Guns and Ammo and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  I grunted while Mom growled something under her breath.

  Jill just sighed and nodded. “Listen, I get it,” she said. “I’ve my own string of jerks I still wish I’d been able to just shoot if I could have gotten away with it.” She stared down into her bowl of second night stew, the good stuff gone to the guests thanks to Mom’s dedication to her craft. Jill didn’t seem to notice, lips tight and thin. “But Fee, I need you to keep it together or I’m taking that badge away. Got it?”

  Crew wasn’t the only one under pressure. I knew better. I nodded quickly. “I promise, I’ll stay out of trouble from now on.”

  Jill actually laughed, all the tension leaving her, while Mom snorted beside me. Even Barry had the nerve to look amused. His humor only lasted a moment, though, what looked like abject misery settling over his face, slumping his shoulders.

  I decided to ignore Jill and Mom’s reaction to my attempt at being a good Fleming and prodded him. “Are you okay?” I was mostly over my irritation with him, but not completely.

  He shrugged, rubbing one arm, looking distinctly unhappy. “I just hate the wilderness. Bugs and dirt. Helicopters. Everything to do with this case.”

  I gaped at him, Jill and Mom both startled, too. “What are you doing in Reading, then?” Um, mountains, hello.

  He met my eyes with enough hang-dog in his expression I doubted his state of mind. “It was a great opportunity,” he said. “And I was told I’d be in the morgue for six months, not the field.” He stared sadly down at his dinner. “I wasn’t expecting back street politics or being dumped in the middle of nowhere like this.”

  Ah, so he was under pressure, too. “Get used to it,” I said, not quite heartless but close.

  Mom, on the other hand, patted his shoulder and pushed his bowl closer. “You’ll feel better after you eat, I promise. I even have apple pie for you, if you clean your plate.”

  I almost snorted, but Barry took her to heart and dug in. Jill finished a moment later, leaving us as she helped herself to the walkie.

  “I’ll report in,” she said. “Just don’t try to arrest anyone else while I’m gone, okay?”

  Smarty pants deputy. I let her go, poking at my own stew, feeling about as perky as Barry all of a sudden. Except a moment later he beat me to shaking it off, looking up with a spark of something pulling him free from his funk.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said. “I meant to tell Deputy Wagner and forgot. I had another look at the body when you left. Turns out there’s an odd bruise on the victim’s chin. It’s pretty distinctive.” And then, as if he hadn’t just handed me the key to the case, he finished with, “It’s the kind of mark that might help identify the killer.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty

  No, I didn’t smack him or glare or even treat him like the ridiculously frustrating person he apparently was. Instead, I got to my feet and left him there with Mom who met my eyes with that perfect amount of “Are you serious?” that I felt utterly justified my own feelings toward Barry.

  Let her deal with him. I was sure it was just his lingering discomfort from the helicopter flight, his upset stomach, his continuing attitude about me. Sure it was. Not like Dr. Aberstock was now saddled with an intern who might be a few choice slices short a chocolate cake.

  Nope, wasn’t going there. Because it honestly wasn’t my problem. Instead, I hustled out into the foyer, looking for Jill. When I didn’t spot her immediately I did the only rational thing a Fleming could do in such a situation.

  If you think that meant I went searching further, you’re wrong. No? Yeah, you know me better than that by now. I made a straight shot right to the body, still resting in the armchair in front of the cold hearth in the study, and bent over the floppy-necked form of Grayson Gallinger for a peek at the evidence Barry’s afterthought finally shared.

  There it was, too. Though not completely clear, it was, at least, formed well enough in the beginnings of a bruise at the curve of his heavily jowled jawline, low on the left side, to provide me with two bits of information. One, that the person who punched him was right handed. And two, that the square shape of the bruise, distinctive enough to stand out, meant whoever hit him was likely wearing something that could be compared easily to the mark.

