Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2)

by LaVonne Griffin-Valade

  “Are you doing okay, Maggie?”

  “It’s just strange. And more difficult than I would’ve thought.”

  “Not surprising,” he said and put in a pensive pause. “Sergeant Lake’s fiancée took the news pretty hard, I’m afraid. I was glad to be able to deliver it in person before Ray and I left Bend.”

  I was certain the detective had been quite ministerial with the woman.

  “She also said you were very helpful this afternoon,” he offered.

  I knew in my gut I hadn’t been that helpful, but I let that observation pass.

  Bach put on his cap. “I’m on my way to La Grande to check out a suspicious death. After that, I’m also off to Baker City.”

  I lifted the buzzing phone from my pocket. “Hollis?”

  “Found what appears to be a police-issued Glock 22 in Sergeant Lake’s Volvo, but no black Stetson,” he said.

  “All right. See you when I see you.” I clicked off and turned to Al. “Hollis found what’s likely Lake’s service revolver in his vehicle. Not the hat, though.”

  The detective nodded and picked up his pack.

  “You’re driving to La Grande and then Baker City? Damn it, when will OSP get funding for more state cops?” I asked.

  “Better question, when will our citizens stop killing one another?”

  We shook hands, and he passed me one of his fatherly expressions.

  “Maggie, I know you didn’t kill Sergeant Lake, but get me that list of contacts and phone numbers by end of day tomorrow.”

  Ray and I were absorbed in our own thoughts on our trip back down Aldrich Mountain, the crystalline voice of Emmylou Harris in the background. On the horizon, the storm from the desert had moved further north. It bore a purple-black herd of thunderheads closer to the heat-withered John Day River Valley and the surrounding blue peaks, arid Palouse, and chalky fossil scarp. My window open a crack, I sensed the atmospheric verve of weather.

  “Looks like rain. Possibly lightning,” I said.

  “They’ll likely cancel my flight if that happens.” Ray turned off the music.

  “Not an Emmylou fan, I take it.”

  “Nah, I like her okay. I was just wishing we could have a drink before my flight takes off. And now maybe we can.”

  “Let’s see what happens. If not, next time?”

  She smiled. “There will be a next time, I’m pretty sure of that.”

  “Al tells me he’s headed to Baker City after he finishes up in La Grande.”

  “Funny, he didn’t tell me that.”

  Crap. I’d stepped in it again. “Are you two still…?”

  “Fucking?”

  “I was going to say, seeing one another.”

  “Only when he’s too horny to feel guilty about his wife, his church, his kids, and now a couple of grandkids.”

  I avoided asking how often that was.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested. “Like that red-haired guy you emailed me about. The one I met last time two or three yokels were murdered over here.”

  “Duncan McKay. He wants me to move in with him.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  I sighed. “I just helped put my second ex-husband in a body bag.”

  “So what? You’re young, well, young-ish. And in love, right?”

  “Yeah. But there’s a lot of shit baggage from my two marriages.”

  “Oh, screw that. I’ve had three long-term romantic entanglements that all eventually went south. But if Al’s wife dumped him and took off on Thursday, I’d be renting a moving van on Friday. Hell, if he asked me to become one of his sister wives, or whatever you call them, I’d seriously consider it.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You’re too much of a heretic. And Al Bach’s got certain standards.”

  We both laughed. For the first time today.

  “Here’s what I’ve noticed about you, Maggie. You’re really good at changing the subject. But you should get your head out of your ass, and move in with the guy.”

  “Not to sound overly dramatic, Ray, but I’m forty-one, and I’ll never again let a man be the reason for my existence. And I don’t believe for a second you would either.”

  “So this Duncan guy wants you to settle down, quit your job, and have babies?”

  “Possibly. Well, kids for sure, I think.”

  “Talk to the dude about all of that, for God’s sake.”

  I let that admonishment sit for a moment. “Three long-term romantic entanglements, huh? And now Al? I don’t think I should be taking relationship advice from you.”

  “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said in the last twenty minutes.”

  After dropping Ray off at Sam Damon’s Juniper Chapel Mortuary and Crematorium, I sat alone in my police station typing up the report on J.T.’s death. I thought back on this long, strange day. I was now responsible for dispassionately describing the discovery and identification of his slain body, the aftermath of which had left me weary and guarded. A profound feeling of vulnerability had replaced the cockiness I’d come to rely on for emotional cover. I felt the spark of tears.

  I sighed. “Jesus.”

  “Talking to yourself again?”

  Startled, I turned and found Hollis standing behind me. “Christ on a crutch, Trooper Jones. Haven’t I warned you about not sneaking up on a body?”

  “Well, Sarge, it’s not my fault you didn’t hear the door open and shut. Maybe you should get your hearing tested.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway? It’s after hours.”

  “I thought I should drop off the evidence I collected from Jeremy Lake’s Volvo. You know, like I’m supposed to.”

  “Oh, yeah. And thanks for keeping me apprised of protocols.”

  “That’s part of my job, right?” He sat down at his own desk. “You’re writing up the police report?”

