by Tonya Kappes
Fifty yards in front of us, nestled behind a few trees, was a small log cabin. The mayor’s car and Polly Parker’s were pulled up next to each other.
The gravel drive would definitely make noise if I ran up alongside the house to get a good look inside, so I slipped my shoes off and tried the best I could to tiptoe up to the small cabin.
“Ouch. Ew. Ouch.” I couldn’t help but let out the pain from the edges of the rocks sticking the bottom of my foot.
“Shh.” Poppa was already up to the side of the house, looking in the window. “They won’t hear me, but they will hear you.” He pressed his head clear through the window, the rest of his body still on the outside of the cabin. “They’re fussing.”
“About what?” I asked in a hushed whisper, a safe distance from the house. I squatted by Polly’s front tires. If Poppa was going to tell me everything they were saying, I didn’t need to risk being seen.
“He’s telling her it’s not the end of the world.” Poppa drew back, looked at me, and shrugged. He stuck his head back through the window. “Crap! Here they come!”
“What?”
It didn’t take long to know he was right. The cabin door creaked opened and Polly walked out, stopping on the porch. Her face was red and blotchy. It was shameful, but I took a little pride in the fact that she had an ugly cry face.
Polly and Mayor Ryland stood on the porch. He said a few words I couldn’t hear because I was too busy slipping underneath Polly’s car. I rolled completely in the middle so if she drove forward or backward, she wouldn’t run over me. I became one with the gravel, or so my body felt like it.
The sound of my heart and footsteps surrounded me. I took one deep breath and held it, waiting for Polly to get in the car.
“Let’s go back in and talk about it, baby,” Mayor Ryland pleaded with Polly. The toes of their shoes were touching.
“But you won’t love me. This was not in our plan,” Polly pouted.
“Baby, this can be worked out,” he assured her. The toes parted and the sound of footsteps faded back into the cabin.
“See, I can help you solve these crimes.” Poppa was crouched down by the car, his head tipped under the bumper looking at me.
“You can’t go around scaring me like that,” I warned, my hand on my heart. I rolled out from under the car and ran as fast as I could back to the Wagoneer. The stabs on the bottom of my feet didn’t faze me. I had to get out of there.
“Come on,” I yelled when I realized Poppa wasn’t with me. It kinda felt silly yelling for a ghost, but deep down I was happy he was here. With my keys in hand, I jumped in the Wagoneer. Poppa wasn’t in the car and for a second, I waited.
“What am I doing?” I jabbed the keys into the ignition and looked for Poppa before I slammed the pedal down. “He’s a ghost. He can catch up.” I glanced in the rearview mirror, making sure I was way out of sight of Mayor Ryland and Polly Parker.
Chapter Fifteen
“Where are we off to now?” Poppa sat in the front seat as proud as a peach. There was fire in his eyes. There was no denying how much he enjoyed the chase of a criminal.
Whether or not my mind was playing havoc with me, it tickled me to no end to see my Poppa’s feistiness that I had long buried in the back of my mind since his death.
“Are you going to go ask Polly Parker about the movie she stole from Luke?” Poppa asked. “Then you really might believe I’m who I say I am and that I’m here to help you.”
“No. I’m going to the office.” I kept my hands on the wheel, trying not to fight my internal struggle. I couldn’t decide whether I was going crazy or if Poppa was really here to help me.
It was like one of those ghost shows on TV. They made it believable on Ghost Hunters, but now that it was happening to me in real life, it was a different story. One thing I knew for sure, there were crimes that needed to be solved, and the evidence taken from the crime scene that I had Wyatt send off to the lab should be back soon.
“So if you’re here to help me, let’s go through this.” I went ahead and decided to give it a try. “Camille Shively would seem like a likely suspect because they had a disagreement in public, though I don’t know what that was.” I held up my finger. “Yet.”
