Blake stepped closer, and looked at the scratches as though it mattered. Who ever did this? Farley was apparently not in the loop. Old Mrs. Jones recognized Jack from the video, but Farley either did not recognize him or he’d never seen the video at all. Didn’t she trust her own son to keep his mouth shut, or did she just like to manage everyone and get them to jump through hoops at her command? Probably both.
The maid touched his arm, bringing his head up. She stood in the open doorway and pointed back through the house, then turned and gestured for him to follow.
Farley seemed to understand the silent language. “They’re here,” he said, doom and gloom filling those two words.
Blake started to follow the maid, but noticed his host was not behind him. He looked back, locking eyes with the little weasel. “You’re coming with me. Agree with whatever I say, and try not to act like it’s the first time you’ve heard it.”
His head bobbled again and he came in, pulling the door closed behind him.
Two officers stood in the front entryway, eyes darting around, taking in the fancy curving staircase, marble tiles, and sparkling crystal chandelier. They seemed unsure what to do. They’d been invited in, by a woman who didn’t speak, and then left to their own devices.
Blake strode confidently into the room, and offered his hand in greeting. “Good afternoon, officers. I’m Blake Gunner. Thank you for coming.”
“Officer Stone. This is my partner Officer Wilson.” His eyes shifted to Farley, with a touch of amusement. “Are you Mr. Jones, the mayor of Port Scuttlebutt?”
“Yes, I am,” Farley said, stepping forward and taking the man’s hand. “Thank you for coming, officers.”
“You reported a break in?”
“There hasn’t been a lot of crime in Port Scuttlebutt in the past,” Blake said, taking control of the situation, “but recently there has been an uptick of misdemeanors. The Mayor wants to nip that in the bud. The problem with being a small village without a proper law enforcement office of our own is that the lawbreakers tend to be repeat offenders. They rarely get caught because of the lengthy response time.”
“I think we made pretty good time, actually. What’s this really about?” Officer Stone’s narrowed gaze shifted to Farley and his hands went to rest on his tool belt. “Did you or didn’t you have a break in?”
“We apologize for the subterfuge. The mayor was conducting a test, officers, for the good of his community,” Blake said. He slipped his old detective I.D. out of his wallet and showed it to them. “I’m retired from the force, but as a security expert, Mr. Jones has brought me in to help get Port Scuttlebutt up to speed.”
Officer Wilson smirked. “A homicide detective from Minneapolis? What, are you slumming?”
“Shot in the line of duty,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “I’m just a hometown boy come back to roost.”
The men were suddenly looking at him with a bit more respect. “What is it you want from us, detective?” Officer Stone asked.
“We were hoping you’d accept a donation from Mr. Jones for your police fund in appreciation for helping to keep our community safe.” He gave Farley a nod.
“Yes,” Farley said, eagerly stepping forward as though it was all his idea. “In appreciation for you and your brothers in blue, risking your lives day after day. I’m donating a substantial amount. Port Scuttlebutt needs officers like yourselves. Isn’t that right, Mr. Gunner?”
“Definitely. Someday we may be able to afford a police force of our own, but until then, we thank you for your service. Where’s that check, Mayor?”
“Of course, of course. Hold on a minute.” He strode to the office door, but before he could turn the knob, it opened a few inches and the maid handed Farley a check. He hesitated before taking it, as though it were a coiled rattler set to strike, then tentatively reached out. “Thank you, Maria,” he said, as the door immediately swung shut again.
“Why the call about a break-in, Sir?” Officer Wilson tugged at his pants. “Falsely reporting a crime is…”
Blake whipped the check from Farley’s hand and presented it to the officers. He was pretty good at reading upside down, but for a second he wondered if he needed glasses. Two other pairs of eyes widened simultaneously when they looked down and saw the numbers. With a half smile curving his lips, Blake asked, “Will this compensate for the lost time and gas to get out here?”
“No doubt,” Officer Wilson said, and released a nervous laugh.
