Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  “Ohhh,” Shelby said. “He’s making a play for Alice and you don’t like it.”

  Tucker turned a shade of red to match the piece of rare steak still uneaten on his plate. “It’s none of my business. She’s a friend, so of course I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I mean, good grief! He’s old enough to be her father.” He shook his head, his lips pressed tight. “And she’s totally naïve about the whole thing. Thinks he’s helping them out of the goodness of his heart. Yeah, right.”

  Shelby didn’t say anything more on the subject, but it was clear as the smirk on Blake’s handsome face that Tucker was head over heels for Alice Booth – whether they were dating or not.

  While Shelby helped Tucker clear the table and wash the dishes, Blake wandered over to the fireplace and announced his intention of lighting a cozy fire. He glanced around, looking for the wood box.

  “That shouldn’t take long,” she said, carrying bowls of leftovers past him. “Then you can come help do the real work in the kitchen.”

  “I beg to differ. Setting the right amount of kindling and logs is an art form. We learned our survival skills from homeless Jack and he’s a survival expert. Right, Tuck?”

  Tucker laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not that hard when you just flip the switch. Light ’er up, mountain man!”

  “This is a gas fireplace? No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend.”

  “Who said I couldn’t. I haven’t really tried.”

  Shelby scrubbed a plate, hot soapy water dripping off her hands as she lifted it to rinse. “Quit tormenting your only friend, Gun, and open that other bottle of wine we brought along,” she called out over her shoulder.

  She heard Tucker step into the kitchen behind her, his tennis shoes squeaking on the tile floor. “You don’t have to wash those. I can do it,” he said, swinging the refrigerator door open to return the steak sauce and butter to a shelf.

  “I’m almost done. Besides, I’m the odd third wheel here. You two probably have a lot to discuss. Thirteen years worth.” She rinsed the last fork and pulled the plug. The water drained away as she wiped off the counter.

  He slouched lazily on one hip, arms crossed, watching her, a smile crinkling his eyes. “Blake is a very lucky man,” he said.

  Shelby tossed the towel over the lip of the sink and moved around him toward the sitting room. “From your lips to Blake’s ears,” she whispered in passing.

  The switch had been flipped and a lovely gas-fed fire roared in the hearth, logs glowing with all the beauty of imitation and none of the soot. Blake stood staring into the flame, deep in thought. His brow was creased and his eyes had that glazed look they took on when he was working a case.

  Shelby touched his arm and he turned abruptly. “Done already?”

  “Just call me Suzy Homemaker.”

  She relaxed into an overstuffed leather club chair and took the glass of wine Tucker handed her. “Thank you.

  Blake remained standing by the fire, arms crossed and a contemplative frown between his eyes. Tucker stretched out on the sofa, and kicked off his shoes. “Why so serious, Achy Breaky? Still trying to manage my love life? Trust me, that is a huge endeavor that will take a village. And they’ve already been working on it for a while.” He chuckled.

  Blake sat on the brick hearth, back to the warm flame. “Actually, I was thinking about Clara Booth. You never did answer my question earlier today,” he said.

  “About Clara?” Tucker laced his fingers behind his head and crossed one leg over the other, getting comfortable. “I told you everything I know. She was a sweet lady. I liked her very much. She walked every day with Buddy, and her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. What more do you want to know?”

  “Did she have enemies? What about this lake front property issue Farley brought up? Did he and Clara have a falling out over it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. About a month before she was killed, there were rumors floating around town that our esteemed mayor was trying to prove the land below the house was actually owned by his great great grandfather, that somehow the original land deed had been lost. He was downtown at the Port Scuttlebutt library making poor Jerri Roper’s life miserable. She’s volunteered there since she was out of high school, about thirty years ago now, with no pay and very little thanks, if you ask me. Farley went in and demanded a complete inventory of all Port Scuttlebutt historical documents, as well as his own private access to them. Needless to say, Jerri threw him out on his ear. Told him in no uncertain terms that she was in charge and if he wanted that changed he would have to go before the council and request it. In the meantime, Jerri, who happened to be a good friend of Clara’s, found a document that proved Clara’s family owned the entire stretch of land, and Farley was full of hot air.”

