Mudflaps and Murder

by Tegan Maher

  We did as he asked, and the seconds dragged by as we waited for his team to show.

  “Gary,” I said after a couple of minutes, “have you messaged Sarah?”

  He nodded, his brow creased with worry as he checked his phone. “Yeah, but she’s not answering.”

  A trickle of trepidation slipped down my spine as I pulled out my phone. Rather than messaging, I skipped straight to calling her. It was instant-gratification time. If she didn’t answer, we needed to go looking. I breathed a sigh of relief when she picked up.

  “Hey,” I said, “where are you?”

  “I’m over at the barn hangin’ out with Missy and Bones,” she replied. I could relate because horses were a source of calming, no-pressure companionship to me more often than I cared to admit. It was easy to think things through when you had a big warm body to pet and a velvety muzzle to stroke.

  “Are there people there?” I asked, not wanting her to be alone. “And how long have you been there?”

  “Sure there are. I’ve been here fifteen minutes or so.” Curiosity seeped into her tone, tinged with worry. “Why? Noelle, did something happen? Is Uncle Gary okay?”

  “He’s fine,” I replied, “but stay there. We’re coming to you. Something did happen, and I don’t want you out and about by yourself.”

  “What happened?”

  I huffed out a breath as I gave Gary the thumbs up that she was okay, then motioned for Kristen to follow me to the barn.

  “Somebody killed Jackson in his tent.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said, amusement in her tone. “I wish for it, it happens. Yeah right. Seriously, what’s up?”

  When I didn’t reply, she sucked in a breath. “Oh god, you’re not kidding.”

  “Nope,” I said, popping my P. “A screwdriver to the chest.”

  “Well, somebody added some poetry, at least.”

  “Poetry?” I asked, confused.

  “Yeah, you know, poetic justice. He got screwed. A real do-unto-others end for him.”

  I guess it was, at that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There was already an ambulance and an emergency crew on the grounds, so it didn’t take any time at all for them to get the body out after Richie Smith, our crime scene guy-in-training, got all his pictures and measurements. Our regular guy, Jim Sanders, was away on FBI business but had been teaching Richie the ropes for a year or so. That was a big deal for us because it wasn’t something most small towns had access to.

  Gary had taken Sarah back to the tent. Sean, her little boy, and Bonnie, Gary’s toddler daughter, were waiting for them with Gary’s fiancée. I’d promised to keep them in the loop if anything came up.

  The biggest problem was that Cheri Lynn had actually been the one to find him. That meant we had zero witnesses and were going to have to flub our way through how we really found him (we saw lights on) and whether or not we saw anything else, like the lights in the field. Even though Hunter was the sheriff, he’d still need real facts to present to a judge once he nailed down a suspect.

  “Hey!” a voice called through the crowd of looky-loos that had gathered.

  I frowned when I saw the man who’d been sitting behind us in the bleachers making a beeline toward one of the deputies Hunter had assigned to question people. Since Cheri Lynn hadn’t seen anything other than flashlights, we were at zilch as far as having any idea what had happened. Other than, of course, that somebody got mad enough to shank Jackson with one of his own screwdrivers.

  Hunter had determined that it had come from one of Jackson’s own sets, though how he could tell that with the shape the tent was in, I had no idea.

  I furrowed my brow as I hurried over to hear what the guy was gonna say.

  “I know who did it,” he said, excited, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say after all. I was afraid I already knew.

  “Well,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement, “I don’t know her name, but it’s that hot blonde chick that was drivin’ the Green Monster. I heard her threaten him up in the stands.”

  “Step over here, sir,” the deputy, a young but smart kid named Doug, said as he lifted the yellow crime scene tape so the guy could duck under it. They stepped several yards away from the crowd, not that it did any good because the guy was talking loud enough that folks in the next county over could have heard him.

  I considered casting a privacy bubble around them so the crowd wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop, but I figured that’d be about like puttin’ a Band-Aid on an amputated limb. They were gonna tell their story to anybody who’d listen anyway, so all a bubble would do was slow the gossip train down by thirty seconds. Besides, Doug didn’t know I was a witch, and I didn’t want him to notice anything strange.

  “Now, slow down and tell me exactly what you heard,” Doug said. “First, what’s your name?”

  “Ron Taylor,” the guy replied. “And this here’s June. Step up here, Junebug, and tell the sheriff what we heard.”

  “Oh, I’m not the sheriff,” Doug said. “I’m a deputy. But please, tell me why you’re so certain the young lady drivin’ the Jeep is the murderer.”

  “Oh, she done it, all right,” June said, nodding her head like a bobble-head doll. “She was mad as a wet hen up in the bleachers. Said Mr. Prescott was a cheat and that she was gonna put a stop to him once and for all as soon as she could.”

  “Yup, that’s what she said, in those exact words,” Ron said, wide-eyed and nodding right along with her as if he were preachin’ the gospel to a devoted flock. “She sat there and stewed ’til I could practically see the steam rollin’ out of her ears, then told that’n there”—he pointed toward me—“that she was too mad to sit still. Then she stomped off. Never came back.”

