Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  A bit bewildered, Cliff simply nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’m also a firm believer in the Second Amendment. I’ve owned a gun since I was twenty-one, and I believe I have a right to protect myself.”

  Cliff, who’d never touched a gun in his life, was disappointed, but because he respected the older man, he said nothing.

  “All that being said, what I don’t agree with is using guns in a reckless manner. Someone could get hurt. So when I hear shots going off and smell marijuana and know people are drinking, I’m gonna get worried.”

  Now Cliff understood, and he leaned forward. “Oh, I agree, Sid.”

  Sid nodded. “Now. I know I’m hopping around here in my story, but be patient. Sometimes if I don’t say what’s on my mind right away, I lose it and that’ll be it.”

  Cliff suppressed a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember, and we’ll make sure when Paul gets here he’ll hear everything so he can write it down and ask you the right questions.”

  Sid’s eyes lit up. “Oh, like Law and Order.” He rubbed his hands together. “I can help him solve the case.”

  Cliff sighed, understanding Paul’s frustration with people thinking that television crime shows were accurate reflections of how cases were solved. “So, Sid? What else did you want to tell me?”

  Sid gazed into his glass, and Cliff waited. “One of those nights when I couldn’t sleep, I was on my porch, resting. Must’ve been around nine. I was lyin’ there with my eyes closed, about to doze off, when a big crowd of people started hootin’ ’n hollerin’ in Falk’s backyard, causing a ruckus. Woke me up, and I had the devil of a time getting back to sleep.”

  “Yeah. I can see how that might happen. It can be very frustrating.” He sneaked a peek at his watch, which showed it to be close to seven. Time for Paul to come home.

  “Anyway, after a while they simmered down, and I could hear them talking—”

  Before Sid could complete his sentence, Cliff heard a car engine cut off and the door slam. “Paul’s home. Hold that thought. I’ll bring him right in.” Without giving Sid a chance to respond, Cliff jumped out of his seat and ran out the front door. Paul was walking up the path to the house, and his face broke out in a smile Cliff felt to his toes.

  “Wow. Someone’s anxious to see me.” He put a hand on Cliff’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to give you a proper greeting when we get inside.” The heat in his eyes spoke of promises for the evening Cliff had waited for all day. But the fun and games would have to wait.

  “Holster your weapon a little longer, Detective.” Cliff nudged Paul’s shoulder as they mounted the steps. “Sid Rasmussen is inside, drinking your Scotch. He came over, anxious to talk to you, saying he overheard people talking in his backyard, and that it might pertain to the fire at the Wild Orchid. I got him ready for you.”

  As predicted, Paul’s smile faded, replaced by that razor-sharp, focused intensity Cliff remembered from the Jerry Gregoria investigation. Cliff knew as long as the case remained unsolved, a small piece of Paul would always be on alert, preventing him from enjoying life to the fullest. Some might feel slighted that his complete attention wasn’t on them, but in their time together, Cliff had grown to understand and love that part of Paul as much as the man who kept him up at night, making love to him until he couldn’t move.

  “Okay.” Paul opened the door. “Evening, Mr. Rasmussen. Nice to see you.”

  Cliff watched Paul greet the man and take the seat Cliff had occupied. He removed his jacket but kept his shoulder holster on. The ubiquitous notepad appeared, and Paul was ready for action. It had taken less than two minutes from the time he walked into the house.

  “Paul. Glad you’re home. I was just about to tell Cliff what I heard.”

  Cliff sat next to Rasmussen, facing Paul. “I caught Paul up with everything you told me so far, Sid.”

  “Good taste in Scotch, Paul.”

  Paul’s blue eyes twinkled. “Mr. Rasmussen, you can have the whole bottle if you help me solve this case.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. And like I told Cliff, call me Sid.”

  “So, Sid. You said you overheard something from people talking in Falk’s backyard that made you suspect they were involved in the Wild Orchid fire? Can you tell me more?”

  “Let me think.” Yawning, Sid scratched his chin, and Cliff hoped the effects of the Scotch weren’t making his memory fuzzy. “Oh, yes. Well, like I said, they woke me up, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. They started talking. They mentioned you, Paul—at least I think it was about you—and they used derogatory words.”

