BLINDED (Elkridge Series Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

  “Good. Glad to know you don’t have wax in those ears, either. Seems your hearing is just fine.”

  Joey turned and caught a glimpse of Ernie’s pockmarked face staring at him from the hall. The inexperienced man again reminded him of a fruit fly, hovering and buzzing around. An irritant. In his opinion, flyswatters were invented for a good reason.

  The rapid-fire click of high heels drew his attention.

  “Mayor. Gaccione.” Stella, the county administrator, greeted from the doorway. “Mayor, when you’re done with Joey, would you send him my way?”

  Stella King lived just down the block from Joey’s parents. The forty-something single mother of three had a pretty, yet serious, face. Back in high school, he remembered she ran her household like a military training camp, and he figured she ran city hall much the same way. She was most likely the reason the case records had been scanned.

  Ben Maxwell unfolded from his chair. “I think we’re done here for today. Just wanted to say hello.”

  Joey stood, trailed the mayor out of the break room and then followed Stella into her office before shutting the door. “Are you part of the greeting committee as well, or are you going to tell me what’s up?”

  She took a seat behind a small oak desk with pictures of her kids on every surface not covered by files and paper. “Always did like you, Joey. I did a little checking into your background.”

  Interesting. “And?”

  Joey relaxed into one of the two guest chairs opposite the administrator, more worried about where her inquiry might be headed than the aforementioned background check. Everyone in town had heard he’d gotten kicked off the school bus in sixth grade for tossing Jared Winner out the exit door, and for burning bite me into the high school stadium grass with gasoline when he didn’t make captain of the soccer team. Both times, his dad’s belt hurt far more than detention. Other than those two incidents, his background was squeaky clean. A high-level federal security clearance letter indicated as much.

  Mrs. King clasped her hands on top of a pile of paper and leaned forward in her high-back chair. “Your mother tells me you graduated with a criminology degree with a concentration in sociology.“

  “Psychology, actually.”

  “Psychology.” Her brows arced a bit higher. “Even better. I’m going to be straight with you. Sam left a hole to fill, and no one in Elkridge can step into his shoes. Sure, we can bring someone in from out of town, but no one who knows this place. We need someone local, someone that knows these mountains, someone like you. I might be able to find some relocation money in the budget if you’re willing to transfer and take the sheriff’s position.”

  The acid in his stomach decided to burn a hole in his relaxed demeanor. “Mrs. King.”

  “Stella.”

  “Stella, I think you forget the sheriff’s position is elected. A person can’t just walk into the job. Plus, the position would be a significant cut in pay.”

  “But the cost of living here is lower. And you’ve been around this town long enough to know that those who show up to vote are over sixty, need glasses to read and only believe what’s written in the paper. Getting the residents to vote you in wouldn’t take much effort.”

  Entitled attitudes like hers were what got politicians thrown in jail, but he managed not to say so. Out loud, anyway.

  “What about the under-sheriff or the sergeant? Surely whoever holds those positions will want to run for sheriff.”

  The rolling of the eyes and the snort provided a warning. “The Under-Sheriff’s a drunk and is currently under suspension, and you’ve met Barker. The man couldn’t even direct traffic without being told what to do.”

  Joey nodded. “I see your point. I’ll consider your offer,” he said to be politically correct, knowing he wouldn’t give the position a second thought. He already had a job, and he didn’t want to follow his brother’s path, constantly being measured against his brother’s yardstick, always coming up an inch or two short.

  His face must have given away his reluctance, because a mulish resolve entered Stella’s eyes. “Joey, please think about it. I know your mom wants you home.”

  Yeah, I bet she does. To set me up on dates so she can get more grandbabies.

  “I will.” Not. Interested. “Speaking of my mom, I’d better check in. See if the family needs anything. Will I see you at the funeral on Wednesday?”

  “I’ll be there.” She rose from her black mesh chair and took a step around the desk corner. “One more thing.”

  Joey turned, wondering what her angle was going to be now.

