Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “Stupid, I know. Artie took those shots of me the night before the murder, after my shift, so I thought they might still be in the camera. I didn’t want anybody to see them. When I looked at the pictures from the crime scene, they weren’t there. Then I remembered picking up a disk off the floor of the bedroom at the Boswell place. I wasn’t sure if it was from your bag, but I threw it in anyway. I guess it was this one.”

  As he spoke, I began to feel a little sorry for him. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. It didn’t sound like he had anything to do with the murder.

  Grady blew out a long breath. “Is that all?”

  Darnell nodded.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” he said. “Now, get out of my office.”

  The deputy looked at me. “I’ll get that box of disks back to you ASAP. Nice pictures, by the way.”

  That last part creeped me out. Who knows what all I’d saved on those disks. Obviously, we all had our secrets.

  When we were alone, Grady pounded his fist on the desk before trying to straighten out his twisted expression. “Well, on behalf of the Cascada County Sheriff’s Department, I apologize for this unfortunate incident. Give me a bill for the damages and I’ll see that you’re reimbursed.”

  “Thanks. But what’s going to happen to Deputy Darnell?”

  “He’s a good cop. Was a good cop. I should probably fire him.”

  “But...”

  “But if you promise to keep this matter under wraps, I could probably get by with a suspension. It’s not like there are people knocking down my door to join the force these days.”

  I thought about it. Rick Darnell was about the same age as my brother. Hadn’t I asked Grady to give Tyler a second chance at redemption? Everyone deserves a second chance. Plus, it was nice to have the upper hand on Grady for a change.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Since I showed you mine, you show me yours.”

  Grady’s expression turned even more sour. “What are you talking about?”

  “Show me the pictures that were in Artie’s camera. Maybe there’s a clue. After all, the disk I just showed you was the one he was using to take pictures of the house. Why would he switch it out in the middle of a shoot?”

  “If I do that, will you promise not to blab to the whole town about Darnell?”

  “I promise.”

  “Deal.” He reached across his desk and shook my hand. “You’re going to be disappointed though. All it has on it is some blurry video with no sound.” He pulled the disk from his desk. “Here, take it. You can return it after you’ve watched it.”

  My heart sank a little as I put it in my purse. “By the way, you don’t really think I had anything to do with Artie’s death, do you?”

  Grady leaned back and clasped his hands over his gut. “Unofficially, no. But I’ve got to follow the evidence. We’ve got a few leads about some of Becker’s shady connections but not much else. We got a print off the murder weapon, but it doesn’t match anybody in the system.”

  “Do you think one of those ‘shady connections’ was the man who went with Artie to the Boswells’ that morning?”

  Grady flew forward in his chair. “What man?”

  “Seriously?” Once again, it seemed I knew more than the sheriff. Didn’t his deputies talk to the neighbors? I couldn’t believe my fate rested in this guy’s hands.

  “I’ll tell you,” I said, “but you’re going to owe me one.”

  Rolling his eyes, he picked up a pen. “Okay. Now, spill it.”

  Chapter 17

  The warm glow of an evening spent making up—and making out—with Jake enveloped me like a soft blanket when I woke up Thursday morning.

  Not. That was just a dream. I had sent him a simple text that said: Sorry. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. I knew he was busy with work, but I’d have at least expected a response. Maybe he needed some time to cool down. With a backlog of pictures to edit for my clients, I had plenty of work of my own to keep me busy.

  Before heading off to the studio, I wanted to look at the video from the disk I’d gotten from Sheriff Grady. He was right. No audio and just a bunch of dark, out-of-focus people from what I could tell. Artie must have set his camera wrong and not checked it as most professionals would. I made sure to fast-forward to the end to see if there was anything taken at the Boswells’ house. Nothing.

  I still couldn’t figure out why this disk was in the camera instead of the one that Deputy Darnell found and put in my camera bag by mistake. I pulled that file back up and scanned the pictures Artie had taken at the house. There were two almost identical shots of the master bedroom. I zoomed in on the first and noticed something I had missed the first time. In the reflection in the mirror was a partial figure of a person wearing a plaid jacket. Could Artie have caught his own reflection?

  I studied the angle and realized that it would have been impossible for the image to have been Artie himself. The person I was staring at was probably the same man who had gone to the house with Artie that morning. It may have been the person who killed him.

  Where had I seen that plaid jacket before? Then I remembered the man sitting next to Artie at the town hall meeting. Nancy said his name was Clyde something and that he hung around Karol’s Kafé. If he and Artie were friends, it was doubtful he would have killed him, but he may have been a witness.

  I knew the sheriff’s office now had these same pictures and may discover this Clyde fellow themselves. I wanted to get to him before they did, and before they messed anything else up. There was only one thing to do. I would head to Karol’s and see if this joker was there and willing to talk.

  “HI. MIND IF I JOIN you?” I asked, sliding into the booth across from Clyde.

  He laid down his racing form and grinned, revealing a dark mustache sprinkled with powdered sugar and a mouth full of smoke-stained teeth. Judging by his wrinkles, he was older than he tried to appear and was doing his part to keep the Just For Men hair dye company in business.

