Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Nancy’s eyes widened. She was probably shocked I was going to talk about him. “Just that you two met in college, got engaged, and that he died in a hunting accident a few weeks before your wedding.”

  Good synopsis of the facts. At least the ones made public. It was the other information that was so painful. “There’s more. You see, my brother, Tyler, was basically a good kid who got mixed up with a bad crowd. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses, but it’s true. He got busted for drugs and spent time in a juvenile center in high school. He dropped out, but did manage to get his GED. Anyway, he kind of drifted after that, usually ending up back home whenever he’d run out of money.”

  The waiter brought over a pepperoni pizza the size of a manhole cover and Nancy dug in.

  “When Patrick and I got engaged, Tyler was back at home. We had been so close growing up and I wanted it to be that way again. Patrick asked him to be a groomsman in our wedding. Well, you can imagine how that went over.”

  “Like a match in a fireworks stand?”

  “You got it. I thought if Tyler would just get to know Patrick, he’d see what a great guy he was and lighten up. That’s when I suggested Patrick take Tyler and a friend on a hunting trip. Give them a chance to bond.”

  Nancy stopped chewing. She must have realized what was coming next.

  “Yep. That’s when the accident happened. All I know is that Tyler said he and his friend were asleep that Saturday morning, and when they got up and went outside, they found Patrick laying on the ground beside his truck with a hole in his chest. The coroner concluded that his rifle must have gone off when he took it out of the case.”

  Nancy reached for my hand. “I’m so sorry. Such a tragic accident.” Her sympathetic eyes were moist.

  “If it was an accident.”

  She pulled her hand back. “What do you mean? You said the coroner—”

  “I know, but there were problems with the story. Like, why didn’t the guys hear the shot? It was right outside the camper where they were sleeping. And why was Tyler’s friend already gone when the sheriff arrived? But the biggest problem was with Patrick and his gun. Everyone, and I mean everyone, said he was a safety nut around guns. He would never have put away a loaded rifle in his truck.”

  “So, what do you think happened? You don’t think someone shot him, do you?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know what to think.” I took another slug of beer. “My brother shut down on me after that. It just felt like he was hiding something.”

  Nancy began wiping crumbs off the table. “So that’s the reason you moved back here, isn’t it? To see if you could get answers from your brother.”

  I nodded. “I need to put a nail in the coffin of that chapter of my life.” Poor choice of words.

  Suddenly, neither of us was very hungry. The other customers joined in the chorus as Don McLean belted out, “Bye-bye Miss American pie.” The music and our fellow patrons were annoyingly upbeat.

  Nancy wiped her hands on a napkin. “One more question and then I’ll shut up about it.”

  “Fire away.”

  She leaned in so I could hear her over the crowd. “Who was the other guy who went hunting that day with Patrick and Tyler?”

  I let out a long sigh. “Sherry Grady’s brother, Cameron.”

  Chapter 5

  My grandfather used to complain about Gran nagging him all the time. “Pick up your shoes. Put down the toilet seat. Take out the trash.” Now that she was possibly creeping around in the body of my cat, it seemed she had turned that attention to me. Of course, it could have just been my imagination.

  But as I sat on the sofa Sunday morning relishing my second cup of coffee, Cricket jumped on the coffee table and plopped a giant dust bunny in front of me.

  “I told you I’d vacuum later. You don’t have to bring the dirt to me. I’ll go to it.”

  She stared at me with beady eyes, knowing it always made me feel guilty.

  “Did something happen to you when you crossed over? Did you meld with someone’s Jewish grandmother?”

  She proceeded to lick her paw, which I had learned was cat-speak for “bite me.” Here I thought having the spirit of my grandmother in the form of a furry little creature would be a source of comfort and inspiration. Wrong. When she wasn’t shedding on my favorite sweaters, or shredding the newspaper, she was meowing at me to do the dishes. Yesterday, I opened the hall closet to find her sitting on the vacuum cleaner.