  “Sid, don’t worry. I’ve heard it all.” His face a blank mask, Paul gestured for Sid to continue, and Cliff braced himself. He could only imagine. “Tell me everything you heard, and don’t mince words.”

  Anger flared in those rheumy eyes. “Someone said, ‘That fag cop keeps sniffing around you, Trav. What’re you gonna do about it? It could get dangerous.’ And Travis said, ‘I ain’t scared. I’ll make sure his little bitch knows who’s really the boss if he sticks his nose where it don’t belong.’ ”

  Humiliation, anger, and a bite of fear burned through Cliff, and the way Paul’s face darkened, he knew Sid’s words made him furious. Paul, always the consummate professional, merely wrote everything down, but Cliff caught his hand trembling as he gripped the pen.

  “Anything else?” Paul asked softly.

  “Yes. They started arguing about who would do the driving, and I heard someone say, ‘I’m making the decisions here. Travis does the driving. Wellie and Bear will hit the Orchid around eleven, and Travis will pick them up. Got that? And Travis, for the love of God, make sure you’ve got that license plate covered, and don’t get in any accidents or get caught speeding. Don’t forget your gloves and masks. You fuck up, you don’t get paid, you hear? I don’t pay for fuckups.’ And then I heard someone say, ‘Okay, we got it. We know.’ ”

  Paul stilled, and Cliff could see those wheels spinning.

  “Sid, can you tell me what this guy’s voice sounded like? Could you tell if he was young or old? Any distinctive accent?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s a Northerner for sure. Sounds like one of them fellas from Massachusetts. I could hardly understand him.”

  Even in his angered state, Paul couldn’t keep from smiling. Sid had such a heavy drawl, it often took Cliff a minute to decipher what he said, and sometimes he still wasn’t sure he got it right.

  “Anything else you can remember, Sid?”

  “No, no, I think that was it.” A gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Did I help? Can you solve the case now?”

  Paul laughed. “Your information is incredibly helpful. I’m afraid I’m going to owe you that bottle of Scotch in the end.”

  “Ha-ha.” Sid cackled and slapped his knee. “Good, good.” He struggled to stand, and Cliff rushed to his side to help him. Cane firmly in hand, Sid shuffled to the front door, Paul on one side and Cliff on the other. Paul helped him down the steps, but Cliff watched in amusement as the man brushed Paul off, and with his slow gait, made it across the street and into his house. Paul stood for a minute, and Cliff knew he was studying Travis’s house. Then he turned back and reentered theirs. Cliff followed him inside, knowing Paul would return to his notes. He poured Paul a drink and handed it to him.

  “What do you think?”

  “Thanks.” He set it on the table without taking a sip. “I think this may be the break we’re looking for.” Paul held up his finger. “Just wait a sec. I need to finish this sentence, and then I want to call Rob.” He flipped his notepad closed. “We’re close, very close, and this may be the tipping point. We have some phone calls in and we’re waiting on answers, plus Forensics needs to go through the truck we found today. If the report comes back the way I suspect, I think that’ll be it.” He reached behind him to dig into his jacket pockets. “Damn. Where’s my phone?”

  Cliff searched the table, but Paul had sat directly with Sid upon arrival. “Maybe it’s in
the car?”

  Paul jumped up. “Okay. Yeah.” He stopped for a minute. “I didn’t even get a chance to say hello to you properly.” He stretched out a hand. “Come here.”

  Willingly, Cliff let himself be hugged against the strong planes of Paul’s muscled chest, and he sighed as their lips met in a deep, unhurried kiss. Cliff loved that Paul kissed the way he did everything else—with full concentration. Once kissed by Paul Monroe, no other man would ever satisfy.

  “Well, that’s certainly a good start.”

  Paul flashed him a smile and left to check the car. “Hold that thought. I have lots more to say on that subject.”

  “Just so you know, dinner can wait.”