  “Clyde Hornsby, at your service.” He tipped his hat. “To what do I owe this pleasure, pretty lady? Not that I’m complaining. But don’t be surprised if Karol over there tries to run you off. She plays hard to get, but she’s sweet on me.”

  “I’m sure she is,” I said, knowing Karol flirted with all the men to get bigger tips. She must have made a fortune off Clyde. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your friend Artie Becker.”

  “What? Are you a cop? Are you wearing a wire?”

  I gave him a sideways glance. “Why? Have you got something to hide?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then no. I’m the one who found his body. I’m trying to help find his killer so that the sheriff doesn’t try to pin it on me.”

  “I hear that.” He waved to Karol to bring me coffee. “Artie and I were friends, sure. But what makes you think I would know anything about his murder?”

  “Because you were there.” I watched his eyes as they narrowed. He looked away quickly as Karol approached.

  “Hi, Wendy,” Karol said as she poured my coffee. “I didn’t realize you knew this handsome old coot. Don’t get any ideas, now. I got first dibs on him.” She gave me a wink and walked off to tend to other customers.

  Clyde regained his composure. “You’re wrong. I wasn’t with Artie that morning. I was up at the Creekside Casino.”

  “I have a photograph of you Artie took at the Boswells’ house that says otherwise.” I hoped he didn’t call my bluff since all it really showed was his sports coat.

  He choked on his coffee and almost blew it across the table at me. “That’s impossible. I wasn’t there.”

  “Clyde, let’s not play games. As of now, Sheriff Grady hasn’t seen this picture. But if I show him, he could certainly talk to the neighbor who saw two men at the house that morning. Also, the security cameras at the casino would show if you were indeed there or not. That’s an easy one.”

  He stared daggers at me but kep
t quiet.

  “Okay, then, I guess I’ll see you later.” I scooted to the edge of the booth.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Yeah, I was there. Just hanging out while Artie took his pictures. We were going to head up to the casino after that. The place was a wreck. He cleaned up some and I put the trash out front for him. Then he gets a call.”

  “Who from?”

  “Didn’t ask. Didn’t care. He takes some more pictures, then we hear a knock on the door. He thought it might be the realtor lady and said to make myself scarce. He doesn’t know how she’d feel about him having company on the job. I decide to step out back and have a smoke.”

  “How long were you out there?”

  “Ten minutes or so. I kept waiting for Artie to come tell me the coast was clear. Then I heard a banging sound.”

  “A gunshot?”

  “No, a door. I heard a car drive off and waited a few more minutes before I walked around to the front. Whoever it was had taken off. That’s when I went back inside and found Artie on the ground. I felt for a pulse, but he was already gone.” His eyes moistened. “I’d known that old cuss a long time. Gonna miss him.”

  My gut told me he was being honest about his feelings for Artie. “What did you do then?”

  “I pulled the keys out of his pocket and took off. I left his car in front of his house and walked home.”

  I considered his story. It sounded plausible, but it was also his second version of the truth. Were there going to be more? “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you call the sheriff’s department?”

  “Come on, missy. Look at me. People like me don’t call the cops. We avoid them like rabid dogs. Besides, I didn’t see anyone or hear anyone. It could have been the guy next door, some drugged-out kid, or even you, for all I know.”

  Was that a veiled threat? Playing along was probably my best bet. He was the fly and I was the honey. “I—I believe you.”

  “Good. Because it’s the truth.” He reached in his pocket and threw a twenty on the table. “I’ve got an appointment with a pair of dice. I trust you’ll keep our conversation to yourself.”

  I nodded.

  He cupped his hand around his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes,” I said, in a voice more certain than I felt. “And I appreciate the information.”

  Clyde stood up and waved to Karol.

  “Wait,” I said. “You probably knew Artie better than anyone. Who do you think may have been angry enough to kill him?”

  He hesitated. “The thing is, he had his enemies, just like we all do. I’d seen him in a tussle now and again, but nothing too serious, until about six weeks ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Look, we weren’t girlfriends. We didn’t read each other’s diaries. He had his stuff; I had mine. But if I were a betting man, and I am, I’d be looking at Brett Boswell.”

  Chapter 18

  Once again I found myself headed to the Snowbird Resort to try to get some answers from Brett. Clyde implied that Brett had some sort of beef with Artie. If I confronted Brett with this fact, maybe he would tell me the truth. If he was innocent, why wouldn’t he? If he denied it, I’d have something solid to take to the sheriff. The tricky part was going to be doing this without giving up Clyde Hornsby in the process.

  I had known Brett growing up even though he was four or five years behind me in school. He was hard to miss with his shock of bleached blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was the kid who constantly got his cheek pinched by old ladies and was told he’d be a heartbreaker when he grew up. Who would have known the hearts he’d break the most were those of his parents.

  It was all they could do to keep him in line. I remember my father saying that Brett was the kind of kid who would lie when the truth would help. Part of the problem was that most people let him get away with everything, whether it was pulling off a school prank or getting caught shoplifting video games. Except for his parents, everyone around him laughed off his antics and said it was a phase he’d grow out of.