  My goal for the day was to edit the candid shots I had taken at the party. Leslie Harper wanted a picture of her and Bridgette to put on the society page of the Cascada Gazette. Because Bridgette had refused to pose with her, I’d have to try to Photoshop them together.

  I scanned through the pictures on my computer and stopped on the group shots I took right before we sang “Happy Birthday.” In the first frame, Leslie’s face was a haunting mixture of fear and sadness. I’d taken several more where she had managed a smile. It was a little surprising Leslie would allow herself to get so upset after being dissed by a five-year-old.

  I flashbacked to the scene of her yelling about the ice cream. That was just nuts. Perhaps being a wicked stepmother will do that to a person. I made a mental note not to fall in love with a man with kids.

  That should be easy enough since the single-male population in Cascada was somewhere around eight, and that included the twin brothers who lived together and never left the house unless they were dressed alike. Now that Squishy was dead, it was down to seven.

  Of course, one of those single men was Jake Faro. I still couldn’t believe his transformation since high school. I pictured his dark eyes and wavy hair. How was he still single? He was gorgeous in a scruffy dog sort of way, smart, strong, and kind.

  Nancy said he’d been busy with a cyber security case, but I wondered if he’d decided I wasn’t his type even though he’d had a secret crush on me all those years ago in high school. I sure hoped he hadn’t decided he was gay.

  Before I could start listing all my flaws and reasons Jake wouldn’t like me, Gran’s old landline phone on my desk rang. As far as I knew, my parents were the only ones who had that number.

  Apparently not. It was that reporter again.

  “How did you get this number?” I asked.

  “Internet. Don’t hang up. I think you should hear what I am planning to write for my newspaper.”

  He got my attention. I guessed it couldn’t hurt to listen. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “‘The Cascada County Sheriff’s Department is investigating the alleged murder of Grover Ward, a clown-for-hire who goes by the stage name of Mr. Squishy, who was found frozen to death inside a walk-in freezer on Saturday at the Waterfall Lodge. According to Sheriff Tucker Grady, a housekeeper at the lodge has confessed to the crime but has yet to be indicted.’”

  “Wait, what? That’s not true!” I must have scared Cricket because she jumped off my desk.

  “Which part?”

  “The part about the housekeeper. She never confessed to a crime because she didn’t commit a crime.”

  The sound of paper rustling came through the phone. “I’ve got it right here in my notes from the sheriff. If you could just give me her name, I could get a statement from her directly.”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” I started to hang up.

  “Ms. Fairmont, your parents, Boyd and Sunny Fairmont, own the Waterfall Lodge, I believe. They employ the housekeeper. Is there a connection between the lodge and Mr. Ward? Is he a regular employee there?”

  “No. That was the first time he’d ever been there.”

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  “No! Yes. I mean it’s true, but leave my name out of it. I’ve got to go.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at Cricket. She looked as worried as I felt. I couldn’t let Grady railroad Myra into taking the fall for this.

  “Vacuuming will have to wait, Cricket. I’ve got another murder to solve.”

  I could have sworn
she smiled.

  * * *

  GROWING UP AT THE LODGE had made for an interesting childhood. There were always people around and plenty to do. One of my favorite pastimes was following a teenaged Myra around to help change beds and sift through whatever treasures the guests had left behind. Usually it was shampoo and booze, in case you’re wondering. Maybe that’s why I hate cleaning my own house so much. I’d done a lifetime’s worth with Myra by the time I was fifteen.

  The lodge life taught me to be friendly to strangers and not to get too attached to friends. My brother and I would play with all the kids who came to stay, only to have to say goodbye after a few days or a week. Of course, there were the regulars who’d return year after year. I still kept in touch with some of those friends, mostly through Facebook.

  The lodge didn’t have a diner, but my mother always cooked a big breakfast for the guests, sometimes serving it in shifts depending on how booked we were. We’d all sit around the big country table while the men swapped stories about fishing and hunting and the women shared recipes and crafting tips. Kind of sexist sounding, but that’s how it was. I missed those big breakfasts.

