Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  Don snatched up his cell phone from the table beside him. “Pizza, it is, and it’s on me.”

  Blake followed Shelby to the kitchen. He came up behind her and put his arms around her. “How you doing, babe?” he whispered in her ear. “You want me to take Don out for dinner and give you some peace and quiet?”

  “No. Don’t do that,” she said, giving his partner a quick glance to see if he was listening. He was still busy giving his order to the restaurant. “This is important to both of you, that you can remain friends after all you’ve been through together.”

  “Don’t know if I’d call us friends exactly.”

  She turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “Well, you’ve always had a problem clarifying your relationships. You didn’t want to call me your girlfriend until I threatened to break up with you.”

  He shrugged. “You were a kid. I didn’t want to be accused of robbing the cradle.”

  “Six years difference is not cradle-robbing. I was nineteen. Old enough to go to war, purchase alcohol, or get married without parental permission. And plenty capable of choosing between dating a sexy older man or someone my own age who was still living in his mother’s basement, obsessed with beating his best score on a video game.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on Rick. He turned out to be quite the catch,” he reminded her.

  “Ha, ha.”

  Her high school boyfriend had not only gotten out of his mother’s basement where he’d been dealing drugs, but now resided in the state penitentiary where he probably played video games to his heart’s delight, supported financially on the taxpayers’ dime. She’d definitely made the right choice.

  “So you think I’m sexy, huh?”

  “I did. But now…”

  “Hey!” he pulled back, a frown tugging his brows together.

  She grinned even wider. “Now you’re Ryan Gosling, Chris Evans, and Christian Bale all wrapped into one awesome package.”

  “I’m better looking than those guys.”

  “Of course you are.” She laughed and kissed him on the neck. “What was I thinking?”

  “Yo!” Don called out to get their attention. He tapped his watch. “Pizza party in forty-five minutes. You mind if I invite my girl?” he asked, already typing a message into his phone.

  Shelby looked at Blake. He appeared as surprised as she was. “You have a girlfriend?” She barely managed not to laugh. The thought of Donny having a relationship with anyone other than his pet gerbil was hard to believe. The last time he brought someone to a party, she turned out to be a homeless woman he’d found sleeping at the Laundromat. She came for the free meal and disappeared two hours later with Don’s wallet and watch.

  He glanced up from his texting. “Yeah. Didn’t I tell ya? She’s a nurse at that hospital Blake goes to for physical therapy.”

  “Have you actually been on a date with her?” she asked tentatively. Blake shot her a warning look, but she couldn’t help herself. Inquiring minds need to know. “A real date date? Like dinner and a movie? Or bowling and beer?”

  Don grunted and stood to his feet, pocketing his phone. “Of course I’ve been on a real date with her. She’s my girlfriend.”

  Shelby didn’t say it out loud, but she wondered if the woman in question knew that she was Don’s girlfriend. Instead, she smiled. “So is she joining us for pizza?”

  “No. She said she was working till nine.” He chewed at his bottom lip.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Blake put a hand on her arm. “Shel…”

  “It’s okay.” Don adjusted his pants and shoved his hands in the front pockets, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. “It’s not like I’m a paragon of virtue and decent women flock to my side. But Selena’s different. She likes me in spite of myself.”

  “That’s great, Don. We look forward to meeting her,” Blake said, quickly squelching any touchy feely moments by pulling open the refrigerator door. “Want another beer?”

  Chapter Four

  Shelby opened her eyes and yawned widely. She glanced at the time on her cell phone now plugged into the Bronco’s cigarette lighter. “Are we there yet?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. Ash, spruce, and pine lined the two-lane highway on either side, a wall of green and brown growing thick and tall against a clear blue sky.

  Blake reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Almost. You were out for two hours. I can’t believe you can sleep in here with your head bobbing around. Driving on this road is like twelve holes of golf in a newly plowed cornfield.”

