Hometown Homicide

by C. K. Crigger

  Frankie’s heart almost broke when Shine paced a slow way through all the rooms, most assuredly looking for Denise.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. She isn’t here. I hope you’ll learn to make do with Banner and me.” Whatever else about Denise, she had her dog’s love.

  With Banner as a protective escort, Shine headed for the kitchen door. Frankie hastened ahead to open it and let both dogs out. She found Howie sitting in a lawn chair on the communal back porch. He was drinking a beer. Not, according to the empties at his feet, the first.

  “Hey.” He waved a Keystone can at her.

  “Hey yourself.”

  His bleary eyes focused on the dog. “Hey, Shine. Glad to see you up and at ’em.”

  Shine waddled over to him and nosed his bare toe. Smiling, Howie reached down and gingerly patted her over the hips, as far away as possible from the wound.

  “Kinda scared to touch her,” he told Frankie. “Afraid I might hurt her. Man, they sure shaved her down, didn’t they? Denise ain’t gonna like her looks, that’s for sure. She takes Shiny to the groomer about once a month.” He scowled. “Denise says this kinda dog gets sunburned just like people. Have to make sure she has shade. Or smear on sunblock.”

  She thought the last might be a joke. Or maybe not. “I think we’ll skip the sunblock, but keeping her inside and out of the sun is a good idea. Maybe I can find a lightweight T-shirt in her size.”

  “A T-shirt. Huh. Might still be one around the apartment somewhere. Denise dresses the pooch up sometimes. Dog has more clothes than I do.” Howie’s dark face turned serious. “Seeing as the cops broke down that crappy fence, we’ll have to keep an eye on her. And on this one, too.” A gesture took in Banner who hovered near the bichon as she maneuvered off the porch steps on three legs and found a patch of grass to water. “Looks like he’s taken a shine to Shine.”

  Definitely a joke this time. Something, a sort of unnamed fear Frankie had been harboring about her neighbor, got up and flew away. Howie hadn’t been the one to hurt Shine. She knew for certain, now.

  “Howie, do you know any of Denise’s friends? Anybody who might know where she is? Or did Deputy Zantos already ask you?”

  Howie’s face reddened a little. “I ain’t got around to him yet. But I can tell you women don’t seem to like Denise much. None of the women around here, anyhow. She talked to me about them sometimes. Said they must be jealous of her, but she just laughed about them.”

  “Oh? Why should they be jealous?”

  “’Cause Denise don’t even have a job, but has nicer clothes than anybody, even some of the ladies at the lake. Expensive and lots of them. She takes a lot of trips. And her car—”

  A car hadn’t even occurred to Frankie. “What about her car?”

  “A Beamer convertible.” His face grew wistful. “She used to give me rides sometimes. You know, like you did.”

  “Guess I’m a disappointment with my old pickup.”

  “Nah. It’s all good.”

  Gabe must be looking for the car. But Frankie didn’t get it. If Denise had the money for a BMW convertible, trips, lots of expensive clothes, and for Shine’s needs—all without needing to work—what the dickens was she doing living in this crappy duplex next door to Howie St. James? Frankie’s head whirled.

  “Anyway,” Howie said, “I never saw a woman come around, but men did sometimes. She dated a bunch of guys, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, she did.” Howie fell silent.

  “So, did anybody come around here last night or today?” Frankie changed the subject. “I worried about you.”

  “You did?” Looking pleased, he tilted the beer can to his mouth and drained it, dropping the empty beside three others.

  “I did.”

  “Nah, didn’t see anybody.” Then he changed his mind. “Except the real estate agent, of course, and the mattress delivery guys. Wish they’d brought me a new bed. Can’t sleep on the worn out piece of crap in my unit.”

  Hadn’t he heard about the blood on Denise’s mattress? she wondered. Or seen the police take it away? Maybe not. Even if he’d been home, it didn’t mean he was awake enough to see what went on. Or aware enough, considering the rapidly growing pile of empty beer cans. If he had, he wouldn’t have been so blithe about the need.

