Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “No.” She slammed down the bottle. “It wasn’t mine or Freddy’s. That’s all I know.”

  I offered up a theory. “If you ask me, it’s highly likely that the clown was in the kitchen drinking when someone came in, so he ducked into the freezer to hide. You came along and locked it without knowing he was there. The music was so loud that nobody heard him calling to get out until it was too late.”

  Myra’s eyes lit up. “If that’s what happened, then they can’t throw me in jail, can they? It wasn’t my fault!”

  “Of course not. We just have to make sure Sheriff Grady sees it that way. I’ll go talk to him first thing in the morning to tell him my theory. I wouldn’t be surprised if the case is closed by lunchtime.” I was pushing it, but I hated seeing her so upset.

  Myra threw her arms around my neck. “Oh, thank you. I knew you’d come through.”

  As I left her house, I knew there was a snowball’s chance of Grady taking my word for it. I needed more proof. The only person who could back up Myra’s alibi was Freddy.

  Unless, that is, Freddy was the killer.

  MY GPS LED ME TO THE highway leading toward Roswell. I didn’t call in advance, hoping to catch Freddy off guard. If his story matched Myra’s, it might help her case.

  A neatly lettered wooden sign stood by the gate leading to Callahan Stables. I took the dirt road that led up to the house, where I saw the same truck and horse trailer I’d seen the day before at the lodge. The sun was out, but it was still cold as ice. I pulled on gloves and covered my head with my hood.

  “Freddy?” I called out, avoiding a pile of manure as I headed into the large metal building.

  “I’m over here.” He walked out of one of the stalls, carrying a pitchfork and a shovel. For a moment, standing in the shadows, he reminded me of the Grim Reaper.

  From what I could tell, Callahan Stables was home to about a dozen horses. Most of them stared at me as I walked through the center aisle between the stalls.

  “Are all these horses yours?” I reached up to scratch a beautiful quarter horse with a braided mane.

  “Not all of them. Some are boarded by their owners. That one is a barrel racer.” He leaned the shovel against a pole. “Is there any special reason you’re here, Miss Wendy? I don’t suppose you want a riding lesson on a day like this.”

  I flashed my warmest smile, which was difficult considering the temperature outside. Having recently moved back from Texas, I still hadn’t gotten used to the cold. “No, I’m here about Myra.”

  “Great girl. Not a killer. What else do you want to know?”

  Man of few words. “How did you two meet?”

  “Why? Do I need your blessing to go out with her?” He pulled a knife from his pocket and began scraping mud off his boots.

  Was that supposed to intimidate me? I moved closer and stopped next to a dapple gray Welsh pony. “No, but Myra is awfully fond of you. I just want to know you’ll treat her right.”

  “Well, we met at bingo. My mother’s regular Friday night partner had thrown her back out, and Mother asked me to take her. She basically lives for bingo, so I took her. About an hour in, we were playing a game of four corners when this good-looking gal jumps up and yells ‘bingo’ like her house was on fire. Then she breaks into a happy dance like nothing I’d ever seen before. That’s when I knew I had to meet her. That was about three months ago.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, that’s such a sweet story.”

  “Yup.” He picked up a pile of manure with the shovel and tossed it into a wheelbarrow.

  I felt like giving him a hug but was afraid the poop smell might end up on my new jacket. “Well, on a more serious note, I have a few questions about yesterday.” I followed Freddy around as he proceeded to pitch hay and fill water buckets for the horses. “Has Sheriff Grady contacted you yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you going to tell him that Myra was with you the whole time y’all were at the lodge?”

  “Yup.”

  I lowered my voice and leaned in. “Was she actually with you the whole time?”

  “Yup.”

  I straightened up. “That’s not what she said.”

  Freddy stopped and looked down at me from his tall frame. “What did she tell you?”

  “Just that she went inside to get you a soda and that’s when she locked the freezer.”

  “Oh, that.” He rammed the pitchfork into a mound of hay. “Except for then, we were together the whole time.”

  “But you did disappear for a few minutes.” It was a lie. An out-and-out lie. I wanted to bluff him to see if he’d stick to his story.

  “Yeah, but that was nothing.” He saw my expression. “What do you think? That I went inside and threw Grover in the freezer? That’s crazy.” He stabbed another forkful of hay.

  It occurred to me that I was challenging the story of a man holding a lethal weapon. Maybe I hadn’t thought this through. The truth is that I hadn’t anticipated that he’d take the bait. I decided to back off and give him a chance to explain. “So where did you run off to?”

  He continued working and ignored the question.

  I filled in the silence. “Obviously, you had no reason to harm Grover. You two were friends, right?”

  “I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly. Besides, he knew I could whoop him anytime I pleased. I’d done it plenty of times before.”

  So much for the gentle giant persona. “If you knew he was trouble, why did you recommend him to Gwen Palmer to replace the other clown?”

  “He needed the money. I was trying to give him a leg up.”

  Help him up then knock him down. Did I dare ask Freddy to explain his disappearance again? Might as well. It might be something that could back up Myra’s alibi. “So where did you run off to when you left Myra alone?”

