Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Ellen Brink

  Blake swiped sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “Your dad was always good at seeing through lies and deception, Tuck. He certainly never fell for any of our wild stories. It’s hard to believe he’d be a lifelong friend to a man capable of murder. I’m going to work this case on the assumption that Pete Dugan is an innocent man, because I trust your dad’s instincts.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about the construction help?” Shelby reminded him. “If Blake and I are investigating the murder, someone has to be here to finish this.”

  “Dugan was a construction foreman for over thirty years. He’s newly retired, but if he’s anything like my dad he’ll jump at the chance to get back into it.”

  “So you haven’t actually discussed bartering labor in exchange for our services, have you?”

  “Not technically, no.”

  “Great!” Blake threw up his hands and huffed. “We’re back where we started.”

  “Quit being a whiner, Acky Breaky. I got this covered. If Mr. Dugan chooses to pay you in cash rather than hard labor – which I can’t see happening – I promise to come back and help out as much as I can. I’ve got a new kid working part-time at the store now and he’d probably love some extra hours.”

  “Thanks, Tuck,” Shelby gave him a hug and wasn’t surprised to feel ribs beneath his baggy sweatshirt. He definitely lived up to his nickname. He ate like a three hundred pound linebacker but never seemed to gain an ounce. “You should stop up at the house and have some of that raspberry pie Alice baked this morning. You are wasting away.”

  “I thought you told me you were working out,” Blake said.

  Tucker lifted a brow. “This is me in the best shape of my life. You can’t see it? I’m totally ripped. Alice says I’m buff.”

  “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” Shelby teased.

  His cell buzzed and he slipped it out to read the message. “What a coincidence. I’ve been invited for a slice of pie. Later, you two!”

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  As an added bonus, read on for a free chapter of ENTANGLED (Fredrickson Winery Novel #1)

  ENTANGLED

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mother often chose to call when I was the busiest, informing me that her ESP just clicked on and gave her no choice. I'm sure what she really meant to say was she felt lonely and assumed I must be too.

  "Uncle Jack died?" I switched the receiver to my left ear as I tried to sign the papers Jody placed before me on the desk.

  "Yes, a massive heart attack."

  Jack was my father's half-brother but I hadn't seen him since I was a little girl and couldn't even remember what he looked like. I assumed my father and he had a falling out of some sort.

  "He liked to travel but when he bought that winery and vineyard out in California he was always too busy to visit." She sighed. "We didn't see him after your father died. I sent a Christmas card or two, but he never responded."

  I'd heard it all before, but Mother needed to say it so I continued to listen while deleting Spam from my email inbox. She told me she was going to California for the funeral.

  "Why do you feel obligated to fly out there? Doesn't he have a family to take care of things?" I asked. Fridays were always busy and I had another appointment in ten minutes.

  "That's the problem. He never married and we are the only family. Your father would never forgive me if I abandoned Jack in his time of need."

  Mother's sense of drama was always rich. "They're both dead. Neither will know if you choose not to go."

  "You can't be serious! Your father would turn over in his grave."

  I rolled my eyes and reached in the desk drawer for the small mirror I kept there. "How's that possible? I thought he was in heaven."

  "Of course, honey. It was just a figure of speech."

  "Which? Heaven or turning in his grave? Because if it's the latter,he probably needs to turn over. He's been in the same position for thirteen years."

  "Wilhelmina Fredrickson! That is disrespectful."

  "Sorry, Mother." I lowered the volume on my headset and tried to touch up my lipstick. "I've really got to go. I have an appointment."

  "I understand, but I haven't told you the real news yet," she said.

  "Can I call you back when I get home?" I asked. "I've really got to go." I clicked off before she could respond. I'd probably pay for my rudeness later, but right now it was worth it. I put my head down on the desk and closed my eyes, a feeble attempt to ward off the headache I felt building.

  *****

  "Jody, go home to your kids. I'm going to finish up this brief before I leave. No reason for you to hang around." I pulled open the top drawer of my second-hand desk and rummaged around for a paperclip. An ancient coffee stain spread out from the middle of the drawer's bottom like a one-celled organism magnified to scary proportions. My father built the desk before I was born. He said he felt the need to do something useful with his hands during my mother's pregnancy. She said it would have been a heck of a lot more useful to build a bassinet. But in hindsight, at twenty-eight and unmarried, the desk served me better.

  Jody stood with her arms crossed over her chest, staring out the narrow window behind me. "Looks like a storm's setting in," she said. "Abigail hates storms. I imagine I'll be sharing my bed tonight." My secretary, a former client that needed a job after her husband gambled everything away, was a sweet lady, but a little too touchy-feely for me. I preferred to take charge of my emotions, lock them away during the day, and only take them out at night if they were completely incapable of staying hidden any longer. Emotions were messy, better left turned off during business hours.

