Hotshot P.I.

by B. J Daniels

  * * *

  CLANCY WAS CURLED UP on the couch in her robe, a heating pad on her back, a bag of crushed ice on one ankle, her scrapes, scratches and cuts disinfected and bandaged, when Jake burst in.

  “I thought I locked that door,” she demanded.

  “Like everyone else in the world, I know where you keep your key.”

  She gave him a sour look. “Did you come to make love to me again to see if I’d crack this time?”

  He cocked a brow at her. “I want to make love to you again, yes. But not for the reason you think.”

  Her look, as she got up to escape to another room, said his chances of that weren’t good.

  “But I’m not going to make love to you,” he said.

  She stopped and raised a brow at him. “No kidding.”

  “You were right. There’s enough going on in your life right now without me complicating things by making mad, passionate love to you. We have a killer to find.” He moved toward her, wanting desperately to take her in his arms and do exactly what he was about to promise he wouldn’t. “We have to concentrate. For now. So, I promise I won’t even kiss you.” He reached out to run his thumb along her lips. “Or make love to you. Not until you ask me to.”

  “Well, there’s no chance of that.” Clancy took a ragged breath. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, he’d promised not to even kiss her until she asked him to. Right. How could she be around him and not beg him to kiss her, beg him to make love to her? Prison was starting to look like a picnic.

  “So, we’d better get back to business. We have to go to the resort and talk to Liz,” Jake said. “She knows who was driving that bike.”

  Clancy told herself at least now he believed someone really was trying to kill her. She supposed that was something. Although, she did wonder about this sudden turnaround of Jake’s. What was he up to with this promise of his? Something.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she looked into his wonderfully handsome face and felt her dark mood lighten like the blue sky through the window. Even as a kid she could never stay mad at him.

  “All right,” she said, hoisting herself up from the couch. The parts of her body that weren’t bruised, scraped, scratched or gouged, ached. All of her still ached for one man. She gave Jake a resigned look. “Let me get some clothes on.”

  He gave her a wide berth as she passed. Fool that she was, she already missed his touch.

  * * *

  IT LOOKED LIKE OFF-SEASON at Hawk Island Resort. The storm that had hammered the island most of the night still had everyone curled up inside their cabins. Only a handful of hard-core fishermen bailed their boats at the docks for a morning fishing trip. Everything dripped, wet and cold. June in Montana.

  “I’d tell you to stay here—” Jake started, then smiled “—but what would be the point? You might as well tag along. One look at that scraped-up face of yours and Liz is bound to talk.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Clancy said, climbing out of the boat and sweeping past him.

  But when they reached the café, the only person banging around at the back of the small kitchen was Frank Ames.

  “What do you want?” Frank said, glancing up from the dirty grill.

  “We’re looking for Liz Knowles,” Jake said.

  Frank cursed and continued scraping the grill with a large metal spatula. “Isn’t everybody.”

  “What does that mean?” Jake demanded, amazed at how quickly he could lose his patience with Frank.

  Frank gave him a smirk. “She didn’t show up for work this morning.”

  A bad feeling settled in the pit of Jake’s stomach. “When was the last time anyone saw her?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Frank said, throwing down the spatula in disgust. “What’s the big deal with you, anyway? I’m the one who has no waitress.”

  Jake leaned over the counter toward Frank, hoping he wouldn’t have to cross it to get what he wanted out of him.

  “Did you check her cabin?”

  Frank had the good sense to look a little nervous. “Of course. She hadn’t slept in her bed. One of the cabin girls said she had plans last night with one of the dock boys. He says she never showed up for their date. She probably left the island with some guy she met. Happens every summer.” He turned back to his dirty grill.

  “Who has a dirt bike on the island?” Jake asked.

  Frank stopped scraping and turned around slowly. “Why?”

  Well, that answered that question. “Who besides you?”

  Frank looked suspicious. And worried. He laid down the spatula again. At this rate, he’d never get that grill cleaned. “No one. Why?”

  “Someone on a dirt bike tried to kill Clancy,” Jake said.

  “What?” His gaze shot to Clancy, surprise registering in his expression when he saw her injuries. “Just a damned minute here,” he said to Jake. “You’re not pinning me with that. I haven’t ridden that bike since last summer.”

  “Where is your bike?” Jake asked. “I want to see it.”

  Frank ripped off his apron and threw it down on the counter. With a mean look, he led them to the back of his place and a dilapidated shed. Frank swung the door open and stood for a moment staring into the semidarkness inside.

  Frank’s shoulders sagged. He swore but didn’t turn around.

  Jake stepped past him to look inside the shed. Junk had been piled waist-deep in a U-shaped heap that left only a small, narrow space at the center. Just small and narrow enough for a dirt bike. But there was no bike.

  “Someone stole my bike,” Frank said. “Not that I’d expect you to believe me.”

  Jake didn’t. “How could someone take it? Where was the key for it?”

  Frank avoided his gaze. “I always left the key in it and the helmet on the seat.”

  “That’s handy,” Jake said.

  “It was handy,” Frank snapped.

  Jake couldn’t believe this. “And I suppose everyone knew the key was in it?”