  “Do you know what happened to this document? Is it still in the library?” Blake asked, sitting up straighter, an eager light in his eyes.

  Tucker shrugged. “You’ll have to speak with Jerri about that. Although, I think she’s out of town for a couple of days visiting her daughter up by Grand Marais.”

  “When will she be back?”

  “She usually leaves a sign on the library door.” He yawned. “You guys want some coffee? This wine is making me sleepy.”

  <<>>

  Blake drove by the library on the way back to the B&B, pulled over and checked the sign on the door. He slipped back behind the wheel of the Bronco with a disheartened sigh. “Looks like she won’t be back until Tuesday.”

  “Don’t worry, babe. I’m sure you can find plenty of other people to interrogate in the next two days.”

  He slanted her a grin. “You’re right. We should treat this like a legitimate case. Go down the list one by one.”

  “What list?”

  “The list I made this morning. After I talked with Tucker and Jack, I went for a walk. Gathered my thoughts and compiled a list from what I already knew about the Booths. Of course, after all that’s come to light since, we can add a few more names.” He opened his jacket and pulled a notebook from his inside pocket. Flipped the cover open and handed it over.

  Shelby clicked on the overhead light. “I thought you said you talked to that homeless man this morning.”

  “That was before I realized he’d been friends with Clara Booth, and possibly sleeping at the boathouse.” He pulled away from the curb and onto the now dark and quiet street. “I had no idea they even knew each other.”

  Port Scuttlebutt apparently went to sleep by ten o’clock on a Saturday night. No exceptions. Not a soul walked the streets. Blake decided to take a detour and turned onto Union Street. The bank building Alice had mentioned earlier stood out like a rare gem in a line of cut glass.

  The two-story structure was built in a Romanesque design, a flat roof encircled by a dentiled cornice and a crenelated parapet. The front entrance was recessed under an arched portico and made the establishment the grandest in town. Built with variegated, rough-cut sandstone, the structure stood solid and proud after more than a hundred years. Carved into the stone near the top of the building was the year – 1902.

  “I forgot about this place. It’s been empty a long time. Skeleton and I broke in here once when we were about fourteen.” Blake glanced her way and in the glow from a nearby lamppost she saw a slow grin stretch his lips. “Don’t worry. My record was expunged. Old Mr. Jones took pity on us, and said he’d forget all about it if we spent the next two days working off our debt to society. Hard labor.”

  “What did you have to do? Gut fish?” She peered through the windshield at the large boarded up windows. One of them sported a real estate sign that looked exactly like the one in front of the B&B. Farley wasn’t kidding when he said he was the only real estate agent in town.

  “The Jones family owned a grocery back then. A little mom and pop type place. Farley’s dad made us clean floors, wash windows, stock shelves. He even had us wash out the empty pop bottles with
a hose, out behind the store. We learned our lesson though. No more breaking and entering for us.”

  “And here you are, returning to the scene of the crime.”

  “I suppose Farley owns this building now. Although, it could have exchanged hands in the past years, I guess. We’ll have to add that to our list of questions.”

  “What does the ownership of this building have to do with Clara’s hit and run?”

  “Don’t know. Sometimes the answers to random questions pull the thread to unravel the real mystery.”

  When Blake shut off the engine, Shelby climbed out. “Let’s look at that statue over there. I want to see what it says.”

  “It’s a Civil War thing.”

  Her cell phone buzzed for an incoming message. She slipped it out of her pocket and smiled. Sid. They had a game where one of them would quote part of a line from Shakespeare and the other had to guess which play, act, and scene it was from.

