Sheriff Peterson had won office only by default when embarrassing photos surfaced of his opponent on the eve of the election. Personally, I always thought it was odd because his opponent was a happily married man with three children. He claimed the photos were false, but the voters didn’t see that. They just saw another Sheriff that may bring more grief than this impoverished community needed. It didn’t matter to me if he liked men. I still thought he’d be a better sheriff on his worse day than Peterson on his best.
“I think the sheriff is partially right. I think someone is trying to stop me from poking around into Jennifer Martin’s disappearance.” I looked down and gathered my thoughts. “I know you think I’m just a silly old woman, Trooper, but in part, it has more to do with the disappearance of my granddaughter Sophia last year. Maybe I wanted to hope if I found Jennifer, I’d find Sophia too, but that seems less likely all the time.”
“I know about your granddaughter. I understand your husband was a state trooper too, but you need to let us handle this investigation. Like I said before, I’d hate to have a woman of your status in the community end up harmed or dead.”
The troopers asked Andrew to open the back, and it looked like a bad batch of chili. There were busted cans sprayed all over. I swallowed hard when I saw a bullet lodged into the back of my seat. It must have missed hitting me by inches.
“I’m sorry about your LX,” I said to Andrew.
“The important thing is that we are all okay.”
I grinned. He really was one of a kind. I hoped he’d see the possibility that William could be behind this sudden rash of violence. I knew it was not easy to admit someone close could do something so horrific.
I wondered if Jennifer was hiding. There were only two reasons I could think of that would make her do so. Either she was protecting someone, or she felt her own life in danger. Regardless, I needed to find the truth, and soon because now I had become a target.
“Did Sheriff Peterson turn over the backpack that belonged to Jennifer Martin?”
“What backpack?” Trooper Sales asked.
“Kevin, the boy she was seeing, gave it to me.”
Trooper Sales gave me the most peculiar look. He had no idea what I was talking about. That damn sheriff was covering for someone, but why? I smelled a rat, and he wore a uniform of someone sworn to protect us. What hope did we have with him as Sheriff? I had a mind to begin a recall. Better yet, I needed to find out what he’s really up to.
“I gave the sheriff a backpack that Kevin Marks gave me. He told me that it belonged to Jennifer Martin.”
“Who is Kevin?”
“He’s someone I questioned about Jennifer. I think the two may have been involved romantically. Her father indicated that to be the case, too.” I could tell Trooper Sales wasn’t happy when his face tensed up. “He was staying in a cabin close to where Jennifer went missing. I went back to talk to him the other day, but I couldn't speak to him because someone beat him up. An ambulance took him to the hospital.”
Trooper Sales looked down and scribbled into his notebook. “I see.” He glanced up. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“Well, no, that’s all I know.” I couldn't possibly tell him about Kevin having visited me at the hospital, or the fact Jennifer may be lying low. I had no idea if it was true. I had to first know for sure first.
“I will again stress to you that you need to stay out of this. It’s apparent this shooting may be directly related to your recent activities.” He swatted a mosquito from his arm. “Agnes, Mrs. Barton, I'm only going to say this once. Butt out unless you have a private investigator’s license.”
I smiled. “I don’t need a license.”
He cocked an eyebrow up. “How do you figure that?”
“Because I’m not charging a fee, nor will I accept any rewards.”
“Nobody likes a know-it-all.”
“And nobody likes a cocky trooper, so I guess that makes us even.”
“Fine, if you insist on doing this, at least get a concealed weapon permit.” He laughed.
“Fine, I will.”
“I’ll do my best to look into who’s trying to blow your head off, and we’ll be asking the sheriff some hard questions.” Trooper Sales then said to Andrew, “You can pick up the police report tomorrow morning at the post.”
I heard the troopers snicker when they walked away. “A concealed gun permit,” one laughed. “That should keep her busy for a few months.”
I ground my teeth and frowned.
