A bearded man raised his hand. “I can help trap and release them.”
“Great. I’ll put you in touch with the gamekeeper.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” A woman in yoga pants and a tank top crossed her arms. “Trapping is inhumane. Animals can be injured in the process. They can cut themselves on the hinges or break their teeth trying to get out.”
“Okay. We have other options,” I told them. Hot afternoon sun beat down on me, a relentless interrogator. How had I become in charge of saving the squirrels? I tugged the neckline of my dress away from my skin to circulate the stifling air. “A number of things might keep wildlife away from the wiring. We can try scarecrows or audio deterrents with motion sensors. Maintenance can seal the building once we’re certain the space is empty.”
“Seal them out?” someone cried in a strangled voice. “It’s their home!”
“The attic is not a squirrel house,” I countered. “It’s community storage. Animals can’t live there.”
A woman in walking shorts and a T-shirt with GRANDMA embroidered on the chest shoved her way to the front of my audience. “You said they lived there all winter. To them, that’s home. And they’d be fine right now if you hadn’t installed cables up there and caused all this trouble.”
My mouth fell open. I had to force it shut.
The bearded man spun on her. “I don’t care what they think is home. I want the Wi-Fi.” He turned back to me. “I say move the squirrels.”
The crowd erupted in argument. Half demanded preservation of the quarter-million-dollar squirrel house and the other half were sane.
A sharp bark drew everyone’s attention. Sam, the goose-chasing, body-finding dog, wheezed and gagged under the strain of his collar as he dragged Polly to my side.
I dropped to rub his ears and regroup my thoughts. The residents were divided on the state of the squirrels, but like it or not, squirrels couldn’t live in the boathouse.
I left Sam for a better look at his person. Polly was a shambles. A few women stroked her back in comfort. She didn’t seem to notice. Her clothes were askew, and her hair was a mess. “Are you well?”
She shook her head. A fat tear rolled over her cheek. “I can’t get that man’s face out of my mind.”
Silence befell the smattering of residents still lingering nearby.
“It gets easier,” I whispered. Not a lot, but still. “It takes time.”
She rubbed a sleeve under her nose and sniffled. “Who do you think killed him? They only found one car. Bernie only let one in. I asked.”
A number of expectant faces turned my way.
“Do you think a killer lives among us?” she asked. Her limbs trembled. “I can’t sleep or eat. I think the killer lives here and knows I found the body. I think the killer suspects I saw something I didn’t and I might be next. I might be a loose end.”
I’d had the same thoughts about myself, and I ached for her. I feared very few things more than I feared the unknown. The truth was that no one knew who the killer was or what he saw or what he might have planned.
Sam rolled round brown eyes skyward and tipped his muzzle back. He moaned long and low. He felt her pain, too.
I slid one arm around her back and gave her a weird side hug. “No.” I shook my head in the absence of better words. Just no.
“How can we be sure of anything right now?” another woman asked. She clung to her husband’s chest, fingers clenched in the material of his shirt. “We were owling that night. What if the killer thinks we saw something and comes for us next?”
“No.” I rubbed my lips. This group needed reassurance. Polly needed professional intervention. Maybe something to help her sleep and manage the anxiety short term. Emotional trauma was inexplicably awful, worming its way into a mind’s forefront life long after it should’ve been forgotten. Like an autoimmune disease of the emotions, attacking you for no reason, sometimes without prompting.
“It doesn’t work like that,” I said. “This isn’t a scary movie. There’s no boogeyman plotting to wipe out our community. We have to stay calm and be sensible to get through this.”
Polly vibrated in my grasp. “Are you suggesting there’s something sensible about murder? About fear? About the fact someone died right there!” Her voice burst into maniacal shrieks. She shot her arm up, finger extended toward the lake several yards away.
I let her go. My heart hammered painfully and I swallowed gulps of air. “Everyone is safe here. Don’t be afraid. Fear is contagious.” And so was panic.
“If we’re safe,” Polly warbled, “then why’s the detective back? If he doesn’t have a suspect inside these walls, then why return? Why ask all these questions if the killer’s out there and hasn’t returned?”
I straightened. “Who’s here?”
“The detective from that night.”
“Which one?” I scanned the area for one of the Archers’ giant trucks.
“Handsome. Brown hair. Blue eyes.”
She’d just described every Archer ever born. “Was he wearing a dress shirt and tie or a T-shirt and jeans Friday night?”
“Tie.”
Excellent. Dan was here. “Where is he now?”
Several people turned and pointed at the stables.
It never failed. I got in a hurry and I missed things. Bernie probably would’ve mentioned Dan on my way in, if I hadn’t blown past her in a rush to meet the wiring guys. What else had I missed? “I’ll be back,” I told Polly. I faced the people. “Don’t be afraid, and don’t riot about the squirrels. Give me a little time and I’ll figure things out.”
I speed-walked around the crowd and headed for the stables.
My mind raced as I hustled to catch Dan before he left. What had I missed? A photograph of the moon had revealed a clue in my first case. Something someone had said resonated in the second case. So far no one had said anything useful, so I nixed the latter idea. What about pictures? If residents were owling that night, could someone have taken a picture and captured a clue? Probably not. They were the in-the-moment types, not the sort out to document their sightings. Still, I’d ask around.