  His text said, How’re the big woods, girlfriend? Miss you already. Answer me this and you win the weekend lotto! “A dish fit for the gods”

  She typed back furiously, his quote bringing to mind the roadkill pasty she’d had for lunch. Sid would crack up over that story and tell her to get back to the city before it was too late. Too simple! Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene I

  “What’s keeping you, Shel?” Blake stood in front of the bank, waiting for her to catch up. He was trying to sneak a peek through the open edge of a boarded up window.

  She sent her text and hurried over.

  The building must have been impressive in its day, with large double doors inset with etched glass, now boarded up and inaccessible. Placed in front of the southwest corner of the bank was a small statue about five feet tall. The form of a young man in uniform, holding a rifle, was set in copper, now weathered to a blue-green patina. Under his feet, a plaque with the Union flag and the year 1865 was engraved with the words, In Memory of Port Scuttlebutt’s fallen Heroes. Eight names were etched beneath.

  “I’m surprised men this far north willingly left their lives for a war they probably thought had nothing to do with them.” She ran a finger over the raised letters.

  “Then you’d be even more surprised to know that over 1200 men from the Upper Peninsula joined the fight. Farmers. Miners. Woodworkers. They were a tough breed. Most ended up in the infantry. It was said they could march for miles and miles without tiring, unlike city boys.” His lips turned up slightly with the ghost of a smile. “Those that died in the fight were buried hundreds of miles away. Their families had to make due with memorials like this.”

  The cold metal sent a chill down her spine. She shivered.

  “Cold?” Blake slipped an arm around her.

  “A little.”

  They climbed back into the truck, and headed up the hill toward the Drunken Sailor. They only passed one car on the road before turning into the driveway. Port Scuttlebutt could certainly use a little Saturday night excitement. Maybe if they had a local playhouse…

  Blake parked out front and shut off the engine. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Wondering where folks around here go for fun and entertainment. There’s no movie theatre, no clubs, not even a bowling alley.”

  He blew out the breath of a laugh. “Don’t worry, those who like that sort of thing only have to drive forty minutes down the road. There’s a small movie house there and plenty of bars with dance floors. Thirteen years ago there was even a bowling alley. I remember it fondly.”

  “What about here? Doesn’t it seem odd that this place has remained so insular after all these years? I can see why Farley Jones is trying to shake things up. He’s probably bored silly.”

  “You have to understand, Shel. The people of Port Scuttlebutt don’t think of it as a desert island to escape from, but as a special paradise populated by a lucky few. They like the fact that it’s a peaceful, quiet community where nothing much happens. That’s why this whole hit and run thing may well have been kicked to the curb.”

  “You think someone squelched the investigation?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But who would have that kind of pull?”

  He shrugged.

  Alice had told them to let themselves in when they got back. So they did. The hallway and sitting room were dark, but a path of light spilled from the direction of the kitchen. Trying not to disturb their host, they started up the stairs.

  “Hey, you two!” Alice called. They heard her boots tap across the dining room floor, and then she was looking up at them. “How was your dinner with Tucker?”

  Shelby sensed more than small talk in her sudden interest. Something Alice wasn’t about to admit to. Especially with Tucker’s best friend listening in. She waved Blake off to the room and proceeded back down the stairs. When she didn’t hear her husband move, she glanced up and saw him still standing there, his gaze narrowed with trepidation. “I’ll be up in a minute, babe,” she said, shooing him along. “Run me a hot bath, will you?”

  Once he was out of earshot, she and Alice went into the sitting room. Alice turned a lamp on in one corner, and they sat on a flower print couch that looked like hothouse ugly. Plump orange throw pillows were piled in one corner. Shelby dumped them unceremoniously on the floor and sat back, pulling her legs beneath her.

  “How’s your father?”

  Alice kicked off her boots and scooted into the opposite end of the huge couch. “He’s stable and sleeping. Dr. Morgan set him up on an IV. He should be comfortable through the night.”