  It also meant, I realized as I straightened and inhaled, stepping away from the body after reflexively holding my breath for the duration of my proximity, that he’d likely been punched well before he’d been murdered. It took blood flow to form a bruise, right? I needed to talk to Dr. Aberstock or get access to the internet to be sure. Nope, wasn’t trusting Barry at the moment. I hadn’t noticed the bruise at dinner, but I pretty much avoided the man and refused to meet his eyes since I’d caught him harassing Mom in the kitchen, so not seeing this mark earlier didn’t mean much of anything.

  I had a brief flash of worry for Bill. Whatever he’d said or done to Grayson to make him steer mostly clear of my mother might have involved a blow. However, I hadn’t seen a ring on my friend’s hand. And the indent made sense if it was from a ring. Either that, or something small and square was used as a weapon.

  Now, who here had a square ring on their right hand…?

  I had to find and talk to Jill. And then I had some poking around to do.

  Wouldn’t you know it, I managed to do the second before I could track down the first? I almost bumped right into Adrian Winterton on my way out of the study, the still-handsome war hero turned politician’s flashing smile likely a habitual reaction to meeting anyone since he’d taken a run at public office. He caught me carefully with his two big hands. When he was sure I was steady he released me, hands dropping to his sides. I glanced down and immediately knew I’d found the source of the bruise as Adrian spoke.

  “Is there any new news, Miss Fleming?” He sounded genuinely concerned, glancing at the doorway to the study, though he made no move to go inside or even attempt to defend himself or plead innocence in any way. I stared down at the heavy gold ring on his right middle finger, the bulky square with the letter A in the center making me pause.

  “I need to ask you a tough question, Senator,” I said.

  He nodded instantly, serious but open. Wow, he had the politician act down perfectly, more polished than Olivia. “Please, anything I can do to help. Grayson was my friend.”

  Didn’t say much for Adrian, but I let that go rather than speak ill of the dead. “Your ring,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

  He held up his hand, the black fabric of his wrist brace cutting into the flesh just enough to leave a mark. “My wife,” he said. “A gift a few years ago, when I ran for office.” His smile felt authentic. “I don’t normally wear jewelry, aside from my wedding ring.” That gleamed on his left ring finger. “Why do you ask?”

  “You were in the military before running for state legislature, correct?” He nodded again. “A war hero?”

  Adrian actually looked uncomfortable. “That bit of hype was a political spin, I’m afraid,” he said, actually ratcheting up his reputation in my estimation. “I only did my duty, Miss Fleming.” Since I was well aware of the story—the fact he single-handedly took out half a dozen insurgents and saved not only his injured team mates but sixteen children and their teacher in a makeshift school in Iraq during Desert Storm, I felt myself relax somewhat, though not enough to let him off the hook just yet.

  A man who could shoot terrorists might have what it took to kill someone with his bare hands, right?

  “Were you and Grayson Gallinger fighting, Senator?” I really should have left this to Jill, but she’d beat around the bush and poke and prod and follow Crew’s whole death from a thousand cuts approach. I just wanted to ask the man the question.

  Adrian looked suddenly concerned, almost cagey, though he didn’t try to escape me. Instead, he tucked both hands into his jean pockets and shrugged, smile fading. But he didn’t get to answer outright, not when Ryan appeared as if out of nowhere—scuttling from the shadows like a cockroach, pinned hi
m—speaking before the senator could.

  “Don’t answer that.” He glared at me. “Don’t say another word.”

  If he’d been standing closer to me I’d have done something physical to him he’d regret later. Me? No regrets.

  “I would suggest you tell me,” I said. “Or Deputy Wagner. We already have proof you and Mr. Gallinger were involved in a fist fight.”

  Ryan shouldered past Adrian who looked momentarily irritated before hanging his head and backing off. The lawyer in my ex had his back up, enough to stand up to me, at least. “No questions,” he said. “I’m representing everyone here now that Mr. Gallinger is dead. And I won’t allow you or anyone except the state troopers or the FBI to interview any of these men.”

  “The sheriff will have something to say about that,” I snapped back, “since it’s his jurisdiction.”

