Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  Shelby moved beside him and slipped her hand into his. She understood the implication behind his words. He would not be swayed from the truth even if it meant taking down the whole town. Under normal circumstances, he wasn’t a conspiracy theorist kind of guy, but there was no way these two incidents had been enacted by the same person tonight. He’d bet his Bronco on it. And despite the current damage, he still loved that truck and would hate to lose it.

  Alice was already half way up the hill before he let Shelby pull him away from the scene. He trudged slowly after her, suddenly exhausted and wishing he had his cane in hand. He stopped and looked back. “I think I left my wallet in my jacket pocket. Go on without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She reluctantly moved on to the house, and he slowly limped back to the dock. He found his jacket where he’d dropped it earlier, in the sand. Completely ruined now, it looked much like he felt. Riddled with a bullet hole, sopping wet, and covered in dirt, he wondered if his wallet was safe. He usually slid it into the inside pocket and pulled the zipper closed, but he couldn’t remember if that was the case tonight.

  He stooped down and picked it up. A bulge on the right side was a good sign. He unzipped the hidden pocket and tried to pull the wallet out, but it clung to the wet material like a burr in a carpet. He finally had to rip the material to get the soggy, leather wallet out. He shook his head. Another favorite possession destroyed tonight.

  A familiar tingling sensation buzzed over his scalp, and he looked up, half expecting to see Jack lurking nearby, watching. He looked all around, staring hard into the deepest shadows. No Jack. But the buzzing was still there and he wished he hadn’t stuck his gun into Shelby’s purse before seeing the doctor.

  He turned and stared across the water. Sitting about a hundred yards off shore, a boat gently rode the waves. Whether the owner felt compelled to follow the volunteer firemen to see what was going on, or something more sinister, he didn’t know. The moon glowed bright and beautiful over Lake Superior. Bright enough to read the name on the side of the boat. Carolina.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Those blackmail photographs are the key. I just know it,” Shelby said at breakfast the next morning. Still wearing her robe and slippers, her hair tousled from last night’s restless sleep, she brought a smile to Blake’s lips, despite her topic of conversation. She was back to her cheery self, and that’s what he needed this morning. He folded the local newspaper in half at the page he’d been reading, and set it aside, his mind wandering.

  Tucker had called earlier to say he’d already had Blake’s truck towed to the nearest gas station. They would repair the tire and put on the spare. The windows had been covered with clear vinyl and secured with good old duct tape. Tucker thought that should hold until he could replace them. He’d gone above and beyond, and Blake owed him big time. Jack’s name caught Blake’s attention, and brought it back to the table.

  Shelby was still caught up in her blackmail theory. “The man Jack saw outside the boathouse had something that couldn’t be refuted. I think it was a photograph of a murder,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper on the last word.

  “You don’t have to worry about my father overhearing.” Alice refilled their coffee mugs. “He wanted to sit out on the deck this morning. So I bundled him in blankets, handed him his coffee, and left him to stare at the charred boathouse. He was mumbling something about Farley’s shenanigans when I left him there.”

  “I know your dad wants to blame Farley for just about everything that’s gone wrong in his life, but after last night, I tend to side with him.” Blake told them about seeing the mayor’s boat hanging around after the fire, and Shelby filled Alice in on the man’s serial blackmail routine.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! Farley really is a weasel.” She dropped into a chair, making a sound of disgust. “If he had something to do with Mom’s death, I’ll kill him myself.”

  “Hold up,” Blake said, a firm warning in his tone. “You can’t go gunning for the man. We don’t have any evidence that he had anything to do with the hit-and-run, or with any other blackmail schemes at this point. All we have is a photograph that Shelby took from his boat without permission. He has plausible deniability.”

  “But there were others,” Shelby argued, furiously smearing cream cheese over her bagel. “I know he had those photographs for more than just his own titillation.”

  “Maybe so, but the only way we can prove that is by getting his victims to come clean.”

