Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  “Was she happy?” Blake barely remembered what his mother looked like anymore. He had a couple of pictures, but they were stored away somewhere in a box. When he got home he would have to look for them.

  Jack’s answer was enlightening. He obviously spent much time watching his daughter grow up from afar. “Jess was curious. And a fast runner. And had a laugh that tinkled like a bell. She won first place in the spelling bee when she was in third grade.” He grinned, his eyes lit up with the memory. “And when she was fourteen her softball team won a trophy. She was a terrific pitcher. Her mom and dad were good to her, and taught her to be a good person. They loved her but…” He pressed his lips together and breathed deeply through his nose. “…they didn’t know there were people in this world like Robert Gunner. People who use and abuse, and never expect to pay the price.”

  Luanne suddenly popped up out of the booth, smoothing down her apron. “I forgot! I have something in the kitchen I have to attend to.” She shot Shelby a glance that spoke volumes, but Blake didn’t read female ESP, so he had no idea what was going on.

  “When Jess married Robert and moved here, is that when you came back to town as well?” Shelby lifted her coffee cup.

  Jack nodded. “I went where my little girl went.”

  Fanny patted his shoulder. “He was her guardian angel.”

  His mouth tightened at the compliment.

  Blake cleared his throat. “You would have made a great father, Jack. I have first hand knowledge.”

  Luanne’s last customer had paid and slipped out while they were busy talking. They had the café to themselves. She pushed through the swinging kitchen door and called out, “Anybody want anything else? I’ve got a couple pasties already baked, and a pot of chicken noodle soup.”

  Shelby volunteered to help fill plates and bowls, and soon they were eating dinner after dessert. Luanne pushed a smaller table next to the booth so they’d have more space, and sat in a chair that made her look like she was at the children’s table for a family dinner.

  The conversation petered out, and Blake decided to give Jack a break from the past and save his questions. The man had decades locked up inside. He didn’t need to know everything today. Hopefully, they’d have many more years to get to know each other, and if Jack chose to share more of his secrets than he’d be here to listen.

  Changing the topic, he brought up his theory for catching Clara’s killer. “The highway patrol would know if there were any reported accidents around here close to the same time. If the killer was drinking, as we suspect, he could have run into a tree or swerved into another car after running down Clara.”

  Jack scratched energetically at the side of his head like a dog with fleas, fast and furious. He glanced toward the door as though the shadows of night were calling his name. But Blake could tell he was listening intently.

  Luanne dipped a piece of French bread in her soup bowl, soaking up the last of the broth. “I don’t remember hearing of any accidents.” She narrowed her gaze, staring at a spot above Blake’s head. “Wait a minute. That was the day Ted Davies came by with roadkill. Remember, Jack? You’d stopped by for a chat. Early. Before opening.”

  “Yep,” Jack said, “it was a huge 6-point buck.”

  “Anyway, I had Jack take a look at the carcass, because Ted hadn’t dressed it out. He assured us he’d just hit it a couple miles down the highway and came straight over. I could tell he’d been drinking, and I think he was too shaky to wield a knife. He might have been telling the truth, but I turned him away. Something about that man gives me the creeps.”

  “He was mad as a hatter when Luanne said she didn’t want it. Took a hunting knife out of his truck, and started hacking at the head. Bragged he was gonna have the antlers mounted.” Jack shook his head, his voice filled with disgust. “Gloating over killing a defenseless animal with a truck. Called it survival of the fittest.”

  “I probably should have called the police, and reported him for driving drunk, but what good would it do? He’d already killed the deer.”

  “If Farley wasn’t at the top of my suspect list…” Shelby frowned. “But what would Ted’s motive be in killing Clara?”

  Fanny, visibly cringing at the topic, announced she needed to go home and feed Ginger. Blake offered her a ride, but she declined. “I like walking. Sometimes I find things along the way. It’s not the walk, it’s the journey.”

  Luanne and Shelby went back to the kitchen to clean up, and Blake had Jack all to himself. He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say. It shouldn’t be so hard. He’d known the man for years – just not as a grandfather.

  Jack reached in his pocket and pulled out Blake’s MPD cap, handing it across the table. “Forgot to give this back to ya.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I guess you know why I went out there,” he said, fiddling with the saltshaker on the table. “I needed to know what Farley used to blackmail your father. I couldn’t let him hurt you too.”

  Blake held his breath, unsure what Jack was going to tell him, but certain it would be painful. “And?”

  “Evie found the photograph Farley had and gave it to me. If Robert Gunner wasn’t already dead…” He tightened his grip around the shaker, and Blake heard it crack.

  Fear gripped him harder than it ever had as a cop under fire. Even without Jack saying the words, he knew that his mother’s drowning wasn’t accidental. A chill moved up his spine, and he pulled his arms across his chest.

  “Your mama was a sweet, innocent young woman. She didn’t deserve the life or the death that man dealt her.” He looked at Blake and his expression softened with pride. “You’ve got none of your daddy in you. Don’t let anyone tell you different. God gives us free choice, and that man chose poorly. I knew the moment I set eyes on you, the day you were born, that you would grow up to change the world for the better. I’m proud of you, son. And your mama would be too.”

