Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “Is that why you’re bleeding?” He motioned to my leg.

  Sure enough, there was a slice on my ankle and a trickle of blood. I didn’t even realize I’d been cut.

  “Darnell, get one of the medics in here.”

  “Oh, it’s just a little cut,” I said, shaking off his help.

  “It’s not just that. We need to get a blood sample from you to rule out your blood from the victim’s and possibly the perpetrator’s.”

  Here we go again, I thought. How did I keep getting myself into these pickles?

  “Start at the beginning, Ms. Fairmont,” he said. “Walk me through exactly what happened.”

  Ms. Fairmont. Obviously, Grady was going to play big, bad sheriff. It’s not like he didn’t usually just call me Wendy. Maybe it was because one of his men—the hunky deputy—was listening in.

  I described the mess in the front rooms and how I had straightened up before I took pictures.

  At first he took notes, but then he stopped and just listened. When I was finished, he scowled. “So we should expect to find your prints pretty much all over the place. What about the rest of the house? And did you touch the victim?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I touched some things in the master bedroom but not the victim. Oh, except for his boots. I tried to move them. That was before I realized Artie was still in them.”

  “I see. And why did you want the victim’s boots?”

  “I didn’t want them; I was trying to move them so I could shoot the bedroom...with my camera.”

  Grady’s face showed a mixture of confusion and amusement. “So was that your camera wrapped around the victim’s neck?”

  I blew out a sigh. I wasn’t sure if Grady was being serious or just yanking my chain. “No. I assume it was Artie’s.”

  “You called him Artie. So you knew Mr. Becker?”

  “Not really. I just met him last night at the town meeting for the art fair.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So like I said, you knew him.”

  “It’s not like we hung out or anything. Nancy introduced him to me.”

  “Nancy Faro, his boss.” Grady scribbled on his notepad.

  “I don’t know if you’d call her his boss, but he did work for her. I mean, that’s not all he did. He’s a photographer.”

  It seemed everything that came out of my mouth was getting twisted. “Are you finished with me?”

  “Not yet.” Grady stood up and disappeared down the hallway.

  One of the paramedics came in to bandage my leg. “I need to take a blood sample,” she said. “Which arm would you prefer?” She held out a tourniquet.

  “Can’t you just wipe some blood off my leg? Why poke me again when I’m already bleeding?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “We need an uncontaminated sample.”

  I held out my left arm and looked away so I wouldn’t have to watch the needle pierce my skin. I could handle a lot of things, but needles weren’t one of them.

  Grady had returned and chuckled. “You just saw a guy with his head bashed in, but you’re afraid of a little needle prick?”

  “It’s one thing when it’s someone else. It’s another when it’s me.”

  Just then an officer opened the door. “Hey, chief, there’s a woman here who wants to talk to you. The name’s Nancy Faro.”

  I looked up at Grady.

  “Yeah, let her in,” he said.

  Nancy rushed in and saw the needle and vial of blood. Her face was ashen and I thought she might faint. “Oh my gosh! What happened to you?”

  I held the cotton ball against my arm while the woman wrapped a bandage around it. “I’m fine. Just a cut on my ankle. They needed a blood sample.”

  She looked around and then to the sheriff. “What happened to Artie?”

  Grady stood up. “Before we get into that, I want to ask you a few questions.” He motioned for her to sit. “What was your relationship to Mr. Becker?”

  Nancy sat close to me on the sofa. “He worked for me taking pictures of houses. But you know that, sheriff. Weren’t you two friends?”

  Friends? That was news to me.

  Grady flinched. “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind. When did you last see or speak to Mr. Becker?”

  “He was at the meeting last night,” Nancy said. “He confirmed he would meet me here at nine o’clock. I had an appointment at nine thirty. I waited about fifteen minutes and then left.”

  “Did you enter the house?”

  “No. I waited in the car. I was checking messages and trying to get ahold of him on the phone.”

