husband then drug him over to the fireplace to make it look like an accident?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I work for the citizens of Cascada.”

  I leaned over. “Not to belabor the obvious, but we are citizens of Cascada. Technically, you work for us.”

  “Not for long,” Grady growled.

  “Why?” I asked. “Do you plan to resign?” He really did walk into that one.

  “Heck no. I plan to run you and your sorry brother out of this town.”

  “What does my brother have to do with anything?” I asked.

  Jake gave the sheriff a thumbs up sign. “We got the message, sheriff. You won’t have any more trouble from us.”

  Grady sneered at me.

  “I promise,” Jake added.

  “Well, all right then.” He tipped his oversized felt hat. “Have a good night.”

  As he walked back to his car, I frowned at Jake. “Why did you let him get away with that? That was a clear case of police harassment. I’m calling the mayor first thing in the morning.”

  Jake pulled back onto the highway. “No, you won’t. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You have to learn to get along with people here.”

  “If kissing up to a jackass like Grady is your idea of getting along, then Cascada is no place for me.”

  “So, what? You’re just going to leave? Is that how you operate?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things get too hard and you just take off?”

  “Look, you may think you know everything about me, but you don’t.”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to.” He paused. “Anyway, one thing I do know is that you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. If you leave now, Grady wins. Is that what you want?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “No. But I’m telling you, my gut says something is missing with this whole situation with Harold and Beverly.”

  He pulled into the parking lot of the Creekside Casino. “So what do you plan to do about it?”

  “Keep digging and see what I can find out.”

  “You heard Grady. He’s got friends in high places. Whatever you do, do it quietly and without catching the ire of Sheriff Big Hat.”

  “You mean, like undercover?” I could do that. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  Jake grinned. “If you had any idea how many times back in high school I’d have killed just to have you speak to me, I certainly can’t complain about getting yelled at now.”

  “I wish I had gotten to know you back then. Would have saved me—” I found myself slowly leaning in toward him as though his eyes were magnets and I was a hunk of iron. But once again, I pulled away. “What did Grady mean when he said he could make a call and you’d be finished?”

  “Idle threat. Probably something he’d heard in a movie.”

  “It didn’t sound idle to me.” Maybe Grady had something on Jake that I knew nothing about. I studied his face. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, minus the tall. He had a past; we all did. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t trust him. I put my hand on his arm. “You know what else my gut is telling me?”

  “What?”

  “I’m starving.”

  We got out of the car and walked across the lot toward the casino entrance. The backs of our hands brushed together. Just as we got to the entrance, he took my hand in his. “Best Mexican food you’ll ever eat is right here at Creekside.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face as we walked into the large casino with its gaudy red and brown carpet and twinkling gold chandeliers. It was like stepping into another world. The stench of stale cigarettes and gin hung in the thick air like a ghost from an era when that sort of thing was popular. The clanging and ringing of the slot machines, the cheers around the roulette wheel, Miles Davis pumping softly in the background made it a playground for grown-ups.

  We walked past rows of poker tables, pausing to take in the action. We watched roulette players laying down chips and crossing their fingers. You could feel the rush of anticipation with each rotation of the wheel. Delightful squeals and dreadful groans overlapped and echoed in the large expanse.

  Although the buzz of the room sounded reminiscent of a childhood carnival, not all the casino’s customers were basking in delight. Even the lights and sounds and music couldn’t make up for the misery and sheer desperation on the faces of many of the misfortunate patrons.

  One such man slammed down his cards, grumbling as he stood up, almost knocking into me.

  “Dale! It’s you.”

  He grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair and flung it around his back. As he jabbed his arms into the sleeves, he glared at us. “What are you two doing here? Come to spy on me?”

  Stale alcohol, like the smell from the father of the bride after he realizes how much his daughter’s wedding is costing him, blasted my face. “No,” I said. “It’s just...dinner.”

  “I’ll bet.” He picked up a small stack of poker chips, tossed one at the dealer, then drained his highball glass.

  I tried to think of something to say. “I hear Beverly’s back home. I know you’re worried about her, but remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.”

  “Not for long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she’s not going to be there long. I’m not giving her a choice.” He swatted me away like a fly, pushing past me for the exit.

  I stared after him as he stormed out the door. “Should we try to stop him?”

  “Stop him from what?”

  The word “driving” came out of my mouth, but something told me even more danger might lay on the horizon.

  The rocky start to our dinner had put just enough strain in the air that we avoided all conversation of a personal nature. Jake was dry and witty. I liked that. He tried not to laugh at my jokes, to put up a mature, cool front, but I could still see past his persona to that pimple-faced nerd hoping to impress the head cheerleader with his brains, not brawn. He alluded to some former flings, one apparently serious, but brushed them off like lint on your favorite wool slacks. I didn’t dig deeper, having my own personal details to avoid.