  “I can sleep just about anywhere when I’m tired. Sid and the cast kept me at the party until after two a.m. You must have been in your rem cycle sleep when I climbed into bed last night. You didn’t even budge. By the way,” she said, a smile in her voice, “he’s still upset with you for taking me away from the city.”

  “Why does everyone think it’s their business what we do with our future?”

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Because they love us.”

  “There’s the sign,” he said, pointing. “Two miles to Port Scuttlebutt.”

  “I love how the name rolls off your tongue.”

  “It’s not just a name, babe. It’s a way of life. Gossip flows faster here than a Lake Superior riptide. You learn to guard your heart against it, or you’ll be pulled under and swept away.”

  “Nice. Makes me want to move right in, and I haven’t even seen the place yet.”

  “Just giving you fair warning.”

  He turned off the highway onto a county road that brought them out of the trees and within sight of the great lake. The town sat above a rocky inlet and spread out into streets like fingers on a glove. Not far off shore, seagulls rode the breeze, skimming the surface of the water, trolling for fish left stirred up in the wake of skiffs and sailboats. A couple of kids sat on a rocky outcropping, fishing lines in the water and a tackle box open between them.

  “It’s beautiful!” Shelby said, surprised and eager to see more. This quaint little village couldn’t be any more pleasant and welcoming if Andy Griffith stepped out of the corner drugstore with a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt. She grinned at the thought.

  Blake slowed to a snail’s pace and turned onto Silver Street, an ancient roadbed made of brick, a little wavy and dippy in spots but still solid and pothole free. She could see a few rooftops here and there poking up between growths of pine trees further up the hill, but this block of buildings appeared to be the hub of the booming metropolis. On the first corner was a tiny post office with blue awnings and a bright red door that made it look festively patriotic. An elderly gentleman with a snowy beard got out of an ancient Pontiac and stepped up onto the sidewalk. He turned and stared at them as they drove past.

  “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve been spotted,” she said in a stage whisper, watching the man from the side mirror as he continued to stare after their car.

  “Get used to it. We’re outsiders, and as such, free entertainment for all.” He gave a slight nod of his chin toward a group of middle-aged women exiting a cute little café with lace valances edging square windows. Outside, olive green window boxes were planted with early petunias and daisies. “There’s the news chain now. Word of our arrival will be all across town within ten minutes.”

  “But why would they care? We could just be driving through on our way up the Peninsula, looking for a place to get lunch,” she said. A weathered storefront with a block letter sign caught her eye. NoneSuch: local art, antiques & bric-a-brac. She pointed. “Or shopping for antiques.”

  “Yeah, right.” He pulled the car into a parking space in front of a Ben Franklin store and cut the engine. “I hate to burst your naïve bubble, hon, but we called ahead to stay at the B&B, remember?”

  “Are you saying their phone is tapped?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but summer tourism doesn’t kick off for another month or so, and even then I doubt Port Scu
ttlebutt got so much as an honorable mention in Michigan State’s vacation guide. So that means we’re the only show in town.”

  “That’s too bad. A lot of people are missing out. It’s a really cute town. With a little bit of promotion, they could probably make a killing off tourists.”

  “Shh, don’t say that too loud. Folks around here prefer their gossip local and their town quiet.”

  They climbed out of the Bronco and while Shelby waited for Blake, she glanced down the street toward the café. The women had stopped their conversation and stared back, eyes slanted against the midday sun. The door behind the women opened, and Shelby heard a tinkling bell carried up the street on the breeze. A black man stepped out, dipping his head as he did, for he must have been seven foot tall and the doorway was not.

  Blake clasped her arm, getting her attention, and turned her toward the store. She noticed he didn’t have his cane in hand. “Come on, babe. Don’t look ’em in the eye. You might turn into a pillar of salt.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  A razor thin man leaned over the register, his back to them. His red-checkered shirt was tucked neatly into blue jeans, held up over boney hips by means of a tightly cinched leather belt. He blew out a frustrated breath and straightened, pushing scraggly blonde hair back from his face. “Stupid piece of…”

  Blake stepped quietly behind him and pushed a box of soap bars off the counter display. It hit the floor with a loud thump. The man jumped and swung around, his lanky frame weaving like a cardboard cutout. When he saw Blake, wide-eyed surprise turned instantly into a welcoming grin. “Achy Breaky!” He threw his arms around her husband and hugged him tight, then released him and stepped back to get a better look. “I can’t believe you’re really here. After all these years!”