  Blake swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

  Shelby pushed through the kitchen door, singing, “… I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feeeeel so bad!” She spun over to their booth, damp towel in hand and started wiping down their table.

  Jack slipped out of the booth, took his hat out of his pocket and pulled it down over his head. He looked back at Blake, steadily holding his gaze. “You never asked me about Clara. Other than Jess and Evie, I never loved any woman as much. My sister was a special lady. You couldn’t find no better.”

  Blake nodded.

  “Son, I know you’re not a policeman anymore, and there’s really nothing you can do. But the man who ran Clara down deserves to pay.”

  “I’m going to call the county police department in the morning. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” Blake knew even as he said the words, that his promise was as empty as the café after hours.

  Jack reached out and patted his shoulder. “I know you’ll do whatever you legally can. I wouldn’t expect any less from you. But if the police can’t do anything, someone needs to.”

  Shelby watched him walk away and push through the kitchen door. “That sounded like a promise. Does he really believe Ted ran Clara down?”

  “I think he already suspected and we just connected the dots for him.” Ted Davies was exactly the kind of person Farley would use to do his dirty work. Robert Gunner may have been his first choice, but he’d obviously had a backup plan. From what Blake knew, there was very little chance that Ted Davies or Farley Jones would be arrested in connection with Clara’s death, the boathouse fire, or shooting at them on the lake road. There were no eyewitnesses, and evidence was scarce. Unless one of the men confessed, they would both get away with murder.

  He felt a heavy lump of dread in his gut and his mouth was dry as cotton. His grandfather may have just pre-confessed to a murder he planned to commit. He picked up his water glass and drained it.

  Shelby slid into the booth beside him. “Are you alright?”

  He sh
ook his head. “Murder runs in my family.”

  <<>>

  Luanne pushed through the kitchen door a moment or two later, untying her apron. “You two planning to camp out in here? It’s time to close up.”

  Shelby slipped out of the booth with Blake right behind her. “Where’s Jack?” he asked.

  “He left.” Luanne folded the apron and set it on the counter. “I don’t know what you two were talking about out here, but he was awfully eager to skedaddle. He got something out of his box and took off.”

  Blake pushed through the kitchen doors, calling over his shoulder. “Where’s the box?”

  Luanne shared a confused look with Shelby and followed him. “You can’t go through his things willy-nilly without his permission.”

  Blake was already yanking cupboard doors open one by one.

  Shelby sighed. She found the step stool and climbed up to get the box.

  He stopped searching and crossed his arms, watching with a grim set to his lips. “You’ve already looked inside.”

  “Luanne and I…”

  “Don’t look at me!” Luanne threw up her hands. “You’re wife is like a hypnotist. She has a way of getting people to do things they have no intention of doing.”

  Blake opened the box. He picked up each item and set it back down, as though he was looking for something but wasn’t quite sure what it was. “Can you remember exactly what was in here when you looked through it before?”

  “I think so.”

  “What’s missing?”

  Shelby did a quick inventory in her head. Baseball, Navy Cross, picture of Evelyn, letters from Clara… She picked up the book, and as discreetly as possible, ruffled the pages to see if Farley’s blackmail photograph was still there. It was gone. She set the book down and turned around. “There was a key ring. I don’t see it here now.”

  “How many keys?”

  “Two. Car keys. You know… before key fobs. One for the ignition, a separate one for the trunk.”

  “Come on. We have to go.”

  Luanne stared after them. “Where are you going?”

  “Thanks for dinner!” Shelby called as Blake hustled her out the front door.

  <<>>

  The drive back to The Drunken Sailor was moodily silent. Blake was obviously upset that she had managed to get a look in Jack’s box and kept it from him. She sat on her side of the truck feeling slightly guilty, but mostly relieved that he didn’t have that photograph seared into his brainpan. Should she mention it?

  When they pulled into the driveway, he didn’t park in front of the house like she expected, but drove around to the garage. He thrust open the truck door, leaving her behind without a word of explanation. She watched him walk around to the access door on the side of the garage. In less than a minute, he was back.

  “It’s still there,” he said, putting the truck in reverse.

  “What?”

  “The Mustang. Remember? I told you. You thought it was Oliver’s, but I’m pretty sure Clara was storing it all these years for Jack.”

  “Jack? What would he do with a car?”

  Blake parked in front of the house and shut off the ignition. “Commit murder.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Blake and I have now been through our second rough patch, and happily our marriage has survived intact. He was angry – no, I think I’d call it ballistic – that I didn’t tell him immediately when I found out his father murdered his mother. But after we discussed it, he understood why I didn’t say anything. After all, it wasn’t something you blurt out. I wanted to tell him. I just didn’t know how. It was probably better coming from Jack, anyway.

  He called the police the next morning as he’d promised Jack, but unless a witness stepped forward, they had nothing concrete to charge Davies with. It was his word against Luanne’s on the matter of drunk driving, and tying that together with Clara was simply impossible. They had a piece of headlight, but Davies had replaced both headlights months earlier. The glass was so common it could have come from any number of pickups in the area.

