Murder at Chipmunk Lake

by Mary Hughes

  A bloodshot blue eye appeared, over my head but level with my husband’s chin. “Yeah?” The baritone rasped with the aural equivalent of bloodshot.

  “We’re your neighbors,” Julian said pleasantly. “We thought we’d come introduce ourselves. We’re in the last cabin.”

  “Glad to meetcha.” The music in the words said he’d sooner meet a barrel of porcupines, reinforced when he tried to slam the door in Julian’s face.

  Julian stuck his toe in the gap. The door crunched it.

  I winced; vampires are strong and they heal fast, but injuries hurt like hel…well, the place with pokey pitchforks.

  He caught my wince and murmured, “Steel-toes,” and I released a relieved sigh. My hubby is not only smart, he thinks ahead.

  “Hey.” The door flew open. “Getcher foot outta there.”

  Filling the doorway was a bald truck of a man, the square-built kind with muscle under his rolls of fat. In the shadowy cabin behind him were two more…men, I guess, though they wouldn’t have looked out of place fighting for Sauron in a Lord of the Rings film. One was an ugly troll of a dude, and one was what Julian would have called hirsute, and I called a hairy ape.

  Julian held his hands out, palms up, but kept his toe planted. “I only want to talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about, jackass.” If malice were a smell, Truckie reeked of it.

  Behind him, the ape made an obscene gesture. I covered my belly with my hands so Snagrat wouldn’t see it.

  “I’m afraid I must disagree,” Julian snooted in his best Lawyer. “Someone reported to the police the occurrence of a simple discussion near the lake, imbuing it with an import it didn’t have. I want to know why.”

  The truck frowned, then his face cleared and he snorted. “If you don’t know who blabbed, why are you bothering us?”

  “Because I do know. It was you. There’s no one else within five miles of here. So unless you want a permanent toe in your door—”

  “Unless you want a permanent fist in your face—”

  “Don’t,” Julian growled. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

  “Shit.” Behind the truck, the hairy ape punched at his smartphone. “We don’t have to take this.”

  I heard a tinny, “What is your emergency?”

  I tugged on Julian’s T-shirt. “He’s calling the cops—again. Let’s go.”

  “Not until I get some answers.” My husband’s eyeteeth flashed in the moonlight, getting awfully pointy. “I want to know why you have guns. Why you reported us falsely.”

  “None of your damned business,” growled the truck.

  A siren whined in the distance. Since we’d left the deputy not so far away, that siren wasn’t as distant as I’d have liked. I tugged again, more insistently. “Julian, come on.” “Dueling Banjos” from Deliverance twanged in my head. Though he’d talked me out of it temporarily, leaving was looking mighty good. Not only the trio’s cabin, but the area entirely. Maybe even hightail it out of the state.

  Julian looked down at me. “These men aren’t here for fishing. I’ll tell the deputy—”

  “Will he listen?” I hissed. My hubby could out-stubborn a drummer. “We already have a strike against us.”

  “Our walking out on him? He won’t remember that.”

  “I meant the original argument you had with Caldwell. Jeez, now we have two strikes against us. This could be ‘Yrrr out!’”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “It’s these asses’ word against ours. The law is the law. The deputy will listen to us. He’ll have to.”

  “Damn it.” For once I didn’t cover Snagrat’s ears. “I hope you’re right. Cuz here he is.”

  The patrol car pulled to a stop on soft dirt opposite the cabin, next to a wooden platform bristling garbage and recycling bins. The commissioner’s sedan bounced in behind. Olyeo got out of his sedan, but as Parker’s door opened, his dash radio started squawking. He stayed in the car and pulled out the handset. I couldn’t quite hear what was being said but come on. Cops. It was bound to be bad news for us.

  The commissioner hesitated, glancing at Parker, then at us. Then, jaw firming, Olyeo strode over. “Where did you go?”

  “You let us go.” Julian’s voice was extra dark.

  “We shouldn’t have.” Olyeo glared like it was our fault—which it was, but he wouldn’t remember that. “Parker shouldn’t have,” he amended. “This is now an official murder investigation.”