I’ll show them.
“You better quit doing that, Aggie! You’re gonna get nasty frown lines.”
“Don’t look so smug, Eleanor. You’re coming with me. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn how to be a better shot.”
“What's that supposed to mean? I shot one of the goons in the ass.”
“Yeah, via ricochet off a metal tub. I’m lucky to be alive.”
Eleanor was quick to change the subject. “Can we really get a concealed gun permit? How do we do that, Aggie?”
She sounded like an excited child being offered her favorite toy, but a gun was no toy, it was dangerous to begin with but in Eleanor's hands, oh my!
“We have to take a pistol safety training class.”
“I can’t wait to see this,” Andrew said. He walked to his LX, and his face reddened when he saw all the beans the bullets had splattered in the back.
“That’s enough gas to fuel your LX for a year,” Eleanor observed with a laugh.
I tried not to laugh. “It’s not going to be easy to clean up.”
“I hope the scotch guard works.” He rolled his eyes. “Not to worry, we’ll do it together.”
We got back into the LX, tooled over to the car wash and rinsed off the cans. Andrew flipped up the backseat and assembled the groceries there. He then drove Eleanor home before taking me home right after.
When he pulled into my driveway, I saw my Mustang parked in its usual spot. Smiling, I brought my groceries into the house and waved at Andrew as he left. I had the distinct impression he could not get out of there fast enough.
I unpacked my groceries, put them away, and noticed my answering machine blinking. I pushed the button and listened to the message as I snapped the tab on a diet coke.
I took a huge swig and coughed when I heard the message.
“Agnes, this is Trooper Sales. I’m starting a gun safety course at the range on Old Creek Road. If you’re interested, give me a jingle.”
He didn’t leave his number, but I had his card, given to me months ago. Okay, not actually given to me. Trooper Sales was known to give his card out to women at the bars in town or leave them on a woman's windshield, if they told him where they worked. Most women might think that a little creepy, but Bill was anything but creepy. I picked up his card from a table, discarded by a woman he had briefly spoken with. He scribbled the note “call me.” If he wanted to score, he had better up his game, but he’s the type of guy that I describe as “chillin’ because nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers.
Trooper Sales could be a ladies man if he lightened up a little. He owned a Harley Davidson, and I had seen him blazing up and down US 23 on many occasions. His taste in women ranged from women aged thirty-to-fifty. Maybe he liked them older because the more experience the woman had, the better the ride. That way he didn’t have to worry about accidentally hooking up with a minor.
There were women that would like nothing better than to screw up a man’s life, especially a trooper.
My cat, Duchess, looked longingly in my direction as she sat perched on the edge of the chair. I grabbed the phone and sat next to my cat, who crawled into my lap, and I scratched her under her head as she purred.
“I sure wished cats could put the groceries away,” I said.
Chapter Fifteen
Light blasted my eyes when I opened them: way too much light, streaming from my lacy curtains. I rolled over and glanced at my alarm clock which I had used more often as time cloc
k than alarm clock for the last ten years. The large digital numbers twinkled half past six, a bit late for me. I recalled that I needed to haul my ass down to meet Trooper Sales at the shooting range. Lord knows how that's gonna go, I counseled myself, and truth be known, as Eleanor isn't the sharpest shot around, I'd rather her not be armed.
I stood, ignoring my aching limbs that centered around that damn nagging hip again. Maybe I would think about surgery after this case, but that was not on my mind today.
I padded into the kitchen and started the coffee, drinking three cups before finished, and then fearful it was a bit too much considering I planned on going to the shooting range. I held out my hand, but it barely shook. I let out a breath that sounded like a motorboat: an annoying sound to others, but I have done it for years and no one but Eleanor has ever 'called me' on it. Either no one notices or they just don't care.
I had called trooper Sales the night before to arrange to meet him at ten this morning. Andrew was picking up Eleanor first and then picking me up on the way.
