Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  She was hoping to get a chance to speak with Luanne and ask her about Clara, but the woman was running back and forth, cooking, waitressing, and running the cash register like a one-woman band at practice.

  The bell on the door chimed as another couple came in for lunch, and took the last open table. Luanne popped her head out of the kitchen and glanced around. “Where is that girl when I need her?” she grumbled. She spotted Shelby sitting at the counter and crooked her finger. “You ready to get your hands dirty? My extra waitress hasn’t showed up and I’ve got hot food here to deliver.”

  “I’d love to.” She slipped off the stool and put on the apron Luanne handed her. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  Luanne was back behind the stove again. She slid two platters on the warming shelf and tipped her head toward a booth. “Those go to the guys in camo. Just watch out for their hands.” She threw another steak on the hot grill and turned to dish up a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

  Shelby took the platters across to the men and set them down. “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  As she turned to slip away, one of them reached out and smacked her on the butt. “How ‘bout some ketchup, hon?” He eyed her from under the brim of his cap. “You new here or something?”

  She turned slowly, and crossed her arms, giving him her best glare. “Do I look like a blow-up doll to you? Keep your hands to yourselves, boys. I belong to a real man.”

  “Oooh. I like her.” He grinned at his buddy. “She’s got spunk.”

  Blake was suddenly shadowing her, his mouth set in a grim line. “Is there a problem here, babe?”

  “Nothing I can’t take care of.”

  “Blake Gunner?” The man put down his fork and put out his hand. “As I live and breath, you’re just as ugly as I remember!”

  Shelby stepped back. Blake grunted a sound of disbelief and took the man’s hand in a gesture of friendship, despite glaring at him a moment ago. “Heath? Heath Flintlock? I thought you’d be in the state pen by now. How the heck are ya?”

  “Been out for a while.” He pointed at his friend across the table. “This here is Bart Linder. Ex-cellmate and new business partner.”

  Blake straightened and cleared his throat, eyes narrowed with more than passing interest. The cop in him was threatening to emerge. “You really were in prison? What for?”

  “Nothing big. Growing a little pot out in the woods. Jobs are scarce around here. We all do what we have to do to survive, right?”

  “What are you doing now? This big business venture. Are you looking for investors?”

  Shelby grabbed her husband’s sleeve and tugged. “Can I speak with you a second?”

  Luanne signaled her from the kitchen at that moment, pointing at the plates stacking up on the warming tray. She nodded, unsure what to do.

  Blake shook her hand off. “You better go help Luanne. She looks pretty desperate.” He met her gaze and smiled. “It’s okay.”

  She didn’t want to argue, but her husband chatting it up with a couple of ex-cons wasn’t okay, it was downright suspicious. She hurried back to the pick up counter and grabbed the plates for table four.

  “Don’t worry about those two.” Luanne dished up a scoop of mashed potatoes to go with a steak dinner. She poured gravy over the top and slid the plate onto the warmer. “They’re harmless. Mostly.”

  “Good to know.” She delivered the tray of food, her glance returning to the camo boys every few seconds. Blake moved off from their table after chatting with them for a couple more minutes, and then stopped at another booth to visit with a married couple with a little boy. He was Mr. Congeniality today.

  “Table three is up!” Luanne called.

  Shelby hurried back for another order. She snatched up a ketchup bottle on her way and plunked it down on the edge of the camo boy’s table when she passed. They kept right on eating, not even bothering to give her a thank you pat on the butt.

  About the time she was setting down the last order, the teenage girl who was supposed to be working finally showed up and took over. Shelby pulled off her apron, and handed it over with a relieved sigh. Waitressing was not as easy as she’d imagined. There were a lot of picky people and when you were running to beat the clock, it took all the fun out of it.

  “Thanks, kid!” Luanne called out and turned to throw a couple more pasties into the oven.

  Shelby looked around for Blake. She hoped he was ready to return to the B&B. Sunday afternoon was obviously not a good time for her to sit down with Luanne and a cup of coffee, and indulge in a chat. Maybe tomorrow.

  “There you are,” Blake said, slipping out of a booth. “Ready to go home?”

  The word home made her think of their cozy townhouse back in the city. Was she ready to go home? Forget about this whole momentous change of life and get back to what they already had? Blake could certainly find a law enforcement teaching position or work as a security expert for some big company, couldn’t he?

  He lifted his cane and waved to all his old friends as he opened the door, his smile sitting comfortably on his face, not stiff and formal like it had been for months after his hospitalization. She grabbed her jacket off the coatrack by the door and followed. Blake belonged here. If he could be happy running a bed & breakfast, so could she. She nibbled at her lower lip. Of course, she would be a lot happier if they could turn that old boathouse into a rustic playhouse.

  Chapter Eleven

  Anticipating Luanne’s busy Sunday lunch crowd, Blake had parked a block away in front of the Post Office. Walking arm in arm back to the truck, Shelby was unusually quiet. “Tired after your first hour on the job?”

  “Waiting tables is a lot harder than I imagined. I give Luanne kudos for still being in business after all these years. What a stressful job!”

  Before opening the door of the truck, he turned her to face him. She looked tired and happy, and as sexy as he’d ever seen her. He leaned in and kissed her.

