by Gerri Hill
Speaking of cool, Murphy had been downright frosty. What was up with that? Had the others already influenced her? And God, she was so not what she’d been expecting. No woman should possibly look that good in a uniform. So much for the preconceived image she’d had in her mind.
Oh, well, even though she knew most of them—some only in passing—had she really expected everyone to welcome her with open arms? Not only was she coming from the FBI, but her father was the chief. What did she expect? Knowing her as an FBI agent who popped in from time to time to visit her father was different than working alongside her as a peer.
She shrugged. She wasn’t going to spend the weekend worrying about it. She wanted to get completely unpacked and settled into her new, albeit small, duplex before Monday morning. At least she didn’t have to worry about dinner. Her mother already had the weekend meals planned…all childhood favorites of hers, starting with chicken and dumplings. The thought of tonight’s meal was almost enough to make her forget about the chilly reception she’d received.
Almost.
Chapter Six
After yet another uneventful two days off—in which she’d very nearly called Gloria Mendez—Murphy stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom and adjusted the collar of her uniform. She still wasn’t used to seeing herself like this. It had been many years since her patrol days in Houston. Once she made detective, she never thought she’d one day go back on the streets and wear a damn Sam Browne again. She shifted the duty belt around her waist to a more comfortable position.
While she was looking forward to riding on her own, she knew she’d miss Tim’s constant chatter. She’d never tell him that, of course. She wondered if Tim was looking forward to his new riding partner.
She had to admit she’d been a little rude to Kayla Dixon. It wasn’t intentional, she told herself, even though she’d thought of the exchange several times over the weekend. So she was an FBI agent? That didn’t mean she was anything like the two pricks she’d worked with in Houston. Still, she’d been a little short with her, and she wondered if it was because of Tim and the guys’ apprehension about having her on board. Or maybe she’d simply been shocked when she saw her. Even though Tim had called Kayla a blond-haired beauty, she wasn’t really expecting such a…well, such an attractive woman.
What? Did you think she’d have a dark mustache like her father? she thought with a smile. And what about those blue eyes? Tim had been right…you wanted to just fall right in and drown.
She shook her head and looked away from the mirror. Maybe it was time to take Gloria up on her offer. She couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—that she’d found a straight woman this attractive…and all from a two-minute meeting.
A straight woman, an ex-FBI agent and the chief’s daughter, she reminded herself. Everything about that combination screamed trouble. So yeah, maybe she’d invite Gloria out for dinner the next time their schedules meshed.
She glanced once more in the mirror, pausing to brush the hair away from her eyes. She needed a trim, but she’d been too scared to go to the local shop in town—the Tan and Curl. She’d been spoiled having James cut her hair for the last ten years. When she’d decided to move, worrying about a hairdresser hadn’t even crossed her mind.
No…worrying about her sanity had been her only priority. Why else would she have ended up in Sawmill Springs of all places?
She locked up her house and backed her truck out of the driveway. She’d lucked out when she found this place. Smack in the so-called historical district of Sawmill Springs, it was a stately old house, way too big for her. The lot was huge—not like the tiny city lots you find today. Ancient oaks—four of them—were in the front, and the backyard sported a giant magnolia tree. She was told she’d missed the spring display of the flowering shrubs and she looked forward to next year’s season. The owner of the house had been an avid gardener and long-standing member of the Garden Club. She’d passed away six months before Murphy had come to town and the house was sitting vacant. The lady’s daughter wasn’t ready to sell it, but she’d never considered renting it out. Lance Foster, the real estate guru in town, had set up a meeting for her, and after an hour’s visit, Murphy was handed over the keys without even signing a lease. Apparently, being a cop in town had its advantages.
She pulled into the back of the station at five thirty, surprised that Tim’s red car wasn’t there. Surely he didn’t end his shift early on his first day with Kayla Dixon. She’d just gotten out when Ivan pulled up in his patrol car, the one she’d be using for her shift. She gave him a wave before going inside. She was shocked to find Kayla sitting at one of the desks. Kayla turned and gave her a smile, and she returned it involuntarily. How could she not? The woman was simply too cute to ignore.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” Murphy said with a nod, hoping she appeared more nonchalant than she felt. “Tim end your shift early?”
