by Gerri Hill
Murphy drew her brows together. “Ever?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“An idiot,” she murmured to herself. No wonder Murphy wasn’t responding to her overtures. She thought she was straight, for God’s sake. It was just as well. They had no business mixing work and pleasure. For one, her father would kill her. And two…yes, she had learned her lesson with Jennifer. Work and play did not mix. Friends? Sure. But anything else? No. It was out of the question. It was best to forget it and move on.
“The chicken was delicious.”
She didn’t turn around at the sound of Murphy’s voice. “Thank you,” she said as she continued to put the leftovers away.
“I’ll wash dishes,” Murphy volunteered.
“I’ll let you. Give me a few minutes and you can have the kitchen to yourself.”
She heard Murphy sigh and felt her move closer.
“Kayla…let’s—”
“Forget it,” she finished for her. She finally turned around, facing her. “Where’s Uncle Ned?”
“He’s got the cards out. I assume he’s looking for another victim.”
“I guess it’s my turn to be the victim,” she said. “I need to check my email first. It’s Friday evening. I doubt Kabir has had a chance to delve into anything yet, but you never know.”
“I thought you were going to sweet-talk him?”
“Yes, well, I tried to temper that a bit. Don’t want him to think that I’m straight or anything.”
Murphy laughed. “Yeah, don’t confuse him.” Her smile faded a little. “I—”
Kayla held her hand up, stopping her. “No. Let’s don’t talk about it. I’m embarrassed enough.”
“It never occurred to me that you were gay,” Murphy said. “The married thing…and Tim calling you a…a siren and how he got all tongue-tied around you and—”
“A siren?” She rolled her eyes. “God…men.” She met her gaze. “You really thought I was a straight woman coming on to you?”
Murphy nodded. “I did. And if it helps, I was really, really wishing you weren’t straight.”
“Well, imagine that. Your wish came true.” She cleared her throat. “But we should forget about it. We’re working. And I’m obviously very out of practice.”
“We are working, yes, but I wouldn’t say you’re out of practice.”
She took a deep breath. What did that mean? Were they going to forget about it or not? “I’ll…I’ll get out of your way. Thanks for doing dishes.”
“Sure. Thanks for cooking.”
They stepped around each other as she left the kitchen, and Murphy claimed the sink. Her uncle was sitting at the table, playing solitaire, a bottle of whiskey and a glass sitting next to him. Behind him, the living room was dark except for a lone lamp in one corner. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows, and if someone were outside, they would be easy targets.
“Do you mind if I put the porch light on?”
He glanced up at her. “What for? You going out?”
“Something to offset the light in here.”
“Worried about a sniper being outside, are you?”
“We are supposed to be protecting you,” she reminded him.
He put his cards down. “I’ve never had anybody from town out here before. Always kinda liked having it to myself. My boys come out to fish occasionally, that’s about it,” he said, referring to his sons. “We use it for family barbeques and such.”
“According to my dad, you missed Memorial Day this year.”
He nodded. “Yeah…well, I was…busy,” he said rather sheepishly. “What I’m trying to say is, if you’re worried about somebody finding us out here, don’t be.”
“If you have a price on your head, they’ll find you.” She walked over to the door and flipped on the porch light. “It’s not hard to track cell phones.”
“You think someone can track this old flip phone of mine?”
She smiled. “You still have that thing?”
“I just need a phone. Don’t need a damn computer in my hand.”
“You sound like Dad,” she said as she picked up her laptop and joined him at the table.
“You gonna play?”
“I need to check email first.” However, her phone rang before she logged in. It was her father and she hoped he had some news. “Hey,” she answered.
“Y’all okay out there?”
“We’re fine. Just had dinner and now Uncle Ned is about to beat me in gin rummy,” she said, smiling at her uncle. “Any news on your end?”
