Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My

by Denise Swanson

  Still, I think the real reason that the massive Ford F-250 gets my blood pounding is that it reeks of strength and toughness and determination. Qualities which are high on my list of must-haves for the people I allow in my life. And Jake possessed them all in spades.

  There’s also the fact that I’m a bit of a car fanatic. I adore that Jake keeps his truck as shiny as if it had just left the dealership. Especially since, unlike a lot of men who drive huge pickups, Jake actually uses his on a working ranch.

  Jake had parked the gleaming black F-250 in front of the dime store, and as he opened the passenger side door for me, I made a mental note to tell him that in the future I’d prefer he use the private lot behind my business. There were three spaces back there, so even when Dad was working, there was room for Jake’s truck, and I liked to leave the spots facing my display window open for customers.

  When Jake put his hands around my waist to boost me into the gigantic truck, I remembered the one thing I didn’t like about the Ford—getting into it. It was like scaling the side of a Clydesdale just to get inside the stupid cab, and my struggle to mount that sucker made me feel inadequate. Not a quality I wanted to add to my résumé.

  Jake, of course, was able to swing himself in without any effort whatsoever. But he was Paul Bunyan tall and Wolverine strong, and I was more like the superhero’s weak sidekick. Or worse yet, the helpless girlfriend. And helplessness was yet another feeling I didn’t enjoy.

  I couldn’t do anything about my lack of height, and anyway, five-six was average for a woman, but I kept vowing to start lifting weights. Still, Jake claimed he liked me soft and cuddly, and he had stopped teasing me about my difficulty with climbing into his pickup, so for now, I’d skip the visit to the gym.

  As Jake slid behind the wheel and buckled his seat belt, he said, “Okay with you if we stop and talk to Chief Kincaid first?” I nodded, and he turned the key in the ignition. “I’d like to hear what he has to say about Elliot Winston and his missing wife.”

  “It is odd that the chief doesn’t seem to want to investigate.”

  “Exactly.” Jake slapped the steering wheel. “There’s definitely something funny going on.”

  I smiled at the glint of excitement in Jake’s eyes and said, “Being on a case truly oils your rifle, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep.” Jake reached over and squeezed my thigh. “But it’s investigating with you that really turns me on.”

  “Aw.” I was too choked up to say anything more and gazed out the windshield.

  Shadow Bend’s business district was situated around a town square. The PD was located between the hardware store and the dry cleaner, all of which were only a couple of blocks from my shop. Normally, we’d just walk over, but since we were on our way to the Winston house, Jake drove the short distance and parked in front of the station in one of the five spaces reserved for police visitors.

  As we approached the square cinder block building with its front window bars and overall crushing atmosphere, I forced myself to take a calming breath. I had developed a sort of weird claustrophobia during my father’s imprisonment, and the police station’s structure reminded me of the penitentiary where Dad had been incarcerated.

  Now that my father was free, my paranoia was easing up, but my chest still tightened uncomfortably as Jake ushered me inside. I was so intent on overcoming my aversion to entering the PD that I was almost run over by a woman shouting obscenities over her shoulder as she pushed past me and rushed outside.

  I suppose someone cursing isn’t all that unusual for a police station. After all, most folks aren’t happy to be there. But this enraged individual was one of my best friends, Poppy Kincaid, and the person she was screaming at was her father, the chief of police.

  Running after Poppy, I caught her just as she yanked open the door of her Hummer. Her white-blond curls looked as if she had run her hands through them until they surrounded her head like a silver tumbleweed, her amethyst eyes were teary, and her slim body shook with rage.

  I grabbed her hand before she could get inside the SUV and asked, “What happened?”

  It was no secret that Poppy and her father didn’t get along. They had been on the outs for years. He was the epitome of law and order, and she was the town bad girl. Poppy was the type of woman who would see your sarcasm and raise you a heaping helping of sass. Not a characteristic her strict chief of police dad appreciated.