  Alice blew a laugh through her nose. “Can you imagine Mrs. Davies admitting that she had an affair with Mike Mitchell, the school custodian? Oh, my gosh! That is just hilarious.”

  Blake laughed too, remembering the hefty-sized bald man who dumped the garbage and polished the gymnasium floors after school. He finished off his scrambled eggs before asking, “Is he still the custodian?”

  “He retired last year, actually. He never married, and he still lives in the same trailer. You know...” Alice rubbed a finger around the rim of her cup, her expression thoughtful. “We might not be able to get Jan Davies to confess, but I bet we could get Janitor Mike to come clean.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  From what he remembered, the man was a big softie with the kids, even sticking up for Tucker and him when Mrs. Davies falsely accused them of stealing her lipstick and using it to write bad words on the chalkboard. If they could appeal to his sense of duty and justice, maybe he would speak out against the mayor’s use of blackmail. It might only take one brave individual to start the ball rolling, and Farley Jones would be bounced out of office faster than you could say conspiracy to commit murder.

  Alice reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to get involved in any of this, and you’re probably wishing now that you hadn’t, but I think Port Scuttlebutt needs people like you. So, I hope you two decide to stay.”

  He smiled and lifted his cup.

  “I’m afraid we’ve held on to our small community ideals by letting go of individual freedoms, like speaking out against bullies like Farley. We let things slide.” She bent her fingers in air quotation marks, “For the good of all. Maybe it was never good for any of us. Men like Farley – whether he had anything to do with Mom’s death – need to be dealt with firmly and publicly.”

  “I was thinking along the same lines,” Shelby said, a mischievous smile turning up her lips. “A lynching in front of his grandfather’s bank perhaps?”

  Alice chuckled at Shelby’s suggestion.

  Blake sat back and crossed his arms. “Blackmail is a sneaky, undercover method of manipulation. Bringing it to light, and letting the whole town know what’s been going on in the shadows, is only the first step. Some of Farley’s victims will not want to be found out. Especially if they were blackmailed into doing something far worse than the thing they feared coming to light in Farley’s photos.”

  “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing!” Mr. Booth’s words rasped out with fear and anger. “I don’t want my daughter involved. You saw what happened to the boathouse when you pressed him too hard.”

  Alice jumped up and grabbed the blanket, now slipping off her father’s shoulders and dragging on the floor. She took his arm and helped him shuffle to a chair. “Daddy, you need to stay calm. Settle down.”

  He shoved her hands away, a frown settling back into the folds of his face where it belonged, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Don’t tell me to settle down. I’m your father. I have a right to worry. I know I failed Clara, but I won’t lose you too.”

  Alice went down on her knees next to his chair and hugged him in spite of his rigid body language. She swiped a hand over his grey head, patting down windblown hair. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried. I have a kick me sign on my backside a mile wide,” she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

  He finally chuckled and reached up to pat her back awkwardly. Obviously it didn’t happen often, as he seemed to be
emotionally challenged. “You’re so much like your mother.”

  “Good to know. I’d hate for the people of Port Scuttlebutt to think I turned out like you. Heaven knows why I put up with you.” She stood up and settled back into her chair.

  Mr. Booth leaned forward, his watery eyes turned toward Blake. “You keep Alice out of this, ya hear. Make sure she isn’t involved in your snooping.”

  “We have no plan to involve Alice. But why don’t you tell us what Farley has on you that makes you fear him so much.”

  Alice glanced from Blake to her father, eyes wide. “Dad? Is he right?”

  He seemed to settle further into his chair as though he was shrinking in stature as they watched. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared down, his chin almost resting on his chest to keep from meeting their eyes.

  “Dad?”

  “It was a long time ago. I did what I had to do. Your mother wouldn’t have married me if she knew…”

  “What did you do?”