The stables brought something else to mind. Security cameras. Every major building in the community had them and many houses, too. Maybe someone had caught something on video. I stopped and turned in a slow arc. Lush, leafy trees separated nearby homes from the lake and surrounding trails.
Dang it. I needed something to work with.
Dan stuffed a little notebook in his jacket pocket when he noticed me headed his way.
I did a bendy-finger wave.
“Mia. Nice to see you.” He checked the area over my shoulders. “I see you’ve formed an army.”
I twisted at the waist in search of his meaning. Across the field behind me, Polly and the handful of residents had formed a motionless line, gaping in our direction. I’d promised they were safe, and I needed to come through on that.
I smoothed my skirt and turned back to Dan. “They’re scared. They want to know they’re safe and that potential witnesses aren’t being stalked or worse.”
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“I agreed, but why do you?”
“Well.” He widened his stance and rubbed his chin. “I’ve checked the victim’s records and reviewed the GPS in his car. He hadn’t been to Horseshoe Falls before that night as far as I can tell. There are no records of a relationship with a resident here either. We checked all available electronic and paper documentation. If he knew someone here, other than your grandmother, they met outside these walls and maintained a distance from the community. Horseshoe Falls residents can relax.”
Relief and disappointment washed through me. “I didn’t think to check those things.”
“You aren’t a detective.”
“I’
m not not a detective either.” I was great at puzzles and a gold medalist at leading killers to my door.
“No.” His congenial expression turned clinical. “You aren’t a detective. You’re curious, and curious makes you dangerous. Mostly to yourself.” He continued to appraise me with steely blue eyes. “You’re obviously attractive, but contrary to the evidence before you—” he used his hands as air frames around his face “—attractive doesn’t make you a detective either. In your case, it probably makes you more dangerous. I submit my brother as evidence.”
“Funny.”
“Thanks.” He gazed across the field. “What was with the panel van? Planning a stakeout?”
“No. I’m planning community Wi-Fi. The van was from a wiring company.”
“Huh.”
I dug the toe of my best Mary Jane into lush green grass. “What are you doing here?”
His sudden smile disarmed me. “Same thing you’re doing, but I get paid, and I get to carry a gun.”
“I’m licensed to carry a gun,” I bragged. I’d completed my concealed carry courses in college and kept the license renewed since. I had no intention of carrying a gun, but I liked knowing I could.
He tented his eyebrows. “Yeah? Do you go to a range and practice?”
“Sometimes.” When Nate and I were bored with our usual methods of passing time or when one of us needed to let off some steam, we’d spend an hour or two ruining paper targets. Loser bought dinner.
“Are you any good?”
“Yep.” Dad was a retired cop and serviceman. He supported my interest and occasionally joined us at the range. Aside from his influence, I had a lifelong addiction to learning. Any subject was fair game. Except knitting. Knitting made me swear.
He didn’t seem surprised. “I don’t suppose you know of any hidden cameras around here that might’ve recorded the events of Friday night?”
“No. Horseshoe Falls policy forbids cameras in community areas, and home surveillance wouldn’t have picked up anything as far as the lake.”
“I didn’t think so. I walked the perimeter that night, talked to everyone. I thought you might have an inside scoop. Secret security cameras for insurance purposes? Perverts with camera drones?”
“No. I’ve already thought of all that.” I turned my shoulder to his and surveyed the community at his side.
Polly and the line of residents had mostly dispersed.
I spun a silver band around my first finger with my thumb. “This couldn’t have been a planned murder. The killer would’ve had to know there would be a lake and that Dante would run in that direction. The stabbing feels violent and angry, not calculated. If the killer didn’t plan the location and timing, he didn’t plan his escape either.”
He crossed his arms. “So, we’re missing something.”
“Yeah.” I just needed to figure out what that was.
“Door to door?” he asked.
“I’m right behind you.”
We visited everyone who was home and reviewed personal security feeds from every house with a camera between the lake and the gate, hoping one had caught a glimpse at the killer making his escape.
Fifteen camera feeds later, the sun had set and we’d found nothing. Not even footage from the street where Dante’s car was found.
I dragged back to my office at dinnertime with Dan on my heels. He followed me into my office and greeted Fifi on her way out the door. He stole her empty chair and wheeled it to my desk. “What do you know that you haven’t told me?”
“What?” One traitorous hand dropped to cover my pocket.
He homed in on the action and sucked his teeth. “What’s in your pocket?”
“What are you? A detective or something?” I liberated the thumb drive and held it out for inspection. “You can have this if you answer one of my questions first.”
He made a sour face but didn’t object.
“Did Dante die from the drowning or the stab wound? The ME said it was the stabbing, but that was preliminary. What’s the final verdict?”
Dan leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. “Officially, he drowned, but the blood loss would’ve killed him anyway.” He opened his hand, palm up.
I pulled the drive to my chest. “More, please.”