Officer Stone took the check and brought it closer to his face. “This is very generous, Mr. Jones. We’re glad we can be of service to Port Scuttlebutt.”
“And the call?” Blake raised one brow.
“What call?” The officer’s expression was as blank as a newly scrubbed chalkboard. “We drove out to let the mayor know we support and serve the people of this community every bit as much as the rest of the county. But in the future, if you feel the urge to donate, I suggest using a stamp.” He handed Farley his card.
The momma’s boy mayor took it and gave them his best slimy politician smile in return. “Thank you very much, officers.”
When the front door was closed and the patrol car was pulling away from the house, Farley turned away from the window and straightened his suit coat. “There. That’s taken care of. Now, how about we sign those sale papers for the B&B?”
The door to the office swung open and Mrs. Jones, back still straight, mouth still grim, moved out into the foyer. Her long-sleeved, royal blue dress was tailored to fit her slim form to perfection. She may have been eighty-something, but she looked a good ten years younger than that. “I believe you owe our guest a thank you, son.”
He stiffened at the tone of her voice, and dipped his head apologetically toward Blake. “Of course, of course. I was getting to that. Thank you so much, Mr. Gunner, for your help in this delicate matter. Mother was right. You were exactly the one to call. I’m very happy that you and your wife will be joining our little community. I look forward to working with you in the future.”
Blake reluctantly shook the man’s proffered hand, but he wanted to walk out the door without a backward glance. He felt used and manipulated, and there was nothing he could do about it, because he didn’t know why they were so adamant about covering up Jack’s break-in. Unless Jack actually did take something, and that something had the ability to harm the family name.
He really needed to find Jack.
Chapter Fifteen
Blake drove slowly back toward town, scanning the woods for signs of Jack. Most days, finding Jack was as easy as a quick drive-by of the dock area in the morning, or checking one of his other usual haunts around town, but he certainly knew how to make himself scarce when he didn’t want to be found.
He turned in at the entrance to the B&B. Shelby would be bursting with questions by now, and he wanted to pick her up before questioning Mrs. Arnold about Clara’s hit-and-run. The old woman was a bit on the eccentric side, and he thought Shelby might have a better chance of connecting with her. Not that she was eccentric, but…
A gray cloud-swept sky glowered overhead, and wind whipped open the front of his borrowed jean jacket when he stepped out of the truck. Shelby must have heard him drive up because she came hurrying down the steps of the porch, arms crossed tightly against the chilly wind.
“Where have you been? I was about to send out the cavalry,” she said. She put her hands on his rough cheeks, went up on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Why weren’t you answering your phone? Did you let the battery go dead again?”
“You didn’t worry this much when I was a cop in the city. Sorry, I left it in the glove box when I was out searching for Jack.”
Over Shelby’s shoulder, he saw Alice holding two coffee mugs in one hand, and watching them with interest. Her hair was pulled back into another one of those silly ponytails, but he could see why Tucker was so attracted to her. She was fresh-faced and uncomplicated. What you saw was what you got. Not blindingl
y beautiful like some magazine goddess, but girl-next-door pretty with a kind heart and simple expectations. Love, family, and friendship. She and Tucker were made for each other.
“What are you looking at?” Shelby whispered, giving him a nudge.
“Your new best friend, and wondering how to get Tucker and her back together.”
She grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the steps. “We’ll work on that later,” she said, then raised her voice for Alice’s benefit. “Tell us the scuttlebutt on the break-in. We’re dying to hear.”
He ignored the pun and followed them into the house.
Mr. Booth was sitting in his favorite recliner, a permanent scowl lowering bushy brows. He gestured for them to come into the sitting room.
“Farley got robbed?” His voice was slurred and slower than usual, but infused with a touch of glee. “About time.”
“Dad! The man was your friend. Gloating is not attractive.” Alice stood over him with arms crossed, shaking her head. “If there is a burglar in the area, who is to say we won’t be next?”
“Nothin’ here to steal.”
“You can rest at ease,” Blake said, looking down at Mr. Booth to avoid Shelby’s gaze. “It was all a misunderstanding. Nothing was stolen.”