  I knew my mother would be in the lodge’s main kitchen when I got there, and that’s just where I found her. She was elbow deep in dirty dishes.

  “Wendy! I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been going crazy about this whole mess with that Mr. Sticky.”

  “Mr. Squishy.”

  My parents had been hippies in the seventies, and my mother still looked the part. She wore her salt-and-pepper gray hair in a long, braided ponytail. She still wore bell-bottoms, and in the summer, she liked to go barefoot.

  “Did you know that a reporter has been calling here?” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and a clump of suds stuck to her hair. “I haven’t told him anything, of course, but he says he’s coming to town tomorrow to interview some people. He’s coming to the lodge. I was thinking it might be good publicity.”

  “Good publicity? No, Mom, it won’t be. People don’t want to stay at a place where a mysterious death has occurred.” I picked up a dishtowel and began drying plates.

  “Oh now, I’m sure you’re wrong. Tourists flock to Lincoln County to see where Jesse James shot all those people, and I know that ghost tour they put on for the Fall Festival in town square brings in lots of money.”

  Geez. I could see the advertisement now. Come to Waterfall Lodge and sleep in the freezer where renowned entertainer Mr. Squishy took his last drunken breath. “Have you talked to Dad about this?”

  “Oh, you know how he is. He said to just give it a week and it’ll all blow over.”

  I had thought the same thing myself. Like father, like daughter. I had a feeling we’d both end up with egg on our faces. Speaking of eggs, “I can’t believe you still haven’t put a dishwasher in here.”

  “Whatever for? It’s not like I could do them all in one load anyway. On the weekdays, Myra is here to help. Speaking of Myra, I’m worried about her.”

  “Me, too.” At least my mother had gotten off the crazy train long enough to realize this investigation could have serious consequences.

  She handed me another plate. “You don’t think she’s actually going to run off and marry that cowboy and leave me here alone, do you? I can’t imagine trying to find another housekeeper after all these years.”

  Or not. Seems like she bought an all-day pass on that train. “Is that what you’re worried about? What about the fact that the sheriff thinks she might have murdered that man?”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear. You were always so dramatic. Myra wouldn’t harm a fly, much less kill a clown. That’s exactly what I told the sheriff.”

  “You talked to the sheriff? What did you tell him?”

  “The truth. Nothing but the truth. Like I always tell you kids, the truth shall set you free.” She picked up a handful of suds and blew them at me.

  I wiped the little cloud off my shoulder. “Great, but what exactly did you tell him?”

  “Just what Myra told me. That she had no cause to bother that mean Mr. Scratchy. That her boyfriend had stuck up for her and gave him a good smacking around.”

  My heart sank. “Oh, Mom, you didn’t.”

  “Of course I did. I didn’t want the sheriff to think her boyfriend was the kind of man who’d let his gal get molested and stand around just watching. I thought you were a women’s libber.”

  “I am, but—”

  There was no use trying to reason with her. I changed tactics. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He and Tyler are out on the lake trying to pull up an old tree stump near the bridge.”

  “Well, tell him I’ll call him later.” I threw the dishtowel onto the counter and turned to leave.

  “Okay, dear. But one more thing before you go. What do you think I should wear for my interview with the reporter? A skirt or pants?”

  How about a muzzle.

  Chapter 6

  Although I had known Myra for a gazillion and a half years, I had only been to her house a handful of times and never unannounced. I pulled up in front of her A-frame cabin, hoping she didn’t have company. And by company, I meant Freddy Callahan. She was obviously home because there was smoke coming out of the chimney.

  I knocked and immediately heard a dog barking on the other side of the door. It could have been one of those alarms that sounded like a deep-throated, ferocious junkyard dog. I wasn’t sure, so I braced myself.

  Myra yelled for someone named Brutus to get back. Let’s hope she had a leash on this monster. When the door opened, I was shocked to see a pudgy basset hound with droopy brown eyes and long ears that dusted the floor. The stocky beast couldn’t have jumped on me if he’d tried.

