Born to Die

by Winter Austin

  “And you live in Iowa now? That must have been one wild hair to leave and come here.”

  “About five wild hairs. My children were my reason.” Vega gestured for Boyce to follow. “Let’s go to my office.”

  Once they were tucked inside the small, cluttered space, Silas Vega picked up a steaming mug. “Cocoa?”

  Boyce waved him off. “No, thank you.”

  “What can I help you with, Agent Hunt?”

  “I’m not sure. Were you here when the store was robbed?”

  Silas seated himself in a tattered chair; the throwback from the ’90s screeched as it took the short man’s weight. “I was supposed to be, but my wife wasn’t feeling well that night, and I asked Teddy to cover that shift. I wonder, if I’d been here, would the store still have been robbed?”

  “It’s difficult to say. Sheriff Hamilton explained that your security cameras were down the day of the robbery.”

  “The strangest thing. No one can tell me how it happened, but the whole system crashed that afternoon, and the company wasn’t going to be able to come out until the next day—yesterday, in fact.”

  “Did they get it up and running again?”

  “They did, and they couldn’t figure out why the system crashed. The tech guy said they were going to do a diagnostic check over the next few days.”

  “Could I get the contact info for the company? I’d like to hear what they say.”

  Silas nodded, sipping his hot chocolate. He pointed at his mug. “Have you ever had Mexican hot chocolate, Agent?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “The secret is the pepper, gives it a nice kick.”

  Boyce smiled. “I’ll have to remember to give it a try. How is Teddy, by the way?”

  “Shaken up. He was scared for his life. Thought he was going to be killed the way those robbers were threatening him with their guns.”

  “Did he recognize anything about them?”

  “You’d have to ask him.” Silas sat forward, scribbled Teddy’s address and the phone number to the security company on a ripped corner of paper, and handed it to Boyce. “Teddy’s about eighty years old and doesn’t hear too well, so I advise you to go visit him.”

  Boyce slipped the note into the folder in his hand. “Out of curiosity, do you bank with Eider Savings?”

  “I do, personal and business. This isn’t the only store I have—my middle son operates our blacksmith shop and farrier business.”

  Boyce was getting that tingly sensation in the back of his neck. Silas was a fountain of information, and it appeared Boyce had hit pay dirt. Small talk with men like Silas always opened up new angles to use in investigations. “I wasn’t aware there was still a need for blacksmith shops.”

  “It’s a dying profession, but you’d be surprised how many old-time farmers still refuse to use modern equipment. We get a lot of business from the local implement shops when they’re overrun with work. Pays the bills.”

  “How long have you lived in Eider?”

  Mouth quirked to the side, Silas drummed his fingers against his mug. “Moved here when my Sofia was two, she’s twenty-nine now, so twenty-seven years.”

  “Would you say it’s common for most business owners in Eider to run more than one business?”

  “Most certainly. If you want to make ends meet, you need to have income coming from multiple directions.”

  “Is Eider Savings the primary bank of choice for business owners?” Boyce asked.

  “That I wouldn’t know. We have two other locally owned banks along with one of those big nationwide conglomerates—that’s just in Eider. Over in Cornell they have their own town bank.”

  Stroking his chin, Boyce filed these tidbits away. Granted, he could have easily gotten this information from the police chief or the sheriff, but those two men were tight-lipped with Boyce and not as privy to the local gossip as someone like Silas, who owned a convenience store that many of the locals liked to frequent for morning coffee or on their lunch breaks.

  “Are you thinking the robbery of my store and the bank were done by the same people?” Silas asked.

  Boyce shifted his weight, ready to end this and move on. “Seems peculiar for all these robberies to occur in a little place like McIntire County, doesn’t it? Well”—he gave a two-finger salute—“Señor Vega, it has been enlightening. I’ll be sure to call on Teddy, soon.”

  Silas jumped up from his chair and hurried around the desk to shake Boyce’s hand. “If you need anything else, just stop by.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. And maybe you can make me a cup of that Mexican hot chocolate.”

  “Gladly.”