  Still, they’d tolerated each other until last Christmas. Something had happened during the holidays that had shoved their relationship from passable to explosive. And I was afraid that whatever had occurred today had caused it to detonate beyond repair.

  “Mr. Holier-Than-Thou Chief of Police told me that unless I straightened up, I was going to hell,” Poppy ground out between clenched teeth.

  “And?” I knew that couldn’t be all that had set off my friend.

  “I told him it was too late for me to change, so that at this point, my only choice is to go big or go home.”

  “That must have gone over well.” Chief Kincaid was not known for his sense of humor. “What happened after you said that?”

  “He told me not to blaspheme, and I called him stupid.” Poppy’s smile was forced.

  “You didn’t.” I exhaled loudly. The chief would not have taken that well.

  “Hey,” Poppy said, twitching her slender shoulders. “I’m sorry I hurt his feelings, but I thought he already knew.”

  “Seriously, Poppy?” I gripped her hand. “Why do you two do this to each other?”

  “I can’t talk now.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’ll text you later, and we can find a time to meet up at the bar for a drink.”

  “In the state you’re in, I don’t think you should be alone.”

  “No worries.” Jerking her fingers from my grasp, she slammed the door, fired up the engine, and backed onto the street. Squealing her tires, she roared away, daring the cops to stop her.

  As I reentered the PD, Jake stood waiting in the lobby. He raised a brow, and I shook my head, indicating that I had no idea what had just happened. Jake shrugged and marched up the short flight of concrete stairs that led to the rest of the station. As I joined him at the front desk, he introduced us to the dispatcher and told her that we needed to speak to the chief.

  I was relieved to see that Miss Perky Boobs wasn’t on duty. In the past, she had made it clear that anytime I was out of the picture, she’d be happy to take Jake for a ride—and not on Mister Ed. Or even if I still was in the picture, and he wanted to start up something on the side, she was up for a good gallop.

  Hell! I was pretty damn sure if he showed the slightest bit of interest, she’d do him in the squad room with the whole police force watching.

  Luckily, instead of Nympho Barbie, the woman working today looked more like Mother Goose, which saved me from the possibility of an assault charge. She smiled at us both, then put down her knitting, picked up the telephone, and buzzed Chief Kincaid.

  When he answered, she said, “You have visitors.” She listened to his response, then said, “Jake Del Vecchio and Deveraux Sinclair.” She nodded to the receiver, then replaced it on the base, and said to us, “He’ll see you now.”

  When we entered his office, the chief was sitting behind his desk. He motioned for us to close the door and take a seat. The only indication that he’d just had an altercation with his daughter was the slight ruddiness of his smoothly shaved cheeks and the pain in his steely blue eyes.

  Eldridge Kincaid was as unruffled as if he’d just had a refreshing night’s sleep, rather than a screaming match with his only child. I had long speculated that he had multiple uniforms stashed in his private bathroom, and that if the one he was wearing got the slightest hint of a crease, he immediately changed into a freshly ironed alternative. Now I wondered if he also had a big bottle of Valium back there, too. Or maybe a salt lick of Xan
ax.

  As soon as we sat down, the chief looked at Jake and said, “I take it Elliot Winston has hired you.”

  “He did.” Jake nodded.

  Glancing at me, the chief raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you were part of Del Vecchio Private Investigations. Who’s minding the store?”

  “It doesn’t open until noon.” I didn’t bother to address the first part of his comment.

  “Right.” The chief’s expression was amused, but it sobered as he turned back to Jake. “What do you think of your first client?”

  “Interesting.” Jake crossed his legs, balancing his cowboy boot on his knee. “I appreciate the referral, but why aren’t you handling the case?”

  I studied Chief Kincaid. Local law enforcement can get defensive when federal agencies like the U.S. Marshals stick their nose in hometown police business, and even though Jake was retired from the service, cops weren’t usually too fond of private investigators, either. So I wasn’t too sure how the chief felt about Jake or vice versa.