  “But the sheriff isn’t here.” Ryan looked smug, despite having no reason to. He could advise the guests not to talk all he wanted, no matter who was investigating. But he—and they—would have to answer at some point.

  “I did it.” Adrian either realized he was better off speaking up now or just didn’t care one way or the other, because he looked up then and met my eyes, his tired, tight, the persona of the state legislator slipped free, a weary and slightly battered former solider looking back at me. “I hit him. Out in the woods, yesterday afternoon.” Ryan spluttered at him while Adrian ignored my ex, still focused on me. “But I swear I didn’t kill him.”

  “What were you fighting about?” It had to be good, because he sighed, running one hand over his face, the flashing of the big, gold ring and its “A” in the middle of the square undeniable proof of the blow he landed.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said, “because it will implicate me.”

  Ryan leaped on that, grasping the bigger, older man’s arm. “Not another word, Senator.”

  But Adrian brushed him off, angry this time. “Leave off. You’re not my lawyer. I don’t need one, because I didn’t do anything wrong.” He flinched a bit. “Aside from losing my temper and hitting Grayson.”

  “Why?” I waited on the answer, gave him space. Dad taught me that silence was the best prompt for confessions and it seemed the senator wasn’t immune to the technique.

  Or maybe he was ready to talk? Whatever the case, he looked down at his hands before meeting my eyes again, his sad and lost.

  “Just before we came out here,” he said, “my wife confessed she had an affair with him.” Youch. Motive, anyone? “It was years ago, but this was the first time he and I were going to spend time together alone, without her present. She was terrified he’d tell me. So she did it herself.”

  “You do realize this sounds bad for you?”

  He nodded. “Of course.” Why did I feel so sorry for him? “Finding out the man I trusted, who contributed to my campaign and who I thought a friend took advantage of my wife?” Um, took two to do the horizontal mamba, but whatever let the senator sleep at night. Or not sleep. “An excellent reason to confront him and hit him when he laughed about it.” Adrian shrugged. “But when I struck him I realized it didn’t matter, not anymore. My wife and I have been on our way to parting for years. Maybe this was what I needed to finally let her go.”

  Wow, that was big of him. Ryan, on the other hand?

  “Sir, you have to stop talking.” He was sweating, like this was the worst possible outcome he could imagine.

  “Since you know a thing or two about infidelity,” I snapped, “I’m surprised you’d want to defend someone who was a victim of it.”

  That won me another glare while Adrian glanced back and forth between us, a frown forming. How much did he know? Nothing, obviously.

  Here’s the thing. When I left Ryan, we didn’t get to fight. In fact, I took one look at him in all his undressed glory—the girl he was with a blur of skin and hair and embarrassment barely hidden by my sheets I’d paid a fortune for—and turned heel, walking out. I’d only returned to the apartment we’d shared to get my things, barely speaking to him at all, unable to vent the fury and hurt and desperate need to know why, for heaven’s sake, he’d chosen to cheat on me when I’d given him everything. Instead, I’d bottled up my fury and my broken heart and couch surfed for a few weeks, just before hearing my grandmother had died and I’d inherited Petunia’s.

  It hit me, standing there, staring up at him with that giant bubble of utter hate and poison rising from the depths of my soul that this was going to be a lot of fun laced with the level of apocalyptic nuclear devastation that could go one of two ways—either grant me the peace I needed or give me an aneurism.

  Thing was, it just wasn’t meant to be. As Ryan’s face turned redder and I inhaled to launch into my next volley attack of words and maybe fists and possibly hair pulling, Jill appeared at my side, one hand catching my elbow and holding me in place with the barest touch of civility and calm that was the only thing keeping Ryan from being murdered right here and now.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I have things to discuss with my deputy.” And, with that, she led me away. I didn’t resist, unable to, limbs rigid, body vibrating while the putrid bubble I’d held tight and close for so long, buried deep inside, retreated with a grumbling protest that told me it wouldn’t stay quiet for much longer.

  Good, I wanted it out one way or another.