  Acid hit my stomach. I hid my reaction. Apparently one of them had seen what we had, that the slashes weren’t claws. I’d bet on Parker having made that call.

  “A murder in my town. It’s outrageous.” Olyeo adopted that plummy tone of voice that politicians reserve for stumping on the campaign trail. “I shall not rest until the perpetrator—or perpetrators—are brought to justice. Questions must be answered.” He glanced again at the deputy, who showed no sign of getting off the radio. “Questions I will ask.” He turned to my husband. “Where were you between one and five p.m. this afternoon?”

  I nudged Julian and touched fingertips to my throat, meaning he should do his vampire compulsion thing and completely erase us from the commissioner’s memory.

  He gave a minute shake of his head and flicked eyes at Parker.

  The cop was too far away to influence.

  “We’ll answer your questions,” my husband said. “But you should ask these men questions too. They’re supposed to be fishermen but have guns instead of fishing tackle.”

  Olyeo turned a shrewd look on the trio. Sizing up their votes, no doubt.

  “That’s because we’re not fishermen.” The truck grinned. “We’re hunters.”

  “It’s not hunting season.” Julian clenched and unclenched his fists, his fingernails getting kinda long.

  “We have a special permit.” The truck kept his bloodshot eyes pinned on the commissioner, exuding so much trustworthiness I wanted to puke. At his side, where only Julian and I could see it, he raised a taunting finger.

  “Oh?” My husband countered with a skeptical brow. “Where is it? Show us.”

  The truck’s smile soured. “Wait a minute.” He disappeared into the darkened interior. Sounds like the place being tossed came from inside.

  While the truck searched for his special license, the deputy finished with the radio and got out of the car.

  My nausea eased. This would all be over in a few moments with another wave of vampire compulsion.

  But the deputy just stood there. “Commissioner Olyeo,” he called with admirable lung power. “There’s more info on that argument yesterday morning between the vic and the suspect.” His dark eyes nailed Julian on “suspect”.

  As if any of us had wondered who he meant.

  “A second anonymous phone call reported the vic was heard threatening a ‘Nixie Emerson’. I made contact with the owner of the cabins here, and discovered Nixie Emerson is Julian Emerson’s wife. His wife.” He pointed.

  Olyeo glared at Julian. “The threat and argument is motive, and we can place you with the body. Julian Emerson, you’re coming with me in connection with the murder of Melvin Caldwell.”

  Chapter Eight

  I jammed my ungainly body between Olyeo and my husband. “You arrest Julian, you arrest me.”

  Behind me, the cabin door slammed shut. My mouth tightened. The truck and his troll pals were rats for siccing the law on us, and chickens for ducking out.

  “Sweetheart, no,” Julian said. “He’s not arresting me. I’ll just go along and answer his questions. I’m sure I can straighten everything out.”

  “Why would we call 911 if we did it? You shouldn’t be questioning us. You should be questioning the guys in this cabin” My jaw kicked up. “You didn’t even check their license.”

  “I will, Mrs. Emerson,” Olyeo said. “Right after the deputy and I take your husband in for questioning. I shall not rest—”

  “Until the perp is brought in, yeah, I heard.”

  Her
e’s the cabin key.” Julian pressed the fob into my hands.

  As he did, I felt a tug on my purselet strap. I barely stopped myself from looking.

  He’d put something in my purse.

  “Why go with them? Why can’t you answer questions in our cabin?” The plastic key fob was hard in my hands. I searched his eyes, pleading with mine. Voice them into letting us go again.

  “That won’t buy us much.” Meaning that, even if he did erase their memory, they’d just find us again. “The more I cooperate, the sooner this is over.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to go with them.” My sight of his beautiful jaw and straight nose were blurring a little. “You have an alibi…” I trailed off as I realized what I’d have to reveal to make the alibi stick.

  Caldwell had been killed between sunrise, when we’d seen him drive away, and sunset, when we’d found him already stiff. As a vampire, Julian couldn’t have done it, because he couldn’t have been in the sun that long. Even if he’d killed him indoors someone non-vampire would’ve had to drag him to the dump in time to be mauled by a bear.