  I knew that I was in Chief Kincaid’s good graces, because he saw me as a positive influence on his wild daughter. However, Jake was a whole other matter. While the chief had sent him a client, I wasn’t too sure that he’d done Jake any favors, and I watched carefully as Chief Kincaid opened his center drawer, withdrew a file, and flipped open the folder.

  “Oh, we’re looking into his missing wife, all right.” The chief’s voice was dry as he riffled through a stack of papers, then slid one from the pile. “But Mr. Winston wasn’t happy with the direction of our investigation.”

  Hmm. Elliot Winston had given us the impression that the police weren’t doing anything. In my previous profession as an investment consultant, discovering that a client had lied to you was a red flag. Judging from Jake’s scowl, obviously a PI felt the same way.

  “And what direction is that?” Jake asked, his expression once again impassive.

  “Either Mrs. Winston left voluntarily, fearing that her husband might harm her,” Chief Kincaid said as he tented his fingers and rested his chin on them, “or Mr. Winston killed her, disposed of the body, and is trying to cover up the crime by playing the concerned spouse.”

  I bit back a million questions and fought to maintain as deadpan an expression as Jake’s. I knew there was more to this story, but the chief wasn’t someone you could rush. He would proceed at his own pace, no matter what we said or did.

  “What makes you believe that Gabriella Winston wasn’t abducted?” Jake asked, withdrawing a small notebook and pen from the breast pocket of his shirt. “The Winstons have money. Even if there’s been no contact so far, there still could be a ransom demand.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Winston receives a ransom note.” The corner of Chief Kincaid’s lips twitched upward. “I just don’t think it will be from the alleged kidnapper.”

  “Have you arranged to have the Winstons’ phones monitored?” Jake asked.

  “They don’t have a landline.” The chief sighed. “We’ve put a trace on both Mr. and Mrs. Winston’s cells, but I doubt the ransom demand will come by phone.”

  “Because you think that Winston will be behind it, and he’s aware of the measures you have in place,” Jake said. He paused a few seconds and added, “Plus, having someone make the call would involve securing an accomplice who could then blackmail Elliot Wilson.”

  “Precisely.”

  The chief definitely knew something we didn’t know. The question was—would he share that information? Despite my best friend’s issues with her father, I admired Eldridge Kincaid. I respected his determination to do the best possible job for the people of Shadow Bend, which was why I was sure there was more to this situation.

  However, it seemed as though we were at an impasse. Evidently Chief Kincaid didn’t fully trust us. Jake and the chief stared at each other, the silence getting thicker and thicker, until I was ready to say something just to end it.

  Finally, as if coming to a decision, Chief Kincaid took a stack of pictures from the back of the folder, handed them to Jake, and said, “These are photos of the Winstons’ kitchen and living room.”

  So the police had been to the Winston house and brought in a crime scene team to gather evidence. Another thing Elliot Winston had failed to mention.

  As Jake examined the snapshots, I leaned over his arm so I could see them, too. The family room was trashed, and the kitchen floor had a trail of blood drops leading from the counter to the back door.

  I glanced at Jake. His brow was wrinkled, and he repeatedly flipped back and forth between the pictures. What did he see that I didn’t?

  No longer able to control my curiosity, I said, “Okay. I give up. What?”

  Jake laid out half a dozen photos of the family room on the top of the chief’s desk and swept his hand across the array. “See how all the furniture, lamps, and so on are flung around the room?” I nodded, and he continued. “But the walls are pristine. There isn’t one scuff mark on the paint.”

  “Ah.” I blew out a breath. Why hadn’t I noticed that?

  “Also, the throw rugs are in place, and none of the artwork is damaged.”

  “Right.”

  “Plus, see this big couch?” Jake pointed. “It’s upended. However, that type of sofa would be too heavy just to shove over. Someone would have to lift it.”

  “Which means?” I asked.

  Jake glanced at the chief and said, “The scene was set up to look like there had been a struggle.”

