by Sam Cheever
He held my gaze, his eyes narrowed, as he slowly pulled a small notebook across the table and grabbed a badly chewed pen, attempting to jot something down in the notebook. The pen didn’t work so he pulled another one out of his pocket. That one didn’t work either.
Finally, after Arno managed to waste a full minute testing out some of the saddest looking pens I’d ever seen, Hal reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and extracted an expensive metal one, placing it very precisely in front of Arno.
Hal had donned the leather jacket before we came into the police station. Though I wondered why, I figured he had some kind of “guy” reason and didn’t ask.
Arno stared at the pen for a beat, his jaw working, and then grasped it, giving Hal a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Hal nodded and leaned back in his chair. It creaked ominously under his weight but he seemed unconcerned. He’d fixed his full attention on Arno.
But Arno was looking at me. “We figured out who the victim was,” he said.
I leaned forward, clasping my hands on the table. “Really? Who was it?”
“He surely wasn’t one of your parents’ clients.”
“How’d you ID him?” Hal asked, looking genuinely curious.
“Rashton found a small piece of skin with some ink on it. A very distinctive tattoo that we were able to use in identifying a homeless guy with a rap sheet who was mugged in Indianapolis several weeks ago.”
When Hal frowned, I clarified. “Rashton Blessed owns the local funeral home. He’s also the Coroner.”
Hal nodded.
“And the blood in Devon Little’s cabin is a match for our victim.” Arno cocked his golden head, peering intensely at me. “Why do you think this man’s murder is tied to your parents?”
I hesitated, not wanting to dredge their deaths back up again, and then decided there might be a way to give Arno what he needed without getting into the more personal details. “Cox told us the murder was a message for me.”
“Agent Cox? Of the FBI?”
I nodded.
“What message?”
I ran a fingertip over a picture gouged into the table with the tip of a pen. It appeared to be a pair of lips with a tongue sticking out from between them. Not bad actually. Somebody was wasting his talent being a criminal. “He thinks the killer is searching for something that disappeared. Something that came through Fulle-Proof Auctions just before my parents died.” I looked up, narrowing my gaze on Arno. “He thinks it’s what got them killed.”
“Your parents’ death was an accident, Joey.”
I just shrugged.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What item was it?”
“A painting. A very valuable one.”
“What the heck would a valuable painting be doing at the farm auction?”
“You knew my parents had a secondary business, overseeing private negotiations and sometimes making deliveries of those items for the interested parties?”
“I’d heard something like that.”
“We believe that’s what the painting was doing there. They were hired to serve as the intermediaries for the sale.”
“By who?”
“I wish I knew. Those files were missing from the office.”
Arno frowned. “Then it’s probably just a tale Cox made up.”
“I don’t think you understand, Arno. All the files were missing from the office at the auction.”
Surprise flickered briefly through his gaze before he mastered it and forced an unconcerned look onto his face. “I’m sure Betty just boxed them up or something after your parents died.”
I shook my head. “Doubtful. She apparently boxed up the stuff in my mom’s office and the boxes were still sitting there. Why would she have taken the files out of the office?”
“Do you know how the office manager died?” Hal asked Arno.
I turned a surprised glance his way but he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was locked onto Arno’s and something passed between them.
“Wasn’t it an accident?” Lis asked. Everyone turned to her and she flushed. “I remember reading about it at the time and thinking what a horrible coincidence it was that she’d go so quickly after your parents died. She apparently drove off Country Road 57 at one of the higher elevations.”
Hal and I shared a look. I had no doubt he was thinking about our own close call on that road.
“What?” Arno asked.
Hal sat up straight in his chair, his square jaw going taut. “Joey and I were nearly run off that same road yesterday.”
Arno gritted his teeth. “And you were going to tell me that, when?”
“We’ve been kind of busy, Arno. Besides, you lied to us about Buck reporting that chipper stolen.”
Arno flushed. “I didn’t lie. I just wasn’t sure about the timing and I wasn’t going to give you a reason to harass a private citizen on the basis of bad information.”
Yeah, that was a partial lie too and we both knew it. Arno suddenly couldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t want me involved and he’d apparently do anything to stop me.
“Well Buck repaid you for that by lying to you. That chipper was never stolen. Well, actually, it was, but it was apparently at his house when it was taken. Not at Mitzner’s.”
Arno’s gaze went wide before he mastered it. “Where’d you hear that?”
“From the angry man himself.”
Arno’s square jaw tightened. “Tell me what happened on CR57.”
Hal took him through the attack, describing the car and the exact location.
“Did you get a license plate number?”
“No. We were too busy trying to stay alive,” I told him angrily.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, what else aren’t you telling me?”
I deliberately kept my gaze from Hal’s. If I looked at him Arno might see the guilt in my expression. But there was no way I was going to tell him about Dev. Not until I was sure which side he was on.
He still had the potential to help us figure out what was going on. But not if he was in jail.
“Joey?”
I sighed. “Somebody came to my house and threatened me the other night.”