  Instead, we discussed my new business and plans for my studio. As we relaxed, the conversation turned to school and teachers, those classmates who’d moved on and those who’d remained behind. A few had passed away. The evening turned nostalgic and bittersweet, remembering what had been and contemplating what might have been. Cold wine and hot salsa made for an intoxicating combination, requiring both of us to stay somewhat guarded.

  When he took me home, I avoided the awkwardness of the first-date-at-the-door thing by giving him a quick peck on the cheek and hurrying inside under the guise of needing to attend to the cat. However, Cricket sat contentedly inside on the ledge of the front window, so I’m pretty sure he knew it was a ruse. I didn’t care. We’d made it through that first evening alone together and that wa
s all that mattered. I still needed to work out how I felt about starting up a new relationship after my last and recent disaster. As far as I could tell, Jake Faro wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so there was no need to rush.

  Chapter 21

  I studied Karol at Karol’s Kafé, which is where I stood in line Thursday morning waiting on a coffee and pastry. I supposed she could be my competition for Jake’s attention. For a restaurateur, she was more Betty Boop than Betty Crocker. A hot-pink visor held back her head full of auburn curls, and tight, stretchy pants covered her generous backside.

  It was obvious she knew how to work a room. Many of the older gentlemen waved her over for refills of their near-full coffee mugs just to watch her lean over them. When it was my turn up at the counter, she called me sugar and popped gum in her cheek. I couldn’t imagine she was Jake’s type.

  Karol’s Kafé seemed congenial enough, but as I walked out with my Styrofoam cup and paper sack, I could feel their stares and hear their whispers. Was it simply because I was the new girl in town, or had word spread that I was the instigator of Beverly Attwood’s incarceration?

  So much for blending in.

  Fat and fueled, I pulled up to the gym to meet Nancy for spin class. Sherry was sitting in her car talking on her cell phone. Her normally sour face was even more drawn than usual, until, that is, she saw me.

  She quickly ended her call and jumped out of her car. “Yoo-hoo,” she said and flashed a saccharine-laced smile intended to fool me into thinking all was well in her mother’s-day-out whirlwind of activity. “I didn’t expect to see you back here. Did your check bounce or something? Do you need me to loan you some money?”

  I held my hand out and looked up at the sky. “Better grab my umbrella. It’s raining stupid today.”

  “Aren’t you just the wittiest thing. Guys love that. Oh wait, no they don’t.” She opened the gym door and stepped in front of me.

  Across the back wall was a row of bicycle contraptions, staring at me like an industrial torture chamber. Nancy motioned to the empty machine next to her. On the other side of it was Gretchen. She waved at Sherry.

  One machine. Two people. It was on.

  We were the Crips and the Bloods. The Jets and the Sharks. David and Goliath. Sherry was Goliath, obviously.

  The room seemed to darken and a spotlight shined down on the prized bike. I quickened my step, but so did Sherry. I broke into a trot, but my feet were heavy as though running on the beach. It was like the opening montage of Chariots of Fire. Sherry swung her gym bag from her shoulder, hitting me squarely in the knee. I stumbled but managed to stay upright. But I was losing ground to Sherry and her stupid, long giraffe legs. I took my bag and hurled it like a bowler taking aim at the pins. It slid across the sleek floor, coming to rest neatly beside the bike. Dibs! I’d won.

  A second later, Gretchen pulled the towel from around her neck and slapped it across the empty seat. “Taken,” she said.

  And that was that. Sherry flung her leg over the bike’s saddle like a cowboy mounting a steed. “Loser.”

  “What the crap?” Nancy stared at me like I’d lost my mind as I stood holding the stitch in my side, trying not to breathe too heavily. “There’s lots of machines. I’ll just move down one.” She hopped up and gave me her seat.

  I didn’t make eye contact with Sherry, not wanting to see her gloat.

  Spin class was fun—for about a minute. At some point I started to black out. Luckily, Nancy noticed me swaying and handed me a bottle of water. Even with the machine set to the lowest resistance, my legs felt like rubbery pencils with broken leads.

  After class, Nancy waited with me while I pretended to search for missing keys in my gym bag. She must have known I didn’t want Sherry to see me duck waddle out to the car. “Girlfriend, you’re going to have to get over this rivalry with Sherry Grady. She’s bigger, stronger, and meaner than you.”

  I took a step but then puddled down on the floor. “I can’t. I’m not a quitter.”

  Nancy sat next to me. “I see that. But you’re fighting with the wrong weapon. This is what you should be using.” She pointed to my head.

  “What? My hair?”

  “No, your brains. We need to come up with a plan to put her in her place so she’ll back off.”

  “Unless you’ve booked us an appearance on Jeopardy, I’m not sure that will happen.”

  “You’re a savvy career woman. She’s a stay-at-home mom.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” we echoed in unison.