  Laughing, Paul went outside, and Cliff heard the beep of the car alarm being deactivated. Several minutes went by, and when Paul didn’t return immediately, Cliff went in search of him, only to find him stretched out, looking under the car.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed in disgust.

  “Not there?”

  “No. I must’ve left it at the station.” He checked his watch. “I need the phone. I have some notes I wrote to myself before driving home. Plus I feel like I’m missing my arm without it. Kraft is an animal about us not being reachable if something happens.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “It shouldn’t take me more than forty minutes round trip. I’m sorry.”

  Cliff kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. We can have dinner late.” He smiled into Paul’s eyes. “Very late.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate, especially being so close to the end…” Paul touched his face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you. Anxiously.” He waggled his brows.

  Paul groaned and climbed into the car. Cliff watched him drive away, red taillights fading into the distance. With the opportunity to finally change out of his work clothes, he decided to take a shower. Barefoot and with his hair wet, he pulled on sweat pants and reached for a T-shirt, when he heard the front doorbell ring several times in quick succession.

  Figuring Paul had found the phone and returned, he left the shirt in the drawer. After all, he’d only be taking it off again in a minute. Laughing, he pulled the door open.

  “Where did you end up fi—” His smile faded at the sight of Travis, one large, beefy arm braced against the doorway. An avaricious light gleamed from the man’s small dark eyes, and Cliff recoiled at the feral, almost hungry way his gaze traveled over him.

  “Hello, darlin’. Glad you didn’t bother getting all dressed up for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  And there it sat, resting on his chair. Paul scooped up the missing phone and slid it into his suit jacket. About to turn around and leave, he spotted the little red light blinking on his desk phone, signaling a message waited.

  “Dammit.” He really wanted to get home, but he couldn’t leave without finding out who called. Sighing, he leaned over the desk and pushed the button. When he heard the voice mail, he called Manny. The excited voice of the head of Forensics filled his ear.

  “Bulldog. It’s a match. Travis Falk, Curtis Wellington, and Arnie Hogan, the other perp you had in lockdown. They wiped off the steering wheel and dashboard but forgot the outside door handles, the button to adjust the seat, and the radio. Dumbasses.”

  “Thanks, Manny. I owe you.”

  Manny cackled. “I’m thinking two steak dinners, Bulldog.”

  “The man who died? He was a friend of mine and Cliff’s. A former police officer in Silver Valley.”

  “Fucking hell.” Manny expelled a harsh breath. “That so? Well, then you get these bastards and make sure they don’t slip out of here. None of them. Lock their asses up.”

  “That’s what we’re aiming for. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Driving home, Paul realized he could’ve had one of the patrol cops drop the phone off, but then he wouldn’t have gotten the message. He’d call Rob when he got home, and they’d coordinate how to make the arrests tomorrow. Grimacing, he wished he could come home and spend a fun time in bed with Cliff before diving into the work, but that wasn’t him. Cliff understood.

  He’d make it up to him.

  Night had fallen by the time he pulled into the driveway. His senses tingled as he walked up the porch steps, his heart pounding when he saw the front door half-open. Cliff would never willingly do that. Loud, angry voices, male and female, sounded from inside, and Paul drew his weapon and held it to his side as he quietly pushed open the door.

  “Stop, police.”

  He crouched in a shooting stance, taking in the scene in front of him. Cliff, bare-chested and red-faced, had Travis’s hands tied behind his back. The man was laid out on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Water dripped over his face, and a collection of vegetables lay over his soaked clothing. Their elderly neighbor, Judy Swanson, stood over Travis and was the first to speak.

  “Oh, Paul, dear. Good thing you got here when you did.”

  “What the he-heck is going on here?” He flipped on the safety and holstered his gun, then walked over to Cliff. A bruise rose on his cheek, along with red marks on his neck and shoulders. “Fucking hell,” he growled.

  Pale under the rising bruises, Cliff held his arm. “After you left I took a shower, and I was getting dressed, when the doorbell rang. I figured you’d found your phone, but by running out so quickly, you might’ve forgotten your keys. When I opened the door, Travis was there.”