“Got a break. But not sure how it’ll help us. Kirby found the bullet that killed Guy Woodard—embedded in the outside wall. Must have hit Guy and kept right on going. Damn lucky it didn’t fly right through the store and take out Kirby too.”
“Caliber?”
“A 30.06. Common enough. Gonna send it off for testing though. Also got the preliminary report on Lance Foster. They were able to retrieve the bullet. A nine mil,” he said.
“That’s good news. Maybe a break…finally.”
“You got anything going?”
“I’ve been in email contact with Kimbro. He hasn’t found anything. I also emailed a friend at the FBI,” she said. “If Kimbro gets stuck, I’m sure he’ll help us.”
“Kimbro said you told him Niemeyer Trucking was a dead end.”
“Yes. According to Uncle Ned, they used what he referred to as ghost trucks.”
“Yeah, and Lance and Guy used burner phones. I guess they learned that from watching too many spy movies,” he said. “Got Guy’s funeral tomorrow at ten. It’ll be a huge event. The Lutheran Church will be overflowing.”
“You haven’t said…are you taking much heat?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” His voice lowered a bit. “How’s Ned treating you?”
“Fine,” she said, glancing over at him.
“I guess he’s right there, huh?”
“Yes. Murphy’s doing dishes.”
“Well, unless we get a hit on something, I guess I won’t talk to you again until after the funeral. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Okay. If we have any excitement out here, I’ll call you.”
She put her phone down, surprised to find Murphy leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching her.
“Dad,” she said unnecessarily.
“Any news?”
“Yeah, actually. They found the slug that killed Guy Woodard. Kirby found it in the wall of his station. A 30.06. And it was a nine millimeter that killed Lance Foster.”
“Well, that’s something, at least.” Murphy came closer. “We looked all over for that slug.”
“I know.”
“A 30.06, huh?” her uncle said. “That’s a pretty common rifle. So’s the nine mil.”
“Yes,” Murphy said. “But if we find the gun, we can use ballistics to match the bullet.”
“So…if you had a suspect, you could get a warrant to confiscate his weapons?”
“Yes,” she said as she sat down at the table beside her.
“And match the bullet to the gun? Just like on TV?”
“Well, things take a little longer in real life, but yeah, just like on TV.”
He shoved the bottle of whiskey across the table toward Murphy. “You want a drink?”
“It looks inviting, but I’m working. I’ll have to pass.”
“Kayla?”
“No, thanks.”
He filled his own glass. “You never were much of a drinker that I recall.”
“I left here when I was eighteen, hardly drinking age.”
He took a sip of the whiskey. “Got married and left town,” he said. “Kevin Lade returned alone. Heartbroken, the way I hear it.”
“That was a long time ago, Uncle Ned. Kevin is married with kids. Hardly heartbroken.” She looked over at Murphy. “Nothing new on email.”
“I guess you didn’t sweet-talk enough to your FBI friend,” Murphy said with a smile.
�
�I guess not.” She closed her laptop and shoved it aside, then glanced at her uncle. “Ready to beat me in gin?”
He shuffled the deck of cards one more time before dealing them out. Murphy picked up Lance Foster’s appointment book and flipped through it idly, her glance going to their card game occasionally.
“No, not that one,” Murphy said. “Pick up the three he discarded.”
“You’re a fine one to offer advice,” she said. “Did you even win a hand?”
“I came close.”
“What’s your version of close?” her uncle asked as he drew a card.
“I had four of a kind once,” Murphy said as she leaned back in her chair, taking the appointment book with her.
Kayla watched her for a second, wondering what she was looking for. They’d both been over the book several times already. Her uncle tapped the table impatiently.
“Sorry.” As soon as she discarded a seven, he scooped it up, then laid his cards out.
“Gin.”
“Damn. That was fast.”
“Told you to take the three,” Murphy murmured without looking up.
“Yes, I’ll take your expert advice next time,” she said as she shuffled the cards.