  Boyce made a beeline for the door and the car, where Liza sat on the driver’s side with the engine running. She watched him slide into the passenger seat.

  “Was this trip more informative than our previous one?” Her snippy tone grated on his nerves, but he shrugged it off.

  “Much. There’s a connection between this robbery and the bank’s, possibly all of them. Head back to the sheriff’s department. I want to see the files on those other robberies.”

  Like a bloodhound, he had scented the faint hint of a trail left by the robbers, and he wasn’t about to let up.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stillness surrounded her under the heavily draped boughs. The thick stand of trees blocked the wind and seemed to wrap around her, trying to give her comfort, but all they did was remind her of what she’d lost. She was fighting a losing battle just standing here.

  After leaving Nash, the sense that she needed to go over the area one more time had nagged at her until she gave in, a feat in and of itself. Alone, but desperate for some kind of answer, it had taken Cassy nearly a half hour to convince herself to walk into the timber, and her hand was still plastered to the butt of her gun.

  She shouldn’t be out here alone.

  The yellow crime scene tape hung limp against the tree trunks surrounding the spot. She stepped within the trampled circle and scanned the area, her gaze landing on the trunk where Wallis’s blood had darkened the bark. It would take a good thaw and rain to eventually erode the stains away. All that blood. He hadn’t deserved to die that way, riddled with bullets, feeling the life ebb away with each pain-wracked breath. Scared and cold, realizing the life he’d lived had been short. God, all the things Cassy had suffered through herself when The Priest had forced that gun into her hand and told her to kill Nic. The fact that Wallis hadn’t died alone was the sole thing consoling her, that she and Nash had been with him as he took his last breath.

  Sighing, her breath billowing in front of her face, she moved closer to the tree. With each measured step, she swept aside the top, fluffy layer of snow, examining the hardened layer exposed beneath, her actions going a long way toward helping her forget where she had ventured. Bits of pink and brown would appear, revealing where blood had sprayed from Wallis’s body when he was shot or where it had dropped as he had been carried to this spot.

  Coming to a halt in front of the trunk, Cassy turned in a full 360.

  “What do you think you’re going to find?” The dense snow muffled her question.

  DCI had gone over this whole area with a fine-tooth comb. The techs were professional— they didn’t miss a thing.

  “I don’t know, maybe evidence that the killer wanted to revisit his handiwork,” she answered her own question. Hearing it out loud made her feel more stupid than if she’d just considered it in her head. Would the killer or killers be that arrogant to return so soon? Doubtful, especially with the vigil that had been held last night.

  Cassy had originally attended the vigil with the hope that whoever killed Wallis would be there. Getting emotionally worked up hadn’t been in the plans, nor Boyce showing up. If Wallis’s killer or killers had been here last night, she had no clue. Hell, she didn’t even know who she was looking for.

  With a huff, she put her back to the tree and let her gaze rove over the stand of trees. Her walk from
the side of the road hadn’t revealed any fresh tracks. Certainly there would have been some slight indentation or disturbance in the snow if someone had come back here.

  Had she been paying better attention last night she would have looked for someone out of place at the gathering. There were times she wished she was more like Nic—or Pop, for that matter—when it came to locking away her emotions and being more calculating. From the first time Cassy had taken a hard fall off a horse, broke her arm, and sobbed like a baby about it, she knew she’d never be like Nic, who had taken more than her fair share of tumbles and, without a tear in her eye, continued the ride one-handed, broken arm hanging at her side. Yet when Cassy considered how Nic suffered with PTSD, being sensitive and empathetic held their merits.

  The stiff wind that managed to penetrate the trees buffeted Cassy’s face. Particles of ice pricked her cheeks, and she squinted against the assault. A flash of orange behind a tree caught her attention. Was she seeing things? Another lusty gust blew through the boughs, dislodging snow from the treetops and making the orange object flutter.