  Blake feinted left and landed a feather-light punch to the thin man’s cheek, his grin wide and boyish. “Told you I’d be back,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Shelby waited for the buddy love-fest to end before clearing her throat. “So… are you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asked, reaching to pick up the soap her husband had playfully tossed to the floor. She set it back on the counter so he wouldn’t need to bend down to retrieve it. He was obviously not ready to discuss his injury with his old friend.

  “This your wife?” The man gave a low whistle. “You still got it, Achy!”

  Shelby looked at Blake, brows raised. “Achy Breaky?”

  “He broke so many hearts here in town, he had to start dating girls from the next county.”

  Blake put up a hand. “Stop with the tall tales. You haven’t even been officially introduced yet.” He drew her close to his side and put an arm around her. “This is my wife, Shelby. Shelby, this is Tucker Thompson, the worst running back this town has ever produced. But he’s a heck of a fisherman and a good friend.”

  She put out a hand, but Tucker pulled her in close and gave her one of those crushing hugs he seemed to be fond of. She could feel his ribs through his shirt. The man was skin and bones. When he finally released her, she took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m very happy to meet you, Tucker. We’ll have a private conversation later, and you can tell me all about Blake’s salad days when he was green in judgment.”

  Tucker leaned on the counter with one hand, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I…”

  “My wife speaks Shakespeare as a second language.” Blake sounded slightly apologetic. “She means she wants to hear all the crazy things I did when I was young and stupid.”

  “Well, that might take some time,” Tucker said, his face brightening. “How long you guys plan to stick around?”

  Shelby laughed. “As long as it takes.”

  “You’re staying at the B&B, right?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” Blake crossed his arms. “Who told you we were coming?”

  “I’d say a little bird, but it was more of an albatross. Remember Mrs. Davies? Our sixth-grade teacher? She’s even bigger now.”

  “Everyone looks big to you, Tucker,” Blake said wryly. He tugged on Shelby’s arm and moved toward the door, managing to walk those few steps with only a slight limp. “We wanted to stop and say hello, but we should go check in to our room and get some lunch. We’ll see you later, ok?”

  “I know where to find you,” Tucker called out cheerfully as the door swung shut behind them.

  The bright noon sun glared off a metal sign across the street, blinding her for a second. She slid her sunglasses back on. “Well, Achy Breaky, let’s see this bed and breakfast you’ve told me so much about.”

  <<>>

  A gravel road twisted uphill from the edge of town. Blake drove slowly, grumbling under his breath the whole way about getting a nick in his precious paint job. “I can’t believe they haven’t paved this thing after more than a dozen years.”

  Shelby ignored his rant, too enthralled with the beautiful view to take him seriously. He finally slowed even more and turned in at a private residence. Two thick posts flanked the entrance with a crossbar over the top that bore the words Drunken Sailor with the etching of an old sailing ship. The driveway was long and lined with cedars. It continued uphill to the house, circling around a small grassy knoll. In the middle rose a tall flagpole flying the American flag and a red and white checked flag.

  They pulled beside a rusty brown pickup truck and climbed out of the Bronco. Shelby reached in the backseat for Blake’s cane and handed it to him. The ground was rough and uneven, and he looked like he was growing tired.

  A rambling white two-story house sat atop the cliffs, rising above Port Scuttlebutt like a centurion. Peeling black shutters were folded open, revealing dirty panes filmed by years of lakeshore grit or lack of ambition. A porch wrapped around the house, dotted with swings and rocking chairs for residents to sit and enjoy the awesome view of Lake Superior. To one side of the front porch, a small square sign swung suspended from twin chains. It creaked like a rusty gate with every new gust of wind, and stated in faded lettering: Welcome to The Drunken Sailor Bed & Breakfast. Beside it, newly planted, was a real estate For Sale sign.

