Hometown Homicide

by C. K. Crigger

  Lew nodded.” I heard him. So he was right.”

  “Who the hell’d do a thing like that,” The fireman’s cheeks reddened with anger. “Or why did he do it. Doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Vandals,” Lew growled, but Frankie stirred uneasily, events around the duplex too fresh in her mind to reduce any mayhem to something as simple as vandalism. Yet, what other reason could there be?

  The rest of the night passed in calm. So much so that boredom set in, and Frankie, filled with restless energy, at three a.m., got the ambulance out again and washed it down from top to bottom.

  In the morning, she drove to Gabe’s place—hard to call it his when it would always be her grandparent’s home—and slipped into the house, prepared to give Shine her first meds of the day. While Gabe was clearly home, his SUV backed into the drive ready for a quick take off, for some reason she hadn’t expected to see him up and about. But she walked in, and there he was, in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

  The table was set for two. A glass of orange juice resided at each place. An aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with frying bacon filled the kitchen. Frankie’s mouth watered, her empty stomach growling with hunger.

  Gabe, dressed in jeans and a plain blue T-shirt, leaned over the stove whipping eggs for an omelet. Grated cheese filled a bowl, ready to scatter over the eggs. Banner sat beside Gabe, licking his chops in anticipation, leading Frankie to believe he’d already snagged a treat or two. Shine, more leery of the man, her hurt leg raised, hovered within smelling distance, but not so close as to be underfoot.

  The bichon, Frankie noted with relief, looked much more alert and vigorous today. Dr. Kelly would be pleased with her progress.

  Hesitating in the doorway to study the tableau, Frankie flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bust in on you. You’re expecting company, and my dogs are pestering.” Or maybe someone was already here, in another room. The bedroom?

  She snapped her fingers, banishing the twinge of... well, who knew what? “Banner,” she commanded, “come here. Shine—”

  Banner obeyed, Shine didn’t budge.

  “She doesn’t know me yet,” Frankie excused her. “We’ll get out of your way.” Moving forward, she picked up the small dog and cuddled her. Shine licked her chin.

  Gabe waved the spatula above the frying pan. “Looks like she’s taken to you, though. They’ve both been waiting for you at the door. Me too. Now you’re here I can cook the omelet.” With a minimum of fuss, he poured eggs into the skillet. “Sit. Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’m starved.”

  He’d been waiting for her? Why? Not to cook eggs, she’d be bound, although the idea was intriguing. Weakly, she let herself be persuaded. “I’m starved, too.”

  Erk! Her voice must be failing. Breathless, like she’d been running.

  Or maybe from the smoke she’d breathed at last night’s fire.

  Gabe lifted the eggs, allowing the liquid to run beneath the cooked portion. “You had something to tell me, I think. Before we were interrupted last night.”

  So that’s why he waited for her. Breakfast was a nice touch. A real bonus. For the first time in months, she felt truly hungry.

  Seated in her accustomed place at the table, Frankie relaxed. Gathering her thoughts, she held Shine on her lap and took a sip of orange juice.

  “Cops look for motive first, don’t they?” she asked. “Motive, means, and opportunity?”

  He turned from the stove and grinned at her, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You been watching cop shows on TV?”

  Frankie shrugged. Guilty as charged. “Maybe a few. But just because they’re on TV doesn’t mean they’re all wrong, does it? So, do you have a motive for Denise’s murder?”

  Omelet ignored for the moment, he stared at her. “My idea is that it had to do with the computer disc you told me about. I’d sure like to get my hands on it and take a look. My crew damn near tore St. James’s apartment to pieces, searching for the damn thing.”

  “You didn’t find the disc?”

  “No. Could be the murderer got there first.” He shot her a glance. “Why? Have you heard any other reason someone might want her dead?”

  Frankie wished he’d mind the eggs. She preferred her omelets without scorched edges, thank you, even though she was hungry enough to eat charcoal.

  “Well?” Gabe urged.

  “Not really. It’s just—” She knew this was going to sound awful. “I called Victoria Pettigrew yesterday. I told her I can’t stay at the duplex after all this and asked for my rent money back—prorated, of course. I’m not out to cheat anybody.”