  “Wendy, get in here.” Myra grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. “Were you followed?”

  “What do you mean? Who would be following me?”

  “That reporter, that’s who.”

  Brutus licked snow off my boots then set about sniffing the leg of my jeans. He may have mistaken me for a cat. “Are you talking about the reporter from Albuquerque? Has he been here?”

  “Not yet, but I know he will be soon. Your mother said he was coming to the lodge and knows the housekeeper killed the clown. I’m the housekeeper!” Myra paced the floor like an expectant father.

  Clearly, my mother had not done anything to alleviate poor Myra’s fears. “Let’s go to the kitchen, and you can make us some coffee. Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.” Sure, I could have offered to fix us something, but Myra was used to taking care of me. I didn’t want to deprive her of the satisfaction.

  She poured us each a cup of coffee and went about making sandwiches.

  I sat on a barstool and spotted a bottle of Kahlúa. “Maybe this will help calm your nerves.” I added a dash to her cup. I wanted to prepare her for the worst, but I wasn’t anxious to get started. Besides, she was cutting tomatoes for the roast beef sandwiches with a very sharp knife. I didn’t want her to have an accident.

  I grabbed a slice of cheese. “I really liked Freddy. Where did you two meet?”

  “How can you talk about Freddy at a time like this? I’m going to be arrested for murder!” She waved the knife in my general direction.

  “Now calm down. First of all, it wouldn’t be murder if it was an accident.” I swallowed hard. “It was an accident, right?”

  “Of course it was an accident! I didn’t have any reason to kill that clown. I didn’t even know him.”

  “I know, but he did assault you.” I wanted to reach across the bar for a tomato slice but didn’t dare.

  “Assault me? I’ve had more pinches on this thing than a fat baby with dimples.” She lifted her sweater and flashed me her backside.

  Too much info. “Well, Freddy didn’t take it too kindly. The way he knocked down Mr. Squishy, you’d think—”

  Myra dropped the knife. “You don’t think Freddy killed him, do you? Freddy would never hurt anyone. He’s kind and
gentle and sweet.”

  Newsflash. Twenty-four hours ago, he was sitting on top of the victim about to pound in his rubber nose. “I’m sure you’re right, but it’s not what I think that matters. It’s what Sheriff Grady thinks.”

  “Sheriff Grady can kiss my—”

  “Myra, why don’t you chug some more coffee.”

  We ate our sandwiches, and then sat on the sofa by the fire. Brutus laid his big snout on my foot and fell asleep.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Myra hugged a pillow. “What if Freddy dumps me? Everything was going so well until that clown showed up.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you. After all, this isn’t my first murder investigation.” I was turning into a regular Nancy Drew. “We need to establish your alibi. When you locked the freezer, was it before or after the confrontation with Squishy?”

  “After.”

  “Did you see the clown when you walked through the party room to the kitchen to get Freddy a soda?”

  “I don’t remember. I really wasn’t paying attention.” She chewed on a fingernail.

  No help there. “Was there anyone else in the kitchen who saw you lock the freezer?”

  “No, the kitchen was empty.”

  The more questions I asked, the thinner her alibi became. It had more holes in it than the Swiss cheese in my sandwich. “Did you see Freddy go into the kitchen?”

  Myra shot me a look. “Why do you keep asking about Freddy?”

  It seemed obvious to me, but then, he wasn’t my boyfriend. “Generally, when someone is killed, the person who does the killing has a reason, a motive. From what I can tell, you and Freddy were the only two there with a motive, slim as it is. I just want to make sure there isn’t any other evidence I’m overlooking that the sheriff may stumble upon.”

  “There’s not.” She got up and took a swig right out of the liqueur bottle. “I guess I just accidently killed a guy.”

  Watching her drink reminded me of the evidence found in the freezer. “Do you know anything about that flask the deputy found?”