  I smiled. "She's thirteen, isn't she? Don't they ever grow out of that?" I asked, even though I still fought the urge to leave a nightlight on.

  "Ann didn't ask me to tuck her in after she turned ten. But Abigail has always been my little girl." She walked to the door. "Don't forget you promised to call your mother back," she said.

  I waved her away. "Goodnight. Have a good weekend."

  Alone in my office, I dropped my pen on the desktop and leaned back with my hands above my head, stretching the kinks out of my back. I needed to go to the gym and spend some time on the machines. But I had an appointment with Kent to meet at the Bullpen for dinner.

  "Appointment," I said aloud. "Why do I call...?"

  Probably because Kent always called during business hours and set our dates up with Jody as though we were meeting to discuss a civil suit rather than to spend intimate time together.

  The Bullpen was a raucous sports bar, where food and fun meant loud and greasy. I preferred the dimly lit, quiet ambiance of an Italian restaurant after a day at the office, but Kent couldn't be more than twenty feet from a television screen.

  I finished, slipped the papers into a folder, and stood up. Maybe I would call Kent and cancel our evening. I was tired and still had to return Mother's call. If I didn't, she would be sure to call me. I flipped the lights off and had my key out to lock the door when the telephone rang. Hopeful that Kent was on the other end of the line and I could back out of our date gracefully, I set my briefcase beside the door and picked up the phone on Jody's desk.

  "Fredrickson Family Law."

  "This is Handel Parker. Jack Fredrickson's attorney."

  I picked up a pen and scrawled the unfamiliar name across the top sheet of Jody's notepad. "What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?"

  "Not a thing. It's what your uncle did for you. He named you sole beneficiary of his estate."

  "Is this some kind of joke?" I asked. My brother Adam and his college buddies had pulled senseless pranks on me before but this didn't have the same immature flavor.

  "I can assure you this is no joke."

  Why would a man I'd met only once leave everything he owned to me? It made no sense. Nearly everyone had friends or a lover -- someone. "Mr. Parker, why --?

  Could w
e arrange a time to discuss the details after the funeral?" he asked.

  "Yes, of course, but could you tell me something about this winery? After all --"

  "I'd be happy to answer all your questions when you get here, but right now I'm running late for an appointment." He left me his office phone number and asked that I call his secretary to let her know when I would be arriving so that someone could meet me at the airport.

  Moments later I hung up, and stared down at the meager notes I'd scribbled. The thought of owning and operating a winery brought up a dozen questions. What kind of wine did they bottle? Was the business solvent or were there debts to pay? How many employees were involved? Was there a manager in place or had my uncle run things alone? But the question uppermost in my mind was -- what am I supposed to do with it?

  It might seem romantic to own a California winery, but as a Minnesota divorce attorney my life was quite the opposite. I couldn't imagine depending on such an iffy thing as weather conditions to make a living. Gardening had never appealed to me for that very reason. I liked knowing what to expect, and getting what I expected or a close proximity. When you file a divorce you get what you ask for.

  *****

  At home the winery situation continued to occupy my mind as I changed into jeans and a sweater. When I returned Mother's call it was to inform her that I was going with her to California. She didn't seem surprised, but she was ecstatic. She kept me on the line for twenty minutes before it suddenly occurred to me that I had never called Kent to cancel our date. It was too late now. He would already be at the Bullpen, watching the ever-present television screens while he waited for me to show up.

  "Mother, I have to go. I forgot about Kent."

  "How could you possibly forget that man? He's adorable. Even if he does talk sports all the time."

  "Yes, well, learning I'm the owner of a winery might have something to do with it."

  I grabbed my jacket and keys and flew out the door. A light rain fell, slowing traffic already thick with the Friday night crowd. I pulled into the Bullpen parking lot twenty minutes later, glanced in the rearview mirror to reassure myself I didn't look as tired and drawn as I felt, and hurried inside.

  The Bullpen was revved up. Most of the tables were full, and the bar was swamped. Sport spectators knocked back beers and argued at the top of their voices about the latest game. I spotted Kent sitting at our usual table, his purple Vikings cap on backward and his arm around a woman I didn't recognize.

  He did expect me to meet him tonight, right?

  His preoccupation with the woman nearly sitting on his lap gave me the seconds I needed to sum up what was going on. As I hesitated, she ran her hand along his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. I stared a moment, then spun on my heel, and hurried for the door, nearly colliding with a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. My departure was so fast I'm sure not even my perfume had time to linger.

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