  I struggled to recall Sarah’s exact words but couldn’t. I did know Ron and his little Junebug had it pretty close, though, and I sighed, wishing I hadn’t let her go off by herself. How was I supposed to know she’d need an alibi more than she needed some alone time, though?

  “So are ya gonna arrest her?” June asked, snapping her gum. “She can’t just go around killin’ people. Even I know that. Shoot, Ronnie got thirty days last year just for gettin’ in a bar fight.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled despite my worry when Doug barely managed not to do the same.

  “I’ll take your statement to the sheriff and we’ll follow through. For now, though, I just need to get your information ...”

  While Doug collected their names and contact info, I turned back toward the tent. This was not looking good.

  “That’s gonna be a problem, isn’t it?” Cheri Lynn said as she appeared beside me.

  I nodded. “Yeah, it is. Which means we gotta figure out who did it before the Good Ole Boys Club has a chance to skewer her in the court of public opinion. You sure you didn’t see anything else?”

  She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “I really didn’t, Noelle. Except for the flashlights crossin’ the field, but I didn’t go see who they were. Shoot, even if I had, it likely wouldn’t have done any good. It’s a public event.”

  She was right. I sighed. I had one more tool I could pull out, but I hated to. It was still new to me, and I couldn’t manage it very well. I’d always been able to communicate with Shelby and Raeann in my head, but I’d never been able to really read their minds. That is, until the angel juice lit us up.

  Since then, one of the new additions to my magical menu was the ability to hear other people’s thoughts. It made me batty because, for one, it was a huge invasion of privacy—the worst sort of eavesdropping. Second, it was like everybody was talking at once. I wasn’t much good at zeroing in on just one person, so thoughts bombarded me from all directions. Plus, most people’s random thoughts aren’t even vaguely interesting. I couldn’t care less what somebody’s mentally adding to their grocery list or if they forgot the let the dog out before they left the house.

  Then, of course, there were the, uh, personal thoughts. And le
t me tell you—freaky comes in all ages and sizes. And sexes. Women were as bad as men, if not worse. Even the vanilla stuff was pretty gross. I don’t want to hear about any of it. So yeah, I’d worked particularly hard to put that one on lock-down for the sake of my own sanity. Even so, I had some mental scarring that made it hard to look a few people in the eye.

  Since all I’d really done with the gift was figure out how to shut it down instead of using it, my problem was that opening the door was sorta like opening a dam—the doors flew right open, but closing them was a real battle. And I’d worked hard to win that battle. I wasn’t eager to fight it again.

  Cheri Lynn must have read my mind because she furrowed her brow. “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  I pulled in a deep breath and released it. “It’s a horrible idea,” I replied, “but when has that ever stopped me? There’s a good chance the killer’s still here. We likely won’t get that chance again, since most folks are gonna be leaving and not all of them are from Keyhole.”

  Worry etched her face. “I really wish you wouldn’t, sugar. The last time you did, it was rough on you.”

  She was right. Since I’d learned to button down the gift, the only time I really used it was to check up on Shelby, who was away at college. When I did, I tried to be alone so there wouldn’t be any outside interference. Addy—my ghostly aunt—didn’t think I was doing the right thing by ignoring it rather than trying to master it, though, Even though I knew she was right, leaving it wide open all the time while I was learning wasn’t an option as far as I was concerned. So, I figured I’d practice in smaller settings. A month or so ago, I’d decided to give it a shot at what should have been a relaxed, innocent place—a church social.

  Instead of picking up happy, innocent surface thoughts, I’d found out a man I’d respected for a long time was stealing from his job as a bartender at the Cheshire Cat. Sully, the owner, happened to be a good friend of mine. The guy wasn’t hurting for money, not that that would have made it okay, but at least I could have better understood it. Nope, he just didn’t think Sully was paying him enough.

  After an agonizing three days spent trying to figure out what, if anything, I should do, I ended up going to Sully and telling him what I’d heard. Since he knew I was both a witch and honest, he took me at my word and confronted Nick, the guy stealing from him. Nick admitted to it after denying it to begin with, and Sully fired him. Though Nick had no idea I was the reason he was unemployed—and likely unemployable because word traveled fast in Keyhole—I knew. That had made things really awkward when I’d run into him at the feed store a few days later. So, long story short, I don’t like to use the gift and wish I’d never been given it.

  However, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, so I closed my eyes, pulled in a deep breath, and opened my mind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Well, here goes nothing,” I said as I open my mental door just a crack and let a few feelers trickle out through the crowd. It wasn't overwhelming like I was afraid it would be, but there was still a lot of noise. Everything from what people were going to have for supper to how hot they thought Becky Sue Allman looked in her short shorts drifted to me, but nothing about the murder other than curiosity and a flicker of glee here and there over being part of the hubbub.

  The struggle to focus was real, though, and I was having a hard time singling in on any one person. It felt more like a wave of voices crashing into me all at once. I tried to zero in on each person standing around the tent.

  One guy was irritated because Jackson had been killed after he’d raced rather than before because he’d lost money. Two other guys were upset because apparently, they’d been big fans. Then there was Daisy, dabbing at her eyes and reveling in the condolences her friends were heaping on her.

