by L A Dobbs
"I got the time of death. Between 2:15 and 2:45 a.m. Your victim didn’t drown, though. No water in the lungs."
Sam swung his feet onto the floor, sitting upright in the chair. "It’s sounding like you don’t think she died by accident."
"Cause of death was a massive blow to the head. I don’t think she could’ve done that to herself. She could have fallen and slipped on the rocks, but she wouldn’t have hit with the kind of force needed to kill her right away. Knock her out, sure. But with no water in the lungs, she didn’t drown. That blow killed her." John paused to take a breath. "Not only that, but judging by the abrasions and contusions on her body, she was killed in one place and dragged to another. This was done post mortem. My guess is the killer was hoping she’d wash downriver, maybe even out of town, but she ended up getting stuck on the shallow sandbar instead."
As Sam digested this information, he glanced out the window to see the mayor, Harley Dupont, walking toward the building. A bad day was turning worse. There was no love lost between Dupont and Sam. Dupont had been a few years behind Sam all through high school. He hadn’t liked him back then, and he’d liked him even less when Dupont had returned to White Rock to practice law a few years after getting his fancy Harvard education.
He’d been a pain in Sam’s ass ever since he became mayor four years ago. Judging by the determined look on his face, Sam knew he was fixing to be a pain in his ass right now, too.
Sam hung up with John and went out into the main area to give Jo and Reese the bad news. "Looks like Lynn Palmer was murdered."
Jo didn’t look up from the pile of papers on her desk. A coffee mug sat half empty next to her, a jelly donut with one bite left beside that. "Not surprised. Already on it."
Reese wasn’t as seasoned or jaded—her eyes softened. Her face showed compassion, and her hands reached instinctively for the dog, which was seated beside her desk. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Dupont walked in.
His suit was impeccable, his reddish hair parted on the side and combed over the slightly balding spot in front. His beady brown eyes flicked from Reese to Sam to Jo, looking at them as if they were the broccoli side dish on his plate that his mother was about to force him to eat.
Lucy got to her feet and growled.
Dupont’s eyes jerked toward the dog, whose body was rigid, her attention focused on Dupont as if he were a threat. Sam’s estimation of the dog went up tenfold. She was a good judge of character.
Dupont planted his fake mayoral smile on his face but kept his eyes trained on Lucy. "What’s a dog doing here? You’re not allowed to have pets in here."
Reese put a restraining hand on Lucy’s neck. The dog stayed where she was. "She’s not a pet. She’s a stray. We’re looking for her owners." The tone in Reese’s voice told Sam that she liked Dupont about as much as Sam did. Good girl.
"Strays are supposed to be at the pound." Dupont’s eyes softened just a tad as he looked at the dog again. Or was Sam imagining that?
"And that’s where we’re going to take her as soon as we get freed up," Sam said. "In case you didn’t know, we have a murder to investigate."
Dupont straightened his jacket and looked away from Lucy. "I know. In fact, that’s why I’m here. Nadine and Thomas Palmer are good friends of mine, and I want to assure them that everything will be done to bring their daughter’s killer to justice."
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "We always do our best."
"I want this investigation done by the book." Dupont held a hand up at Sam’s narrow-eyed look. "Let’s not pretend here. I know how you like to take things into your own hands, sometimes, but I want your full attention on this case, and I want it done right." He leaned toward Sam, his voice lower. "The Palmers are very influential, and my reputation as mayor is on the line… and I wouldn’t want to have to resort to tarnishing your reputation as chief of police to keep mine polished. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your daughters to have to hear about your previous screw-ups."
Dupont didn’t have to elaborate. The reference to what had happened twenty years ago when he was still in the police academy made Sam’s blood boil. The vaguely threatening mention of Sam’s twin daughters pissed him off even more. Sam’s hands tightened into fists, but he shoved them into his pockets instead of punching Dupont in the face as he wanted to. He struggled to make his voice even toned and pleasant. "Of course. We want justice just as much as anyone else."