  The Cascada Gazette loved to feature him in the paper as the best Olympic hopeful ever to come out of these parts. The community ate it up. The truth was that as he got older, his talent didn’t improve at the same pace as when he was younger. Chances are he would never have lived up to the hype surrounding him as a kid. And chances are that the accident he claimed ended his competitive career was actually an excuse to save face.

  None of this was an excuse to take another man’s life, though, and I was determined to bring him to justice if that was indeed what happened.

  A siren in the distance grew louder until I saw a sheriff’s car pull up right behind me. Looking at the dash, I confirmed I wasn’t speeding. I needed to pull over so the car could pass me, but the road was narrow and curvy around this part of the mountain. I didn’t dare try to pull any closer to the edge.

  After the longest few minutes of my life, I slowed down on a straightaway and the car, lights flashing and sirens blaring, pulled past me. That’s when I saw an ambulance coming up behind me as well. Luckily, I made it to a small shoulder protected with a steel barrier and pulled over. I waited as another sheriff’s car passed. This one looked to be driven by Sheriff Grady himself.

  Several minutes later, I finally dared to pull out. I was just a few miles from the resort and wondered what had happened. It could be anything from a fire to a car wreck to an accident on the mountain.

  Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. But there was no smoke when I pulled into the parking lot. The ski lift was stopped and a crowd stood around the base of the mountain, staring up the hill.

  “What happened?” I asked a woman at the edge of the crowd. She had a grip on a little boy’s hand who couldn’t have been more than three years old.

  “Somebody had an accident. I think he might be d-e-a-d,” she said, spelling the word so the little boy wouldn’t know what she was saying.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No. You might ask those people over there. I think they know him.”

  I looked to where she pointed and saw several girls huddled around Alex. They all seemed to be crying, even Alex. I didn’t want to bother them, seeing how upset they were. That’s when a name spread through the crowd like a game of telephone and ended up with me.

  It was Brett.

  THE LODGE WAS PACKED with people waiting to resume their day of fun on the slopes. A few took the offer of refunds on their lift tickets while others used the break to drive down to Cascada to grab lunch. I found an empty chair and sipped hot chocolate, watching for the EMTs to bring Brett’s body down.

  My biggest fear was that the secret of Artie’s death had died on the mountain along with Brett. Perhaps fear and guilt had played a role in Brett’s accident. Could this have been the ultimate suicide for a snowboarder?

  Perhaps Alex knew the details of what had happened. Just sitting and watching was getting me nowhere. I drained my cup, zipped up my jacket, and headed outside to talk to Alex.

  His eyes were red and he trembled.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I know how close you two were.”

  He hugged me and buried his head in my neck. I heard a muffled “Thanks.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “He didn’t show up this morning for work. It’s not unusual for him to be late, but after an hour, I started calling and texting. He didn’t answer. But then a skier up on Diamond Point heard a cell phone ringing and followed the sound. That’s when he found Brett.”

  “Do you think he went out early this morning alone?”

  “I doubt it.” A half smile crossed his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the mountain. “Brett’s never been a morning person. Like I told the sheriff, it’s more likely he was out here late last night, and...” He swallowed hard and fell silent.

  My stomach churned, not becau
se of the heartache of sharing in Alex’s pain, but because I knew how devastated he would be if he ever found out his best friend had been sleeping with his wife. Would Raven tell him? Would she confess? Or would that just be another secret buried along with Brett Boswell?

  “Raven,” Alex muttered.

  “What?”

  “Raven is going to die.” He dropped his head to his chest.

  Was he making a threat? Maybe he knew about the affair after all. “Alex, what are you saying?”

  Another tear slid from his eyes. “When Raven finds out Brett is gone, it’s going to kill her. They got along really well. He taught her to snowboard. I probably need to call her before she hears it from someone else.” He looked at his watch. “She won’t be on break for another hour. They’re really strict at the casino. She’s already gotten in trouble for showing up late a couple of times when her car wouldn’t start.”

  I had a feeling there was another reason she was showing up late. “Does she work at Creekside?”

  “Yeah, she’s a waitress.” Suddenly, Alex jerked upright.

  The hum of an engine grew louder until we saw the snowmobile pulling a sled carrying the cloaked body of Brett Boswell. Alex raced over to the ambulance, followed by others who worked at the resort. I turned my head, not wanting to witness their unabated grief any longer.

  Soon, others came down on snowmobiles, including Sheriff Grady. I hurried over to catch up with him.

  “I’m a little busy, Ms. Fairmont, for one of our chats.”

  “This wasn’t an accident.”

  “Oh yeah? Who died and made you a medical examiner?”

  I ignored the poor choice of words. “Don’t you think Brett’s death is a little too coincidental?”

  “You’ve been watching too much TV.” He started toward the lodge.

  Falling in step, I persisted. “Did you know that Brett and Artie Becker knew each other?”

  Not slowing down, he said, “So? It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”