  Blake is still unsure what to think about his grandfather’s subtle threat against Davies. Still waters run deep, and that man has gone through much in his life. Perhaps the combination of his sister’s death and finding out his daughter hadn’t accidentally drowned but had been murdered by her own husband, is enough to push him over the edge. But we certainly hope not.

  We couldn’t stand the thought of Alice losing her family heritage, so we had a new purchase agreement written up. Farley Jones was left out in the cold on this real estate transaction. His contract ended, and Alice had no intention of renewing. We will co-own The Drunken Sailor, and if Alice ever wants to buy us out to pass it on to her children in the future, we will happily sell back our half.

  Now knowing why Jack broke into Evelyn’s house and what he went there to retrieve, Blake decided to confront his grandmother about Farley’s illegal habit of blackmail. I begged to go along, as I hadn’t yet been inside the Jones’ mansion or met the fear-worthy Evelyn Jones.

  The maid silently directed us to the sitting room, where Mrs. Jones stood before a large oval window looking out at her spectacular view of Lake Superior. In a simple but stylish black and gray dress with a silver zipper down the back, her hair swept loosely up on her head like Jane Seymour’s in Somewhere In Time, she could have passed for a queen. Perhaps that’s how she saw herself. Shelby was reminded of the line from King Henry the Sixth, True nobility is exempt from fear. The woman turned and greeted them with a smile as cool as spring rain.

  “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Marie,” she said, glancing toward the maid who lingered in the doorway, “Tell Cook to prepare tea.”

  We sat down as directed on a couch that probably cost more than Blake’s truck.

  Mrs. Jones stood regarding us with pale blue eyes for a moment, one hand resting comfortably on the back of a royal looking white armchair. Designed in an ornate and delicate framework, with a diamond patterned and button-backed seat, it was a classic touch to any throne room. “I finally meet the famous actress, Shelby Gunner,” she said, her lips quirking almost imperceptibly.

  “And I you,” I couldn’t help return, “Queen of scuttlebutt.”

  She surprised us both by laughing. Taking the chair, she perched straight as a ballerina, her legs turned to the side and ankles crossed primly, hands in her lap. A completely different persona than what she had portrayed in the photograph Jack kept in his box. “I suppose I should ask what brings you two here today. Although, I can guess.”

  I relaxed when Blake took my hand in his, a sign of combined forces. “What do you think we’re here about?”

  She breathed a short laugh. “Touché. If I had to guess, I would say it involves your purchase of The Drunken Sailor. You’re wondering why my son went above and beyond the law to try and take the beach property back, and whether it had anything to do with me.”

  “Did it?” Blake’s voice was tight with dread.

  “No, of course not. In his defense though, he had no idea of my familial connection with Jack and Clara.” She placed her hands on the arms of the chair. “But you’re right. He committed a despicable act against humanity. For nothing more than greed. I should have told him years ago that those old rumors were only fables.”

  “Rumors?” I asked.

  “There was a story circulated by his great, great grandfather, and continued by children and old men to this day, that the money stolen in the bank heist of 1893 was buried on that plot by the scoundrels who took it. Supposedly, they were never able to retrieve it because they were killed in a shoot out during another robbery in Chicago. Farley and Oliver used to dig holes all over the beach, looking for those gold bricks. My husband knew the truth and was ashamed of the fact that the bank was successful only because of his grandfather’s deceit. That’s why he closed it down eventually and made his own money through the fishery and store.”

  Blake released my hand and lea
ned forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “This was all because of a one hundred year old lie? A woman was murdered!”

  “I’m well aware of that, but there is nothing I can do about it now. When Jack came and told me what he overheard that night at the boathouse and demanded the photograph, I gave it to him. I’d found it earlier in Farley’s dresser drawer. My son’s acquired a terrible habit of spying on people. Sadly, I’m still obligated to keep him out of trouble like he’s a twelve-year-old boy. I’m eighty-three years old, for heaven’s sake! I should be able to enjoy the fruit of my labors in these final years of my life without constantly monitoring his every move. Mayor of Port Scuttlebutt,” she said, and scoffed. “Farley portraying himself as anything other than a common criminal is the biggest deception in politics this country has had since that whole presidential birth certificate debacle.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jack bided his time and waited, until Blake and Shelby returned to the city to close on their house and move the rest of their things. He didn’t want his grandson to have anything to do with vengeance. He knew the Bible said, Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, but he was seventy-two and he didn’t have much more time to wait around for the wrath of God. The Bible also said somewhere, that God was slow to anger.

  It was easy enough to drive the Mustang out of the garage late one stormy night while Oliver and Alice slept peacefully a hundred yards away. Kettledrum thunder masked the sound of the garage door cranking up, and when the rain started gushing like God had opened the floodgates, he turned the ignition and listened to the rumbling engine disappear into the noise of the storm. He parked the car in plain sight; down by the wharf in the visitor parking area. The vigilant busybodies of Port Scuttlebutt would assume it belonged to a vacationer out on his boat.