  I was just about to give up and shove the door back closed when one person’s thoughts trickled to me.

  "I couldn't have timed it better, and now that the rat bastard's dead, nobody's ever gonna catch me." It was a woman's voice, and I scanned the crowd trying to find her before she could get away. I was looking for anybody who looked satisfied rather than curious or sad, but that didn’t help much. From what little I knew about him, I figured he had a circle of like-minded friends and toadies, but they were a lot like Hank’s, which was to say they were scumbags who really didn't play well with others. There were a handful of folks who thought of him as a celebrity who were typing away on their phones, faking the sadness that covered their desire to be the first to share the news. There wasn’t a single person who looked genuinely bothered.

  I was about to give up when my gaze settled on a slender brunette dressed somewhat better than the people around her. Her makeup was perfect even if she was wearing one of those straw cowboy hats designed to look beat-up straight from the shelf. The reason she caught my eye was because she looked like the cat who ate the cream but was struggling not to look that way. She was doing her best not to stare at the truck and to look casual, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. It was hard to read the expression on her face, but it hovered somewhere between satisfied and gleeful. She glanced down at her phone, then said something to the group she was with and turned and walked off, her head high.

  I looked around to see where Hunter was, but he was busy talking to a little old man. Rather than interrupt him, I decided to chase the girl down myself, but I had to push my way through the crowd. By the time I managed to make it through, it took me a minute to find her. She’d just about made it out of the vehicle area and was heading toward the barn, sashaying away like she didn't have a care in the world. There were still some people between us, but I did my best to keep my eye on the blue flannel shirt and cowboy hat. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I caught up to her but figured I’d worry about that when I did.

  “Hey,” I called when I was a few yards behind her. “You in the cowboy hat. Wait up.”

  She glanced behind her, then stopped, a quizzical look on her face. “Yes?”

  I tried to get a read on what she was thinking, but my mind was still buzzing with the emotions and thoughts of everybody else, too. Addy and Corrine were right—I needed to hone that because it sure would have come in handy right now. Instead, I grasped frantically for a legit reason for chasing her down like a madwoman.

  “Uh, hi. I’m Noelle,” I said, then decided to wing it on a gut feeling. From the range of emotions I’d picked up from her, my money was on her being an ex. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You used to date Jackson, right?”

  When her expression went from quizzical and friendly to a little hostile, I knew I’d nailed it.

  “Yeah,” she said, putting her hands on her narrow hips. “I was stupid enough to fall for that fake charm for a while until I figured out it was my money he was in love with. What about it?”

  Seriously, what about it? I had no idea what to say next, but fate intervened in the form of a man before I could say something really stupid.

  “Hey, sweetie,” a tall blond guy said. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. “Where were you headin’ off to?”

  She glanced between us, then turned her attention to him. “I wanted to get away from the crowd before anybody recognized me. I figured I’d go over and see the horses.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to keep the conversation going and step into her good graces a little. “Do you ride?”

  She nodded. “I used to, anyway. I haven’t had a chance in a while. I lost my gelding to colic a couple years ago, and haven’t had the heart to get another.”

  My heart reflexively went out to her. I’d lost a couple horses in my time to colic, a condition that twisted the intestines, and it was awful. I tried to shove the sympathy to the side, though. Even murderers can love horses.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I wasn’t sure where else to go, so I decided to plow forward. I wasn’t much good at subterfuge, anyway. “So, I take it you weren’t one of Jac
kson’s drooling fans?”

  She huffed a breath out through her nose and gave me a wry half-smile. “No. Definitely not. As a matter of fact, whoever killed him did women everywhere a favor. He was a jerk.”

  “And a thief,” the man added.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

  “I do say,” he replied, the muscles in his jaw clenching. I’d managed to hit a sore spot. “That truck he was drivin’ tonight? He stole it.”

  “Stole it?” I didn’t know much about the association running the event, but I assumed the participants had to show some sort of registration in order to get their points or collect their checks, or whatever. “From who? And I’m Noelle, by the way.”

  “Stuart,” he replied. “And to answer your question, he stole it from Evie, here.”

  She glanced up at him. “He stole it from both of us.”

  The man dipped his head. “Yeah, maybe. But it was your money and your passion.”

  Evie turned to me. “I admit to having a bit of an adrenaline addiction. Horses, fast cars, skydiving, base jumping. If it gives you a rush, I’ll try it once.”

  I shuddered. I understood the sentiment, but there was no way I’d ever jump off a perfectly good bridge or out of a plane unless it was on fire and crashing nose-first toward the ground. Even then, somebody would probably have to give me the initial push. Still, it was a matter of degrees. I just preferred my adrenaline to course somewhere less than ten feet off the ground.

  “Okay, so where does Jackson fit into that? Did you meet him skydiving or something?” Raeann, who had the worst taste in men, had met a guy while she was bungee jumping. He’d tried to kill us later, but that’s another story. Maybe you’ve read it. The experience had given me a healthy if unfair skepticism regarding the mental status of anybody willing to jump off anything higher than a step ladder.