Hometown Homicide

by C. K. Crigger

  He drew away from her as commanded, but then she almost wished him back. Because now he had a clear view of her foot without the prosthesis, an awkward club where toes ought to be. A hideous reminder of war and death and mutilation.

  Frankie stuck her stub behind the whole foot, hoping to hide it. Too late, of course. He’d definitely seen. So had Howie, she remembered. And he hadn’t fainted.

  Neither did Gabe.

  Pride, or maybe a desire to get the hurt over with, made her uncover the stub again.

  “Ugly, isn’t it?” It came out pugnacious, an act to show him his opinion didn’t matter.

  And Gabe? He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He sat beside her on the floor and ran his hand down her bare leg, ankle, and over her foot, just as if he didn’t find it repulsive.

  “Badge of honor, Frankie. Looks like you earned your purple heart.”

  Hah! He didn’t know the half of it. But who’d told him about the medal? Karl Mager, probably. She hadn’t told anyone, although the information was probably in her army records for any potential employer to see.

  “I’d rather have a whole foot.” She scrambled to her feet, swaying until she caught her balance. The action succeeded in giving him quite an eyeful. She yanked the T-shirt down over her hips, from where it’d ridden up to expose lacy black bikini panties and a flat stomach.

  Gabe, wearing jeans, though shirtless, lolled back on the floor and stared openly at the spectacle. On second thought, maybe she should say he leered.

  Hell. She kinda liked it. Even when he said, “Hubba, hubba,” like somebody out of the dark ages.

  But then his moment of levity passed, grin fading until she saw he looked tired to the bone. She guessed her episode had awakened him and brought him running up the stairs.

  Embarrassed, she sat on the edge of the bed and changed the subject. “Did the hound find anything?”

  Remaining on the floor, he nodded, his forefinger tracing a loose knot in the old plank floor. “Freak’s a good tracker. Best I’ve ever seen.”

  She waited. And waited some more, until he drew in a deep breath and glanced up at her.

  “Rudy and I, we caught up with Boyd Holliday and the dog on the hill behind the duplex. Maybe you know there’s an old logging road goes all the way to the top. Pretty overgrown these days.”

  “Figures. It’s steep, as I remember. Kids used to ride their dirt bikes up there. Me included.”

  “Then you know the road ends at an abandoned stud mill. Only thing in the clearing is a falling down shack they probably used for storage.” He fell silent again.

  After a while, she said, “And?”

  “And the dog led us right to the door. We found her—Denise Rider—inside.”

  Frankie knew from looking at him, but she asked the question anyway. “Dead?”

  He nodded. “Funny thing, though. She hadn’t been dead that long. Sometime yesterday, I’d guess. Probably near the same time as Howie. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  “Was she— Did she—” Frankie faltered. “How did she die?”

  “Aside from taking a terrific beating?” Gabe’s voice cracked.

  Rage, she thought. He was fighting pure rage.

  “Shot,” he continued. “At first glance, looks like the same caliber gun that killed Howie. We should know later today.”

  She could barely speak. “Howie knew something. Or he found something of hers—of Denise’s. I told him he should speak to you or to someone. Did he call you? He promised he would.”

  “Howie St. James never was good about keeping his promises.” Gabe paused. “Did he tell you what this something is?”

  “Yes,” she said, but slowly, as she was unsure. Frowning, she tried to recall Howie’s exact words.

  Gabe watched her, his eyes intense.

  She sighed. “Well, sort of. He said he found something of hers that struck him as odd. A computer disc.”

  Gabe lifted himself onto the bed beside her. “Where’s the disc now?”

  “I have no idea. He didn’t say.”

  “Figures. It’s too bad Howie distrusted us—anyone in law enforcement—so much.” He ran his fingers through his already ruffled hair. “If he’d come forward, he might still be alive.”

  Frankie shrugged. “He had a little bit of outlaw in him, I guess.”

  “More than a little.” Gabe’s voice was dry. “He’s had a run in or two with the law even before he came to Hawkesford as a juvenile. His dad married Nell Prairie, and Howie came to the reservation to live with them. He always wanted to be as Indian as Nell’s son Iggie.” He stopped. “You probably already knew that.”