I hoped this would work out okay today. I thought long and hard before retiring last night and decided to find my private investigator license, if only I could remember where in the hell I put it. I had one for years and kept it active, as you just never know when it might be useful. Ever since the old days, I haven't worked a case, but there was something about the Martin case that had pulled me out of retirement. Oh, I admit I have a suspicious nature, but I had never a reason until these past two years with two disappearances to take that suspicion beyond the second look.
I shuffled through every cupboard, drawer, nook and cranny for the license. I wanted to show that upstart Trooper just who he was dealing with.
Smiling, Duchess watched me with wide eyes.
“Stop watching me, would you?” I said to Duchess. She had seen this happen before. I picked up my phonebook, and an envelope slid onto the floor. When I bent over, I saw it was my PI license. “Why do I always find what I’m looking for in the last place I look?” I asked the cat.
Andrew honked the horn and I gave Duchess a careful pat and hobbled out the door, changing my gait once outside. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. I tried to maintain the idea that I’m strong, even when I feel like crap.
Eleanor sat in the front, but that was fine with me. I know it would be hard for her to fit in the backseat. Plus, had she been there yesterday, that bullet may have very well found its mark. That would be the death of me. I counted on her as much as she did me.
I noticed the back window was intact. “You sure got you're window fixed fast.”
“Yup, I got connections.”
“I'm well aware of the kind of connections you have,” I said with a smile.
I rattled off the address, and Andrew found it with little prompting from me.
I tried to act nonchalant. “How well do you know the area?” I asked him.
“Well enough, I brought my wife to East Tawas area for most of our marriage.”
“Hmm, I think this is the first time you ever mentioned your wife. Why back in the old days – “
He glanced in the mirror with a stern look. “Like you were interested in my wife.”
“I think this is the first time you ever mentioned her is all. When I worked for you in Saginaw, you never said a word about her. I always wondered why.” I gulped.”
Andrew remained silent, apparently he decided not to rise to the bait.
I gulped. Shut up Agnes, but I couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of my mouth like a vile brew. “It's almost like she didn't exist.”
I earned his glare. “Jeez, Agnes, do you think I'm the deceptive type?”
“We can be deceptive if we want to be – any of us!”
Andrew didn't look in the mirror again for which I was grateful. I had pushed too far.
Could it be that he was somewhat attracted to me back then? Not that it would have mattered, back then ... as he was married and off the market.
I glanced at the mirror and saw Andrew looking back at me again. Maybe he still wasn’t over her death. How could he ever get past the fact she’s gone? I know, still to this day I mourned my Tom.
Tom Barton had been one of the good guys. We had a great life filled with love and laughter, and how I missed him even now, even as I flirted with Andrew. But time was the cure, and I'd moved on, or had I? All these years later, I’m still alone, not that there weren’t men along the way, there were, but none of them could touch Tom’s memory. This was a real problem for widows: they put their late husband on a pedestal so high that no other man could ever measure up. Who needed that kind of grief?
“Are you okay, Aggie?” Andrew asked, having noticed me wiping my eye.
That rattled me, why is he acting so concerned when I just treated him like a shrew? I rubbed the tears away. I hadn’t noticed they had formed, but he had. “I’m fine, just a little lost in thought I guess.”
He smiled, a weak effort at best. I felt his pain. We had a common link now. We'd both lost a beloved partner in life.
Andrew made a turn down a gravel drive that led to the gun range, a twelve-mile drive from East Tawas. The parking lot consisted of a clearing, empty except for a Harley Davidson, and two tables. I knew the Harley belonged to Trooper Sales.
I expected him dressed and in uniform, but he wasn’t. His black jeans molded to his slim frame, a Michigan State Police emblem white T-shirt, and black biker boots complimented him well. His dark hair slicked back had the sheen of a Raven.