“But he sounded frantic when he called,” Shelby said. “The man was definitely shook up.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He spread his hands and shrugged. Until he found out what Jack had gotten himself into, he couldn’t let the truth out. “Farley and his mother were both there, and that’s their story.”
Alice rested her hands on the back of the chair. “Strange.”
“That’s their middle name,” mumbled Mr. Booth. “Farley’s momma is a piece of work, and he’s her obedient shadow.”
“Alice, do you have a phone number for Mrs. Arnold? I want to have a chat with her today. You’ll come with, won’t you, Shel?” Blake wrapped an arm around his wife. She still looked unhappy with his lack of news, but once they were out in the truck he could fill her in.
“Fanny’s probably out scrounging up roots or something,” Mr. Booth said, scratching at his chin. “That old woman’s crazy.”
Alice rolled her eyes as if to say, look who’s talking, and turned away raising her voice as she hurried off. “I’ve got it written down somewhere in the kitchen. Mom used to go over there to buy her herbal tea concoctions.”
“Good to see you up and about, Mr. Booth,” Blake said, bending over him and patting his shoulder.
“I can’t die till you get my wife’s murder solved.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Shelby waited for him by the staircase. When he approached, she leaned in and sniffed his jacket. “What is that you’re wearing, cowboy? Smells minty and oily at the same time. Where’d you get that old thing?”
“Tucker let me borrow it. I left my jacket here this morning.”
“You forgot your cane too,” she said, glancing down at his leg. “You okay?”
His limp was a little more pronounced after his jog earlier, but it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. In fact, the pain was more of a five today. Usually it felt like an eight. Maybe this cold lake air was just the thing for him.
“I’m good. But I think I’ll run up and get it just in case.”
“I can get it for you, babe.” She patted his cheek and hurried up the stairs.
Alice came through the dining room and handed him a slip of paper. “She doesn’t have a cell phone or an answering machine, so I wrote her address down too. If she’s out walking in the woods somewhere, it may be hard to get a hold of her. You might have to stop by and leave a note on the door.”
“Thanks. I remember where she lives. In that little cottage at the end of Summer Street, close to the woods, right?”
“Good memory.”
He and Tucker had done a little reconnaissance on her house back when they were in fourth grade. A rumor spread around school that Fanny Arnold was a witch. They decided it was up to them to learn the truth and keep Port Scuttlebutt safe. How they would do that, they didn’t know. But if she turned out to be a wicked witch like in The Wizard of Oz, then dropping a bucket of water on her would be their first line of attack.
Armed with nothing more than the binoculars Tucker had swiped from his dad’s hunting gear, and a couple of homemade slingshots, they ventured through the woods to the edge of her yard. That’s where Jack caught up with them, and ordered them to go home. He told them spying on a woman was against a man’s code of honor. Miss Arnold was a good woman, and they should show her respect. He swore she had an uncanny ability to heal. That he’d brought injured animals to her and she’d saved them. She wasn’t a witch; she was a healer. Seeing her peddling up to the house on her bicycle with her black cat riding in the basket on front, they took his word for it and tore off through the woods for home.
Shelby trotted down the stairs with his cane and leather jacket. “Thought you might want to leave that smelly jean jacket behind,” she said, handing him the other. He slipped it off and she gave it directly to Alice. “Mind returning this to Tucker? He said he would come by to pick it up after the store closes at five.”
Blake shrugged into his leather jacket, trying not to laugh at her obvious manipulation. The expression on Alice’s face was priceless. If she was anything like his wife she was probably debating whether to argue, or run to her room to change into something pretty before Tucker got there.
“See you later,” Shelby called as they hurried out the door.
They climbed into the truck and when he turned to look at her they both started laughing at the same time. “Did you really call him about the jacket?” He put the truck into gear.
“He was more than happy to use any feeble excuse to get over here.”
On the short drive to town Blake had Shelby call Mrs. Arnold’s number to see if she was indeed home. There was no answer, but they drove by anyway and parked outside her house.