  His face reddened and his eyes narrowed. “I had to take care of some business, that’s all. I wasn’t gone but a few minutes. I thought you were trying to help Myra and me. You sound more like a cop.” He took a step forward.

  It was time to skedaddle. I didn’t want to rile Jethro Clampett any more than I had already. “Don’t worry. I can promise you that Myra is my number one concern.” I didn’t like the way he was holding that pitchfork.

  Just then, I felt someone tugging me backward by the hood of my jacket. I let out a slasher-movie scream and covered my face with both hands. “Don’t hurt me!”

  Freddy laughed. “Let her go, Millie. She’s company.”

  I spun around to see the giant yellow teeth of an old bay mule. My face burned with embarrassment.

  Freddy laughed so hard he had to hold his side.

  Apparently, Millie wasn’t the only jackass in the stable that day.

  Chapter 7

  Every time I unlocked the front door of my new building, I had to pinch myself to know I wasn’t dreaming. After so many years of wishing, I’d finally managed to open my own photography studio. The Foto Factory sat proudly at the far end of town square. Yeah, it was actually a rectangle.

  The temperature that clear Monday morning was colder inside than outside, so I went straight to the thermostat and cranked up the heat. I waited for the sound of two bumps and a thud to know for sure it had come on. It was an old unit and the building inspector said I should start saving up now to replace it.

  I lugged in my equipment along with the boxes of photo props I had taken to the party. Although I had experienced a steady stream of business after I first opened, things had died down to a trickle. I was using this time to work on advertising as well as some of the fine art prints I had taken over the years. Being a Monday, my only appointment was at noon to take passport pictures of the Randalls. They were planning a fortieth anniversary trip to sunny Cancun. I wished I were going with them.

  “Yoohoo. Is this where I can find photographer and amateur detective, Wendy Fairmont?”

  It was Nancy. She often walked over from her real estate office around the corner.

/>   “Yes, it is. Which service could I be helping you with today, ma’am?”

  “Ugh. Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ Makes me sound old.”

  “Pa-lease. I’ve got you by four years, remember? What are you doing here? Did you bring pastries?”

  “Duh. It’s not polite to go a’calling without bringing your neighbor some food.”

  “Your mama raised you right.” I took the bag from her and sat down at the table in the kitchenette. “Speaking of your mama, how is the honorable senator of the great state of New Mexico?”

  “Haven’t you heard? She’s on a mission to require food trucks to provide handicapped parking.”

  “What? That doesn’t even make sense. The whole point of food trucks is that they can go anywhere.”

  “You and I know that. She’s just catering to the restaurant lobbyists.”

  I chuckled. “Catering. Huh. You made a pun.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So how’s the investigation going? Caught the bad guy yet?” She bit into a bear claw the size of a bear’s claw.

  “Not yet. I’m sure Myra is innocent, of course, but I’m not so sure about her boyfriend, Freddy. Seems he did a short disappearing act at the circus. Anyway, I plan to talk to Grady this morning to find out what he’s thinking. Hopefully, I can get him to see that it was probably an accident, at least as far as Myra is concerned.”

  “Good luck with that. Now that I know about your brother and the hunting incident with Cameron Spitzer, I’m not so sure the sheriff and his missus don’t have a vendetta against you and anyone you’re associated with.”

  “Like you? You’re associated with me now.”

  “I was meaning to talk to you about that.” Nancy licked icing off the tips of her fingers. “I think we should break up.”

  “Sorry. No can do. I’m afraid you’re stuck being my best friend for life.”

  “Oh well. At least I tried.”

  “By the way, keep your eyes peeled for a reporter from the Albuquerque Observer. He told my mother he was coming to town today to investigate the story.”

  Nancy laughed. “I can see the headline now, ‘The Party’s Over for Frozen Clown.’”

  “Nice.” I washed down the end of my blueberry muffin with some coffee.

  “Hello?”

  A male voice rang out from the reception area. I got up to see who it was. Hopefully, it was a walk-in customer. I was shocked to see my brother. “Tyler. What are you doing here?”

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Thanks for the friendly welcome.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Nancy walked out of the kitchen and stopped when she saw us.

  For a moment, I said nothing. Then, regaining my senses, I said, “Nancy Faro, this is my brother, Tyler. Tyler, Nancy.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said and smiled.

  Tyler dipped his head.

  Nancy must have sensed the tension. “Well, I better be getting to work. Lots of property to unload, you know.”

  I waved as she headed out the door.

  Tyler looked around. “Can’t believe this is the old skating rink. Glad you kept the wood floors.”

  “What do you want, Tyler?” I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but I was clearly taken off guard. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask for money. Everything I had was tied up in this place.

  He shuffled his feet. “I need your help.”

  “What kind of help? Money?”

  “No.”

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. Okay, it’d have to be a really big feather since I’d been packing on the pounds from eating pastries from Karol’s Kafé. Darn that Karol. “Let’s sit down and talk.” I led him to my office.