  “But wait,” I said. “Then who put the trash out? Do you think Artie would have done that?”

  Grady harrumphed at me.

  The bandage pinched my arm and I shot him a sour look. “Sorry. I know you would have asked that.”

  Nancy fiddled nervously with her keychain. “I never touched the trash. Artie might have cleaned up the house some and put the trash outside if the place was really messy. He’s done it a few times before.”

  Nancy glanced at the officer guarding the hallway, then looked at me with puppy dog eyes.

  I sensed her question and whispered, “Don’t worry. They’ve already removed the body.”

  Grady stopped writing and asked, “Is it normal for the owners to leave a mess when they are trying to sell their house?”

  “No, but the Boswells are out of town,” she said.

  Grady nodded slowly. “And Brett Boswell has been hanging out here. We’ve gotten several noise complaints on him.” He made another note.

  “Sheriff, can you please tell me what happened to Artie?” Nancy’s eyes began to water. “Just because he drove me crazy doesn’t mean I don’t care about him.”

  That was one of the things I loved about my new best friend. She was like an M&M: tough shell on the outside, soft heart on the inside. Plus, she shared my love of chocolate.

  “Just a minute.” He walked over to the deputy on guard duty. “Have someone check the trash. See if there’s anything unusual in there.”

  The image of Artie Becker lying on the ground between the bed and the wall was burned in my brain. Luckily, Nancy didn’t stumble in on the scene. She hadn’t seen as many dead bodies as I had. I took her hand.

  Grady sat back down. “Okay. Here’s the situation. It appears that someone hit him over the head and then strangled him with his camera strap.”

  Nancy gasped. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Obviously, we don’t know who. We are trying to establish a timeline. Are you sure he wasn’t here at nine when you arrived?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t see his car. Like I said, though, I didn’t come in.”

  I was more than ready to get out of there. “Sheriff, can we go now?”

  “I suppose. I’m sure I’ll have more questions, but I know where to find you two.”

  “Thanks.” I stood up. “Oh, and I need my camera bag.”

  “Let Deputy Darnell get it for you.”

  I followed him into the bedroom and saw my camera bag spilled over onto the floor next to the bed. “What happened to my bag?”

  “The paramedics must have knocked it over when they came through here. Let me get it so you don’t cut yourself on the glass.” Deputy Darnell carefully picked up several lenses, memory cards, pens, and rolls of film that had fallen out and put them back in the bag. “That looks like everything,” he said and handed it to me.

  I took one last look around the room. “Just so you know, I fluffed the pillows on the bed when I was in here.”

  The officer gave me a puzzled look. “Really?”

  “In my defense, I didn’t see the blood on there at the time.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll make a note of it.” He waited for me to leave the room.

  Grabbing Nancy’s arm, I led her outside. It was a mild day for February, and I welcomed the cool breeze on my face. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll follow you to y
our office.”

  There were multiple vehicles in front of the house now, including mine and Nancy’s. “Which one of these is Artie’s car?” I asked her.

  Nancy scanned the street, then looked back at me, shaking her head. “None of them.”

  Chapter 4

  Nancy’s real estate office was around the corner from my photography studio. She had a thriving business for such a small town and employed two other agents and a full-time secretary. Hers wasn’t the only agency in town, but it was definitely the busiest.

  When we walked into the office, Dorinda had a stack of messages for Nancy. “I put them in order from most urgent to least,” she said as she handed the pink notes to Nancy.

  “Oh my,” Nancy murmured. “This one is from Pete Boswell. News travels fast.”

  Dorinda popped her gum and twirled the tip of her blue hair. “I’m afraid that’s my fault. He called earlier asking for you and I told him you were at his house with the police. One thing led to another and I told him about the murder. I mean, in your text you didn’t say not to tell anyone.”