“Threatened you? How?”
“There was somebody in the yard and Hal and Caphy went to check it out. Whoever it was grabbed me from behind and demanded that I tell him where the painting was.”
Lis went pale. “Yikes! Joey, did he hurt you?”
My hand went to my throat before I could stop it and the softly growled words played through my mind. Tell me or you’ll die.
I shook my head. “No. It just scared me.”
Arno sat back in his chair, looking almost annoyed at my admission. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, it’s looking like you two were right. Whatever’s going on, it must be tied to you somehow.”
Relief made me start to smile.
“But that’s all the more reason to stay as far away from it as possible. Maybe this would be a good time to go stay with Felicity in Indianapolis for a while.”
“I’m not running away from this. I need to find out who’s threatening me and stop it.” What I really meant, and couldn’t explain to Arno, was that I needed to find out why my parents really died.
“Joey...”
“Nope. I’m not leaving, Arno. You might as well give it up.”
He looked at Hal as if hoping my PI could talk some sense into me. Hal just stared back at him. “If anything happens to her, Amity...”
“I won’t let her get hurt,” Hal told Arno.
Arno didn’t look like he believed him but he let it drop. “I want to know why you keep harassing Buck Mitzner.”
“It was his chipper, which, need I remind you, he’d had at his home not too far from the spot where it ended up with a dead guy in it. He lied to us about where it was. And his truck was spotted in the area early that morning.”
Arno blinked. “Spotted? By who?”
“Heather Masterson.”
&n
bsp; “The artist?” He snorted. “That woman’s a dingbat.”
“Maybe,” I told him. “But Lori Pickering saw her in the woods, sketching that morning so we spoke to her in case she’d seen or heard something. Turns out she heard an ATV and saw a truck with the Mitzner’s logo on it driving back down the road.”
“She identified Mitzner’s truck?”
“Close enough. She saw a logo that she thought was from the landscaping company. It was dark.”
Arno didn’t look happy with the news. “Buck has an alibi.”
“So Reverend Smythe tells me.” I let that hang between us for a few minutes, hoping Arno would take the bait.
He didn’t. “I’m not going to second guess the Rev. If he said Buck was with him then Buck was with him.”
“You won’t even take a look at Buck’s truck? Just in case,” I asked.
Arno glowered at me. I took that as a No.
“Does Buck have an ATV?” I asked him, lifting a brow.
Arno tried to hold my gaze but couldn’t. He glanced away.
I would take that as a Yes.
“What about the auctioneer?” Hal asked.
Everybody looked his way. I frowned, not following him.
“Everyone else in the business died within days of each other. If it’s tied to the auction and that missing painting, then he could have been targeted too.”
Arno looked at me. “Have you followed up with him?”
“Not yet. We just got his information.”
Arno stood up, holding his hand out. “Give it to me.”
I dug through my pocket and came up with the slip of paper Hal had given me. I was glad I’d stuffed the number into my pocket to follow up on later.
Arno disappeared without another word and I looked at Lis. She widened her eyes at me. “He hasn’t changed.”
“Not even a little bit,” I agreed.
“He’s a good cop,” Hal said.
We both looked at him and he shrugged. “He’s intense. But that’s what makes him good at his job.”
The door opened and Arno came back inside, a worried frown on his handsome face.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” I asked.
Arno dropped back into his chair. “Yeah. He supposedly fell down the stairs at his home.”
We all sat in silence for a couple of minutes, sucking it in.
Finally, Arno broke the silence. “I don’t think we can ignore the possibility that our recent murder and...events...are tied to your parents’ death anymore, Joey.”
“Well, duh!” I told him.
His frown deepened. “You sure you won’t go to Indianapolis? Or to a beach somewhere far, far away?”
I stood up. “Nope. But I will try to let you know if I find anything else out.”
“You’d better do more than try. It sounds like somebody’s put you in their crosshairs and you won’t be safe until they get what they’re looking for. If then.”
“LUNCH?” I ASKED AS we exited the station.
“I think I lost my appetite,” Lis said. “Maybe you should come to Guadalajara with me. Hal can keep digging here.” Her voice was hopeful and I hated to disappoint but there was no way I was leaving my mess for Hal to clean up. “How about we go back to my place and have a beer or three.”
Lis made a face. “I’d love to but I really shouldn’t. It will bloat me for my shoot tomorrow. Can you just drop me off at home?”
“Sure.”
I hugged Lis when we got to her house. She squeezed me extra tight. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Mexico? It’d be fun and nobody would be trying to kill you.”
I chuckled. “I can’t. I finally have a chance to find out what happened to my parents. I’m determined to see this through to the end. However it turns out.” I tried to keep the worry off my face.
Lis sighed. “Okay. But be extra careful, okay? I don’t want to lose my BFF.”
“You got it.”
I climbed back into Hal’s car. “Home, James.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “James must be the name of your other private investigator.”
I shook my head. “Okay, home Hal.”
“You don’t have to be so formal. You can just call me Hal.”