“I’m sure if you keep threatening to get a warrant, she might cave.” Poppa had easily gone back into his sheriff mode. “Then there’s the ‘family’ symbol on Ronald and at White’s. That has to mean something. And don’t forget about Viola White.” Poppa was so good at making checklists of suspects when he was sheriff.
“And why didn’t she have a security system?” I really did find that odd. “With all that money and jewels in the case.”
“What would her reason be for killing Ronald?” Poppa had that look. Curiosity. “Kenni-bug, things aren’t adding up.”
“I really don’t think Polly or Mayor Ryland are related to the crimes, but it does make juicy gossip.” I giggled and turned into the alley behind Cowboy’s Catfish. I parked the Wagoneer behind the dumpster in my normal parking spot.
“That is something you don’t need to get caught up in,” Poppa grunted.
“Then you shouldn’t have told me,” I grunted and turned off the ignition.
“I told you so you would believe I was here.” He had a point.
“Good afternoon, Betty.” I shut the door behind me with the heel of my boot.
“Late afternoon.” Betty glanced up at the clock above the only jail cell we had in Cottonwood.
Having a jail cell and office located in the back of Cowboy’s Catfish was not an ideal spot, but we were just a small town. If we ever really did need to hold someone who was a real threat to the community, we would transport them to a bigger city. Until then, there was no need to build a real jail.
The space was plenty big for Wyatt, Betty, and me. There were three desks. One for me, one for Betty, and the other for Wyatt. There was a cement-block room next to our office where we put a cot, blanket, and pillow. The only time the room was used was when Wyatt brought someone in to sober up. Most of the time, he’d drive them home.
“Betty sure hasn’t aged.” Poppa stood so close to Betty, I swear I thought she could see him. She shivered up one side and down the next. She grabbed her cardigan sweater off the back of her chair.
“Did you feel that sudden chill?” she asked, fumbling with the buttons.
I shook my head. “Can you call Art Baskin and Wyatt? Tell them both to meet me at Doc’s place first thing in the morning. Say around eight?”
“Is Art a suspect?” Betty’s brow cocked.
“Don’t go and spread any gossip.” I thumbed through a file Wyatt had left on my desk. It was a fax confirmation from some paperwork he had sent to the lab. “Have you heard back from the lab yet? Fax or call?”
“No.” Betty was hunched over her rolodex, twirling it with one hand while the other flipped the alphabet tabs.
“I’m telling you, if you use the computer life would be so much easier for you.” I had spent the better part of the past two years trying to bring the office up to technology speed. Only I was afraid I’d have to get rid of Betty for that.
“Not going to happen. Not in my lifetime.” She plucked the card out of the file and tapped away on the phone. “Art said he’ll be there,” Betty said after talking on the phone for a few minutes.
“What are you doing?” I asked Poppa. He had his nose stuck deep in the wireless modem I’d had Art install when I took office.
“I’m going home.” Betty’s purse was dangling from the crook of her elbow. “Unless you can think of anything else I need to do.”
“No.” I gulped, realizing I was talking out loud to Poppa in front of Betty. “I’m good.”
“I almost forgot.” Betty stopped shy of the door. She pointed to my desk. “That package on your d
esk is from Finn. Something about ear pieces.”
“Thanks.” I walked over and picked up the box. “Have a good night.”
The county paid Clay’s Ferry to take any Cottonwood dispatch calls during the off-hours. They’d call me directly if someone called, which was rare.
“I’ll see you at the meeting, unless you want me to get you some supper at Cowboy’s.” Betty looked at me. I shook my head.
“I’m meeting Finn—um,” I corrected myself, “Officer Vincent for supper at Ben’s to go over a few things.”
“Are you?” Her lips turned up in a grin. She didn’t wait for me to answer. She gave a two-finger toodle-loo over her shoulder before she disappeared into Cowboy’s Catfish.
Chapter Sixteen
I tucked the box from Finn under my arm and walked down Main Street to Ben’s. There was no sense in driving since it was down the street, and the fresh air might do me some good. It wasn’t like my morning jogs, but it still helped clear my mind.