  Shelby shot Blake a grin, barely able to contain her excitement. She hadn’t even been inside yet, but she knew it was the place for them. Blake didn’t look quite as in love at first sight. In fact, he seemed a bit confused, as though maybe he’d turned down the wrong driveway. But it didn’t dampen her mood. “You’ve got to admit it, Gun, this place has something…”

  “Yeah, termites and peeling paint,” he muttered, his eyes moving slowly up and down the structure, apparently not even seeing its potential.

  “You know what I mean. The creaking sign. Waves crashing on the rocks below. Even the name seems… mysterious and perfect.” She spread her arms wide in a gesture of joy and spun around.

  “I was getting more of a hangover-haven vibe.”

  The front door opened, cutting off further discussion. A man shuffled out on the porch and squinted at them suspiciously, one eye nearly closed and his lip pulled up in a perpetual scowl. A bristly gray and brown beard covered a weathered face, and when he reached up to scratch at his cheek, Shelby was actually surprised there was no hook at the end of his arm.

  “Canna hep you?” he asked, in a voice that was more than a little slurred.

  Blake hurried up the steps as quickly as he could, leaning on his cane for balance. Shelby followed close behind.

  “Mr. Booth? I’m Blake.” He held out his hand, but the old man ignored it. “This is my wife, Shelby. We called about a room for the weekend. I think I spoke with your wife on the phone.”

  The old man looked a bit startled at first and then shook his head. “I don’ think so. She’s been dead fer these past eighteen months.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Blake took a step back and shot her a quizzical look as if to say, ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

  “Don’t know how you’d know.” The old man mumbled. “You’re an outtatowner,
ain’t ya?”

  “Mr. Booth,” Shelby said, moving past her husband and stopping smack dab in front of the weaving seaman. “We paid ahead for two nights. Could you show us the room we’re staying in, please?” Strangely enough, there was no hint of liquor on his breath, but he continued to weave slightly as though still wearing his sea legs.

  “Alice!” he yelled, without bothering to turn his head away. He put out a hand and grasped the doorframe for balance, then moved slowly back inside, dragging his left leg a bit.

  Shelby waited for Blake to join her. He leaned in close and whispered, “We don’t have to stay here, you know. We can drive on, forget everything I said, find a decent hotel for the night…”

  “It was your idea, remember?” She kissed his cheek and tugged on his arm. He was obviously getting cold feet about the whole thing, but she would change his mind. She loved this place. The house was like a movie set: rough and gritty and aged appropriately, but still vibrating with energy. It was par for the course to have a few quirky characters show up.

  Inside the front door, Blake leaned on his cane, and Shelby glanced curiously around. They waited awkwardly, not knowing what to do as Mr. Booth shuffled to a recliner and sat. He didn’t offer them a chair. “She’ll be with ya in a minute.”

  “No problem,” Blake said, with an exaggerated eye roll in her direction.

  She pressed her lips together to keep the laughter inside. The situation was a bit comical. Here they were intent on checking out the B&B as prospective buyers, and the owner ignores them and makes them stand at the door. If this was the usual hospitality found at The Drunken Sailor, Blake should have no problem being the proprietor.

  The sitting room was more than large enough to accommodate a dozen lounging guests when the weather was too cold to enjoy the view from the porch. It stretched from the front door all the way to the back of the house. But despite its size, it was not roomy or inviting. With an old upright piano taking up one corner, a huge grandfather clock placed against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, full built-in bookcases, two couches and a couple of overstuffed chairs and end tables filling every nook and nearly every cranny, the room felt claustrophobically cramped. A dim chandelier overhead and three, heavily-draped, mullioned windows managed to keep any pesky sunshine down to a trickle and bathed the room in shadows rather than light.