Dupont studied Sam for a minute, the two men staring at each other like two gunslingers in the town square at high noon.
Dupont blinked first. "I expect frequent updates." He spun and strode to the door then turned back and looked at Lucy. "And get rid of the dog."
Chapter Six
Jo tapped the end of her pencil forcefully on the desk, taking her frustrations out on the pink rubber eraser. She spun in her chair to watch Dupont walk away from the building. The guy was a jerk. Not only did he act like a pompous ass, but he had no respect for anyone on the police force.
This wasn’t the first time Dupont had thrown a veiled threat at Sam. Jo had no idea what Dupont was talking about, but she could tell by Sam’s reaction that the threat had hit home. Something had happened in Sam’s past, but she had no idea what it was.
Jo had been able to tell that Sam was holding back from popping Dupont in the face. Couldn’t blame him. Heck, she wanted to punch him herself. She’d seen the tells in Sam’s body language. The way his shoulders stiffened. How he’d clenched his large hands into fists, and from where she was seated, she could just see the tick in his strong jaw even through the thick stubble that covered it. Sam hid his emotions well, but he couldn’t hide them from her—she was an expert at reading people.
Jo had no intention of delving into what, exactly, Dupont had been referring to, though. She had her own skeletons that were better left in the closet with the door firmly shut. She wouldn’t want anyone prying into her past business, so she wouldn’t pry into Sam’s. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.
Sam was a good cop and a good person. The kind of person that you wanted to have on your side. The kind of person that would have your back no matter what. That was all she needed to know, and if Sam had done something in the past that was the cause of Dupont’s threats, she was sure it had been for a good reason.
Dupont, on the other hand, was not a good person. Taking a jab at Sam’s kids was a low blow. She knew Sam loved his twin daughters more than anything. They were in college now. Nice girls. Still young and innocent. To make a threat like that just proved what an asshole the mayor was.
"Don’t listen to anything Dupont said. He’s an ass clown," she said.
Sam sighed and dropped his hand to Lucy’s head. "Even a dog knows that."
Jo looked at the German shepherd mix wistfully. No one had responded to the Facebook post claiming her, and she knew they would have to take her to the shelter before the end of the day.
As if reading her mind, Reese said, "She’s smart. It’d be a shame to take her to the shelter. Maybe one of you guys needs a pet?"
"I wish," Jo said. "I’m renting my place, and pets aren’t allowed."
Jo was a loner by nature, but another living creature might be nice to have at home. Something soft and furry, preferably. But the landlord had been very clear about that. She liked her little cabin up in the woods and didn’t want to get evicted. Maybe a goldfish would have to do.
Reese’s gaze flicked to Sam. He owned his own home, an old hunting camp he’d inherited from his grandfather.
Sam looked at Lucy. "Sorry, girl, I don’t have time for a dog."
He spread his arms to indicate the squad room. "I spend most of my time either here or out on calls. It just wouldn’t be fair to her."
"I suppose you’re right." Reese glanced at the computer and hit the return key. "No one has posted to claim her or that they know who she belongs to."
"There’s still time. People are just getting home from work. I can dro
p her by the shelter if you want," Sam said.
"No. I’ll do it. Eric’s working there tonight, and he’ll make sure that she gets another good meal and one of the good kennels." Eric was Reese’s boyfriend. He was going to veterinarian school and volunteered at the animal shelter. Jo felt a little better knowing Lucy would have someone to make sure she got good treatment. Hopefully, her family would show up and claim her, though with the way her coat looked and how hungry she’d been, Jo had misgivings about turning the dog over to her family. If she had one, they weren’t treating her very well.
Jo leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Now that we have a murder to investigate, what do you suggest we do next, Chief? I’m sure Dupont will be scrutinizing our every move."
She already knew what she thought they should do next, but she wanted to see if Sam was in sync with her.