“Oh, no. Change of plans. Tim was scheduled to go to nights this week anyway, so Sergeant Wilson wanted to keep the shifts the same.”
“Lucky you. You’ll be spared lunch every day at Knott’s Café,” she said without thinking. “Unless, of course, you like that sort of thing.”
Kayla laughed and Murphy had to pull her eyes away from her. Damn. She really needed to call Gloria Mendez!
“I like Knott’s Café in small doses,” Kayla said. “The food’s great. There’s just nothing healthy about it.”
“Yeah, nothing like a plate full of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes drowning in gravy for a noon meal.” She decided—for whatever reason—that she owed Kayla Dixon an apology. She tapped an index finger on the desk nervously. “Listen…the other day, I…well, I wasn’t exactly friendly to you.”
“That’s okay. No one was,” Kayla said.
Murphy shrugged. “Well, their reason was completely different than mine.”
“How so?”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Then why?”
Murphy lifted one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “I’m not really fond of the FBI. Bad blood.”
“I see.” Kayla smiled at her again. “Well, you’re in luck. I no longer work for the FBI.” The smile faded slightly. “But the others…why are they scared of me?”
“Partly the FBI thing and partly because you’re the chief’s daughter.”
“Ah. Well, I guess that’s to be expected. They assume everything I hear, I’ll run and tell my father.”
“Yeah, something like that.” She arched an eyebrow. “Will you?”
Again, the smile that nearly caused her heart to race lit on Kayla’s face. “I hadn’t planned on it. I suppose it depends on what it is. I mean, if there’s going to be a mutiny or a coup or something, I’d probably warn him.”
Murphy found herself returning that smile—like an idiot. She finally shook herself and moved away.
“Well, I should get ready to head out,” she said as Ivan came inside and tossed her the keys. “Hope it goes smoothly tonight.”
Kayla nodded. “Yes, let’s hope.”
Murphy grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and left without looking back at the woman who made her feel like the nerdy boy in the band getting flustered by being around the beautiful head cheerleader.
“You’re friggin’ thirty-four years old,” she murmured to herself as she went outside. She met Tim on his way in. “You’re late.”
His bushy mustache lifted in a smile. “Still got time. I’ll let you keep the streets safe until I get out there.”
“I thought they were going to keep you on days since you’ve got more training to do.”
“So did I,” he said with a shrug. “Man, I’m not looking forward to this one bit. What in the world are we going to talk about?”
“Knowing you, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” she said with a quick laugh. “You talked my ear off for six weeks.”
“Yeah, but riding with you and riding with Kayla Dixon are two completely diff
erent things. I get all tongue-tied around her. Add to that, she’s the chief’s daughter…damn.”
Murphy nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. “Better you than me, big guy.”
She got in the patrol car and adjusted the seat and mirrors, then radioed dispatch—Shirley was working the call center until seven—to let her know that she was on duty. Their shifts weren’t nearly as regimented as they’d be if she were in a large city with a beat to patrol. Here, they had certain areas to cruise through more often than others but for the most part, they were free to choose their routes. Kimbro was the only one on midday so they’d have three cars out until eight, then she and Tim—and of course, Kayla Dixon—would be the only police presence during the night. Depending on shift change and vacations, there were occasionally four out at once but usually only three. A town of forty-five hundred people, she thought they needed more cars out at night, but this apparently worked for them. As Tim had told her on numerous occasions, nothing much exciting happens in Sawmill Springs—especially now that school had started up again and kids couldn’t get into as much “mischief,” using Tim’s word.
That’s why, a mere fifteen minutes later, she was shocked to hear Shirley’s frantic voice on the radio.
“All units…get to Kirby’s. Something’s happened to Guy Woodard,” she said, her voice crackling with nervousness. “Repeat…Guy Woodard. Kirby said he was…he thought he was dead. Oh, my goodness.”