  He moved impatiently, as though to hurry the story. “And?” Nose wrinkling, he shifted his attention back to cooking.

  “One thing led to another. Victoria let drop about her brother, Russ, owning the duplex.”

  Gabe nodded. Apparently, he’d known that.

  “Victoria also said that while ‘someone’ started out paying Denise’s rent, Russ has been letting her stay there without charge the past couple months while they were going out together. But then Denise dumped him. From what I’ve heard, she has—had—a history of... um... short-lived romances.”

  She had Gabe’s interest now.

  “Amicable partings of the way?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just gossip. Mind you, I haven’t been in Hawkesford long enough to have first-hand knowledge of anything.” This is where she got a little scared. Passing along this kind of rumor wasn’t her thing. “Except for what Victoria said, of course. But some of us were talking at work yesterday, and... Marc... well, it occurred to me... to us...” Stammering out her report, she played with Shine’s good ear as the little dog pressed into the caress.

  “Interesting.” Gabe, an abstracted expression on his face, added sautéed onions and green peppers to his cooking, scattered grated cheddar over all, and folded the omelet neatly. He divided the puffy mass into halves, plated them, and laid bacon and whole wheat toast alongside.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Frankie set Shine on the floor and reached for her fork as he set a plate in front of her. “The whole idea is probably meaningless.”

  Gabe sat across from her. “You never know. Was anyone else mentioned in connection with Denise’s love life?”

  “Yes. Several men.” Frankie ticked names off on her fingers, almost relieved to have more than one to pick on. “Among others, a chef from the casino restaurant, Marc, our EMT, and even Chris Adkins, although he says he was a non-starter.”

  “Interesting,” he said again. His eyes took on the blank expression of someone committing information to memory. Then he selected a piece of crisp bacon, broke it into three pieces, and doled bits out between Banner and Shine who snapped them up like they hadn’t eaten in a month. The third bite he stuck into his own mouth.

  Frankie gobbled her cheesy omelet, giving herself time to absorb his apparent interest. So this must have meaning. Either that or Gabe was coming up empty in the suspect department and needed something—anything—to pick up the pace.

  “Do you think any of this is important?” She took a bite of her own perfectly crisp bacon.

  “At this point, every detail is important. The more we know about the victim, where she went, who she knew, what kind of person she was, the better chance of discovering who murdered her. And don’t forget St. James. It seems clear he was killed as part of her trouble.”

  “Collateral damage.”

  “I’m afraid so. And anyone willing to kill a second person may not stop there. Some people find each subsequent killing easier than the last. That’s why—” It was his turn to stop abruptly.

  Frankie got what he was trying to say, though. He looked upon her as another potential victim. Who else had been living in Denise’s only partially cleared quarters? And been right behind a thin wall when Howie was shot?

  No longer hungry, she pushed away her half-empty plate.

  An hour la
ter, Gabe left to go on duty, telling Frankie he’d mull over what she’d learned about the men in Denise Rider’s life. Or what the rumors said, anyhow. Which wasn’t, when you came right down to it, much. Was Gabe just pandering to her, or did he really think the gossip and innuendo truly meant something?

  With her host out of the way, Frankie cleaned the kitchen in payment for breakfast, then took off for the duplex. On foot, as it happened. Banner needed exercise, and so did she. Something physical, to help clear her head.

  The boxes used to transport her stuff when she moved into the duplex were still there, some of them not yet unpacked. She planned on boxing up everything loose, then walking back and driving the Ranger over for the actual move. After that, who knew?

  With her destination a pleasant mile and a half’s walk away, she looked forward to using her muscles, sadly neglected since she’d been in Hawkesford. According to the way Banner bounced along, he felt the same. They left Shine at the house, stretched full-length on the cozy dog bed her former owner had bought for her.