  He shook his head as though refusing to answer, but words came slow and thick with dread, that they would find a soft target and destroy the tenuous relationship he enjoyed with his only child. “Me and Farley went into the scavenger business years ago, looking for treasure from sunken ships. It was a young man’s dream, but it took more money to get started than we anticipated.”

  “I already know all of this.”

  “Did you know his momma handed over the money we needed, against her husband’s wishes? Then, she made us sign an agreement that if we couldn’t pay her back within a year, we would do whatever she asked without question.” He shrugged. “Seemed like a sweet deal. What I didn’t know at the time was that I’d just made a pact with the devil.”

  “What did she ask of you?” Blake pushed his empty plate forward, and leaned his arms on the table. He was beginning to see a pattern with the Jones family. Like mother, like son. Farley Jones might be a snake, but he’d learned from the head serpent.

  “Mr. Jones was a kind man. He was also generous. He didn’t like to see people suffer or go without. The economy around here was worse then than it is now. Men were out of work, and desperate. Families went into debt just to pay their monthly bills. He extended credit to a lot of people, gave them groceries with a handshake. His wife liked being wealthy, and was afraid her weak-willed husband was going to bankrupt them in time, out of the goodness of his heart. Being as she didn’t have a heart, she sent me and Farley all over the county as enforcers. We were told to bring back what was owed, by whatever means necessary.”

  “You worked as a debt collector for that woman?” Alice spit the words at her father like a knife thrower. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Each one aimed for his heart. “How could you? You know what Mom thought of her.”

  “That’s exactly why I never told her.”

  “Unbelievable. Just when I think things can’t get any worse.”

  “Alice,” Shelby said, reaching out to clasp the other woman’s hand and hold her there, when she started to get up. “Just listen. He needs to tell it as much as you need to hear it. Remember, it was a long time ago.”

  She pressed her lips together in a tight line and nodded, slumping back into her chair. Shelby poured fresh coffee for everyone as Mr. Booth finished his story.

  “Farley was smart. He let me do the enforcing closer to home, and he did the strong-arming where he wouldn’t be recognized. Needless to say, his reputation for being a stand-up guy was a caricature he invented himself. He went around town doling out cigarettes and sympathy, pretending to care about the hard times people were dealing with, while all the while his mother was confiscating their cars and homes and washing machines right out from under ’em. Even when the bank closed, and they had to rely solely on the store and fish house to pay for their big mansion on the hill, Mrs. Jones had more money socked away in private accounts than Mr. Jones had lost to begin with.”

  “That’s quite a story,” Blake said, eyeing Mr. Booth with a bit of skepticism. “What I want to know is, when did the blackmail turn into murder?”

  “I wasn’t in on any murder!” His vehemence was real, and he looked at his daughter, begging to be believed. “Alice? You believe me, don’tcha? I may have broke a couple fingers in the heat of the moment, but I would never kill another human being!”

  “I don’t know you anymore. Mom always said you were a good liar. I don’t think it was a compliment.”

  Mr. Booth was getting himself worked up again. The last thing they needed was the man having another stroke. Blake would find a chance to question him further in private. He stood up to end the discussion, and put out a hand for Shelby to join him. “We’re going to the library. Could we borrow your pickup? We’ll stop and pick up the Bronco on the way back.”

  “Sure. I actually pulled it into the garage yesterday, since it was so cold. It doesn’t start very well anymore. I think the battery needs to be replaced.” Alice grabbed the key from a hook in the kitchen. “Would you mind delivering the books I boxed up for donation?”

  “We’d love to,” Blake said. He felt sure that Jerri Roper would be more willing to cooperate when they came bearing gifts from the daughter of her best friend.

  <<>>

  While Blake carried boxes of books out to the pickup, Shelby changed into skinny-legged chinos with a pair of comfortable flats and an emerald green blouse. She put on a bit of makeup, brushed her hair back and secured it with a silver butterfly clip, then threw on a Navy blue cotton jacket and hurried down the stairs.