  Tyler was two years older and with sandy-brown hair he wore just a little too long. He had our mother’s dark eyes and complexion. Back in high school, the girls thought he was dreamy. That was, of course, on the rare occasion he’d show up to class. For the first time it occurred to me how similar he looked to Jake. Oh geez. I hoped I didn’t have one of those complexes like Oedipus or Electra or any of those other Greeks.

  “It’s about the sheriff.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I’m afraid he’s going to come after me for that clown’s murder.”

  “First of all, it was an accident, not murder.” I swiveled in my desk chair like a boss. Something about a swivel chair always seemed to project authority.

  He responded to my power play by crossing his legs. “Oh, so you know that for a fact.”

  “Not for a fact, but I’m pretty sure.” I crossed my arms.

  He stuck out his chin. “I’m not banking on ‘pretty sure.’ You don’t know what it’s been like for me since he was elected sheriff. Anytime a cat disappears or a streetlight burns out, Grady is after me and my friends.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t done any of that petty stuff in years.”

  “What about Cameron Spitzer? Do you two still hang out?”

  “I thought you knew. He’s serving time for selling drugs.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Last year when he was hanging out in Taos. Grady tried like heck to get them to drop the charges, but with his record, the judge refused.”

  That explained Sherry’s continued resentment toward me. Her brother was in jail and mine wasn’t. Maybe that’s also why she had worked so hard to get her husband elected sheriff. They were probably thinking he could use his position to keep her brother in line or at least out of jail.

  Tyler leaned forward in his chair. “So, are you going to help me or not?”

  I leaned in too. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Since you helped solve that last case, Grady seems to like you. You could put in a good word for me. Tell him I was nowhere near that clown.”

  “Were you?”

  “No. I had just gone out to see the horses when that little girl started crying about having to get down. That’s all.”

  “Where’d you get that kitten?”

  “From the kitten factory. Why are you always questioning everything I do?” He shook his head. “There’s a family of strays living on the dock.”

  I leaned back and puffed out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit. I’ll talk to Grady and let you know what he says.”

  “Thanks.” He stood up to leave.

  “Just one more thing. When are you going to tell me the truth about what happened when Patrick died?”

  He stared back at me and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, then he turned and left.

  Typical Tyler.

  Chapter 8

  The Cascada County Sheriff’s Office sat a block off the town square next to the post office. Their jurisdiction included four small towns, although the deputies spent most of their time in Cascada, and most of that was spent at the various diners in town from what I’d observed. But today, Grady had his hands full.

  Since the sun was out, I decided to walk down to the sheriff’s office. I had missed spin class the past two weeks and needed the exercise. There was a small crowd gathered on the far side of the library, including the sheriff and several deputies.

  “That’s something you don’t see every day,” I said to Grady, who was leaning against his department SUV.

  Apparently, someone thought it would be funny to put Polly’s bright red Mini Cooper at the top of the library steps. She owned Polly’s Posies, the new flower shop.

  “Kids,” Grady grumbled. “When I find out who did this...”

  Tourists and townspeople alike stood around laughing and taking pictures.

  Chuckling, I pulled out my cell phone to do the same. “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty funny, right?”

  He cut his eyes to me. “Not one bit.”

  Not the best way to ingratiate myself to him. “How are you going to get it down?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.” He ro
lled his eyes at the onlookers. “Don’t they know this is vandalism of public property?”

  “Disgraceful.” I jammed my phone back in my pocket. “By the way, did you get the coroner’s report on the cause of the clown’s death?”

  “Seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it? The guy froze to death.” He kept his eyes on the car and the onlookers.

  “You know what I mean. Any specifics?”

  “His low body weight and dehydration contributed to the speed at which his body shut down. The fact that his blood alcohol level was through the roof didn’t help either.”

  “So that explains why it happened so fast. I have a theory about the clown’s death.”

  He glanced back at me. “I’m sure you do. Let’s hear it.”

  “Your officers found a flask in the freezer, right? Well, what if Grover went to the kitchen to take a drink and heard someone coming. He could have jumped into the freezer to hide. Maybe that’s when Myra came in and locked the door, not realizing he was inside. The music from the party was so loud nobody heard him calling to get out, if he did call, that is.”

  Grady crossed his arms. “Maybe. But I’ve got a theory of my own. Someone lured him into the freezer using the flask as bait, knocked him out, and left him there to freeze to death. There’s a chance he was unconscious and never woke up.”

  His theory was as credible as mine. But that didn’t mean I liked it. “How do you know the flask wasn’t Grover’s?”

  “For one, it was filled with scotch. The good stuff. I can’t see that guy having expensive whiskey of his own.”

  I started to ask how he identified the alcohol that was inside but let it go. “I guess you checked it for prints.”

  He darted his eyes uncomfortably. “Couldn’t. The outside was contaminated.”

  I wonder how that happened. Duh. Maybe when you were sampling it?

  “Besides,” he added, “the flask belonged to a woman.”

  “Why do you assume it was a woman’s? Is it because Myra confessed to locking the door?”

  “Nope. It’s because of the flask itself.”