Four years of working together had put them on the same wavelength. They were usually on the same page as to what to do, and they did their jobs efficiently. Now, with Tyler gone, they’d have to be even more efficient. Her stomach clenched at the thought of the dead officer. Just because they had this murder to investigate didn’t mean she was going to forget about Tyler’s case. His killer was still at large.
"At least Dupont won’t get in our way and impede the investigation like he usually does," Sam said.
Jo nodded. It was weird how Dupont would often muck up the works for them. Especially if they were investigating something that had to do with the builder in town, Lucas Thorne.
Thorne had come to town a few years ago. The head honcho of a real estate development company, he was hell bent on buying up all the pristine land in town so he could tear down the trees and build a large resort. Hotels, restaurants, golf courses. Nothing was safe from him, and when people didn’t want to sell their old farms that had been in the family for generations, he somehow changed their minds.
Jo and Sam had a sneaking suspicion that he was also responsible for the influx of drugs coming into the community, but they hadn’t been able to prove anything.
Any time they had any sort of an investigation going, it had been thwarted by Dupont, who had the ear of Judge Thompson, who would become suddenly reluctant to sign the necessary search warrants. But even though they had never been able to prove anything against Thorne, that didn’t stop them from trying.
Sam turned around. "Forget about him. We have an investigation, and it’s almost quitting time."
"Which makes it the perfect time to question one of our leads." Jo glanced out the window at the small stone-and-wood church wedged in between two tall brick buildings. It was one of the oldest, if not the oldest, buildings in town. Old-timers said the people who settled the town were religious and had built the church first so they’d have a place to worship, then the rest of the town had sprung up around it.
Religion must have gone out of style, though, because the old church had been decommissioned, and it was now a bar frequented by the locals. One of those locals was Jesse Cowly, who the campers had described as having been with Lynn the night before.
"What do you say we go grab a beer?" Sam asked.
"What a great idea." Jo tossed her pencil down on the desk and stood.
Chapter Seven
Sam had discovered long ago that he got more information out of people in the bar when he didn’t show up in his police uniform. Even though everyone in town knew he was the chief of police, apparently when he was in his civvies they saw him as just plain old Sam. He preferred wearing jeans and a tee shirt anyway. So did Jo.
It didn’t take Jo long to change. She came out of the bathroom in a gray long-sleeved jersey and jeans. The outfit wasn’t fancy, but the color of the shirt highlighted her gray eyes and her coppery-brown hair. He didn’t know what she’d done to her hair. She usually wore it stuffed up under a baseball cap, but she’d ditched the cap and fluffed it up in the bathroom, and now the mass of curls framed her head like a halo. A few silver strands had snuck in at the temples since she’d first come to work for him, but somehow they looked good on her.
Jo didn’t go in for a lot of primping. She was attractive without having to put any effort into it. She wasn’t a glamorous stunner like Sam’s second wife, Evie, but Jo had a down-to-earth charm that shone through without having to build it up with lots of makeup and fancy hairstyles.
Jo grabbed her black leather biker jacket off the peg. She shrugged into it, the buckle-and-zipper-clad jacket falling just below her slim hips. It was still chilly at night, but Sam suspected she wore it more to hide the gun that was nestled in her belt at her waist than to ward off the cold.
Sam wore his own leather jacket. A dark-brown bomber jacket with a shearling collar that he’d picked up at the army-navy store. He’d worn the same style almost all his adult life. Evie had tried to get him to wear something more sophisticated. A shiny thin leather coat that reminded Sam of a leisure suit. Thing was, Sam wasn’t sophisticated. The jacket didn’t take, and he quickly went back to wearing his old comfortable bomber jacket. That was just one of the reasons why Evie was his ex-wife.
They spilled out onto the street. The late-afternoon rays of the setting sun gave the town a yellow glow and made Jo’s curls shine like a new penny. Sam noticed a few new laugh lines were forming at the corners of her eyes.
She caught him looking and made a face. "What?"
"Nothing."
She smirked and punched him playfully in the arm as they fell in step beside each other.