  “Now, you remind me. I’d forgotten.”

  On the floor below, one of the dogs, Banner most probably, started up the stairs, his toenails clicking on the bare wood. Ready to join the party now he could hear her normal voice. Her nightmares always scared him, even when he stuck it out at her side for the duration.

  Sure enough, the Samoyed’s black nose poked around the jamb, sniffed, then pushed his way in. He ambled over to lick her hand.

  Gabe heaved himself to his feet and headed for the door. To Frankie, it seemed his every move took effort. Poor guy. Here he was, working on a double murder and not only did he have her in the house, but had the misfortune to walk in on one of her “episodes.”

  “You gonna be all right?” he asked, kind of skirting around the subject.

  “Sure. No big deal.” She found it hard to meet his eyes, glad when he consented to take her answer at face value. “I’m sorry I woke you, Gabe. I’m due a couple days off. I’ll look for somewhere to live in the morning after work.”

  She believed his expression revealed relief as he paused at the door and gave a short nod.

  “I’m glad you realize you can’t stay in the duplex,” he said. “Until we catch the killer, it’s too dangerous. By the way, you should be able to get back in tomorrow sometime to pack your stuff. I’ll let you know when.”

  Her thanks were aimed at his back since he was already on his way out.

  It only seemed right, Frankie thought later, to warn Victoria Pettigrew that as soon as the all clear sounded regarding police control of the duplex, she intended to move out.

  In plain fact, she’d rather pitch a tent in her neighbor’s back yard than stay in that house of horrors.

  Of course, there was the matter of her rent and deposit to try to recoup. She might have a fight on her hands over that. At least she hadn’t signed a lease, binding her to the place for the next six months or year. The mere thought gave her the creeps.

  Out of a sense of fair play, she gave Victoria a call before going on shift. Having arrived at the station a half-hour early for the six o’clock start, and finding the lunchroom empty, she propped herself against the counter in front of the sink and dialed Victoria’s number.

  “You again,” Victoria said as soon as Frankie identified herself. “And I’ll bet I know what you want.”

  “More than just a new mattress or the locks changed,” Frankie replied. “I can’t stay in the duplex after what’s happened. As soon as I get clearance from the police, I’m moving out, and I’d like my deposit back. I’d like the rent prorated, too.”

  “Dream on,” Victoria instantly snapped back. “No refunds. And don’t try getting Jesselyn mixed up in this. This is between you, me, and the property owner.”

  No wonder Jesselyn said Victoria has been making a lot of money, Frankie thought. She starts out huffing and puffing and turns into a steam roller. Not that Frankie felt like lying down and letting herself be run over.

  “Of course this is between us. No Jesselyn. But you rented the place to me under deceptive circumstances.”

  “Not my fault,” Victoria said.

  “Not mine, either. I can’t help thinking you should’ve spent a little more time checking Denise’s departure before renting to me. You put me right on top of a murder scene.”

  “Well, how was I to know�
�”

  Frankie cut in over Victoria’s excuse. “All that aside, living in the duplex has put my life in danger. I just want out.”

  She heard Victoria shuffling papers in the background. “I’ll have to ask the owner. He’ll probably say ‘no deal.’”

  Frankie found a glass and ran water into it. Confrontational situations had a tendency to make her mouth go dry, and in this case, the tension was worse than usual. She was talking tough to Jesselyn’s sister, for crying out loud. People she knew and cared about.

  “Who is the owner? I’ll take it up with him myself.”

  “No, no.” Victoria obviously didn’t like this scenario. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “When?”

  “This evening, as soon as he comes in from the field.” Victoria took a breath. “Forget I said that.”

  “You might as well tell me. I can find the owner easily enough from the property records. It just takes longer and makes me mad—madder.” A light flashed through her head. She took a drink of water, the glass clinking against her teeth as her hand shook. Damn.

  But Victoria capitulated. “Oh, hell. All right. What’s the point. My brother Russ owns the duplex. And the hill behind it. He loaned a friend the money to buy the duplex, then had to take it over when the friend defaulted on the payment. He hates being involved with a crappy property like that. And after Denise dumped him, he really wants rid of it.”