  Frank kicked at the shed door in answer. “No one’s ever stolen it before, so why would they now?”

  “Is there any reason anyone would want to incriminate you in a murder?” Clancy asked from behind him.

  Frank’s head flew up. “You mean someone took my bike to make it look like I tried to kill you?”

  “Bingo.” Jake watched Frank’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in meanness.

  “No. No one.” The lie seemed to catch in Frank’s throat. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “If Liz turns up, have her call me,” Jake ordered.

  Frank nodded distractedly.

  Jake would have given a penny for his thoughts.

  * * *

  ON THE BOAT TRIP BACK to the lodge, the sun burst through the clouds, making the morning golden if not exactly warm. A few thin clouds scudded across the blue. A light breeze rippled the top of the water, bringing with it the smell of wet pines.

  Jake’s obvious disappointment in not finding Liz or the bike hung like a dark cloud over him. Clancy knew he was worried about Liz. Had Liz seen the biker run Clancy off the trail? Is that why she’d disappeared? Then, what had she been doing on the back of the bike just after that? She must have known Clancy’s assailant. Did that mean Liz was part of whatever was going on? She had spent time with Dex.

  Clancy felt a shiver as she and Jake walked up the beach toward the lodge. As hard as she tried not to, she kept seeing Dex’s face beneath that bike helmet.

  As Clancy opened the door, she could hear the phone ringing. She raced to it. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Her heart began to pound. Another one of those crank calls. She motioned for Jake to pick up the extension in the living room. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  For a moment all she could hear was the labored breathing. Then came the distinct sound of a match being struck as the person on the other end of the line lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Please say something,” Clancy urged. />
  “Clancy Jones?” The hoarse voice was a woman’s. At least Clancy thought it was. “I need to talk to Clancy Jones.”

  “This is Clancy.”

  “I need your help.” The woman sounded scared. And maybe a little drunk. Clancy wondered if that wasn’t why she’d finally decided to speak rather than hang up like she had the other times.

  “My help?” Clancy asked in surprise.

  “My name is Glenda Grimes,” the woman said. Clancy could hear her tapping nervously on something as she spoke. “You don’t know me. I’m Lola Strickland’s sister. Half sister.”

  Clancy looked across the room at Jake. His eyes widened in surprise. He nodded for her to keep talking.

  “What can I do for you?” Clancy asked.

  “Could you come up to Somers? I’ve got to talk to you. It’s about Dex. I know who killed him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jake turned off Highway 93 and drove the Mustang through downtown Somers, a community with little more than a bar, post office, café and hardware store. He drove up one of the dirt streets to the top of a rise and parked in front of a small dilapidated cottage overlooking the highway.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Jake asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  “Just thinking.” Clancy brushed her hair back from her face and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. After what Jake had told her, she was worried about Liz Knowles. She agreed with Jake; there was a killer out there and she felt if they didn’t stop him, he’d kill again. As she opened her car door, she hoped’ Glenda Grimes really did know something that could help them.

  A woman in her sixties answered the door with a cigarette and a beer. She held little resemblance to her half sister, Lola. A bright-colored scarf tied around her head hid most of her frizzy dyed red hair; a faded chenille robe the color of dirt hid most of her body, except for a pair of bony bare feet poking out the bottom of the robe, the toenails painted bright red. The same color as the lipstick smear on her beer can.

  “Yes?” the woman asked, suspicion as much a part of her face as the wrinkles.

  “Glenda Grimes?” Jake asked.

  Eyes narrowed, she looked from Clancy to Jake and back. Clancy could smell her perfume. A mixture of cigarette smoke, beer and perm solution. At one time, she might have been pretty, Clancy thought. But not as pretty as Lola.

  “What do you want?” She had the voice of a woman who’d spent a good deal of her life on a bar stool. She took a drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke out the corner of her mouth as she eyed them.

  “I’m Clancy Jones.” It didn’t seem to register at first, and Clancy felt her initial rush of hope dissolve. Either the woman was a crackpot or Glenda Grimes hadn’t called her at all.

  Glenda looked around warily before she settled her gaze on Jake. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s a private investigator,” Clancy said, then added, “and a good friend of mine.”

  Glenda studied Jake for a moment, then glanced past him as if she thought someone might be watching them. Hurriedly she pushed open the screen and ushered them inside, closing and locking the door.

  And Clancy thought she was paranoid.

  Clancy stepped into a small, cramped living room. The place was filled with…stuff. Every flat surface had something on it from chipped figurines and old perfume bottles to ashtrays with the names of Montana bars.

  “All I have is beer,” Glenda said, shuffling into the cluttered kitchen to swing open the door of an old fridge with so many magnets on it Clancy couldn’t tell the color.

  Both Clancy and Jake declined, and Glenda finished the beer in her hand and pulled out a fresh one. It was obvious she’d already had a few as she came into the living room.

  “Sit down.” She motioned to a broken-down couch in a dark corner and dropped into a faded chair across from them. Clancy watched her put her beer next to an overflowing ashtray beside her chair. Her fingers trembled.

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” Clancy said. “If you have information about Dex’s murder, why did you call me instead of going to the police?”