  But then he surprised her. “Oh yeah. Seen somebody else, too. One of the guys from the fire department was here looking around.”

  “Who? Captain Mager? Or Lew?”

  “Nah,” he said, “not Captain Karl or Lew. One of those new dudes. Don’t know his name.”

  Puzzling. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Nope. He came around back and saw me here. I told him you wasn’t home, and he left. That’s all.”

  “When was this?”

  “Noon, maybe. Or one.” He shrugged the cast on his arm, hampering the movement and making him wince. “He didn’t ask where you was, but hell, I didn’t know anyway.”

  He looked anywhere, but at her, Frankie noticed. A habit of his she found a little disconcerting. Finally, he came up with something else to say. “Hey, Frankie. You remember I told you about them CDs and DVDs of Denise’s I found?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I took a DVD over to my buddy’s house a while ago. His sister has a computer, and she let me plug in the disc. It ain’t a movie, even though Denise labeled it Smoke Signals. You know, that movie they filmed here on the Rez back before I was even born?”

  Frankie’s breath caught, the pain in her head overridden. “I remember. I watched it with my grandma. But if the movie wasn’t on the disc, what was?”

  Reaching behind his lawn chair, Howie fished around in a Styrofoam cooler until he found a fresh beer. He popped the tab. “An Excel document with a bunch of names and addresses and dollar amounts.”

  She thought a moment. “Does the document have a title? Does it say who created it?”

  Howie chugged a couple deep swallows. “Sure. Denise created it. No title. Just columns with the names.” Now he did meet her eyes. “Kind of odd, though, ’cause it don’t look like anybody’s Christmas list. What do you think it means?”

  Heart in mouth, Frankie watched Shine hobble up the single step onto the porch and safely collapse in front of the door. “I don’t know.” Truthful, but not an answer that kept her from having suspicions. “May I see the disc?”

  He shot her a quick look, gave a shrug, and sipped his beer.

  She judged she’d been blown-off. “Have you shown it to Gabe? Or Rudy Something or another, the tribal policeman?”

  “Rudy Swallowtail. Nah. Not him. Nor Zantos either. Them guys, I don’t trust ’em.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, another non-answer.

  “They’re trying to figure out what happened to Shine, you know,” she urged him. “And they want to find Denise.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” He pondered. “Okay. Maybe next time I see Zantos, I’ll tell him I got it.”

  “Good.” And if he doesn’t, I will. Frankie looked at her watch. Barely enough time for a quick shower and a sandwich, as long as the bread hadn’t become a penicillin farm. She stood up. “Or better yet, call Deputy Zantos and give the disc to him right away. Those noises you’ve been hearing, Howie, and the people breaking into the duplex? That’s not happening for nothing. I’ll bet that file means something to them. I’ll bet they’re looking for the DVD. If you want, I can take it and see the deputy gets it tonight.”

  Howie tilted the beer can to his mouth and took a long quaff. “Nah, I’ll do it,” he said. “As soon as I finish my beer.”

  He was still sitting on the porch staring blankly into the trees behind the property when Frankie, showered and fed—no mold, thank goodness—brought Banner and Shine out for a final pit stop before she left for the station.

  “You gonna call Gabe about the DVD?” She hated to pressure him, but he showed no signs of moving from his comfortable spot. Howie struck her
as the kind of man who needed reminders every five minutes. She’d served with a few guys like that in Afghanistan, the ones who hung back and let others take the lead.

  He waved a lackadaisical hand. “Yeah. Pretty quick, I guess.”

  “Make it sooner. Oh, if the dogs start a ruckus, call me on my cell, and I’ll dash home, all right? I want to keep a close eye on Shine.”

  “Sure. Be glad to.”

  She wrote her number down for him on a scrap of newspaper from a rain-soaked stack by his back door. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” He tucked the paper in his shirt pocket and closed his eyes.

  Filled with a sense of unease, Frankie took her leave.

  The egg sandwich and fruit did wonders for Frankie—her shakiness gone, flashes cleared, brain fog dissipated. Driving the ambulance, she decided, was nothing to fear.