  “Is that right, Travis? You came to pay us a visit?” Paul left Cliff’s side and crouched next to Travis. It gave him a wonderful feeling of satisfaction to click the handcuffs around his wrists, then undo the ropes.

  “He invited me in,” Travis yelled. “I was just standing there, and he started coming on to me.”

  “You’re a liar,” Cliff said calmly. “You pushed your way inside and shoved me against the wall.”

  Paul grimaced. “You’ve got to come up with a better one than that, Travis.”

  “It’s the truth, you motherfucker. I was just defending myself.”

  “Travis Falk, you should be ashamed of yourself. If your poor mama was still alive, she’d whip you with a switch.” Cheeks red and eyes bright with indignation, Judy Swanson shook her finger at him. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since she died and your daddy let you run wild.” With a sniff, she shifted to Paul. “Now I’ll tell you what happened. I saw you leave and Travis walk across the street and come up to your porch. I told Father, ‘Why is Travis going over to their house at night, when Paul isn’t there?’ ”

  Paul shook his head in disbelief, weak over the fact that if she weren’t as nosy as she was, Cliff might’ve been in real trouble.

  “Father agreed it was bizarre. So I took the pot of soup I started to make and came over, figuring if nothing was wrong, I could offer it to you when it was done. Little did I know I’d find what I did.”

  “You didn’t see nothing, you crazy old woman,” Travis spit out.

  Paul shoved him with his foot. “Shut up and stop being so disrespectful, Travis.” He turned back to Judy. “Go ahead, please.” Paul had a very good idea of what happened, but he wanted to hear it from the witness’s lips.

  “I couldn’t believe it. The door was open, and I heard shouting. Travis was trying to pin poor Cliff up against the wall, but Cliff was struggling something fierce. Travis held him by the throat with one hand and…” She faltered for a moment. “It was just terrible. He had his other hand on Cliff. On the waistband of his pants.” She shot Travis a quelling look. “You’re a terrible, awful man for what you were trying to do.”

  “I didn’t do nothing. He wanted it,” Travis spat out.

  A strangled sound escaped Cliff, and he strode away to the kitchen. Paul’s heart hurt over Cliff’s humiliation.

  “Once I saw what he was going to do, I didn’t think twice. I dumped the pot over his head and kicked him in the shins. Cliff kneed him so hard, Travis fell to the
ground screaming. That’s when Cliff ran to the kitchen and got some rope.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Paul’s lips twitched at the thought of the elderly lady braining Travis with a soup pot.

  “I kept kicking him until Cliff returned and tied his hands. That’s when you arrived, dear.”

  “Thank you. It seems we owe you a great deal.”

  “Yes, Judy.” Cliff returned, and though his color remained high, his voice was steady. “I owe you more than I can say. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  She patted his cheek. “You kicked him where it hurts, and I know he’ll be in pain for days. Father once got kicked there by a cow, and he cried for an hour.”

  Paul bit back a smile, then brought his face down to where Travis lay on the floor. “What do you have to say for yourself, big shot? You think you can come into my house? Attack the person I love? You think you have that right?”

  “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Just like you didn’t have anything to do with the fire at the Wild Orchid, right, Travis?” He watched as fear filled the man’s eyes. “You’re gonna go away for a long, long time, Travis. And you won’t be able to be a bully to those tough guys in jail. They’re a whole lot tougher than you. If you know what I mean.”

  Travis paled at his mirthless smile.

  “You’re under arrest, Travis Falk, for assault, breaking and entering, and attempted rape.” Paul called for a car to take him to jail.

  When the officers came, they read Travis his rights and he finally had a chance to talk to Cliff. “Are you really okay?” His hand shook as he reached out to touch Cliff’s face. “You must’ve been so scared.”

  Cliff leaned into him. “I was for a moment. But I had every intention of kicking him in the balls hard enough that he wouldn’t have been able to walk for a week. I did manage a knee that brought him to the ground.” His face turned grim. “If I hadn’t, I think that bastard would’ve punched Judy.”

  “Detective?” one of the officers called him over.

  “I’ll be right back.” He crossed the living room to where the two officers had Travis between them. “What’s going on?”