  Frankie loved this time of year—the shimmering heat, the acrid smell of gone-to-seed weeds. Even the grasshoppers flying up in her face as she jogged along. Banner didn’t care for the bugs so much, and every now and then he pounced, in a vain attempt to catch one. She was laughing as they approached the duplex. The mail carrier’s car was stopped at the box at the end of the drive while Susie Ray, another old friend of high school days, sorted through some mail.

  “Hey, Frankie.” Susie Ray waved, a cheery smile on her face. “Long time, no see. That’s a beautiful dog.” She nodded at Banner and went on without pausing. “What are you two up to this fine day? Kind of hot to be out walking, isn’t it?”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” Frankie said. Banner’s tail wagged.

  “I was tickled when I heard you hired on as a paramedic,” Susie Ray said. “It’s great to have you back in Hawkesford, alive and well. How do you like working with Lew? He’s sort of known as our local curmudgeon, you know.”

  “Some people may think so. I know he’s a hard worker and meticulous in caring for our patients.”

  Susie Ray fluttered the stuff—which looked mostly like junk mail—she’d been about to put in Frankie’s box. “This place. Aren’t you afraid to live here, Frankie? You couldn’t pay me to go inside.”

  “I’m moving out today.” Tacit agreement, she guessed. “Is that my mail?”

  “Oh, yeah. Nothing for you but a couple advertisements addressed to occupant.” Susie Ray grimaced. “Got some mail for Howie. Guess I’ll have to take it back to the post office. I can’t just leave it moldering away in the box.”

  “True.” A point occurred to her. Meeting Susie Ray worked out just fine and might clean an item from her to-do list. “If I do get any mail sent to this address, can you hold it at the post office for me? I’ll drop by and pick it up when I find a permanent address.”

  “Sure.” Susie Ray actually seemed relieved. “No problem. I don’t blame you for not wanting to live here after two murders and God only knows what else. If I were you, I’d move out too.” With a quick wave, she drove off to the next house, leaving Frankie choking in the cloud of dust that rose up to clog her nose. Banner sneezed.

  Sweat dampened Frankie’s face as she walked up the driveway. At the front door, she paused before shoving the key in the lock. Something kept telling her not to do it. Collywobbles, she told herself. The police had been looking after the place. Nothing here to be afraid of. So why didn’t she believe it?

  Something in her brain was telling her to check out the back first.

  Oddly enough, as though infected by her fears, Banner turned cranky. As they walked around the house, he pitched a fit, rearing back on his leash and trying to go the other way.

  “Banner,” she snapped, too impatient, too freaked, to deal with an uncooperative dog. “Behave yourself.”

  An archway with a spindly clematis vine growing over it topped the gate. The gate itself sagged partly open, into the yard. Frankie paused to wave away a fat bumble bee. More than a little irritated at Banner for struggling on the end of the leash like a hooked bass, she gave the gate a shove.

  Banner’s sudden jerk brought her down on her butt.

  “What in the world is the matter with you, Banner?”

  His eyes rolled wildly, his black nose twitched. He uttered an uncharacteristically loud bark.

  “I’m going to check you over for ticks when we get home.” Frankie rose to her feet. “You’re acting like you’ve got bugs in your britches.”

  Her prosthesis had shifted. She stomped her foot, getting it back in place, and reached for the latch, lifted it, and opened the gate. Forcefully, as the bottom scraped over a layer of river rock. Only then did the odor of rotten eggs register on her mind. Rotten eggs.

  Oh no, she had time to think as her senses finally telegraphed the danger. Banner’s desire to flee succeeded. He lunged away from the open gate, yanking Frankie along with him. A few seconds later, the house erupted in a ball of fire. Even as the blast reached them, he dragged her onto her hands and knees, charging down the driveway towing her behind him.

  A concussion raised the roof on the duplex, knocking them both flat.

  Frankie retained just enough sense to beat out the sparks that fizzed in Banner’s fur before she blacked out.

  Chapter 16

  “Frankie! Frankie! Wake up. Hello. Hello, yes, it’s Susie Ray here. Ouch! I’m at the duplex on South Sixth with Frankie McGill. Ow! The duplex just blew up, and Frankie is hurt. The house is on fire. Ow, ow! Hurry!”