  Plowing through the mid-calf drifts, Cassy reached the tree as the wind freed the object. A wrapper for Reeseʼs Peanut Butter Cups danced over the snow. Keeping pace with the escaping wrapper, Cassy pulled a plastic baggie from her coat pocket, turned the baggie inside out over her hand, and snatched the wrapper before it flew away. The cardboard tray normally placed inside was missing, but it still carried the distinct scent of peanut butter and chocolate.

  An image niggled at the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to grasp it. What was it about this little orange package that needed her attention? Candlelight focused in her mind’s eye, then garbled words. The vigil. Cassy scrambled through her memories of last night, before Boyce showed up. Had someone eaten candy during the vigil?

  Come on, Cass. You saw something, you know it.

  Too many people had been there. Too many emotions had welled up inside of her. It’s why Boyce had come. He’d known she wasn’t handling the death well, knew what had happened to her with The Priest.

  Wait! How did Boyce know she was there, again? She tried to remember what he said. Saw her on a news broadcast. That was it! Her eyes snapped open. The vigil had been televised. The news crew would have panned the whole crowd for footage.

  Cassy grinned as she dug out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for Hamilton’s number. When he answered, the words spilled out of her. “Sheriff, we need to get the video footage shot by the news station from last night’s vigil.”

  • • •

  Instrumental Christmas music piped through the sound system in the little mom-and-pop shop. Boyce meandered through the aisles of wooden shelves overflowing with knickknacks of ceramic or glass. A tourist trap if he ever saw one.

  Teddy’s aging wife had directed them to this little hole-in-the-wall off the square. While Liza spoke with the female half of the owners at the front of the store, Boyce headed to the back. On his days off, Teddy would sit and chew the fat with his long-time friend and the original proprietor of the gift shop while the two men played chess. This was clearly Eider’s Mayberry spot. If Boyce hadn’t known any better, he’d have expected to see Sheriff Andy walking down the road with cane pole in hand, whistling Dixie.

  Loud guffaws drowned the music and led Boyce right to the two men. Gray-haired, wrinkled, and skin the color of leather, the two could have been mistaken for brothers. Two sets of brown eyes squinted up at Boyce.

  “What can I do for ya, son?”

  Boyce grinned, oozing southern charm. “I’m here to speak with Teddy.”

  The silent man blinked, and a tic started in his finger that rested against his thigh. “Might I ask why?”

  Whipping out his Bureau card, Boyce held it out to the man. “Agent Boyce Hunt.”

  Teddy studied the card. “What’s the FBI doing here in Eider?”

  “I’m investigating the Eider Savings robbery.”

  Teddy scratched his head. “What has that got to do with me? I work at Silas’s convenience store, and I already done talked to the sheriff’s deputy about what happened.”

  “I’m just looking at all the angles. You never know when something connects.”

  The two men snickered. “Son,” Teddy said, “I lived through the Korean and Vietnam wars. Those two Bonnie and Clyde wannabes were spoiled-rotten brats trying to play tough. All it took was me flashing my double-barreled shotgun, and they took off.”

  “Fascinating.” Boyce pointed at an empty wooden chair with a woven seat. “Do you mind?”

  Teddy’s friend tapped the tabletop with a captured pawn. “I’ll let you two men discuss.” He vacated his seat and gestured for Boyce to take it before hobbling toward the front of the store.

  Boyce angled his body to get a better look at Teddy. “You called the robbers Bonnie and Clyde. Care to explain?”

  “You remember the stories about Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “As clearly as the day we discussed it during my training.”

  Teddy chuckled. “They were kids, boy and a girl. Thought they could scare me into handing over the cash in the register and the safe. Told them I couldn’t get into the safe, but the boy kept demanding I hand it over. Dumb kid was so busy keeping an eye on his girl, who was running around the store stuffing beer and Reese’s candy into a big ole bag.”

  “Reese’s candy, like the peanut butter cups?” Boyce asked.

  “Yes, took a whole damn box and squealed about it. That’s when he took his eyes off me too long.”

  “Is that when you pulled the shotgun on them?”

  “Bet your ass I did. Got off one round and scared the piss out of the boy. No way those two were able to rob a bank. What I understand, that was done by professionals.”