  “I am.”

  “I know I keep asking you this, but are you okay?”

  “I’m going to have to be. What’s in the evidence bags?”

  “Sergeant Lake’s state-issued Glock, I assume, plus the annulment paperwork you signed this morning and the prints I lifted from his vehicle.”

  “Prints from multiple individuals?”

  “Only two, I think. I’m guessing Lake’s and the fiancée’s.”

  “Stash the bags in the evidence locker and call it a day.”

  He rose from his chair. “Why don’t you finish that up in the morning?”

  “Good night, Holly.”

  An hour of steady precipitation, sans thunder and lightning, had managed to perk up the cottonwood trees and bring the temperature down some, but that was about the extent of tonight’s short-lived meteorological disturbance. With the return of relatively clear skies, Ray’s flight to Baker City had been green-lighted. I transported her to our diminutive airport around nine forty-five and watched as she ascended the steps of a State of Oregon Cessna 172. She seemed pretty beat.

  Exhausted myself, I drove from the airport to my apartment and showered away the dust and the dirt and the sweat. Afterward, I cuddled with Louie, my old tabby, and nearly fell asleep in my dead mother’s rocking chair.

  I inadvertently massaged the burn scar on my right shoulder. Tired as I was, Duncan had been owed an explanation for some time. Plus I knew he was waiting for me and had likely drummed up something for my supper. I placed Louie in his cat bed and headed out.

  Duncan opened the front door to his pleasant little house, pulled me inside, and we kissed.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m better now.” I brushed back the hunk of graying hair obscuring his right eye.

  “Are you okay with last night’s leftover lasagna and a salad?”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “Strawberry Lake tomorrow night, though. Okay?”

  “It’s a date. Sorry I had to rescind my invitation this afternoon.” I followed him into
the kitchen and sat on one of the stools docked at the small island.

  “I know you’re probably not interested in telling me about your day, but you can if you want,” he said, retrieving a tomato and an avocado from a basket on the counter.

  “I’d rather hear about yours,” I responded.

  “Let’s see. Today we had a run on baling twine, so I had to put in an emergency order for more. And Dad and I had an argument about renaming the store.”

  “After all these years? And change the name to what?”

  “He thinks McKay’s Farm and Ranch Supply describes what we are better than McKay’s Feed and Tack.”

  I said both aloud and shrugged. “Feed and tack moves more trippingly off the tongue, as they say. And since there’s no competition in the whole damn county, I don’t see why you’d change the name.”

  “My point exactly. Plus, changing the name on signage and such would increase the short-term cost of doing business for no good reason.”

  “Tell him I vote no.”

  “Well, if we were a couple, officially, he might pay more attention to your vote.”

  “Bullshit. Your dad loves me.”

  “He does. Calls you the most loveable cop he’s ever met. Speaking of that.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “When were we speaking of that?”

  “Someone was murdered?”

  I hesitated. I had been dreading this conversation for the last eight hours.

  “I’m doing what a good lover is supposed to do. I’m making sure you’re okay,” he said.

  “I’m fine, really. But you know how I feel about homicide in my cop district.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “Only one so far.”

  “Oh?”

  “Me.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Not kidding, Dun.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve explained before.”

  He scooted the other stool close to me and sat down. “Okay?”

  “I mentioned my second husband was another State cop?”

  “Yes, Jeremy something. Or something Jeremy?”

  “Jeremy Lake. He was a bastard, and when we were together, I was a mess. We were quite the couple. Fighting, yelling, throwing crap, slamming doors. And then he took it to the next level and beat the shit out of me.” I took a deep breath and willed myself not to cry. “Knocked me around and threw me against the woodstove in our living room.”

  “That nasty scar on your shoulder?”

  I nodded. “I threw the bastard out after that, dragged myself back here to Dorie’s. She helped me put myself back together. Well, more together than I had been. Morgan even came to stay for a few days.”

  “Morgan? Your first husband, right?”

  “Despite our divorce a couple of years before, Morgan was my closest friend back then. Only friend, really.” I stood suddenly. “I need some air.”

  I crossed through the dining room and opened one of the garden doors. The night was now thick with a dank swelter. Even so, I welcomed the feverish bog.

  I slid the door closed and moved back to the kitchen counter, my dinner, and this good-hearted man. “Sorry to be so fucking melodramatic.”

  He shook his head. “I quite like your melodrama. But, please, just tell me what any of this has to do with the latest killing.”

  The man’s question hit me like one of J.T.’s fists.

  “The victim found up Murderers Creek with his throat slit was Jeremy Lake.”

  “Jesus, Maggie.” He slipped from his stool, wrapped his muscular arms around me, and held me as I wept. Eventually he guided me to the velveteen daybed in his great room. We sat for several minutes while I pulled myself together.

  “I didn’t kill him, Dun.”

  “Of course you didn’t. And how is it you’re a suspect?”

  “I’m not really. Detective Al Bach. You remember him?”

  “Sure. Vaguely.”