Murphy was flipping back and forth between pages, her brows drawn together in a frown. Then she closed the book and held it to her chest, a thoughtful expression on her face. Kayla was about to ask what she’d found when Murphy got up and went into the kitchen. She shrugged, then dealt out the cards.
Her uncle’s gaze was on Murphy as she stood at the kitchen counter, her back to them, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans.
“She doesn’t talk much,” he stated.
“That’s what Lori says too, although she’s not quite as quiet as I first thought.” She looked at the cards in her hand, then glanced again at Murphy. Murphy had turned and as their eyes met, Kayla knew something was up. Murphy motioned her into the kitchen. She nodded, then laid her cards down. “Be right back.”
Murphy moved deeper into the kitchen, out of her uncle’s line of sight. Kayla moved up beside, her brows drawn together.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
“Look at this,” Murphy said, pointing to the last entry in the appointment book.
Kayla nodded. “Yes. Mr. X.”
“The handwriting. It’s different than all the others.” Murphy flipped to another entry for Mr. X then another. “The X has a curl on each of them. See?”
“Yes. Go back to the last day.” There was no curl. She stared at her. “What are you thinking? That the killer made the entry to make it look like this Mr. X was there?”
“Yes.”
“Then…”
“There are only four people who knew Mr. X existed. Three of them are dead.”
“We were going with the assumption that Mr. X was the killer,” she reminded her. “If he was the killer, he wouldn’t have made the entry. Unless he didn’t know they called him Mr. X.”
“I think the chief is right. It’s a local.” Her gaze went out into the living room. “Your uncle….he’s a good shot. He took that deer with a Winchester 30.06.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re not suggesting that Uncle Ned is the killer, are you?” she asked in a shocked whisper.
“Four men were involved in this drug scheme. Three are dead. He’s not exactly acting like there’s a killer out looking for him.”
“When we came here with Dad, he was hiding. He was scared. He was—”
“Acting,” Murphy finished for her.
Kayla ran a hand through her hair nervously. Was Murphy serious? Did she really think Uncle Ned was the killer? Her Uncle Ned? He was an accomplished hunter, yes. The deer antlers on the wall were a testament to that. A 30.06 was a popular hunting rifle though. Her uncle wasn’t the only person in Sawmill Springs to own one. It was all circumstantial, at best. The forged appointment with Mr. X, however, pointed at her uncle. As Murphy had said, four men knew of Mr. X’s existence and three of them were dead.
She looked at Murphy, their eyes locking together. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. She shook her head. “What if you’re wrong?”
“What if I’m right?”
She nodded. “Okay. Yes. It’s something we should consider.” She glanced behind her. “I should get back out there. He’s probably suspicious of us being in here.”
“Just act normal. Go back to playing cards.”
“What are you going to do?”
She held her phone up. “I’m going to call your father.”
Kayla grasped her arm and squeezed. “He’ll never believe you.”
“I know.” Murphy motioned with her head. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”
She took a deep breath before walking back out, but her uncle was no longer sitting at the table. She nearly panicked and her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but then she saw movement and turned. He was standing at the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand. No, he certainly wasn’t acting like he was a target. He would be in plain sight of anyone outside. She pushed that thought away and pointed to the table.
“Sorry. Want to finish?” Her voice sounded nervous, odd, to her own ears. She wondered if he recognized the change in her.
“What were you two in there whispering about?” he asked before bringing the glass to his lips.
“Just…work. I…I need to email Kimbro. Murphy…there was a date in the appointment book that Murphy wants Kimbro to…to concentrate on,” she said lamely. She glanced toward the kitchen, hearing Murphy’s strained voice. She imagined Murphy was finding it hard to argue with her father while trying to whisper.
She went back to the table and sat down, but her uncle made no move to join her. She picked up the cards, then remembered her lie. She was supposed to email Kimbro, so she pulled the laptop in front of her and opened it up. Her uncle moved to the kitchen door, and she wondered if he could hear Murphy on the phone.