  That explained the smell of gunpowder in the store when he and Liza had entered the other night. “Teddy, you said in your statement they didn’t fire back.”

  “I think he wanted to, but she hollered something. Couldn’t hear what she said exactly ’cause my ears were ringing. They took off running for the door. I took another pop shot at them as they ran out.”

  “Didn’t catch ’em.”

  Teddy shook his head. “Just tore up a whole aisle of snack cakes.”

  “What kind of weapons did they have again?”

  “Pistols. Well, he held a pistol. I have no idea what she had, if she had a gun.”

  “You’re certain they were male and female?”

  “Son, thought you said you read the statement.”

  Observant man. Boyce rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Just trying to get my facts straight, is all.”

  A shrewd expression passed over Teddy’s craggy face. As the man had said, he hadn’t lived through two wars to have someone pull one over on him. “I might be old, Agent Hunt, but I know what I heard. They did a right bang-up job keeping themselves covered so no one could see who they were, but they were downright stupid to speak.” Teddy leaned forward, gaze boring into Boyce. “Now tell me, does that sound like the same two people who robbed the bank?”

  “Hard to say, but it does seem odd. Perhaps they were trying to jump on the bandwagon?”

  Eyes twinkling, Teddy sat back in his chair. “Kids, Agent Hunt. Rotten kids.”

  Boyce nodded as if agreeing then shook a finger at the old man. “True, true, but what bothers me is how Officer Wallis fits in to all of this.”

  “Ethan Wallis? That poor boy who was killed the same night?”

  “Yes, you heard?” Boyce glimpsed movement coming their direction and spotted Liza making her way back with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Makes me heartsick over what happened to him.” Teddy sighed and tapped a knuckle against his head. “My short-term memory ain’t what it used to be, especially when there’s a lot going on. Had I thought of it, I would’ve told the officer when he took my statement.”

  “What?”

  Teddy locked eyes with Boyce. “Ethan sh
owed up right as the robbers ran out of the store. I sent him after them.”

  Boyce’s gut clenched, and from the corner of his eye, he caught Liza wincing. The old man had thought he was doing right by sending the off-duty officer after the robbers, but he’d only sealed the young man’s fate.

  “Ain’t right what happened to that boy.”

  Violent deaths never were.

  Chapter Twelve

  Each of the news stations that recorded the vigil resisted and threw around amendment rights, but Sheriff Hamilton’s iron will and sweet talking convinced each that it was in their best interest to let the department have copies of the videos. Cassy and Hamilton left the TV stations’ satellite offices with promises that the videos would be ready for them by tomorrow morning. With nothing more to go on, Cassy ended her shift. She stopped at Nash’s to check on him; satisfied he was following doctor’s orders, she went home.

  In the mailbox she found a thick envelope decorated for the holidays from Eli and Ginny, dispatcher Jolie Murdoch’s parents. Opening the foiled envelope, she pulled out a reminder of her RSVP acceptance for the annual Christmas party. What had started out as a gathering of friends had turned into an annual benefit that served to provide gifts for local children who wouldn’t get a Christmas. As the former McIntire County sheriff, Eli Murdoch invited everyone in the sheriff and police departments, along with some business owners and upstanding citizens who had made a difference in Eider over the years. The party usually followed a theme, which the family would reveal the week of the party; looked like this year’s would be a more formal affair.

  Cassy glanced at her bedroom. She hadn’t worn a dress in years and didn’t own one now. Nic’s wedding had been small and casual; the bride wouldn’t have been caught dead in a dress and had simply worn an elegant pair of white, flowing slacks and a white blouse. As a witness, Cassy had copied her sister with the slacks and worn a turquoise blouse. That simple outfit hung in her closet, but it wouldn’t do for the Murdochs’ party.

  A day of shopping was in order—like she had time with a murder investigation going on—or she could ask Jolie if she owned a dress Cassy could borrow. Then again, Jolie’s wardrobe ran younger than Cassy preferred. She groaned. The party was in two days, and she’d already agreed to go. There was no way she’d diss the Murdoch family by not showing up or going underdressed.