  “That was my tech’s conclusion.” Chief Kincaid nodded. “And I agree. According to the husband, their housekeeping service had been there on Saturday afternoon, and beyond the two housekeepers and the Winstons, there were no other fingerprints and no trace of anyone else in the family room or kitchen.”

  “In that case,” I mused, “either Gabriella Winston did this so she could get away from her husband, or Elliot Winston killed her and did this to make the authorities think his wife was kidnapped, not dead.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Gusts of wind battered Jake’s pickup as we made the ten-minute drive west of town to the Winstons’ house. Although it was warm inside the cab, the gloomy weather outside made me shiver. Clouds rolled across the ashen sky and rain threatened the horizon.

  I hoped the incoming storm didn’t strip the trees of their colorful leaves. The foliage had just reached its peak, and the leaf peepers who visited the area would be disappointed. And if the day-trippers were unhappy, they didn’t stick around to shop in my store.

  Rousing myself from my meteorological musings, I turned to Jake, who had been silent since we left the police station. “Now that you’ve heard what Chief Kincaid had to say about Gabriella Winston’s alleged kidnapping, what do you think about it?”

  “One thing in Elliot Winston’s favor is that there was no record of domestic violence complaints against him.” Jake kept a tight grip on the wheel as the wind continued to buffet the high-profile truck.

  “Understatement much?” I teased. “In that case, it’s also a positive that they didn’t find a body or any severed limbs around.”

  “You are just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you, sugar?” Jake’s blue eyes twinkled. “Maybe I should start calling you sunny.”

  “Not going to happen.” I shook my head, hiding my smile. “Unless you want me to come up with a pet name for you. And, believe me”—I shot him a warning glare—“you won’t like where my imagination goes, sugar britches.”

  “Gotcha.” Jake’s tone was indulgent, then became serious. “I sure hope Gabriella just got fed up with her husband’s obsession with the wildlife park and moved on to greener pastures.”

  “If not, the alternatives don’t bode well for her.” I shuddered. Frowning, I asked, “Did you find Elliot Winston’s demeanor odd? For someone who claims to love his wife, he certainly doesn’t seem to put h
is concern for her ahead of his other interests.”

  “The intel guy on my team was like him.” Jake shook his head. “Bruce adored his wife and children, but you would have never guessed it by his behavior. He wasn’t good with social cues and didn’t pick up on facial expressions at all. A lot of his emotional responses were inappropriate, because he was so single-minded and preoccupied with finishing whatever task he was working on.” Jake smiled. “But when push came to shove, he would do anything, give up anything, for his family.”

  “Hmm.” I considered Jake’s words. I’d known people like that, too. Elliot may be a little eccentric, but he’d involved both the police and Jake, which, in my opinion, bought him the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone showed their love in the same way, and I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t do exactly what Elliot had done. Except, instead of getting help, I’d investigate on my own. But I sure wouldn’t sit around crying and wringing my hands. I’d carry on as normally as possible until I was damn sure there were no other options.

  As we turned into Country Club Estates, the smooth pavement of the development’s streets was a marked contrast to the patched blacktop of the county road. It was as if we had entered an entirely different world. Huge homes with fancy fountains and circular driveways, surrounded by immaculate lawns and lavish landscaping, lined the neighborhood. Not a single leaf marred the velvety grass, which was quite a feat, considering the amount of trees in the area. There had to be a whole bevy of gardeners on duty at all times in order to maintain that kind of perfection.

  When Country Club Estates was first being built, out of curiosity and sheer boredom, Gran and I had taken a drive through the development. But I’d had no reason to visit since then. It wasn’t as if I could afford any of these houses.

  Pointing, Jake said, “The Winstons’ place is the next street over.”

  Most of the lots were either on the golf course, the lake, or nestled into the wooded areas. The Winstons’ property had the best of all three. It abutted the golf course, had dense stands of trees on either side, and was across from the lake. Definitely the preeminent location of the entire development. Which probably meant it was also the most expensive.