“What is the star of the hour doing here?” Ben Harrison said when I walked in.
I wasn’t sure if it was a greeting, but he had a big grin on his face. His brown shaggy hair was tucked up under his backward baseball cap, showing off his brown eyes. Ben was a looker. He was probably the cutest man in Cottonwood. And the fact that he cooked made him even more appealing.
“Don’t you mean falling star?” I teased back, and pointed to Finn, who had taken the two-top table nestled in the corner.
“Fancy pants.” Ben had on his normal attire of a plaid shirt, jeans, and a dishtowel flung over his left shoulder. “Who is he?”
“Finn, from Chicago, part of the Kentucky Reserves.” Looking over at him my jaw tensed, and I tried to take a couple deep breaths without Ben noticing.
“Finn? Who has a name like Finn?” Ben looked over at Finn.
“Poets.” I laughed. “He’s a nice guy though. He’s doing all he can to help out.”
“Stressed out? Or attracted to him?” Ben’s smile grew even bigger and brighter, showing off the great dental work of Beverly Houston. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get to you like this. Tough Kenni Lowry is frazzled by Finn.”
“Neither. You are silly.” I ran my hand over my hair. Finn was all sorts of handsome. Could Ben really see I was a little nervous having supper with Finn? Or that I did think he was somewhat attractive? I mean, it wasn’t like it was a date. It was work. Just like me meeting Wyatt, only Wyatt was far from young and buff with a full head of hair like Finn. Not that I’d noticed.
“I’ll put on a fresh pot.” Ben turned and headed back to the counter. He knew exactly what I needed. “It looks like you’re going to need it.”
The night was going to be long and my mind needed to be on high alert. I had to be wide awake for the meeting.
“I was beginning to think you stood me up.” Finn didn’t look up from the plastic menu.
“You don’t need to look at that.” I plucked it out of his hands. “Everyone at Ben’s gets the special. In fact,” I stuck the menu between the salt and pepper shakers where it rightfully belonged as a decoration, “I don’t think he even cooks half the stuff on the menu.”
“Whatever you say, Sheriff.” Finn grinned those fancy pearly whites.
“Look at you.” I sat down, giving him a onceover. He had on a pair of dark jeans, a red plaid shirt, cowboy boots, and the biggest belt buckle you ever saw this side of the Mississippi.
His fancy suit was long gone.
“I didn’t plan on still being here tonight. I went to the Tractor Supply store and this was the best they had.” He looked different. A good different.
“Do you have any new leads?” I asked, moving my hands back when Ben walked over with two cups of coffee in his hands, setting them in front of me.
“No thanks.” Finn waved off the large cup. “I’ll have water.”
“Oh, they aren’t for you,” Ben quickly corrected Finn. “Kenni always gets two cups.”
Happily, I pulled them both in front of me and stuck my nose in the steam climbing up in the air, taking a deep inhale of the strongest black coffee in town.
“Two specials.” I held up two fingers before wrapping my hand around one of the cups, bringing it up to my lips. “Tiny Tina doesn’t have anything on you.”
“Tiny Tina?” Ben’s head cocked to the side.
“Nothing. Two specials,” I repeated, keeping Dr. Shively’s prescription to myself.
Neither he nor Finn needed to know about me telling Camille I was stressed. Ben would definitely not let me live it down.
Ben hesitated, but walked away.
“I went down the list of patients Doc Walton had on file and half of them couldn’t hold a knife or arm-wrestle an infant, much less take down a man.” Finn’s perfectly manscaped brows cocked. “So I went back to the scene of the crime, and then I went to see Max.”
“Max?” I asked, knowing Max probably told him about the symbol.
“He informed me that you stopped by and he showed me the symbol on Doctor Walton’s wrist which I knew matched the symbol at the jewelry store.” He tapped his finger on the table.
“I did find out from Mrs. Kim that the symbol means family. I’ve not figured out what that means to the crime, but we will.” I nodded.