  She slowly pulled back, breathing heavily. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest. “You still take my breath away,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” He already knew the answer.

  “Storing this memory away for the day I’ll need it again.”

  “You won’t need it. We’ll make new memories. Better memories. Every day.”

  “Maybe you really are Cupid,” she said, playing with the hair curling at the base of his neck. “You’re awfully romantic these days.”

  “This too shall pass. Get in the truck, woman!” He opened the door and lifted her up, depositing her on the seat like a sack of potatoes. “How’s that for romantic?”

  “I think you may have been around Heath the ex-con a little too long.”

  He hurried around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

  Shelby flipped the little mirror on the visor down and reapplied her lipstick. “How do you know him anyway?”

  “Who?”

  “Heath. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy you would hang out with, even as a kid.” She flipped the mirror up.

  “People change,” he said, trying to sound mysterious. He started the truck and pulled away from the curb, but the elderly man from the café was slowly crossing the street, so he had to stop again. “How do you know I wasn’t a thug back in the day?”

  “Because you would have been banned from law enforcement.”

  “Maybe my juvenile records were sealed.”

  “I know when you’re lying.”

  “Do not.”

  “You have a tell.”

  He turned off of Silver Street and headed toward the lake. “I don’t have a tell.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To see a man about a book.”

  “Homeless Jack?”

  Blake drove slowly along the lakefront, watching out for his friend. “He sometimes hangs out along here during the day, when it’s sunny. He talks with the seagulls, and fights
with them over bits of sandwiches or donuts he finds in the trashcans.”

  “How sad.”

  He spotted what looked like a bundle of old rags near the edge of the dock, right where unsuspecting tourists might throw breadcrumbs to the birds on the beach below. “There he is.” He turned the truck around and parked along the curb on the beach side.

  “Is it all right if I come along? I’d like to meet this friend I’ve heard so much about.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Blake left his cane in the truck since it wouldn’t do him much good on the soft ground. They walked to the dock and slid down the embankment to the beach below, getting sand in their shoes on the way. Shelby kicked off her sandals and held them by the straps in one hand. Even with the commotion of their approach, the bundle of rags didn’t move.

  “Jack?” He hung back a few feet in case the man was sleeping. He didn’t want to startle him. He moved slowly closer. “Jack? Are you awake?”

  The bundle moved quicker than he thought an old man in his seventies could move, flipping away and to his feet in one swift motion. Jack was covered in grime as usual, his beard thick and filthy with sand from sleeping facedown on the beach. In his hand he held the new hunting knife Luanne had gifted him with. His eyes were wild and vacant as though unsure of where he was. His stance was kill or be killed. Did he still have flashbacks from the war all those years ago?

  “Jack! It’s all right.” He waved Shelby back and moved forward a step, hands up and palms out. “It’s me. Blake. Remember?”

  “Blake?” The old man’s eyes narrowed, confusion slowly replaced with a smile. “Blake, my boy. I haven’t seen you in ages.” He moved forward, bringing his special body scent with him. Flies buzzed around his head, and he swatted at them before sliding his knife into the sheath beneath his coat.

  “I saw you yesterday, Jack. Don’t you remember? Tucker and I were smoking cigars, and you stopped by to say hello.”

  Jack nodded. “Course I remember.” He slipped a hand in a pocket and pulled out a three-inch nub. “I saved it for later.”

  “You were smoking cigars?” Shelby repeated, spitting out the word with more than a touch of asperity.

  “It was all Tucker’s idea, babe.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her possessively into the crook of his arm. “Jack, I’d like you to meet my wife. This is Shelby.”

  Shelby stiffened when Jack stepped close as though she thought he might give her a bear hug. But the old man was a stickler for formality. He took off his hat and dipped his head. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Blake is a special young man, and he deserves a good woman.” He waggled bushy eyebrows and grinned. “I’m mighty surprised he got one though.”

  Blake laughed along with Jack while Shelby stared from one of them to the other. “I see where my husband gets his sense of humor.”

  “Jack taught me a lot of things.” He slapped the older man on the back. A plume of dust rose around him as well as an invisible cloud of stench. “How about we take a walk, so we can talk,” he suggested, turning Jack into the wind.

  Further down the beach, out of sight of passing cars, they stopped behind an outcropping of rock. Blake picked up a pebble and tossed it toward the water.

  “Jack, how well did you know Clara Booth?”

  “She was one of the kindest people in all of Port Scuttlebutt. I know that. She let me sleep in her boathouse whenever I wanted, and even left sandwiches for me once in a while, wrapped in wax paper, just like when…” He seemed to have lost his train of thought, and then he chuckled. “Course, the mice sometimes got to them before I did. Not that I’m too good to share with God’s creatures. He cares for us all. Even the sparrows. So I don’t mind helping God out with the mice.”

  Waves slapped against the rocky shore, churning up foam. Shelby stuck out her bare foot and let it wash over but drew back quickly, shivering. “Oh, that’s cold!”

  “Superior collects men’s souls in its miry depths by sucking the life out of them with the freezing jaws of death.” Jack pulled his coat closer around his neck. “Women too,” he mumbled.