  “Of course not,” Nancy continued. “But when you get your business up and running, she’ll be totally intimidated. Why do you think she leaves me alone?”

  “Because you’re single and four years younger?”

  “No, because I stand up at the chamber of commerce and throw my weight around. If there’s one thing that brings on insecurity in a woman like that, it’s another woman who’s able to stand toe-to-toe with a man.”

  “I can do that. I can stand toe-to-toe with a man.” A sneaky smile crept across my face as I pushed myself up off the ground. My legs buckled and I fell back down. “Just not right now,” I said.

  Sherry walked out of the locker room wearing super skinny jeans and heels. As she walked over to us, I dug around in my gym bag, muttering, “Now where are those darn keys?”

  “Nancy, dear, would you give us a minute alone? I need to tell your friend something in private.”

  I tossed Nancy a look that told her I was okay. The fewer witnesses the better to what might end up as an all-out cat fight. But who was I kidding. Sherry would tear me to shreds. I was barely able to stand. “Go ahead, Sherry. I’ll accept your apology now. We can settle up on the bill for my knee repair surgery later.”

  She bent over so her face was inches from mine. “Listen, you,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m only going to tell you once.”

  “Are you sure? Because I think you gave me this same speech yesterday.”

  “Quit making trouble in this town. My husband is sheriff and his word is law.”

  I started to explain the error in her logic but decided to let her have her Billy Jack moment.

  “If you say or do anything else to make him look bad, I’ll make you pay.”

  “Pay? Sorry, I’m short on cash, remember?”

  For a second, I thought she might hit me. Luckily, Chaz walked by and slapped her on the backside. She stood up and shot him a look of mock disapproval. As she turned to prance away, she glanced back with steely-blue, contact-laden eyes. “I mean it.”

  I smiled and waved, forcing my legs to obey and hold me up as I stood. Nancy was right. Sherry was a bully. I would have to fight fire with fire. But all I wanted right now was to get home and take a long, hot bath.

  Things were heating up, for sure; I just didn’t know how much.

  Chapter 22

  What was it about bubbles that made life so much more bearable? A tub full of bath bubbles, all lavender-laced and fluffy like whipped cream, could hide all your flaws as you pretended to be a fabulous megastar as I was doing now. I was Princess Di, Jackie O, and Madonna all rolled up into one neat, tidy package. At least that’s what I imagined until I raised my leg and saw the purplish-green bump on my kneecap.

  I thought about bubbles. Champagne bubbles. Blowing bubbles at the bride and groom as they run off to start their honeymoon and new life as man and wife. Backyard bubbles. Bubblegum bubbles. The boy in the bubble.

  There I went again, taking my little lists one step too far. Speaking of lists, my to-do list was getting frightfully long. Could I work the word “bubbles” into the name of my new business? “Bubbles by Wendy.” It made me sound like a stripper. I had considered “Picture Perfect.” Jake would like that, but I worried it would set expectations too high. “Picture Almost Perfect” wasn’t as marketable.

  I bounced business name ideas off Cricket as she sat on the bathroom countertop, a respectable distance from the water. She seeme
d blasé to the first few suggestions, which I couldn’t really blame her for. They were pretty lame. I was just about to call out another when a loud boom followed by a crackling noise jolted us to attention. She arched her back and hissed. I grabbed the sides of the tub. I had never experienced an earthquake before, but this was how I’d imagine it would sound and feel.

  I stood up and grabbed a towel, sliding my feet into fuzzy slippers, and ran to the front window. Across the street, the woman who had brought over a tuna casserole came out of her door yelling into her cell phone. Following her stare, I saw plumes of smoke rising from the back of Beverly’s house. I ran to look out the back window. Flames leaped from her garage and blazed through the sky.

  I started to open the back door when I remembered I was naked. I dressed faster than a hooker on heroin. By the time I made it outside, Beverly was standing across the street with several neighbors watching in sheer terror. I made sure Cricket followed me out and ran up next to Beverly. “What happened?”

  Tears streamed down her face. “Andy!” she cried. “Andy is back there.”

  I started toward the back of the house, but one of the women caught my arm. “Don’t! It could be a gasoline fire. It’s too dangerous.”

  Before I could protest, sirens blared and cars rounded the corner. Sheriff Grady was the first one out of the car. He parked in the middle of the street and jumped out, yelling, “Is anyone in the house?”

  “Yes. Andy,” I called out and ran up next to him. A truck from the Cascada Volunteer Fire Department roared up the street.

  Grady didn’t wait. He shouted something into his radio and ran to the back of the house. I covered my mouth to stifle a scream. Without realizing it, I was moving closer and closer to the house. A fireman raced past me just as Grady appeared around the side of the garage, pulling Andy out by the arms.

  Beverly cried out like a wounded bird.

  Andy’s jacket and face were blackened with soot and ash. His eyes were closed. Other people appeared by his side, one slipping an oxygen mask over his lifeless face.