  So as a vampire, Julian had an alibi.

  But vampires-R-real was a huge secret. V-guys were powerful, but few in number. Vulnerable during the day. Billions of humans could flash fry them with various explosives.

  They went to great honking lengths to preserve the masquerade. The older they were, the more they stood to lose. If I told, Julian’s boss, the leader of our alliance, would have a fit—that is, certain really scary ancient dudes would have my head and heart for his own.

  Besides, blurting that my husband was a vampire? Sure to get me either laughed out of the county or put in an insane asylum.

  “He has an alibi?” At the cruiser, the deputy’s black eyes sharpened.

  For my baby’s father, I’d brave all of the above. “Yes he does—”

  “Nixie.” Julian gave a short, sharp shake of his head. “I’ll explain everything to them at the station. It’s in everybody’s best interests that I cooperate.”

  Meaning, Don’t out all vampires for my sake. The good of the many outweighing the good of the one, which I never did buy. I opened my mouth to object.

  “I’ll cooperate and they’ll see this is a misunderstanding.” He elongated the mis to make it almost a hiss. “Then we can leave and go about our business.”

  He was trying to tell me something. But I only heard we can leave—including me. My heart leaped into my throat. “I can come with you?”

  “Of course.” He raised my chin with his warm, square fingers. “I’ll need a way to leave the station after questioning. You can follow in our car. So there are no misunderstandings.” Again he elongated the syllable.

  Missss, like mist. Me right behind in our car. I was starting to see Julian’s plan—cooperate, to not raise any alarms. Then “convince” everyone of his innocence and walk out a free man. And if that didn’t work, cooperatively get locked up, then mist out without anyone the wiser.

  I didn’t like it, but I could see escalating and having a county’s worth of cops after us would only make things worse. I pretended to think it over. “Okay. But Julian rides with the commissioner.” No matter how great a planner my hubby is, Murphy can always fup things uck. If something went wrong I wanted Julian with Olyeo, the easier escape. Parker was too sharp.

  Parker shook his head. “Not possible—”

  “Is my husband under arrest?” I used my best guilt-inducing Mom voice.

  “No,” the deputy said reluctantly.

  “Then he goes in the commissioner’s car. In the front seat.” Where, if needed, he could do his vampire woo-woo and get released again. The matter was settled in my mind, and to cement it in theirs, I turned and trot-waddled across the wooden bridge.

  Julian took my cue and glided to the passenger seat of the commissioner’s sedan. Olyeo followed with obvious reluctance.

  The deputy watched all of us with his dark, serious eyes, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

  I turned at our car. “Where is this station?”

  Parker answered. “Sheriff’s department. St. Dunnewa county seat, about an hour away.”

  “No,” Olyeo said. “We should go to the Chipmunk Lake town hall.”

  “This isn’t an arrest, but it is official,” Parker said. “We’re going to County. I’ll lead.”

  “Fine.” The commissioner got into his sedan and slammed the car door a bit louder than necessary.

  “Hey Parker,” I called.

  He swiveled to me.

  “You’d better wait for me. I’m going to follow you to this county seat of yours. If you lose me, I swear I will find you and do something so terrible you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.”

  He hooked thumbs in his belt. “Such as?”

  “I’ll find your house and throw up on your front steps.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll drive slow.” He touched the brim of his hat, got in the cruiser, and waited.

  In our car, I snuck a peek inside my purselet. Julian’s heavy swing-guard stiletto tipped out. I quick shoved it under the passenger seat. The law had pinned opportunity and motive on him; if they found his knife on him, they’d have means. While the patrol blade wasn’t the murder weapon, it would certainly have blood on it, from years of vampire beheading.

  He’d gotten rid of the incriminating blade and given me something to defend myself in case things didn’t go as planned, all in one slick move.

  Parker was backing out. Olyeo had started his engine. Okay, unless I wanted to be left here with the trolls, I’d better get a move on. Whatever the reason Julian was cooperating, he had a plan and I’d need to be on my toes to help.