  When she climbed in, Blake was already sitting in the cab adjusting the mirrors. She smiled, and slipped on her fake prop glasses. “How do I look? Like someone who reads?”

  “You read all the time, babe. I didn’t know there was a special look.” He backed the pickup out. “After all, even Jack reads.”

  “I see your point.” She pulled the glasses off and looked down at her outfit with critical eyes. “I was trying to get into character. This librarian lady may be afraid to open up about her friend Clara, but she might be more apt to share with someone she can relate to.”

  The old pickup slammed over a rut in the driveway, and she grabbed the door handle before her head made contact with the roof. “Whoa! Are you trying to throw me out?”

  “The shocks are shot. The tires are bald. And the transmission sounds like it’s ready to fall out any minute.” He shifted gears and turned onto the road. “We’ll be lucky if we make it back alive.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Well, if I’d known they had a vintage 1964 Ford Mustang with less than 50,000 miles under a cover in their garage, I would’ve asked to use that instead.”

  Shelby raised her brows. “It’s probably Mr. Booth’s pride and joy. If Alice isn’t allowed to drive it, I doubt you would be.”

  In town, people were going about their morning business. Shelby saw Tucker come out of the Post Office. She waved, and he waved back. The grin on his face was contagious. “I love this small town stuff. Look at that!” She turned her head as Blake drove past. “A young man helping an old woman across the street. You don’t see that in the city.”

  He grunted noncommittally, and shifted down. Gears ground and groaned as he pulled into the empty parking spot in front of the library. It had a sign on the curb that said, Library Patrons Only.

  “Looks like we’re her first customers.”

  A woman was unlocking the library door. She wore a long black trench coat with a white scarf tied around her head. It was hard to tell what she looked like from the back, but Shelby felt sure, from a glimpse of her red cowboy boots at the edge of her coat, that she was going to like her.

  They waited a few minutes to give the woman time to turn on the lights and ready the library for business, before climbing out of the pickup. Blake glanced at the boxes in the back. “Let’s introduce ourselves, and then while I’m carrying these in you can do what you do best. Get her to open up. Let down her guard. You know… your normal talkative,
quirky self.”

  “Was there a compliment hidden in there somewhere?”

  On the sidewalk, he stopped and pulled her into his arms, ignoring the shocked glances they attracted from two old ladies passing by. His eyes seemed to reflect the stormy blue of the lake in the distance, and the undertow was just as powerful. He could convince her of anything with that look. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” he asked, sending her heart racing the same way it did every time he said those words.

  “Not lately.”

  “I. Love. You.” He lowered his head to kiss her.

  Someone across the street decided to take that moment to give them a round of applause. “Woo hoo!” yelled a familiar voice. “Achy Breaky’s still got it!”

  Shelby broke away from Blake’s kiss, snorting a laugh through her nose, and realized that half a dozen people on the street were being entertained by their display, as well. She pulled Blake toward the library door. “Let’s get off the stage,” she whispered. At home in the city, no one would even notice them kissing on the street, but in Port Scuttlebutt she felt like an exhibitionist.

  In the small entrance area was a long row of coat hooks on the wall, and a plastic shoe mat below, to leave winter boots so they wouldn’t track up the carpet. A narrow metal rack, loaded with free local papers and advertisement flyers filled the corner, and beside that a corkboard hung at eye level. Residents pinned their own advertisements or notices there. Apparently, a tabby cat was missing and there was a ten-dollar reward for anyone who found it. Someone was selling an antique roll top desk in good condition, and someone else wanted to give away two sets of used tires.

  Blake ripped off the phone number for the desk, and stuck it in his pocket. When she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  She moved to the front desk and looked around. At the end of the book checkout counter, a cart loaded with books to be returned to their alphabetical spots on shelves, sat waiting. On top of the desk lay a stack of unopened mail. Florescent lights buzzed high above her head, and the musty smell of dust-covered history and aged crumbling pages permeated the room.