Streak of Lightning

by Clare O'Donohue

  “But how do you know that he didn’t do it?” Carrie pressed him.

  “If I thought he had, I would have put the cuffs on him myself. But I know Greg. We all know Greg. Do you think he could murder someone?”

  “No, not really,” she admitted. “But if being part of this little group has taught me anything, it’s that anyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances.”

  She was right, of course. More than once we’d found killers among trusted friends. But I didn’t want to think Greg could be included in that group, and I could tell from the expression on Jesse’s face that he didn’t either.

  Jesse shrugged. “I just don’t think . . . Well, whatever happened, we’ll find out in the morning. I told him to get some sleep and we’d talk about it tomorrow.”

  “How long do you think we have until she arrests him?” I asked.

  “We have tomorrow,” he said. “I doubt we have much longer. And it’s not just what Terri Adkin might do. A prisoner died in Greg’s custody. I’m going to have to suspend him until this is all cleared up.”

  “But isn’t that going to hurt his career?” I asked. “Greg talks about working in the city or joining the FBI.”

  “Or taking my job.” Jesse smiled. “And yes, it could hurt him, but I’ll have no other options.”

  “Unless we can prove he wasn’t to blame,” I added.

  “And do it before the state police file their report,” Jesse said. “Greg has made himself a great target for an ambitious police detective. She’s going to want to clear this up quickly, so we’re playing beat the clock here. And I don’t have access to any of the reports or the crime scene.”

  “You have us.” Carrie patted his hand. “We’ll do whatever you need.”

  Jesse smiled a little, but he didn’t look relieved. He’d relied on us a few times during the last year to solve some of the unfortunate crimes that had befallen our little town, but none of them had happened in his police station and none had involved a member of his police force. He looked out of place, surrounded as he was by fabric and thread instead of crime scene photos and trained officers. But even he knew he had no choice.

  As we sat there trying to come up with a plan to investigate Joe’s death, the sound of car horns and fireworks broke the night’s silence. The New Year had started, and though it was meant to signal a new beginning, we were too focused on what could be lost to care.

  Chapter 7

  When I woke up the next morning, I needed coffee. My head was pounding.

  It was one in the morning by the time we left the shop, but at least we’d come up with a plan. Jesse was going to talk with Greg first thing in the morning; Eleanor offered to call on Joe’s widow, Lori; and Carrie and I offered to track down Rich and Violet to see what they remembered about their encounters with Joe. Then we were all going to meet up at Someday Quilts to compare notes and have lunch. But first I needed caffeine.

  “I was thinking. . . .” Eleanor didn’t bother with a “good morning” as I walked into the kitchen of the Victorian house we shared; she was already in investigation mode.

  “Good for you. I’m hoping to try that once I have a cup of coffee.”

  She smiled. “I couldn’t sleep last night. And as I was lying in bed, it occurred to me that Joe and Lori have lived in this town for more than ten years and I know almost nothing about them from before their time here. And while they attended their share of town functions, Lori especially, there’s so much I don’t know about either of them.”

  “You think they might be on the run from something? Maybe Joe was a criminal or something and he’s hiding from his past.”

  “Oh, Nell, you have such an imagination!” She laughed. “I was thinking that maybe Joe had a health problem. Lori hinted at it. Maybe he had problems with his heart or high blood pressure or something. . . .”

  “Or his secret past caught up with him last night somehow. . . .”

  “How? Even if he had a secret past, there was no one with him except Greg. That’s something you all agree on. So how could someone else have killed him?”

  “How could Greg? Even if he thinks he did somehow.”

  “Jesse will tell us when we all meet up at the shop,” Eleanor reminded me.

  I took a sip from my coffee and sat down at the table opposite Eleanor. The hot liquid going down my throat did what it always magically did. It made it easier to think. “What’s the history between Greg’s father and Joe Proctor?”

  “Greg’s father, Martin, used to have a little fix-it shop right where Everything Pizza is now. He had the place for years. When Joe and Lori moved to town, Joe made friends with Martin right away. In fact, Martin might have been the only friend Joe had. He introduced Joe to everyone in town. But just a few months after they met, the county building manager showed up, pointing out all these code violations at the shop.”