Where the hell was Kirby’s again? And who was Guy Woodard?
Oh, yeah—the Shell station near the old downtown area. And “Oh, my goodness”? Whatever happened to radio protocol? she thought with a shake of her head.
“Ten-four,” she responded as she flipped on her lights and siren with a smile. She was sorry for whoever Guy Woodard was but finally…some police work.
When she pulled to a stop in front of Kirby’s, there was already a crowd gathered. She slammed the car door, wishing Tim was with her. She didn’t know these people, and most of them glanced at her suspiciously.
“Step back,” she said as she moved between the eight or ten folks who were gathered at the pumps.
“Where’s Timmy?” someone asked.
“He’ll be along,” she said without looking. Her eyes were on the body. An older man, perhaps mid-sixties, was lying between the gas pumps and a dark gray Lincoln. Blood oozed from the back of his head.
“Everyone, get back,” Murphy said as she held her arms out, trying to push the gawkers away. Not a one of them moved an inch.
“Dropped right where he stood pumping gas,” someone said. “I thought he had a heart attack or something.”
“Get the hell back,” she said loudly. “Right now.”
They finally moved back, most of them mumbling under their breath.
“I done called Brett Newberry.” The man who had spoken held his hand out to Murphy. “I’m Kirby, by the way. This is my place.”
“Who’s Brett Newberry?”
“Funeral home.”
“That’s a bit premature, don’t you think?”
He looked at her blankly. “He’s dead. Who else am I gonna call?”
Murphy squatted down beside Guy Woodard, who was indeed very dead. She didn’t need to feel for a pulse to know that. She turned his head slightly, hearing gasps from the onlookers. The back of his skull was missing. She stood up quickly.
“Mr. Kirby, will you please help me get everyone back? This is a crime scene.”
“Actually, Kirby is my first name. My last name is—”
“Yeah, whatever. Get them back, please.”
He nodded. “Okay, everyone. Y’all heard her. Get back now. Go on,” he said with a wave of his hand, the crowd finally dispersing a few feet away. Murphy saw several of them on their phones and no doubt the news was traveling all over town. Traffic had slowed to a crawl along Oak. One truck stopped and a man stuck his head out of the window.
“Kirby? What the hell’s going on? I heard on the scanner that Guy Woodard was down.”
“Jesus…are you kidding me?” she murmured.
“That’d be Ray Beckman, Timmy’s uncle,” Kirby explained as he walked over to the truck.
A siren blaring and tires squealing signaled Tim’s arrival. Everyone seemed to be talking at once as Tim pushed his way through the gathering crowd with Kayla following behind.
“Murphy? What the hell happened?”
“Gunshot to the head,” she said quietly, although apparently not quiet enough.
“Shot? No, no. We didn’t hear any shots,” someone said. “He just fell.”
She grabbed Tim’s arm. “These are your people. Get them the hell away from here.” However, Kayla had already stepped up.
“Mr. Arnold…you must get back. This is a crime scene.” She held her hands out wide. “Everyone…please, get back. Let us do our job.”
“Kayla? What are you doing here? I didn’t hear you were coming back.”
“Are you kidding me?” she whispered to Tim, who shrugged.
“Small town, what can I say?”
Kayla walked over to them. “What we got?”
“Judging by the damage, I’d say it was a high-powered rifle. Sniper maybe.”
Kayla nodded, but Tim gave a nervous laugh. “Sniper? In Sawmill Springs? No way, Murphy.”
“No one heard shots. He’s obviously been shot.”
Tim was still shaking his head. “Not here. We don’t have snipers here.”
The man called Kirby came out of the crowd and nodded at Tim, then held his hand out to Kayla. “Good to see you again, Kayla. I heard a rumor you were back in town.”
Kayla shook his hand firmly. “Kirby. Did you see what happened?”
“Like they said, he just fell.” Kirby tilted his head as another siren was heard coming toward them. “That’d be Earl. I tracked him down over at the Cross Roads. They usually go over there for burgers on Monday evenings.”