  “Denise dumped him?” This felt like information Gabe should hear. Not because she wanted to get Russ, Jesselyn’s brother, in trouble. He’d amused her the night of his car wreck. But still. If nothing else, he might have some sort of clue to why a woman like Denise had been living in Hawkesford, Idaho, of all places, in substandard living quarters.

  Or maybe Russ himself—No. Jesselyn’s brother couldn’t possibly be involved in these murders.

  “Just hold your horses. You don’t need to spread the news around.” Victoria was back to sounding irate. “It doesn’t have anything to do with... anything. I’ll call you in an hour.”

  The phone slammed down in Frankie’s ear. When she turned from the sink, Marc, Chris, and Darryl were hovering around the door, blatantly eavesdropping. Maggie, right behind them, had her chin resting on Marc’s shoulder and she looked every bit as avid as the others.

  Chapter 14

  “So who’d Denise dump?” Maggie, as usual, took the lead. “Or maybe I should say, who else?”

  Frankie stuck her phone back in her pocket. “You mean she made a habit of dumping old boyfriends?”

  Marc, the least ghoul-like of the lot, had the most pertinent question. “Does Gabe think she dumped some guy and he killed her? Does this mean the cops know who he is and have him in custody?”

  News of Denise’s murder had apparently spread.

  Darryl gave a relieved grin. Delighted and relieved. “You must be glad, Frankie. You’ll be able to get back into your apartment.”

  “And quit shacking up with Gabe Zantos.” Chris winked and grinned like he’d said something clever.

  Frankie reared back with her fist, ready to clock him a good one.

  “Chris!” Maggie chided, moving between them. “Children, mind your manners—all of you.”

  Chris shrugged. “Well, what else would you call it.”

  “Not what you’re insinuating.” Frankie gave them all a narrow-eyed glare they didn’t seem to notice. “I’d call it a gentleman’s offer of a temporary safe haven.”

  “Gabe’s a good guy.” Marc, at least, was willing to agree with her. “Remember last winter when he invited that family from Tennessee to stay overnight?” He turned to Frankie. “These southern folks ran their car in the ditch during a big snowstorm and were not only stranded but nearly broke. Took the highway department a full day to get the road open and another for Glen Edwards to fix their car. Meanwhile, they stayed with Gabe. He does stuff like that.”

  Frankie could’ve hugged him. The information took her off the hook and gave her a new, handle on Gabe, revealing the kind of man he was. Of course, it sort of made her into a charity case, too, which she didn’t appreciate.

  “Yeah. A regular do-gooder,” Chris said in a neutral kind way.

  Darryl was quick to give his opinion. “Dangerous practice, if you ask me. Never can tell who people really are.”

  Not that she wanted to agree, but Frankie figured Darryl actually had a point.

  “What about a suspect?” Marc asked again.

  He broke off from the assembly blocking the doorway, entered the lunchroom, and set to clearing various clutter and used coffee cups off the table. Each shift someone was responsible for cleaning up the mess their duty roster created.

  Frankie shook her head. “As far as I know, they haven’t got one. I’m not in the ‘need-to-know’ category. Just a paramedic, guys, trying to do my job. Ask Gabe or Rudy next time they report in.”

  “Bull puckey, Frankie.” Darryl turned rude again. “You’re right in the middle of things. You gotta hear all the latest. C’mon. At least tell us what the cops are saying.”

  “They don’t tell me anything. Why would they?” Frankie assumed her most innocent face. “Don’t know what the police have found, don’t know if they have a suspect. Really.”

  Maggie’s lifted brow indicated skepticism. “What’s this about Denise dumping someone?” She hadn’t lost sight of this hot item. The one that just might hold the answer to all the rest.

  “Why don’t you take a guess, Maggie?” Marc grinned at the middle-aged dispatcher. “You’re the one who keeps tabs on everyone’s love life in this town.”

  Openly invited, Maggie’s eyes sparkled. Even Frankie, not yet tuned into the workings of her old home town, could tell this was meat and potatoes to the woman.