They had an easy relationship. Closer than most who worked together. Even though there wasn’t a lot of crime in their town, there had been a few tense situations, and Sam and Jo had learned to trust each other with their lives. That tended to create a special bond. There was nothing sexual about it. Sam didn’t want to go there. He valued having Jo in his life, and after two failed marriages, Sam was done with commitments.
Holy Spirits—or just Spirits, as the locals called it—still looked like a church on the outside and was often mistaken as such. Out-of-towners who opened the tall front doors seeking a quiet place to pray got a big surprise at what they found inside.
The church wasn’t big, but the twenty-foot-high ceilings gave it a spacious feel. The atmosphere was dim. Lights low. The dark wooden floors were scarred, scraped, and stained. The walls were large fieldstone about halfway up, the mortar marred with cracks and patches where it had been repaired. The noise was a constant hubbub with the drone of a low-playing jukebox in the background. Sometimes it got rowdy, but tonight it was fairly quiet.
Four of the original pews had been rearranged so as to act as seating for long tables in the back. Up front, there were several round tables with maple captain’s chairs around them. Half of those tables were occupied with locals, full mugs of foam-topped beer in front of them.
Sam and Jo headed toward the bar at the back where the altar used to be. It ran the length of the small building. The windows high up on the wall behind it had been fitted with red, blue, and green stained glass in a pattern of squares and rectangles—the original church windows had disappeared long ago. The new stained glass didn’t let much light in, which was exactly the way the owner, Billie Hanson, wanted it. She said dim lighting encouraged more drink purchases.
Under the stained-glass windows, colorful bottles of booze were lined up in front of a mirror that reflected the room behind them.
The seats around the bar were worn but comfortable. Sturdy wood with black pleather seat cushions edged with giant brass tacks. The bar itself was pitted and scarred with burn holes from when they used to allow smoking inside. The smell of grilled meat and french fries made Sam’s stomach grumble.
Billie came to stand in front of them on the other side of the bar, her short-cropped gray hair sticking up in a blue-and-lavender-tinged spike on top. She wore one diamond stud in her left ear and a gold hoop in her right.
Her face, weatherworn from years of hard outdoor work, crinkled into a smile. Like most of the town re
sidents, Billie had spent her lifetime outdoors doing manual labor. Her parents had owned a dairy farm, which she’d worked at year round. Now, in her sixties, she’d sold off the farm after her folks had died and bought the bar from the previous owner.
Billie could usually be found behind the bar during business hours. Most everyone called her Reverend Billie, but she wasn’t a real reverend. Not unless you counted the certificate she’d gotten from the online Church of Good Will that hung behind the bar. She thought the title went great with the ambiance of the bar. She’d worked hard to build up the business, focusing on pouring a good drink and making the best gourmet burgers in the area.
Her left brow quirked up. She wiped chapped hands on her apron. "The usual?"
Sam and Jo both nodded. As Billie walked away, Jo leaned over the bar and yelled, "Add some curly fries to that, will ya?"
Billie raised a hand in acknowledgement and kept walking toward the beer fridge.
"Some day, huh?" Jo asked.
Sam huffed out of breath and nodded. It was hard to believe that the day had included Tyler’s funeral, a death scene, and a run-in with the mayor.
Billie slid two beers in front of them. A Moosenose in a green bottle for Sam. Sam liked supporting local businesses, and this one was a local brew with a slightly lemony flavor that Sam had acquired a taste for. Jo got a Sam Adams Boston Ale.
"Have you heard any more about Tyler’s case?" Jo slipped a fingernail under the corner of her beer label and started picking at it.
"Not yet." They weren’t supposed to be investigating Tyler’s case on their own—the state police had already done an investigation, which had turned up nothing. But sometimes you needed to take matters into your own hands to make sure justice was served. Problem was, they didn’t have much to go on. The car that Tyler had pulled over to help had been stolen, the owner a little old lady that lived a few towns over.