“Har.”
We drove out of Deer Hollow and hit Country Road 57. I was relaxed, feeling as if we were finally making some progress and relieved that I no longer had to feel guilty about keeping stuff from Arno...mostly. Then I remembered the last time we’d been on CR57. Just like that, I tensed up. My gaze locked on the rear-view mirror, I watched for cars that had noses like a shark. Fortunately, there was nothing behind us but a truck.
A black truck.
My pulse spiked. “Hal.”
He glanced in the mirror. “I know. I saw it.”
He sped up, keeping the SUV just on the edge of what was safe for the curvy, dangerous road.
The truck moved ever closer, as if it had sped up too.
“That’s got to be Buck.”
Hal didn’t respond. When I glanced his way I saw the tightness in his handsome face and the stiff way he held himself.
I wasn’t the only one who was tense.
The truck eased up behind us, getting way too close to our bumper and weaving toward the other lane as if it was going to try to pull alongside.
The road took a sharp turn and the truck moved back, hugging our bumper as if we were connected.
My heart thumping against my ribs, I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m going to call Arno.”
Hal nodded.
We took the curve too fast and the SUV’s oversized tires squealed in protest. Hal managed to just keep it under control. We were weaving dangerously as we hit the final straightaway before our turn onto my road.
The truck eased closer.
All I could see was the shape of someone wearing a ball cap behind the wheel. The sun glared across the surface of the mirror, making a positive ID impossible.
The phone rang several times. “Come on, Arno.” My gaze was locked on the mirror and the black truck revved its big engine, surging toward our bumper and causing me to grab the dash. “He’s going to hit us!”
Hal slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, swerving into the other lane in an effort to avoid impact.
Fear was a sour taste in my mouth. My heart pounded against my ribs and I nearly dropped the phone because my palms were so sweaty.
To my vast relief, Arno finally picked up the phone. “What is it Joey?”
“We’re being chased by a black pickup truck. I think it’s Buck.”
“No, it’s not. I’m standing next to Buck right now and his truck is parked behind us on the lot.”
I looked at Hal, shaking my head. “Well, it’s a black truck and it’s been menacing us for a couple of miles now. After last time...”
“Okay, I’ll send a unit. How close are you to your place?”
“A quarter mile.”
Hal punched the gas and we surged forward, barely slowing as the turn flew up on us.
He took the turn onto Goat’s Hollow Road on two wheels, skidding sideways on the gravel as the truck blasted its horn and roared past.
I collapsed with relief, unable to speak as Hal eased the SUV to a stop and sat back, breathing hard.
It had just been a punk. A bad case of road rage.
I’d been sure we were about to die.
Arno’s voice thumped in my ear, strident and filled with concern. “Joey! Talk to me!”
I pulled air into my lungs and forced myself to respond. “Sorry. False alarm. Just some jerk with road rage.”
Arno’s breathing changed like he was walking, and I could hear his boots crunching across gravel. He sighed. “Okay, well here’s some news for you. The truck is clean.”
I frowned. “Clean? Why do I care...” Then I comprehended what he was telling me. “But we don’t care if Buck’s fingerprints are in it. He owns the truck. They would be there.”
�
��No, you don’t understand. Completely clean. No prints at all except for a few on the door handle and steering wheel from Buck’s driving it to town this morning.”
Hal looked at me. “Buck’s truck was wiped down,” I told him.
He made the turn into my property with cop face.
“Okay, that’s suspicious, right? He probably had to clean up all the blood from chipping up that poor guy.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Arno didn’t sound happy. “And there was mud all over the bed so I asked him what he’d been hauling. He said he hadn’t hauled anything since getting the truck washed last week.”
“He’s lying, Arno.”
“We don’t know that. But I did ask him if he has an ATV...”
“He does. Doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything, Joey. Everybody...”
“I know. Everybody has one. But guess what, Arno, I don’t. And I can name at least five other people I know who don’t have one. And none of them are on our suspect list.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hal left the car in the circular drive and we wobbled up the stairs. I didn’t know about him, but I felt as if I’d fought a few rounds with an MMA champion. I opened the front door and Caphy jumped all over us, whining softly as she licked my face.
“Hey girl.” I hugged her tight. “Go on, do your business.”
She lunged through the door, happy to be told to go out into the sunshine, where bugs danced through her death radar and birds and squirrels were forced to run for their lives.
“Beer,” I told Hal, dropping my purse onto the table beside the door. “Just leave the door open for Caphy.”
He nodded.
I’d expected him to argue with me about drinking beer at one in the afternoon but he didn’t. A clear indication that he was as wobbly as I was.
“I may never drive on that road again,” I told him as we made our way to the kitchen.
“I’m wondering how long it would take me to get back to Indy on an ATV.”
I laughed at the image. As I entered the kitchen my laugh died on my lips and I stopped breathing.
A man was perched on a tall stool at my island, his gaze locked unflinchingly on us as we dragged to a surprised stop. “Hey, Joey.”