  “Sam was a good and devoted man, but he didn’t have your smarts or eye for detail.”

  Devoted? Maybe devoted to using his good looks and bright smile to sneak by. But then the utter hollowness that had plagued him for days reminded him that Sam’s guile didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except one thing—putting the facts together as quickly as possible so he could provide his family some assurances.

  A vibration at his hip made him pause and slip the phone from his coat pocket.

  “I’ll let you take that.” Stella pointed to his phone before slipping out of her office and closing the door, allowing him some privacy.

  “Gaccione,” he answered while studying the framed certificates behind her desk, working to put a lid on the heightened sense of righteousness. Let the legal system work. That’s what his boss had preached constantly.

  “Joey, it’s Pia. Where are you?”

  “At the sheriff’s office looking over Sam’s file.”

  The uneasy silence made him cringe. He should have given a more mundane answer. He was so used to talking to detectives and other first responders, he wasn’t thinking about how his answer might affect his sister.

  “Pia? Are you okay?”

  “I know Dad wants you to investigate Sam’s death, but until now I didn’t think about what that would mean for you. If something happens to—”

  “It won’t.” He cut her off with a quick, confident reply. “Why don’t you tell me why you called?”

  “It’s just Sophia. It’s not important.”

  Joey began counting to stall his impulse to give his sister crap for thinking her oldest child’s needs weren’t important. However, he wasn’t one to talk. He hadn’t been around, but suspected his niece had grown so quiet that overlooking her needs had become easy. He could relate.

  “Why don’t you tell me, and let me decide what’s important?”

  He could hear his frazzled sister talking to her two boys, telling the oldest to go in the living room and watch TV. His nephew’s “no” could be heard clearly, and Joey would have laughed if his sister hadn’t been so on edge.

  “Sorry, Luca is being a pill today. I called because Sophia said you might have some books you could recommend. I wouldn’t normally bother you with this, but she rarely talks, and she never asks for anything.”

  He paused to study a draft of Elkridge’s financial report teetering on top of a foot-high stack of papers on the corner of Stella’s desk.

  “Understood. There are a couple of authors I would recommend, but the names of the books escape me at the moment. In the meantime, ask Ma if she still has my box of books. Sophia can have any of those she wants.”

  “Your books? As in the books you threatened to break anyone’s fingers if they touched? You do realize my child is eight.”

  “You mean, eight going on thirty. From what I observed, Sophia respects her possessions. She’ll take care of them, and if she doesn’t, it won’t be the end of the world.”

  “You’ve changed.” Pia couldn’t hide the tender emotion in her voice.

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “A very good thing. According to Franco, I don’t excel at communicating, but I just want you to know before it’s too late that I love you. After you left for California, I was angry. Selfishly, I didn’t want you to leave. Now I think I understand why you had to go. But I’ve missed you. I’
ve missed our friendship. A lot.”

  Joey’s heartbeat slowed. He hung his head. “I’ve missed you too, Sis. I didn’t realize how much until I saw you yesterday. I promise from now on I’ll come home and call more.”

  “I just want you to find happiness. I think Ma does as well. Will I see you tonight?” Pia asked with a frail thread of tension weaving through her question.

  “I had planned on going through the investigation files and mapping out an event timeline leading to Sam’s homicide, but if you want, I’ll meet you for dinner.”

  “It’s okay. Do your thing. I’m going to try to get everyone to bed early tonight. The next couple days are going to be long.”

  The funeral. The fifty-pound ball of dread he’d been carrying around the past few days suddenly became too heavy. Since he had no one to pass the burden to, exhaustion set in. “If you need anything call. Wednesday, I’ll be at the house by eleven. And Pia? I love you, too.”

  “Be careful.” The call ended, but not before the trembling sniffle in her voice gave his gut a squeeze.

  The emotional pinch reminded him that even while dealing with the events of the past, he needed also to focus on the living. Living, as in having a life—a full life—not just a job.

  At least he knew how to do his job.

  Something was going on in Elkridge.