  I pulled out after Olyeo and stuck to them like glue, heading along the gravel drive and out onto the two-lane blacktop.

  The deputy drove slowly without being obnoxious about it. No barfing on his stoop for me.

  I have to admit, despite Julian’s emphasis on cooperating, I kept hoping the commissioner’s sedan would stop, sign that he’d worked his vampire compulsion magic. As the minutes passed, my hope faded. When we turned onto a county highway, I gave up. Maybe he was right and this would go easier if we cooperated, or maybe he simply didn’t want the hassle of being an escaped suspect, but he’d decided to see this through potentially straight to the jail cell, and as I’ve mentioned, he could be all sorts of stubborn.

  Or maybe he was convinced this was all some misunderstanding he could straighten out. Sometimes my hubby is too trusting of the system. Most times, actually.

  We’d driven about ten minutes at a lawful 55 mph when Parker pulled off the road onto a narrow gravel shoulder. Olyeo stopped behind him. I tucked up behind, the tush of my car sticking out into traffic (if there’d been any) and waited.

  The deputy got out and rolled back to me. Olyeo leaped out and followed.

  I buzzed down my window. “Problem?”

  “Emergency call,” Parker said. “A multi-vehicle traffic accident with possible injuries. I’m the only unit in the area, so I have to go.”

  “Right.” I donned my most trustworthy grin. “I’ll take care of my husband. You can remand him into my custody or whatever you call it.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Emerson, but we can’t do that.” His dark eyes were steady on me, although some minuscule roll in their depths said he sure hadn’t heard that one before. “Commissioner Olyeo will continue on to the county seat.”

  “I will?” Olyeo paled and tugged at his shirt collar. “But he’s a suspect. In a murder.”

  “And you are a duly appointed agent of the law.” Parker spoke slowly, weighting each word with solemn duty.

  “But—”

  “Ann informed me that Mr. Emerson is a lawyer. It’s in his best interests to proceed civilly with you to interrogation and answer a few questions, rather than potentially lose his license.”

  “You want to explain that to him?” Olyeo flashed a tight, pained glance at the car where my hubby s
at. Then he caught Parker and me staring and held up both hands. “Kidding. I’m just kidding.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Olyeo crossed his arms, staring at his sedan. “Well, I’ll just continue on. For another forty-five minutes. Alone in the car with a murder suspect.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Parker’s tone wasn’t sympathetic. “Let’s go.”

  When Olyeo still hesitated, I prompted him with, “Lead on, MacDuffy.”

  The deputy rolled back to his cruiser, pulled smoothly onto the highway and took off.

  Olyeo tottered to his sedan in that on-the-toes lurching walk that means every leg muscle is tighter than an anorexic’s stomach. Jumpy. Defensive. A potential powder keg.

  I reminded myself Julian could mist out of most anything and hypnotize just about anyone to believe it was their idea to let him go.

  The commissioner slid gingerly into the sedan and did a U-ey.

  I followed, checking my blindspot first. Dark woods filled my view, the kind in all the chainsaw-wielding slasher-alien horror pics.

  An ice-booted marching band ran field exercises up my spine. I never thought I’d miss bumper-to-bumper Chicago. I goosed the accelerator and followed the commissioner, driving like we were cojoined twins from the country highway until he turned onto a two-lane road.

  I frowned.

  Where was he going? Usually county seats were more populated, not less. The thick, dark woods were eerily deserted, as if even the ghosts were frightened of the bears and ticks and killer deer.

  But what could I do but follow?

  He cornered onto a two-rut road. A sharp icicle of alarm stabbed my stomach. My car’s suspension got a workout as we bounced along for a couple hundred yards before pulling into a clearing.

  No dump in the center but a cinder block building, smallish, about the size of a four-stall outhouse and shaped like a tall bullet or short silo. Or one of those huts where highway crews keep road salt. It was lit by a single lamp on a post.

  The commissioner parked, got out, and strode toward building, quickly, almost running, perspiration darkening his hair.

  Julian emerged behind him and glided along in his wake.