  “Well...” Maggie, face scrunched in a know-it-all expression, drew it out. “There’s Matt Chavez—” she added at Frankie’s questioning look, “—he’s the executive chef at the casino’s Sunset Room Steakhouse. And Russ Pettigrew. I hear he’s gotten pretty serious about her. Well, he always goes head over heels, exactly like his sister Jesselyn. Let’s see... how about Les Scartano, or—” She grinned wickedly. “—or you, Marc. You went out with her a few times if I’m not mistaken.”

  Marc shrugged. “Yeah. But Denise is a good time girl used to dinner at the Coeur d’Alene Resort, and I’m a poor EMT who can barely afford Black Angus. We didn’t work out.”

  He didn’t, to Frankie’s eyes, seem particularly broken up by the split.

  Maggie’s next jibe was a little more pointed. “Then there’s you, Chris. We all saw you with your tongue hanging out every time she walked by.”

  Chris reddened. A wry expression twisted his lips. “Hell, Denise was way out of my league. She didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Frankie didn’t think his words were quite as careless as they might’ve seemed. What had Denise done to him? Given him an even shorter brush-off than Marc got? She had no wish to be snide, but it made sense. Chris did suffer from a “poor baby” syndrome.

  Maggie wasn’t done yet. “And then, of course, there’s the guy paying Denise’s rent.”

  “Somebody is paying her rent?” Marc’s mouth dropped open. “Who?”

  “Don’t know. All I can say is it wasn’t her. My sis—the one who keeps Victoria Pettigrew’s real estate company’s books—wouldn’t tell.” Looking a little shame-faced, Maggie put a finger over her lips. “On the other hand, forget I brought that up. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  And if Maggie’s sis had been indiscreet enough, she could lose her job if Maggie’s gossip got noised around. Deserved to lose it, maybe.

  As though hoping the guys would forget the slip, Maggie spun on Frankie. “So spill. Who got the old heave-ho this time?”

  Frankie shook her head. In all honesty, she couldn’t hold Maggie’s and the guys’ curiosity against them. A double murder in a small town like Hawkesford was bound to be the topic on everyone’s lips. Everyone’s, not
just hers. They all wanted in on the scuttlebutt, on every piece of gossip, whether it had anything to do with the murder or not.

  In what felt to Frankie like a reprieve, Maggie’s computer display system blared to life, and she rushed to take the call. A kid down at the lake with an allergy to bee stings had stumbled upon a yellow jacket nest. Marc and Chris, still on shift, sped off to administer epinephrine, Chris grousing about the run as usual. “Well, crap! Wouldn’t you know there’d be a call when there’s only fifteen minutes until quitting time?”

  Marc closed the door behind them, shutting off further complaint.

  Darryl took off right afterward, with neither a goodbye nor a backward glance.

  “Gawd, he’s rude. What eating him, anyway?” Frankie asked, eyeing his retreating back.

  “Which one, Darryl or Chris?” Maggie sat back at her desk, rolled her eyes, and shrugged. “They’re both impossible.”

  “I meant Darryl, but you’re right. He’s not a paid employee, is he?” Frankie, puzzled over his attitude, sat at the adjoining desk and twirled in the swivel chair. “I wonder why he doesn’t choose another line of work.”

  “Oh, he likes the excitement and accolades well enough. Just not the job. It cuts into his private life.”

  “Is anything private in Hawkesford?” Given the way she caught every one of the on-duty personnel eavesdropping on her conversation with Victoria, Frankie owned to some doubts.

  Especially when Maggie laughed, gave a hmph, and said, “Not much.”

  “I can’t say as I appreciated his comments about Deputy Zantos and me, either.”

  “He can be kind of a jerk. And Chris almost as bad, especially when they’re together.”

  Idle curiosity made Frankie ask, “Who is he, anyway? Chris, I mean. I don’t recognize his name from around here.” Or was this something else she’d forgotten?

  “Were you acquainted with Herb and Aimee Forrest?”

  Frankie had to think a moment. “They worked for Acton Hayes, didn’t they? She the housekeeper and Herb the year around hired man?”