  He could sense a dangerous undercurrent. Whatever was happening would leave a scar on this town. If he could, he’d like to flush out the cause before the knife cut too deep. Again, he needed facts. Facts the deputies had not been trained to find.

  He tapped on the city’s budget and the line showing a large number in excess funds.

  Patrol cars to properly equip.

  A staff shortage.

  Incomplete investigations.

  What is going on? Were the department’s personnel utterly incompetent, or could something else be happening?

  Something Sam discovered.

  Something somebody didn’t want known.

  Something that got his brother killed.

  Chapter Five

  “Buddy? Let’s go get some groceries?” Mara checked the dog’s halter to make sure it wasn’t rubbing.

  Her constant companion brushed up against her leg showing his excitement to get outside. She adjusted her winter scarf, opened and closed the storefront door, then double-checked to make sure it was locked.

  While inhaling to fill her body with clean, crisp winter air, the noxious odor of cigarette smoke made her want to gag. She rubbed her nose, the wool from her mitten scraping across her skin. The laws against people smoking outside of businesses never seemed to stop anyone. Last month, Kym had written a letter to the city council to complain, but nothing came of it.

  Buddy’s harness bumped against her leg and she grabbed the stiff leather lead, while adjusting her mostly empty, fifty-pound-capacity backpack, a.k.a. her combined oversized grocery bag and necessity pack for the dog.

  “Easy. It’s still icy.” She tightened her grip. “Okay. Buddy, forward.”

  The dog’s unusual restless movements caused her chest to tighten. “What is it, boy?”

  She held her breath and checked for an odd sound, or movement. Buddy nudged up against her leg, moving her a bit to the right, then stopped at the edge of the curb.

  “Good boy.” She produced a treat from her pocket. A car drove by before Buddy moved. “Forward. Find the grocery store. Good boy.”

  I need to chill.

  Thoughts of someone stalking her had made her jumpy and scatterbrained. She needed to focus on her business. Just that morning, she had to start an arrangement over twice because she’d forgotten what flowers she’d put in the vase. She couldn’t afford a complaint. Heck, she couldn’t afford to pay next months’ rent, even with her disability checks. She forced the remaining tension to ease from her shoulders.

  Get a grip. “Maybe after we shop, we’ll swing by the park. What do you say?”

  Buddy whined and gently pulled against his lead. She matched his speed, but kept focus on their destination. After a few hundred steps, the service dog seemed to settle, and she let him escort her to the corner, then to the right. The wind chimes hanging outside the hardware store the next block over provided a distant beacon. Crossing the street, she anticipated the slope of the sidewalk with its slightly increased elevation. At the next intersection, she listened for cars before crossing and making her way to Value-Shop, the local grocery store.

  Buddy paused at the whoosh of the sliding glass entrance doors before proceeding.

  “Hey, Mara,” the storeowner, Harold Talbott, greeted from somewhere toward the back. “It’ll be a few minutes. The delivery truck just got here, and we need to unload.”

  Harold’s frenzied tone set expectations. Busy morning. You’ll have to wait.

  “No problem. I’ll just start with fruits and vegetables.” Mara grabbed a basket, placing her iPad on the bottom, and moved to the produce section. She reached below the counter, feeling for the plastic roll, pulled off a few bags.

  “Buddy, find the apples. Good boy.”

  A dozen steps later, Buddy stopped. In the process of smelling a Gala apple, she detected a movement and stilled her breath. Listening for additional sound, she then moved closer to the fruit bins to get out of the way.

  “Go ahead,” she said to whoever waited silently. “I’m not in a hurry.”

  Expecting passing footsteps and a pithy greeting, she became more alert when the sounds moved closer, and the revolting smell of cigarettes and the distinct smell of licorice permeated the air. Buddy shifted uneasily and placed his body horizontally in back of her legs. Apprehension shoved her senses into overdrive.

  “Am I in your way?” she asked, trying to elicit a response.