  When she walked into the station at precisely five minutes before her shift began, she spied Lew in the office talking to Karl. Maggie hovered in the corner poking paperwork into the bank of metal drawers. Chris Adkins and Darryl Holland, one of the volunteer firemen, were hanging around the lockers, laughing and sharing a joke. Quitting time and they couldn’t wait for their shift to end.

  She stuck her own small bag in the locker next to Chris’s and slammed the door shut. That was it.

  “Busy day?” she asked the burly young volunteer medic and nodded to Darryl.

  “Not bad. Long is all. I’ll be glad when we all get our regular shifts back.” Chris glanced at the big round wall clock as though wishing away the next four minutes, his cheeks turning red as he saw her notice.

  “Got a date?” Not that Frankie cared, but she wanted to be friendly.

  Laughing, Darryl elbowed him. “Yeah, Chris, got a date?”

  His heightened color ebbed as quickly as it’d come. “No. Heck no. Why— Well, yeah. Kind of a date.”

  “Hang in there,” she said. “The shifts will go back to normal when Lew says I’m ready to handle the bus by myself. Not so awful much longer.” No way she’d mention today’s blackout—not to anyone, and especially Lew. He’d be sure to set the schedule back if he had any inkling of her... um... weak spells.

  No. That’s not what he’d do. He’d fire her.

  Taking pity on both guys, she added, “If the alarm goes off in the next few seconds, don’t worry. I’ll take the call.”

  Chris smirked as if he’d forced a confession out of her. He was such a clock-watcher. The sort of bumbler most people ended up covering for, although she sometimes doubted he’d do the same for anybody else unless maybe Darryl.

  Still, twelve hours was a long shift when scheduled for several days in a row. When she was fully trained, they’d be back to regular shifts, each with a fully accredited paramedic or EMT, and their three days off.

  “What are Karl and Lew talking about?” She seized the moment to change the subject. Whatever the two men were saying, she saw them nodding their heads as though some sort of agreement had occurred.

  “No clue.” Chris sounded petulant again. “They don’t tell me anything. I’m just a peon around here.”

  “You and me both,” Darryl agreed. He rubbed the gold nugget of his ring on the front of his shirt.

  Frankie shook her head.

  “Oh, wah. Hush your complaining.” Maggie, fetching her purse from her own locker, had approached without any of them noticing. “You know Lew or Karl will let you off whenever you ask for the time.”

  Chris’s face, which had gone back to tan, reddened again. “That’s not very often.”

  Darryl backed him up. “Or never.”

  “Nobody said it was. But they’d still do it.” Maggie, seeing the evening dispatch person seat himself at the computer, went over to speak to him and share the news of the day before leaving.

  “Maggie,” Darryl muttered. “Wish she’d butt out.”

  Surprised, Frankie blinked at him. “What did Maggie do?”

  He turned away without answering, tromping on heavy feet out the station door without saying goodbye.

  With a grimace, Chris strode after him. “Hey, Darryl, what’s up?”

  Shaking her head, Frankie, went to chat with the dispatcher, an older man named Benton who worked three days a week in Coeur d’Alene. She still hadn’t figured out what he did, some kind of consulting work from the sound of it, but he was certainly efficient at this job. Benton, a Hawkesford old-timer, lived one cove over from Dr. Muncie in a house about a quarter of the size of the doctor’s. Or so he said, smiling.

  Wandering over to the ambulance to check supplies, Frankie discovered Chris, or maybe Marc, the other paramedic, had neglected to replace two bags of saline solution used during a run with a hemorrhaging mother-to-be. She made a note on the checklist. Everything else was in order.

  Before boredom could set in, Benton answered a call and sounded the alarm. A car/farm truck accident between Hawkesford and the cut-off to Highway 27, injuries reported. Without a second thought, Frankie climbed into the ambulance’s driver’s seat. Lew bolted out of the office to join her.

  The evening rush had begun.

  Before they could park the rig from returning from the first call, another came in. Tractor accident—a bad one. An amputation. Frankie clenched her hands, trying to still their trembling.