“A few small round bruises turned up on his chest and shoulders after we got him to the morgue. My best guess is someone held him underwater, probably with a branch or stick, whatever was available.”
Confirming my theory. This was unplanned. A crime of passion. “So the killer was strong. Otherwise, Dante could’ve easily pulled him into the water with whatever was being shoved at him.”
“If both parties were healthy, yes, but Dante was weak and hurting.”
“Adrenaline?” I handed him the drive.
“Doubtful. Anything else?”
“How’s your girlfriend?”
He pulled in a long audible breath. “I meant do you have anything else to give or tell me? What’s on this drive?”
Dead mice came to mind, but I choked on the words. If I had to say them aloud, I’d wait to tell Nate. Nate would let me know if I was overreacting courtesy of PTSD and a rough year of lunatic run-ins, or if I needed to tell Jake. My gut said tell Jake. “You’ll get a call soon from Lara at Dante’s office. She has his personal laptop.”
“She did. I sent a uniform to pick it up after lunch.” He turned the drive over in his fingertips. “You plundered and pilfered it first?”
“I took a quick peek. Those were the files I thought deserved a closer look.”
“Do you realize tampering with evidence in a murder investigation is against the law?” He shook the drive in the air. “Don’t answer that.”
“I realize that, but I didn’t tamper-tamper. His assistant brought the computer to me and asked me to take a look. I did and I’m handing my findings over to you.”
He grunted.
“She thinks I work with the police.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You do not.”
“I told her that.”
“Have you told yourself?”
I made a swipe for the drive, but he pushed it into his pocket. “Thank you for the files. It would’ve taken me forever to break the password protection, and our tech lab is jammed up. Their turnaround is at least a week.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stretched to his feet and arched his back. “I’m going home. You should do the same and leave this alone.” He patted his pocket.
“Fine.”
“Fine. Tell your grandmother and Marvin congratulations for me. Jake told me the news.”
“I will.” I walked him to the glass clubhouse entry doors and waved goodbye.
He stopped at a nondescript sedan with government plates. “Mia?”
I lifted my chin. How had I not noticed the government plates on my way in after lunch? I needed to slow down, or he needed to go back to driving his giant truck. Give a girl a little warning.
“Call me if you find anything else.” He reversed out of the clubhouse parking lot and vanished through the guard gate exit.
The image triggered something in my gut. A gush of oxygen rushed from my lungs.
The killer hadn’t left in a car. He’d jogged right out the front gate!
Chapter Eleven
I filled two to-go cups with coffee from my pot and went to meet Bernie at the start of her shift. She’d been off duty when I’d visited the guard booth before going to bed. Not that I’d slept. Images of Friday night’s pack of joggers plagued my mind. One piece of the group had broken off and headed for the gate. It happened sometimes. Plenty of runners sought a more ambitious track than the winding roads of our little community. Still, what if I’d literally crossed paths with the killer and watch
ed him jog away? How was I supposed to sleep until I knew for certain, either way?
I visualized the pack of joggers. Had anything been different about the one who broke away? Had the overzealous jogger killed Dante? Was I looking for the killer in the right places? Had I seen something that night, or any day since, that held the answers? Something fluttered in my chest as I whirled mentally through five long days of crazy.
Shards of amber and gold pierced the pale gray sky. I tilted my chin to embrace the arrival of a new day. Sunrises were my favorite, but I hadn’t seen one in years. Somewhere along the way, my life had taken a turn for the nocturnal. Instead of early mornings that preceded days of leisure, I’d moved into days of ongoing chaos that led to late nights and mornings where I pried my eyelids open with caffeine after hitting snooze twelve times.
“Mia?” Bernie’s smiling face popped into view. Her kind eyes settled my rampaging heart. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here before dawn?”
“Thinking.”
She hung her jacket on a peg inside the small booth and pulled up a stool at my side. “You shouldn’t drink so much coffee. It’ll give you wrinkles.”
I sank into her warm Hawaiian accent. If Bernie was a peaceful harbor, I was a dinghy in a storm. “I brought one for you.”
“Aw.” She accepted the offering but set it aside to give me a hug.
The coconut scents of her lotion got my empty stomach in a tizzy. I pressed a palm against my shirt to quiet the ruckus.
“Tell me what I can do to erase that frown.”
“I passed a group of joggers on my way to Grandma’s Friday night.” I adjusted my glasses, allowing her to catch up.
“Oh. Friday.” Her smiled turned sad. “Of course.”
“Do you remember them? They were coming from the direction of the lake. Not exactly, but generally, and I passed them between the lot outside my condo and the gate.”
She kneaded her dimpled hands. “I remember. They jog every night at sundown. I interviewed them once for my blog. I’d thought night jogging was a new thing. Turns out it’s a scheduling issue. Those residents work long hours and commute quite a distance. By the time they get home, change clothes and eat, it’s late. They’d run into one another willy-nilly during irregular morning jogs and decided they should jog together at night instead. A nice story of community support, but I’d been hoping for a secret society of night joggers, or breaking news on the next new health trend. It’s harder than you’d think to uncover a story around here.”
A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries) Page 12