  A hot breath on her cheek and the smell of hard liquor made her choke and use her grocery basket as a barrier.

  Her breath shortened. Her heart hammered against her chest wall. She fisted the only weapon she had—an apple.

  It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay—don’t panic.

  An amused cackle, the kind a hyena makes when stalking its prey, turned her adrenaline spigot on full blast.

  Not okay. Not okay. Not okay.

  Fear pumped a gush of anxiety through her, and her mouth went dry as a saltine-cracker. She tried to take a step back, but bumped into the edge of the produce stand. The thread of panic continued to pull tighter and tighter, yanking on her nerves.

  Another set of footsteps approached, and she grasped the edge of an apple basket until she heard the slight squeak of rubber accompanying every second step. Suddenly, the ashtray stench disappeared, replaced by fresh air sweetened by the fragrance of fruit and veggies. The sinister footsteps rounded the corner of the aisle, while the other set stopped a few feet away.

  “Hey, Mara. I figured you for a Red Delicious, not a Gala type.” That rich tone she recognized—the low F-note, with a melodic timbre, and a confident focused emphasis on each syllable.

  A happy-joy-joy heat spread across her face, neck and shoulders, sending tingles to her fingers. “Joey. Thank God. Did you see a guy standing here a moment ago?”

  “Only briefly. Why?”

  “Because I think it might have been him. The guy I told you about.” Stay calm. Breathe.

  “You’re shaking.” His concern eased her trepidation and provided much-needed reassurance. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, but I still believe there’s a connection to your brother’s murder. You might want to see if you can get a better look.”

  Mara waited, listening for clues, becoming more and more discouraged as moments ticked by.

  “He’s gone,” Joey said next to her elbow, a bit out of breath. “Maybe the store owner has security tapes I can check.”

  “Toto, you’re not in Seattle anymore.”

  “Okay, so no video.” A gentle hand slipped under her elbow. “Let’s find you somewhere to sit down. Better yet, let me take you home.”

&nb
sp; “I’m fine. Really. I’m not going to live scared.” She gently shrugged out of his grasp, then lowered the basket to ease the tension in her shoulders. “I just remembered something.” The pressure in her chest returned.

  “What’s that?”

  “Smelling stale cigarettes, alcohol and the heavy scent of licorice. I connect smell, sounds and places to people. I’m guessing, but maybe Sam noticed a guy following me and wanted to make sure I made it home. I know it sounds like I might be exaggerating, or that this is just a coincidence, but I really don’t think it is.

  “Coincidence? I’ve solved cases on less. Although, I have to tell you, the connection between Sam’s murder and your stalker isn’t clear. Not yet, anyhow. However, I would like to discuss your ability to identify people. It’s impressive.”

  “My nose is telling me there’s a connection.”

  “You think you can teach me that trick?”

  “It’s no trick. Recognizing people when you can’t see is complicated and takes practice. It’s like putting a flower arrangement together, piece by piece, but sensory visualization can be learned. For example, you pronounce my name like ‘more.’ The way you say it makes me smile, because I think you’re going to ask for more-a-spaghetti. Then there’s the Old Spice. I love the smell. My father used to wear it, and I caught a sniff yesterday. For some reason, one of your shoes squeaks—maybe unevenly worn rubber, I’m not sure. It’s the only thing I can come up with that would make a similar sound. As I said, it’s complicated. All the different pieces fit together to create a picture in my mind.”

  “I injured my left knee playing soccer, and do tend to favor the leg a bit,” he offered with an intrigued yet cheerful undertone. “You’d make a good detective. Maybe you should take on Sam’s case.”

  His praise sprinkled a tingle of satisfaction across her skin, and more importantly eased her continuing anxiety. “Are you going to investigate after all?” she asked, curious why he’d changed his mind.

  “My parents asked me to meet with the deputies—which I did. There isn’t a lot to work with. Maybe I’m being too critical, or I’m too close to this one and I can’t be impartial, but the investigation work was crap. I’d be surprised if they have enough to arrest anyone.”