“Should I deal again?” she asked nervously. “Or did you have a good hand?”
He pointed his glass at her. “Yeah, why don’t you shuffle again.” His glance slid to her laptop. “After you do your email, of course. I’m in no hurry.”
“Sure.” She opened up her mail, wondering what she could email to Kimbro that would make sense. What if her uncle stood over her shoulder and read it? Christ! She tapped her fingers nervously, then began typing, deciding to go with the lie in case Uncle Ned did indeed read it. However, he was still standing by the door, not paying her any attention. Should she email her father instead and tell him to come out there? No. He never checked his email from home. Maybe she should alert Kimbro and ask him to send her father out. She was about to type a quick message when her uncle turned and looked at her. Afraid he would come investigate what she was writing, she simply clicked out of the email, pretending to send it, then closed the laptop with a tentative smile.
“All set,” she said as she picked up the cards. He made no move to join her and she shuffled the cards with shaking hands. She couldn’t help but glance up at the deer mounted on the wall. A beautiful buck. Well, beautiful once, when he was still wild and free, running the woods. What did her uncle say? Over two hundred and fifty yards away? They’d estimated the shot that took out Guy Woodard was close to three hundred. Could her uncle have made that shot?
Murphy came out of the kitchen, and as Kayla glanced over at her, her uncle grabbed her around the neck and brought a handgun from behind his back, pressing it to Murphy’s head. The cards spilled across the floor as Kayla jumped up, knocking the chair over in the process. She drew her weapon, pointing it at her uncle.
“Uncle Ned, what the hell are you doing? Put the gun down,” she said as evenly as she could manage.
Uncle Ned walked Murphy closer to her, the barrel of the gun pressed directly against her temple. Kayla took a step back, holding her gun in front of her.
“Put your gun on the table, Kayla. You’re not going to shoot.”
“Uncle Ned—”
He shook his head. “You know, I always thought there was something funny about you, Kayla.”
“Funny? What are you…what are you talking about?” She gripped her weapon tighter, wondering if she dared to take a shot. He was all but hidden behind Murphy. She met Murphy’s eyes, but they weren’t steeped in fear like she thought her own must be. They looked back at her calmly and she relaxed a little.
“The way you and Kevin divorced…so quick,” he continued. “You living there in Austin, Earl never saying a word about it, keeping it all a big secret.”
“Me being gay was never a big secret,” she said. “Didn’t think anybody cared.”
“No…I don’t care,” he said. “But I’ve been watching you two. Seen the way you been acting.” He pulled Murphy up tighter against him. “I think you like Murphy here, that’s what I think.”
Kayla laughed nervously. “Well, yeah…we’re kinda partners, so yeah, I guess I like her.”
“Yeah…I don’t think you want me to shoot her. But shoot her, I will, if you don’t put your goddamn gun down,” he said, his voice louder now.
“Uncle Ned…please…she’s a cop. You can’t do this.”
“This late in the game…don’t matter much to me if I kill another one, cop or not. Put your gun down, Kayla. You’re not going to shoot through her to get to me.”
It was basic training 101…never willingly give up your weapon. But her uncle’s finger was on the trigger of his gun, and the barrel was pressed against Murphy’s head. There was no way she could attempt to disable him.
“Kayla…don’t do it,” Murphy said.
He grinned…an evil grin that transformed his face into something other than her uncle’s once familiar smile. “Oh, I think she likes you too, Kayla,” he mocked. “How sweet.” The smile on his face faded completely. “Now…drop your gun. I’m not afraid to shoot her.” He stared into her eyes. “I’ll do it. You know I will.”
Yes, she had no doubt that he would. She, then, would shoot him a second later. That scenario flashed through her mind…Murphy lying in a pool of blood, her head split open from the gunshot. Her uncle lying beside Murphy, two—maybe three—shots to the chest, blood seeping from his wounds. Both dead.