He pulled out the notebook he carried and wrote down his name and cell phone number, asking for her to call him as soon as possible. “I’ll knock. If she’s not there I’ll slip this under the door and hope she gets back to us by tomorrow.”
The front walk was cracked and crumbling. Salt water in the air and extreme temperatures was hard on concrete, and this sidewalk had probably not been redone for decades. He lifted the knocker and banged it a couple times. It was shaped like a toad, and he almost expected it to croak. He was just about to slip the note under the edge of the door when a woman’s voice called, “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Arnold? I’m Blake Gunner. I’ve been staying at the B&B and…”
The door was yanked open and a little woman, not more than five feet tall, stepped out. “Blake Gunner?” she said, licking what looked like whipped cream from her lips. Her hands fluttered with excitement and she waved him inside. “Come in. Come in.”
“My wife is in the truck. Is it all right if she comes in too?”
“Of course, Blake.” She stepped past him and waved. “Come in, young lady!” she called, and waved again.
Shelby hurried to the door, a huge smile plastered to her face. Blake thought maybe she was playing the Cheshire cat in this interview. He took her hand and they followed Fanny Arnold into a tiny kitchen where it was obvious she was having an early dinner. Or perhaps a late lunch. An old woman living alone didn’t have to abide by normal meal times if she didn’t want to, he supposed.
She insisted they sit at the table with her, so she ran off to get a stool, as there were only two chairs. She perched on the stool, and let them take the chairs. She’d grown a rather prominent belly into her middle years, and bent happily over her chocolate pie with whipped topping, looking much like the chubby toad knocker on her front door.
The woman swallowed a huge bite and grinned at Blake. “Jack said you were home. He was always so proud of you. Said you’d grown up to be a good man.” She wiped her face with the collar of her blo
use, leaving a lip shaped smear of chocolate behind.
“When did you speak with Jack?”
She pushed straggly gray hair behind her ears and squeezed her eyes closed as though thinking hard on the question. Still grasping her fork with a scoop of pie balanced neatly thereon, she raised it ever so slowly to her mouth. Her eyes popped open. “The day you talked to him down on the beach with Tucker. Saturday, I think.” She shoved the fork into her mouth.
While she finished off her pie, Blake asked her questions about Port Scuttlebutt and what he’d missed in the past thirteen years. She didn’t mind chewing and talking at the same time. In fact, she seemed to prefer it. Obviously, the woman was a multi-tasker. After she placed her dirty dishes in the sink, she perched back on the stool and released a satisfied burp that was pretty close to the sound of a toad’s croak.
Shelby tried to hide her smile behind a cough, and managed to sound like she was hacking up a lung. Mrs. Arnold perked right up, jumped down from her stool and opened a cupboard. She rummaged around, and pulled out a jar of something that looked like crushed bug wings and tealeaves.
“I have just the thing for that cough, young lady. Works every time. Guaranteed.” She scooped out about half a cup of the mixture, and poured it into a plastic, sealable sandwich bag. “This is enough for at least five servings. Drink it every morning and you’ll be right as rain.”
“That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Arnold, but I’m really not sick…”
She put the bag in Shelby’s hand and smiled. “Trust me. You need it.”
“Mrs. Arnold,” Blake said, “I wanted to talk to you about Clara. Alice said you were the one to find her after the accident.”
Her chin fell to her chest and she sighed heavily. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “I thought Buddy was an injured deer at first. His tail slapped the ground a couple times when I approached, and I saw the blood,” she paused, and shook her head. “Clara was wearing a brown coat and had rolled a ways further into the tall weeds, so I didn’t see her right away. I knelt beside Buddy and said a kind word or two. He whined softly and then was gone. Just like that. As though he were waiting for me to find them. When I rose to my feet and turned, there she was. Clara. My sweet friend. Jack’s…” she trailed off staring down at the tabletop, her thought unfinished. When she looked up again, she said, “She cared about Jack too. Let him stay in the boathouse.”
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 16