  “Jack,” Blake said, feeling a bit unsure about his old friend’s clarity of mind. “This is very important. I know you hear things around town. People think you aren’t listening, or they just ignore you and act like you don’t exist. Have you heard anything, or know anyone who had a grudge against Clara or wanted to hurt her?”

  “You gonna arrest ’em?” he asked, looking out to sea.

  “I can’t arrest anyone, Jack. I don’t know what you heard, but I’m not a cop anymore. I am trying to find the person responsible for Clara’s hit-and-run. So Alice and her father can get on with their lives, and Clara can rest in peace. You want that too, don’t you?”

  Jack nodded repeatedly, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. “Clara was afraid of the dark,” he said. “I’ll light a candle for her.”

  Shelby met Blake’s eyes and tapped a finger to the side of her head.

  He sighed. Maybe his old friend was losing his mind. He’d been living out in the elements for years, alone most of the time, and he was old. Younger men than he had succumbed to senility. “Well, if you think of anything, Jack…” He took Shelby’s hand, and turned to walk away.

  “I heard ’em talking outside the boathouse. Clara left me a book to read, but my flashlight was going dim. I shut it off, and lay there listening to the sounds of the night. Then they showed up.”

  Blake moved closer. “Who showed up, Jack?”

  “There was two of ‘em... err maybe three. One of them said something about a deed. Said it was the last straw. Clara was ruining everything. She had to go.” His voice sounded dazed as though he were in a trance. “The other one said he never got paid enough to do all the dirty work.”

  “Did you see faces, recognize voices?” Blake asked, excitement spreading through his veins. He grabbed the arms of Jack’s filthy coat and looked him straight in the eye. “Who did you see?”

  Jack stared past him, still caught up in the memory. “I peeked through a crack. They were shadows, looking up at the house. The shorter one took something out of his pocket and showed it to the other guy. He said, ‘You’re already a murderer. I can take this to the police and you’ll go to jail for life, or you can do what I ask and I’ll take your little secret to the grave. Your choice.’”

  Blake could barely breathe. Was it possible Jack had overheard a plot to murder Clara Booth? Why would anyone need her out of the picture? It had to have something to do with the beachfront property, but why? The boathouse was worthless, and without the house and the rest of the land, that strip of rocky sand couldn’t possibly be worth taking a life. It didn’t make sense. Not that murder made sense. In fact, in the aftermath, it rarely did, even to the murderer.

  Jack was breathing funny, kind of like a dog panting. He was having a panic attack or maybe a heart attack. “Can’t,” he gasped. “Catch. My breath,” he managed to say before slumping to the ground.

  Shelby whipped out her cell phone.

  “Are you calling 911?” Blake asked, kneeling beside Jack and trying to tell if he was alive.

  “No, I’m calling Alice.”

  “What?”

  “Alice?” she said into the phone. “We’re on the beach in front of the rock outcropping, about a block from the dock. Jack collapsed. His breathing is shallow, and I think he passed out. Could you call Dr. Morgan?”

  <<>>

  “When’s the last time he ate?” the doctor asked, holding the collar of his jacket over his nose. He felt for a pulse in Jack’s neck. “He’s alive. Probably dehydrated and undernourished.” He stood with his medical bag and started walking back toward his car that he’d left parked along the road.

  “Where are you going?” Blake called, throwing up his hands.

  “Home. I seldom make house calls and I never make beach calls. Certainly not to work on som
e filthy homeless individual without insurance or personal hygiene.” He stopped long enough to scowl at them. “I showed up only because Alice asked me to. Don’t ever ask her to call me again!”

  Seconds later, they heard the purr of his high performance engine as he raced back home to the safety of an immaculate and sterile life. The doctor’s arrival had drawn a very small crowd to the beach. The Bailey twins had noticed the commotion while on their daily sabbatical and stopped for a look-see. In matching navy blue wool coats and white hats and mufflers, they were the bad omen to a Stephen King nightmare. A little boy about ten, with dirty blonde hair and dimples, also edged closer, pretending to be looking for treasure in the sand with a metal detector. His eyes practically bugged out of his head trying to see the dead guy crumpled in the sand.

  Shelby put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Do you want me to call 911 now?”

  Jack moved and slowly raised an arm to cover his exposed face. He tried to sit up, mumbling something incoherently.

  Blake was at his side instantly. “Jack! You’re awake!”

  “Who are you?”

  Blake ignored him, but helped him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get you some food and something to drink.”

  Jack licked dry lips, grimacing. “Yeah, I could definitely use a drink. You got a bar around here?”

  Blake frowned. This was not the Jack he knew. Jack never drank hard liquor. He’d warned him more than once to stay away from it because the stuff ruined men’s lives. His mind was obviously muddled from this episode. He just needed a hot meal and rest.

  Shelby ran to get the truck and drive it close so he wouldn’t have so far to walk. Getting up the sandy embankment was hard enough with leather soled boots, a bum leg, and a wobbly old man to support. Their audience of three continued to stare, obviously taking special note of details so they could retell it all later in town. He slipped and went down on one knee, nearly taking Jack with him.