  The woman took a drag off her cigarette, then fumbled it back into the ashtray. She popped the top on the beer and took a long drink as if she thought it would steady her nerves. Clancy wondered what Glenda Grimes had to be nervous about.

  “You’re the one they arrested for Dex’s murder, right?” Glenda asked.

  Clancy nodded, wondering where this was going.

  “I figured you’d care more than the police about who really killed Dex.”

  That made an odd kind of sense to Clancy. “On the phone you said you knew who killed him.”

  Glenda reached for another cigarette, fingers shaking violently. “I did.”

  “You?” Clancy asked incredulously.

  “I wasn’t the one who bashed his head in, mind you, but I killed him just as sure as you’re sitting here…” Glenda reached for her beer and a tissue.

  Clancy shot a look at Jake. Glenda Grimes was a crackpot, just as they’d feared. A morose woman who cried in her beer and blamed herself for her nephew’s death. Another dead end.

  “Why should you feel responsible?” Jake asked.

  “I was the one who got him all stirred up about the past.” She started to cry. “Got him digging into things that should have been left buried.”

  “What kind of things?” Jake asked.

  Glenda just shook her head and cried. “I’ve never been to Vegas. I’m an old woman. I want to go before I die. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

  What did that have to do with Dex’s death?

  “So you really don’t know who killed your nephew,” Jake said, getting to his feet. “Why did you call Clancy and waste her time?”

  Glenda wiped her tears and narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know who actually killed him. But I know why,” she said, anger making her cheeks pink.

  “Why?” Jake demanded. When she didn’t answer, he swore softly under his breath. “Two people have already died. If you really do know something—”

  “Somebody doesn’t want all that old stuff about Lola coming out again. You’ve got to find the murderer before he finds me.” Glenda finished her beer as if it were an antidote.

  “Why would someone want to kill you?” Jake asked. “What is it you know?”

  “It isn’t what I know,” she cried. “It’s what he might think I know. Don’t you see, I talked to Dex and he figured it out. If the killer finds out I talked to Dex, he might think I know more than I do and come after me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Clancy interrupted. “How do you know Dex figured it out?”

  Glenda studied the end of her cigarette. “He came by here the night before he died. He told me he knew who killed his mother.”

  Jake shot Clancy a look she recognized instantly. Total disbelief. “He didn’t tell you who that person was?”

  “He didn’t want to get me involved,” Glenda said. “Just believe me, Dex was positive he’d figured it out.”

  “Based on what?” Jake demanded.

  Glenda shook her head. “He’d collected everything he could find on his mother’s murder.”

  The newspaper clippings, Clancy thought.

  “He’d even hatched some lamebrain scheme that involved getting to know Clancy, thinking, I guess, that she might know something. I told him the rest, about the trial, his mother.” Glenda said with a look of disgust.

  Clancy thought of the beautiful, dark-haired woman who had worked at the resort office. “I don’t remember very much about Lola. Can you tell us what you told Dex?”

  Glenda let out a long sigh, making Clancy think it was going to be a long story. “Lola looked like her daddy. All that dark hair, those dark secretive eyes, a face that stopped traffic.”

  “You didn’t have the same father?” Clancy asked.

  “No, my daddy died when I was young. Mama remarried and had Lola.” Glenda wagged her head. “
Lola was spoiled, wild and foolhardy from the get-go. She ran off at sixteen and got herself into trouble. Then she goes and runs off again after Dex is born.” Glenda leaned back, as if that pretty much covered Lola’s entire life history.

  “Did you see much of her when she lived on the island?” Jake asked.

  “She’d stop by just to lord it over me. Tell me about the parties she’d been to, important people she’d met.”

  “Do you know where she was going the night of the fire?” Clancy asked.

  Glenda raised a brow. “She thought she was taking off with her lover,”

  “Her lover?” Jake and Clancy asked in unison.

  Glenda seemed surprised by their surprise. “Lola always had a lover, but this time she thought she’d met her Prince Charming.” She rolled her eyes. “But he turned out to be just another loser.”

  “You knew who this man was?” Jake asked.

  “Lola never told me, just that I’d find out soon enough and I should expect fireworks,” Glenda said. “Lola loved drama in her life.”

  “You think he was married,” Jake said.

  Was Jake thinking of his father, Clancy wondered.

  “Could be why Lola kept him a secret.” Glenda made a production of lighting another cigarette. “Who knows? But I can tell you this, he was no Prince Charming.”

  “What makes you say that?” Clancy asked.

  “Where were his suitcases if he planned to run off with her?” Glenda asked. “All her talk about how sweet he was, loving, caring, considerate. I knew he sounded too good to be true.”

  “You think he’s the one who killed her?” Jake asked.

  “He could have been,” Glenda said as she got up and headed for the fridge. “Probably over the money.”

  Clancy and Jake exchanged a glance. “What money?” Clancy asked first.

  “The money Lola stole.” Glenda gave them a look as if to say they weren’t as bright as she’d hoped.

  “Are you talking about the money that was missing from Clancy’s and my father’s businesses?” Jake asked. The money Warren Hawkins had gone to prison for embezzling. “Lola stole it?”