  God, how she hated amputations!

  Lew, being Lew, took immediate notice of her reaction. Concern deepened the set of frown lines between his brows. “You all right with this?”

  Damn. He knows all about my foot. She wanted to say “No.” How could she be all right? But she didn’t. With only a tiny hesitation, she clamped her jaw. “Sure. Don’t worry. I’ll do my job.”

  Lew touched her shoulder. “I know you will.”

  And she did.

  A lull struck around ten thirty. The bus was back at the station, Lew at his desk reading a newspaper, Frankie working on a paperback copy of a Craig Johnson mystery someone had left on the lunchroom table. In the novel, the hero was battling a snowstorm—a contrast between her real-time Idaho summer and the story’s Wyoming winter that had her riveted.

  At one a.m., the book finished, she started worrying about her dogs. Banner she could trust to hold his water, but Shine? The poor little thing shouldn’t have more stress put on her.

  Lew, waking from an hour’s nap, opened his eyes to find Frankie staring at him. “What?” he growled.

  “Do you know you snore?” Actually, she’d been in firefights barely any louder.

  “So I’ve been told.” He stood up and stretched. “Slow night.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re worried about that orphan dog.”

  She’d told him about Shine when he asked where Banner was. Apparently, her Samoyed had already wormed his way into her co-worker’s hearts.

  “I am.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Go home and check on her. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  She shook her head. “Against regulations.”

  He gave her a questioning look.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t read them? Well, I did. And they say there has to be at least two people on shift twenty-four hours a day, or we’ll lose our accreditation and funding for the station.”

  Lew huffed out a short laugh. “I suppose you think we were running according to Hoyle before we hired you. Think again, girlie. And the sky didn’t fall.”

  She gaped at him.

  “Go ahead. It’ll take you what? Ten minutes? Fifteen? If the alarm sounds, Benton will call you. You can follow the ambulance and be wherever you need to be as soon as I can get there. Hell, that’s basically how we cover days off. Didn’t you read that in the regulations guidelines?”

  If so, she didn’t remember. “Thanks, Lew.” She patted her pocket and found her keys. “Ten minutes tops.”

  He made that growling sound again, but his mouth turned up at the corners.

  The streets of Hawkesford were deserted. Not a surprise for a farming community t
hat rolled up the sidewalks, figuratively speaking, at dark. Only a few neon lights advertising Coors and Budweiser still gleamed in the window of the local pub as Frankie drove past.

  Well, except for a white cat that ran in front of her pickup. A quick swerve avoided tragedy. Up on the hill above the duplex, she saw car lights come on, then blink off. Twice.

  She forgot the oddity as she pulled into the driveway and got out. Immediately, alarm touched her.

  Inside the duplex, the dogs were barking. Howling, really. Banner with a deep, heavy sound, Shine sharp and piercing.

  Not good. Definitely not good.

  Why hadn’t Howie called?

  Frankie ran. Keyed the door. Ducked down and slipped through the narrowest possible opening in case an unwelcome visitor was inside. Wished she had her M9A1 Beretta sidearm. Her heart thudded as though anticipating combat.

  Banner, his howls shutting off the second he recognized his mistress, edged up against her. Though the room was quite dark, Frankie could see Shine standing back on three legs, holding her ground and still barking.

  “Shh,” Frankie whispered. “Hush.” Oddly enough, Shine obeyed, inching closer to her and Banner.

  Frankie heard it then—noises coming from Howie’s side of the duplex. Thuds, moans. A shot. Deadened as though muffled, but still unmistakable.

  Her heart lurched.

  Howie’s back door slammed. A fist or a boot or something hammered against hers. Shine began caterwauling again.

  Frankie froze. Weapon. Weapon.

  Then running footsteps faded into the night, going south, toward the woods.

  A dread silence fell beyond Howie’s wall.

  Oh, shit, Frankie thought. Oh, shit.

  Chapter 11

  Frankie knelt on the floor, her arms around Banner. Shine came forward and claimed protection too. Somehow, her reach expanded to encompass both dogs.