  “That’s good.” Shelby glanced around the room. The piles of books once scattered around were now off the floor and packed neatly in boxes. “You’ve been busy. Are you planning a sale?”

  “Dad doesn’t think a sale would generate enough to be worthwhile. So I thought I’d donate some of the books to the library. There’s not enough shelf space in here, and if you buy the place you’ll probably want to throw everything out and start over anyway.” She rubbed a finger back and forth over the side seam of her jeans, her mind obviously elsewhere.

  “What’s the deal with you and Dr. Morgan?” Shelby decided to go with her gut and get it out in the open. Alice was interested in Tucker, but for some reason refused to date him. Why? Enquiring minds needed to know. At least one mind.

  She turned a bright shade of pink that clashed with her hair. “I don’t know what you mean. There is no deal. He’s my father’s doctor, and I’m grateful of his offer to help.”

  “Is that all it is? Gratefulness? Because the good doctor sure doesn’t seem to see it that way. All that hand patting was well beyond what my doctor supplies at checkups. Thank goodness.”

  “You are surely the most exasperating woman I’ve ever met,” Alice said, but there was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Other than Mrs. Davies, right?”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “I know Tucker asked you out in the past and you turned him down. May I ask why? He seems like a really great guy.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop you, is there?” She reached up and pulled her hair loose from the ponytail she kept it in. Auburn locks fell around her shoulders, thick and wavy. She released a quiet sigh. “I like Tucker. I really do. There was a time a couple years ago when I would have flown to the moon and back for him, but our timing is always off. He was taking over his father’s store then and didn’t have time for any other commitments, and now…” she spread her hands and shrugged.

  “And now you aren’t free of family commitments to pursue love?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “What if you were?”

  “I don’t deal in what ifs. Life is hard enough without living in a fantasy world that will just evaporate and leave you alone in the end.”

  Shelby laughed and reached out to smack her leg playfully. “Hey! Don’t knock it. A fantasy world was all that kept me going before I met Blake. If you ask him, it s
till keeps me going.”

  “We really are polar opposites, you and I.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Alice. You’re more down to earth than anyone I know. Being bosom buddies may prove to be good for both of us.”

  “I thought we were going to be kindred spirits?”

  “Whatever you call it, we are definitely going to be friends.”

  <<>>

  Blake stepped out of the shower, listening as he shut off the water. He thought he’d heard Shelby come into the room earlier, but now it was quiet. He toweled off and slipped a pair of clean shorts on before opening the door. A cloud of steam was released as he looked out. She still wasn’t back. Good thing he didn’t run her bath first. It would have been cold before she stepped into it.

  He stretched out on the bed; his head propped up with a couple of thick pillows, and picked up his notebook from the bedside table. The list of people he planned to question in regard to Clara’s hit-and-run was short. Farley Jones. Homeless Jack. Jerri Roper. Beatrice Arnold. But there were a couple of other names he could add. He tapped a pencil against the page, thinking. Alice and her father weren’t exactly suspects but they might know something that would be helpful. He should have a more in depth conversation with each of them.

  The door opened and Shelby burst in, already in the middle of a huge yawn. “I’m so tired!” she stated dramatically, then flopped down on the bed, curling up against him with her arm flung across his chest.

  “Practicing another scene for some play you’re going to be in?” He shifted her arm away from his notebook. “You were texting with Sid earlier, right? I suppose he begged you not to leave the city. That he could never do without your unfathomable knowledge of Shakespeare to run the theatre on his own.”

  She opened her eyes to mere slits and peeked out at him. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy? You know that Sid is a man’s man. Literally. You have absolutely nothing to be jealous about. Besides, I like it here.”

  She suddenly rolled away from him and off the bed, sprang to her feet and twirled around the room as though she were a giddy teenager. She never ceased to amaze him. After a minute, she dropped into a chair and slipped off her shoes.