  Dazed, Frankie cowered, feeling the ping of bullets passing over her head. Her foot. Oh, God. It hurt so bad.

  No. No bullets. This wasn’t war. Was it?

  Frankie struggled to make sense of Susie Ray’s words. Who was she talking to, anyway? And where had she come from? Had she said the duplex was on fire?

  Frankie blinked her eyes open. Susie Ray flung up an arm, batting at something that looked like a chunk of flaming roof material. It landed only a couple inches from Banner’s tucked-under tail.

  Aha. Susie must be talking to dispatch and thank goodness for that! Not Afghanistan. No al-Qaida or Taliban or ISIS fighters. No gunfire. No frigging terrorists.

  Frankie fought to breathe as the world whirled around her.

  “Ouch! Ouch!” Susie Ray yelped, shaking her hand. “Come on, Frankie. Wake up. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Susie’s screeching roused Frankie from her stupor, the noise bouncing in and out on pulsing eardrums. Something soft, slimy, and wet dragged across her face. Uh! She recognized the feel of Banner’s tongue. A siren began wailing a few blocks away. Struggling against weighted limbs, she realized she lay flat on the ground with Banner bucking up and down beside her.

  “Run,” she yelled.

  At least, she tried to yell. Her tongue seemed cloven to the roof of her mouth, unable to break free. A huge knot was stuck in the middle of her chest. Winded, she thought. Thrown down flat and all her air knocked out.

  “Frankie, get up,” Susie yelled like she suspected Frankie was deaf. “Ow! Damnit, come on.”

  The scene looked like something straight out of hell. Susie was leaning over her, protecting her from at least some of the sparks, which explained all the “ouches” she’d been uttering. Beyond her, the house turned into a raging inferno. Flames shot through broken windows and the blown-out doorway. Black smoke roiled into the sky. A wall of heat radiated off the fire, seeming to suck all the good stuff out of the atmosphere. Burning wood crackled.

  Frankie failed to muster the balance to rise to her feet, but at Susie Ray’s urging, she rose on her hands and knees and crawled in the direction Susie pointed her.

  Banner came to her rescue. He wanted desperately to escape, and the only way to prevent him from dragging her on her belly through the sparks and debris was to get up. Susie, the brave soul, stayed with her, giving her a needed boost as Frankie finally lunged to her fee
t. The three of them staggered toward the road where Susie Ray’s mail truck sat idling.

  “Get in.” Susie boosted Frankie into the back seat of the Jeep Cherokee and held the door for Banner to jump in as well. She ran around to the driver’s side and slid under the wheel.

  “We can’t leave,” Frankie protested, finally regaining her senses. Most of them, anyway.

  “We’re not. But I’m not parking my car where it can get blown up, either, and I’d better not block the street. The fire engine will be here in a minute.”

  They could hear it now, the heavy diesel engine thundering, the ululating siren growing louder and louder. Debris from the explosion littered the road and nearest yards; windows had been shattered.

  Neighbors, mostly women and kids at this time of day, gathered outside, many still screaming and crying. A hardy few headed in their direction, either for a closer look or to help.

  Feeling like a fool, Frankie agreed. “You’re right. We don’t want to get in the way. I think my brains are addled.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Susie said kindly. “What in the world happened, just now?”

  Frankie stared at the other woman. Susie Ray’s bright summer blouse had charred holes here and there. Blisters rose on her tanned arms.

  “I’ll be darned if I know.” Horror struck. “Oh, my God, Susie Ray. Howie’s cat. It’s in there. They have to get it out.”

  Susie Ray’s breath caught. She eyed the burning house. Her mouth turned down. “I don’t think the cat stands a chance,” she said, then, “Jeez. This looks almost as bad as Denise’s car.”

  “Car?”

  “Yeah,” Susie Ray said. A half block away, the fire truck turned the corner and rumbled toward them. “This must be my day for fires. I found Denise’s car a little while ago, down by Lake Shore road. Gabe Zantos about had a fit. Anyway, it’s about as wrecked and burned up as this house. Shame, a nice car like that.”