“I found these at the scene of the crime.” He took his fancy phone out of his pocket and showed me a picture of some mud.
I squinted, tilting my head side to side trying to figure out what the picture was and trying not to look stupid.
“Tire tracks.” He used his fingers to swipe the picture, making it bigger, something my little flip phone didn’t do. He tapped the photo, causing it to go back to the original size. “So I’m guessing the killer got to Doc Walton’s house by car. Old car, because the tires are small. Thin. And they were in the back of the house.”
“Why do you think the killer parked in the back?” I wasn’t following, so I decided to take another sip of coffee. Maybe it would jumpstart my brain. He sucked in a deep breath and stopped talking when Ben came back over with Finn’s water.
Ben looked between us and smiled. I gave him the stink eye until he moved on.
Finn started again, “I noticed there were some smudge marks of dried mud by the back door. Smudged, as in deliberately trying to get rid of shoe prints. Shoe prints that shouldn’t have been there if Doc didn’t let anyone in his house with shoes on.” Using his finger, he swiped through the photos again, showing me Doc Walton’s kitchen floor, where there was definitely some muddy smudging going on.
“Finn, that’s brilliant.” I had forgotten about Toots telling us Doc didn’t let anyone wear shoes. “The killer probably came in the back door and took Doc off-guard.”
“The killer was also smart enough to drag the footsteps making trudge marks to the car. Whoever killed Doc Walton knew him and knew he didn’t let people wear shoes inside.” He showed me another picture. “But…” An evil grin crossed his face, his eyes boring into me with a twinkle set deep in them. “The killer wasn’t smart enough to drag the tire tracks.”
“Really?” I grabbed his phone out of his hands and looked at all the photos again.
Damn. He was good.
“I’m not a tire expert, so I need to know who is in Cottonwood, or I can send the pictures to someone from my division of the State Police.” He made a good suggestion.
“Can you email those to me?” I asked. “I have someone who will know exactly what kind of car those tire marks belong to, but in the meantime, definitely send them out. We can use all the expertise we can get.”
A couple minutes later and an email full of pictures sent to me, Finn and I were enjoying Ben’s special.
“Ear pieces?” I patted on the box.
“Yeah. We had some extra
at the Reserve office so I had them couriered down here.” He took them out of the box. “It’s much less bulky than those big walkie-talkies. And even better, not everyone can hear what you and Betty are talking about.”
He handed me one over the table. He was right. These would definitely be better than the walkie-talkie, only I wasn’t so sure I was going to like them in my ear.
“I’ll give it a try if you get them set up for me.” I wasn’t willing to admit that the use of technology wasn’t a strong quality I had.
He nodded and shoved a forkful of food in his mouth.
“Son of Sam,” Finn mumbled through the mouthful of food out of nowhere.
“I don’t know Sam.” I racked my brain between chews trying to recall someone who lived in Cottonwood named Sam.
I was sure there had to be someone with the name Sam, but no one that I knew.
Finn swallowed and took a drink of water to clear his mouth.
“The movie, Summer of Sam.” He set the glass down. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” I shrugged.
“You really haven’t seen it?” he asked, as if my life depended on it.
“No. I haven’t.” I picked up my cup of coffee and held it up to my nose, taking a nice long inhale.
“I’ve been going over and over in my mind those symbols on Doc’s wrist and the carpet of the jewelry store. It’s a lot like Summer of Sam, which is about a terrible crime spree of a serial killer, Son of Sam. I’ll leave out the gory details, but he left a note, a sign, behind on every crime, taunting the police.” He took another bite. Through muffled lips, he said, “This reminds me of a pretty immature Son of Sam job. The symbol, as if the killer is taunting us. Trying to tell us something. The killer wants us to know the two are connected.”
“A puzzle?” I asked, thinking that I had to rent Summer of Sam. Poppa appeared next to Finn. His nose almost touched Finn’s cheek and his eyes were lowered. He was really getting a good look. He turned toward me. I kept eating, trying to ignore him since Finn was right there.