  “He knows there was considerable animosity between J.T. and me.”

  “J.T.?”

  “Jeremy Lake’s nickname. Anyway, J.T. came to see me at the station this morning. Long story. He had some paperwork for me to sign. I signed it, but we also had one of our little heated exchanges before he took off. He wasn’t there very long, and I had no idea where he was going after he left.”

  I filled Duncan in on the rest of today’s events, beginning with the theft of Dave Shannon’s Ford F-150 and the two o’clock call from the couple that discovered Jeremy Lake dead on the grounds of Murderers Creek Guard Station.

  “The upshot is, Bach needs to speak to everyone I communicated with in the nearly six hours between J.T.’s visit to my office and when his body was found.”

  “Ah. He needs to ask me about your call this morning inviting me to a lakeside picnic up on Strawberry Mountain.”

  “Yeah. A stickler for protocol, even though he says he doesn’t actually believe I killed J.T.”

  “Maybe. But if you really wanted to off the guy, you probably would’ve done it a long time ago.”

  I wasn’t about to go there. Paint a picture of a Maggie Blackthorne as an unstable wreck, ointment and gauze patch from the medicine cabinet crudely covering the nasty swath of scorched skin on her right shoulder, cop Glock in her left hand pointed directly at the asshole, demanding he gather his shit and get the fuck out.

  “Hollis made a similar comment,” I said.

  “There you have it. End of discussion.”

  I liked being with someone so determinedly direct. And in my corner.

  “I’m glad you told me all this, Maggie.”

  “I wish I’d told you about the violence, how I got the scar, a long time ago.”

  He shrugged. “You told me when you were ready to tell me.”

  An act of self-preservation was more like it.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  We moved from the daybed back to the kitchen, where Duncan finished putting our late supper together.

  “After we eat, I can give you one of my special back rubs,” he offered. “It’ll put you right to sleep.”

  I thought about the prospect of leaving Louie overnight on his own again and felt a half-hearted pang of guilt.

  Duncan placed a plate of lasagna and salad on the counter in front of me, along with a goblet of red wine. “How does that sound? The back rub?”

  “Fabulous.” I raised my glass. “Here’s to coming across zero dead bodies tomorrow.”

  5

  Morning, August 14

  For the third day in a row, I woke to the smell of bacon sizzling downstairs in Duncan’s kitchen. I dressed, put my hair in a ponytail, and inspected myself in the long mirror at the back of his bedroom door.

  I attributed the dark circles under my eyes to a couple of crying jags late last night. J.T. was dead; that fact and the circumstances surrounding his death had left me strangely off-balance. I wouldn’t call it grief so much as a moment of reckoning. Like it or not, he had once held a place in my heart, even if it was only for a short time and even considering the utter wreckage that was our brief marriage.

  “What you need to do now, Blackthorne, is figure out who in hell killed him,” I whispered.

  Duncan had set the table and made coffee by the time I joined him downstairs. I stepped to his garden doors and took in the sight of the Strawberry Wilderness Area rising up from the eastern high desert plateau, its ice-blue peaks a mass of ancient forest.

  “Wow, that’s something else,” I said of the spectacle of earthly wonder.

  Duncan slipped behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the top of my head. “When are you moving in with me?”

  This was a topic that had come up a lot lately, but I had so far managed to avoid giving this notion the thought it might’ve deserved.

  “Louie would love it out here. Lots of room to roam,” he nudged.

>   I turned around and kissed his cheek. “Speaking of Louie, I should head home before he has one of his feline fits.”

  “Sit and eat your breakfast first.”

  I gestured toward the framed-glass garden doors. “Since you’ve got such a nice view out your window, I guess Louie can wait a little longer.”

  “Damn right. And maybe we’ll also go back upstairs and cuddle for a while.”

  “Well, aren’t you the horn dog this morning?”

  “Is that a challenge, or are you just calling me names?”

  “That was a compliment, my friend. Now let’s eat.”

  I had made my way down the gravel road leading away from Three Flags Landing, the tiny cul-de-sac built on a barren patch of land where Duncan’s house stood, and was about a hundred yards from the bridge over Canyon Creek. Below me, I spotted Dave Shannon’s stolen Ford F-150 accelerating around the basalt-carved S-curves of Highway 395, headed north toward John Day and traveling at least twice the speed limit.

  “Slow the fuck down,” I called out.

  Normally, I would’ve turned on my lights and siren and pulled the car over, but I was driving my elderly Jetta and sans my cop uniform and my Glock. I checked the time: seven ten. The sheriff’s office and town police were strictly eight-to-fivers, so I dialed my office. Sherry Linn Perkins was in the habit of arriving for work promptly at seven and leaving promptly at five thirty.

  “Oregon State Police. How may I assist you?” Sherry Linn was also very professional over the phone.

  “I hear it’s going to be a scorcher today,” I answered.

  “Good morning, Sergeant. I mean Maggie. What can I do for you?”

  “Any officers in yet?”

  “Trooper Jones got here before me this morning.”

  “Put him on the line, please.”