Murphy shook her head. Unbelievable. She’d been on the job six weeks, and she and Tim hadn’t had anything more than a traffic accident to handle. She wasn’t counting the day they helped out the sheriff’s department when Joe Duffy’s cattle got out on the highway. Even so, surely there was some sort of protocol to follow, some set procedures that they followed. Surely the owner of the local Shell station didn’t summon the police chief at will.
Chief Dixon silenced his siren as he pulled into Kirby’s gas station. As he stepped from his car, his white Stetson stood out above the crowd, making him appear taller than he was. He was intimidating with his jet-black mustache and narrowed eyes as he walked up. The crowd parted for him, all taking several steps away as he passed by.
“Kirby, get these people the hell out of here,” he said with a jerk of his head.
“Come on now,” Kirby said to the onlookers. “You heard the chief. Go on about your business.”
“Timmy…is it true? He was shot?”
“It appears that way, Chief. Murphy was first on the scene.”
“Gunshot to the back of the head,” Murphy said. “Witnesses heard nothing. I’m going to guess a sniper rifle with a silencer, most likely shot from a distance.”
Earl Dixon stared at her several seconds without blinking. “Silencer. Sniper rifle.” He slowly shook his head, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “Well, I’m going to guess that you’re wrong. This is Sawmill Springs, Murphy. This ain’t Houston. We ain’t got goddamn snipers here.”
She stepped aside as he bent over Guy Woodard’s body. Tim shuffled nervously beside her and the smell of gasoline wafted in the air. She followed the length of the hose, which was still stuck in Guy Woodard’s gas tank. She looked over at Kayla, who was watching her father. As if feeling eyes on her, she turned, meeting Murphy’s gaze.
Murphy pulled her eyes from Kayla and glanced down at the chief instead. He was staring intently at the body, his head moving slowly from side to side. By all accounts, Earl Dixon was an honest, fair man, and he was well-respected in the
community. He’d been a cop in Sawmill Springs for thirty years, the chief for the last fifteen. When she’d interviewed with him the first time, she got the impression that he’d taken an instant dislike to her for some reason. She had no hopes of getting hired. Turned out, however, that Earl Dixon knew her lieutenant and apparently, her lieutenant had given her a glowing recommendation. Earl called her up and offered her the job. Still, they hadn’t exactly hit it off. At all. She could count on one hand the number of times they’d spoken.
“Well…I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Earl finally muttered. He stood back up, his gaze meeting hers. “I forget this ain’t your first rodeo, Murphy. This is probably right up your alley.” He turned and looked at Kayla. “What are your thoughts?”
Murphy watched as Kayla bent over the body and moved his head to the side revealing the wound in the back. She looked back up at her father. “Judging by the damage, it was a high-powered rifle. I concur with Murphy. Rifle with a silencer.”
He took his hat off and scratched his head. “Well, then…unless we think this was an accidental shooting, it looks like we got us a murder on our hands. The goddamn president of the bank.” He turned to Tim as he put his Stetson back on. “Get some crime scene tape up, for God’s sake. Find out who was out here when he was pumping gas. We need to interview anyone who saw it.”
“I’m on it, Chief.”
The chief turned to Kirby. “You called Brett?”
Kirby nodded. “Yep. Thought he’d be here by now.”
“Shouldn’t we process the scene first? I mean, I know there’s no M.E. to call but—”
“Doesn’t take a medical examiner or a goddamn autopsy to determine the cause of death, Murphy,” Chief Dixon said harshly.
Unbelievable.
Then he surprised her by apologizing. “Sorry. I forget that you’re used to having forensic specialists and coroners and medical examiners at your beck and call.” He pointed at Kayla. “You too, I suppose, up in your fancy FBI offices. No, Brett Newberry is coming to collect the…the body,” he explained, glancing down at Guy Woodard. “He’ll transport it down past Huntsville. We use the Montgomery County coroner’s office there.” He looked back at the body. “I’ll be goddamned,” he murmured. “Guy Woodard.”