  I thought Nancy was going to lose it, but she managed to keep her composure. “Dorinda, we’ve talked about this before. All you are supposed to say is that I’m with a client and I’ll call back as soon as I can. Do you need to write that down?”

  “Or perhaps you could tattoo it to your arm,” I added, “right next to the name of your ex-boyfriend.”

  Nancy snickered and dragged me down the hall to her office.

  “Tell me again why you let her keep working here?” I asked after closing the door.

  Nancy was one of those too-nice people it would be easy to take advantage of. Something about her brought out my protective instinct.

  “Her aunt is one of Mother’s best friends. But I don’t know how much longer I can put up with her. Are you sure you don’t need a receptionist at your studio?”

  “Ha! Don’t think you can pawn her off on me. Besides, I’m barely making enough right now to pay the mortgage.”

  I had sold my event planning business in Texas before I moved back to Cascada, which gave me some money to open my photography studio. After a few rough patches, I was just beginning to see a slight increase in business.

  “If I fire her, Mother will have a fit,” Nancy said as she sifted through the messages.

  “Mothers. I can’t wait to meet Senator Louisa Faro. She sounds like a jewel.”

  “Actually, you won’t have to wait much longer. She’s coming to town tomorrow night and wants to meet you. I’m surprised Jake didn’t mention it.”

  So was I. Sure, he’d been eyeball deep in work on his latest case, but that shouldn’t have kept him from mentioning dinner with his mother. Unless he didn’t want me to go.

  Nancy, reading my mind, smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll tell you about it today.”

  I nodded and tried to brush it off. “What are you going to tell the Boswells?”

  “That I’m going to pay to get their carpet cleaned.”

  “Gross.” Instinctively, I patted the bandage on my leg. “I wonder how long Grady and company will keep the house tied up as a crime scene? You know I didn’t get all the pictures taken, right?”

  “I assumed, although if it had been your body there instead, Artie would have stepped over it and finished the job. He was a pro like that.”

  “Ouch. Sorry I’m not as professional as the late Artie Becker.”

  Nancy sighed. “I know he was pretty shady, but he was a hard worker when he needed to be. I still can’t believe someone killed him.”

  “I know. And what about his car? It wasn’t there when I arrived. How did he get to the house? Does he live in that area?”

  “No. He lives...lived in town on Ponderosa Pine.”

  I thought about that. Obviously, he hadn’t walked there. Would the killer have taken off in Artie’s car? A sickening thought occurred to me. “Do you think Artie was already dead when you were waiting outside for him? That would explain why he wasn’t answering his phone.”

  Nancy shivered and the color drained from her face. “I didn’t say anything to Grady, but I did notice the garbage cans in front of the house. I remember thinking Artie might need to move them or take a shot of the house at an angle to make sure they didn’t show. What if I had gone inside the house?”

  “Then you’d have been the one to find the body. And you might have actually stumbled upon the killer.”

  We locked eyes thinking about the possibility.

  My cell phone rang and interrupted the trance. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local, so I answered.

  Sheriff Grady’s voice was strained. “Wendy—I mean, Ms. Fairmont—we’ve located the probable murder weapon, and I have some more questions for you. Can you come down to the station? We need to fingerprint you too.”

  It was as though someone had reached out to grip my throat. “Okay” was all I managed to croak out. As I hung up, I thought about Grady’s reputation for being quick to make an arrest, and it was usually the wrong person. Was that about to happen to me?

  Nancy stared at me, concern on her face. “What is it?”

  “Grady wants my fingerprints. I hope he doesn’t think I’m guilty of murder.”

  Chapter 5

  Something about law enforcement always gave me the creeps. Maybe it started when I was young and my brother first got in trouble. My mind told me the police were there to help us and to keep us safe, but my experience told me they were human beings, and like other people, they couldn’t always be trusted.