We exited the LX, and Eleanor led the way. She felt so eager to fire her weapon. “I hope there’re no birds flying near,” I muttered to Andrew who half kiddingly whispered back, “Maybe we should've brought bulletproof vests!”
“Thank you, Trooper Sales, for helping us out on such short notice.” I handed him my PI license, and he glanced at it for minute, his mouth inviting flies in.
“I figured you might be pulling my leg yesterday. I did some checking around and found out you were once, ahhh, properly licensed, otherwise we might have had a problem.”
I put my hand into the air. “I swear everything is on the up and up now, scout’s honor.”
“They had scouts way back when?” he said with a smile, so I let it go, taking my license back in hand.
“Sure did, I miss the price of gas back then and the standard of law enforcement we had back in the good old days.”
He smiled and seemed more relaxed than ever. He may have potential after all. I’d hate to have a trooper of his stature leave the area. I knew him to be an honest and fair trooper, more than we can count on from the local Sheriff. Maybe I was too hard on Peterson. I could be a tad judgmental at times, something I’d only admit to myself. If you tell folks something like that in a small town, they might give you a key to the city.
“At this point, I won't turn away any extra help on this case because all I’m turning up are dead ends,” he said. “Just don't tell Peterson or he'll call my Sergeant and create all kinds of havoc.”
“I have a few leads that I’ll tell you about if they pan out. Deal?”
“Sounds good.”
He motioned us each to a table. “I wasn’t sure if either of you had a handgun yet, but ... “
Eleanor and I each pulled out our pink lady .38 specials and sat them on the table. Andrew cocked an eyebrow toward the trooper as if sharing a subliminal message.
“They aren’t loaded yet, are they?”
“Of course not, officer,” Eleanor said. Her face took on a serious tone, and I wondered if I knew her at all. “Stop looking at me so, Aggie, I can be serious, you know.”
I didn’t know, I really didn’t. I smiled and pulled out the bullets and loaded them into the chamber of my revolver, making sure not to point the gun at anyone. I placed it back on the table and waited for Eleanor, but she had hers back on the table before I did.
“I’m a pretty fast loader,” Eleanor said; with the same sheepish smile that fooled no one.
>
“I see,” Trooper Sales said. “Do you know how to shoot?”
“Oh, she knows how to shoot all right,” I replied for Eleanor. “She just can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Eleanor glared at me.
“Always remember these simple rules. Point your gun in a safe area, preferably away from me. Don’t load the gun until ready to use. Keep your finger off the trigger until ready to fire,” Trooper Sales spoke now like a high school English teacher to his slowest student. “And finally, never pull a gun unless you’re going to use it.”
“How good is it for self-defense if it’s not loaded?” Eleanor asked.
“You can’t have your gun loaded and carry it with you unless you have a concealed pistol license.”
“Okay, Eleanor, you can start first,” continued Sales, who was being quite the 'trooper' here. “Do you know how to hold the gun in a proper firing position?”
Eleanor shrugged, and I pulled the trooper back as she turned in a circle. She planted her feet shoulder width apart, and raised her arms, locking them into position and banged off five rounds. I heard the bullets skim over the target, and a seagull fell to the ground.
“Eleanor,” I said. “You know seagulls are protected.”
“I wasn’t aiming for the damn seagull.”
“You weren’t aiming at the target either.”
Andrew, a scowl on his face now, said, “You weren’t aiming at all, Eleanor. Your eyes!”
“What about my eyes?” She batted her fake eyelashes at Andrew.
“Your eyes were closed the whole time you were firing!” Andrew replied.
“Reload and try again, but you must steady your arm, and keep your eyes open,” Trooper Sales patiently suggested.
Eleanor snapped more bullets into the chamber of her gun, and when she began to fire, we hit the deck. This time she skimmed the edge of the target, more bullets were put in, and she shot again.
And missed again.
She panted. “Shooting is hard work, I think I need to take a break.”
Armed and Outrageous (An Agnes Barton Mystery) Page 10