  Jill’s focus, though, wasn’t on my feelings. Instead she glared down at me as she tugged me to a halt next to the check in counter, hissing her words in my face, low but fierce.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty One

  I filled her in on what I knew while she fumed silently. Yeah, I was in trouble. Hadn’t I already promised her I’d behave and have her back? Misery replaced the fury of my almost confrontation with Ryan and I caught myself stuttering over an apology while my friend shook her head, blonde ponytail bouncing her unhappiness across her shiny deputy jacket.

  “Just, stop.” She inhaled deeply, exhaled. Jill had ten times the patience I did, apparently. Thank goodness. “I finally know how he feels.”

  “Who?” I blinked, hurt by her tone and the implication as I realized even before she spoke who she meant.

  “Sheriff Turner.” Hey, hang on a second. She tried a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes while I did my best not to feel overly offended. “Okay, let me go see if I can salvage this interrogation. Please go to the kitchen and help your mother.”

  Was she really relegating me to chores? Like a badly behaved child? “Seriously?” Why did Crew give me a badge if she was going to shunt me off as if I was, well, Robert?

  Shudder.

  Jill left me before I could answer, one way or the other, gesturing for Adrian to follow her into the small room behind the desk. She must have been using it for her office, that’s why I didn’t spot her when I came looking for her earlier. Well, she could have told me that. Ryan cut and left, heading upstairs. It was clear from the scowl on his face and the way Adrian refused to look at him they’d parted company in more ways than one. Since I wasn’t done with Ryan I followed him, working up a head of steam as I trotted up the steps. You know what? If I couldn’t help Jill, if I was in her way, well at least I could deal with this ancient history in a way that finally set me free from the jerk I’d tied my heart to for far too long.

  Ryan was faster than me, disappearing into the gloom of the upstairs hallway, the low lighting and lack of windows making it rather dreary, if you asked me. When I reached the landing he was already gone and while I knew which door was his, the sound of voices caught my attention and I found myself drifting, not to confront Ryan after all, but to participate in my favorite past-time: eavesdropping.

  Okay, so it wasn’t nice to listen in to people’s conversations. Sue me.

  It was clear the two men weren’t happy from the volume of their voices, and made it easy to differentiate between their identities. Whatever pissed off Eddie had Cal
eb just as furious, though the partly open door to the owner’s room muffled most of what they said. I just came to a halt next to the crack, pushing it gently in the hope of keeping them in the dark about my presence, when Eddie looked up and spotted me.

  The pair fell utterly silent while I pushed on the door with more force, pretending I wasn’t a bit embarrassed to be caught—not about the act itself, I was a snoop, after all—and tried a little smile.

  “Gentlemen,” I said. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

  Caleb glared at Eddie. “I’m done being blamed for everything.” So he’d found his backbone, had he? Good for him. “And I’m done with this crap job.” Why did I get the feeling there was more to this than the two of them were saying? Eddie looked uncomfortably angry, and not just about his subordinate talking back, either. But when Caleb tossed his hands and brushed past me, storming out and down the stairs, my former friend’s sullen silence made me want to scream.

  “Listen,” I said. “We weren’t exactly friends, Eddie, but I’ve known you a while now.” Wait, hadn’t he been in the army before college? “How long were you in the service?”

  He flinched like I’d struck him. “The reserves,” he snapped. “One summer.”

  Right. Still. Not that I liked Eddie for it, but I had to ask, right? And making him uncomfortable after he’d sided with Ryan? Worth it.

  “I had no reason to kill Grayson.” Now Eddie was sweating, pacing, wringing his hands. “Fee, you have to believe me.” Wow, he cared what I thought?

  “He was a financial backer?” I waited for his nod before name dropping with forced casualness that made me feel like I was wearing a sign that screamed obvious. “And Blackstone Corporation?”

  Eddie shook his head, but didn’t deny their involvement. “I don’t know anything about them,” he said. “Just that Grayson was in bed with them recently. They were buying him out.” Huh. “He promised me they’d continue supporting the retreat.” Sure he did. And of course they would. Meanwhile, I had a large chunk of land to sell him on Mars.