  That feeling accompanied me as I entered the Cascada County Sheriff’s Department. The officer at the front desk took my information and told me to have a seat. The name stitched on her uniform was Cranston, and I wondered if she was related to the man who owned the pet store, Cranston’s Critters. She was attractive in a Cagney and Lacey sort of way, but that uniform did nothing to show off her figure. At least she got to wear comfortable shoes.

  Finally, the door opened and the hunky deputy I’d seen earlier at the Boswell house came out to escort me to the back.

  “Hello, Ms. Fairmont. I’m Deputy Darnell. I’ll be taking your fingerprints.”

  “Okay, thanks.” As soon as the words left my lips I wanted to suck them back in. Why was I thanking him? He should be thanking me. Maybe I should have demanded to see my lawyer. If they tried to take my picture in front of one of those height charts, I was out of there.

  Darnell glanced down the long hallway as another officer approached. “Morris,” he called out. “What are you doing?”

  The other officer stopped in front of Sheriff Grady’s office. “I’m getting the OK to check Becker’s camera to see if there’s any evidence on it. Maybe some of the pictures will reveal something.”

  Deputy Darnell glanced back at me. “Wait here.” He followed Morris into Grady’s office.

  Even from my perch near the front desk I could hear the two deputies arguing. Finally, all three came out into the hallway. Grady gave me a sideways glance as he barked out orders. “Morris, take her fingerprints. Darnell, check the camera. I’ve got calls to make.” He went back into his office and slammed the door.

  Hunky Deputy Darnell headed down the hall while the older, softer Deputy Morris sauntered up to me. “Rookies,” he mumbled and shook his head. “They always want to be the hero. Police work is a team effort, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” I said, playing along. “There’s no ‘I’ in team.”

  “Exactly.”

  I followed him to a small office.

  We made pleasant chitchat as he took each of my fingers and pressed it on the inkpad and then rolled it onto a paper card. He said that the county had bought an electronic scanner for fingerprints, but Grady preferred the old-fashioned way of doing them. All I know is that the ink got under my nails and would probably require a new manicure.

  When he finished, he led me down the hall and deposited me in the sheriff’
s office.

  Not wasting any time, I came straight out and asked, “Am I a suspect?”

  “Should you be?” Grady cocked his head like a curious beagle.

  “Funny. Is that something they teach you in sheriff school? Always answer a question with a question?”

  “I don’t know. Should it be?”

  “Knock it off, Tucker. May I call you Tucker? After all, your wife and I are workout buddies.”

  “No, you may not. And from what I hear, Sherry would just as soon see you in a coma than in the gym.”

  I grinned. “Touché. The feeling’s mutual. Anyway, I’m here. What do you want to ask me?”

  Grady turned to a fresh page on his notepad. “I need a list of things you remember touching in the house.”

  “Why? Is this about the murder weapon?”

  “Ms. Fairmont, if we are going to eliminate you as a suspect, we need to know what all you laid your hands on.”

  I straightened my back. “What do you mean ‘if’? You know I didn’t do this.”

  “Look, I’ve botched the last few cases, as you well know, and I’m not about to do the same thing again.” The lines on his face hardened as he spoke. “This one is going to be strictly by the books. Means, motive, opportunity. You were in the house. That gives you opportunity. You would have had access to the murder weapon. That’s means.”

  I could feel my face flush as he spoke and my palms began to sweat. “And...”

  “As far as motive, how do we know you didn’t want to eliminate the only other professional photographer in town? How’s business going, by the way?”

  “That’s ridiculous! I could never kill anybody. And as far as the job, I was doing Nancy a favor.”

  He tossed his pen on the desk. “Calm down now. I’m just telling you what this might look like to others. This isn’t a formal interview. I’m not recording it.”

  I swallowed hard, trying not to let my temper get the best of me, knowing it wouldn’t serve me well in this situation. “Okay, but who are the other suspects? Artie was your friend. Did he have enemies? What about Brett Boswell? Maybe he was in the house when Artie came in. He might have gotten scared and killed him by accident.”