  “What kind of code violations?”

  “Improper ventilation, too many electric outlets, too many mousetraps for all I know . . . just anything he could think of. The shop had been there for years, and Martin hadn’t updated. So when the county inspected it, Martin was told he had to do an expensive remodel or close up the business.”

  “And he closed.”

  “He did. And sure enough, days later Joe took out a lease on the space and opened a restaurant. Martin always suspected it was Joe that went to the county, but he never had any proof. Joe denied it, but their friendship ended in a shouting match on Main Street.”

  “Did it ever get physical?”

  “No. And Joe would have been a fool to let it. Martin is over six feet, must be more than two hundred pounds, and most of it used to be muscle. But Martin is a nice, mild man like his son. He walked away that day and let it go,” Eleanor said. “He got a job working for a parts factory over in Beacon. I don’t think he minded losing the shop so much as how he lost it.”

  “You think Greg would hold a grudge for ten years?”

  “I don’t,” she said. “But I can’t promise the state police will see it that way.”

  “We don’t have to tell them, do we?”

  She looked at me. “We don’t, but Greg does, don’t you think? It would only make him look guilty if he pretended there were no hard feelings between Joe and himself.”

  She was right. I hated to admit it, but she was right. If the state police wanted Greg for Joe’s death, they already had means and opportunity. And now it was only a matter of time before we did the right thing—and gave them motive. Even a strong cup of coffee didn’t make that thought easier to live with.

  Chapter 8

  I stopped for gas on my way to pick up Carrie. She had called Greg’s parents just after breakfast to let them know we wanted to stop by. Not surprisingly, they’d already heard about Joe’s death. My guess was that before the New Year had begun, half of Archers Rest knew where and when he had died and were preparing their alibis in case they were questioned as yet another person who hated Joe.

  Except for one guy. When I stopped at the station, I went to the full-service pump, and just as I’d hoped, Larry Connelly was there to fill up my tank.

  “It’s just a tragedy,” Larry said. “He was still a young guy, relatively. He could have done some awesome things with his life.”

  “He could have, but I’m not sure Joe was interested in making changes.”

  He leaned against my car, and I did the same. It was a cold morning, but the sun was bright and we hadn’t gotten much in the way of snow, so it felt more like October than the dead of winter.

  “What did you tell the state police?” I asked.

  “What I saw, which was pretty much nothing. I got to the station at six-thirty, like I promised. Just as I came in, I saw Greg running out from the back. He looked pretty upset, said we had to call 9-1-1. He was saying stuff that didn’t make sense, like he was the reason Jo
e was dead. But before I could do anything, he was already on the phone to Morristown and then to Jesse.”

  “Did you go back and see the body?”

  He nodded. “His eyes were open, but weird as this sounds, other than that, he looked asleep. I’ve never seen anyone murdered except in movies and video games, so I’m not sure what I expected to see, but I guess I thought he’d look, I don’t know, in pain or something. But he looked kind of peaceful. Like he just laid down and died.”

  “And that’s what you told the detective from the state police. What Greg said about Joe and the rest of it.”

  “Yeah, and about the bruise on his chest.”

  I stood up. “What bruise?”

  “I opened up his shirt a little to check his pulse, just to be sure, and I could see there was a bruise right on the top of his chest, up by his neck.” He put his hand to the base of his throat. “About here.”

  “Like he was strangled?”

  “I don’t know what that looks like, do you?”

  “Not really. Just from movies and things.”

  “But I know bruises,” Larry said. “I get enough of them banging around cars. And I know that this one was pretty new. It was still forming, you know, still mostly red with the blue edges just starting, so my guess is that he got it at some point yesterday. Maybe during the day or maybe even last night when he was in that jail cell.”

  Larry replaced the hose in the pump, and I paid him. “Did the detective ask you about anything else?”

  “She asked me about other entrances to the station. I told her about the one in the back that leads to the alley.”

  “But that’s always locked up tight.”

  “Yeah, usually, though some of the guys use it as a shortcut to get to Jitters on a rainy or cold day. While the paramedics were with Joe, and we were waiting for you and Jesse to come back to town, I went and checked that door, just in case. I thought that maybe someone had left it open and the killer had gotten in the back door, somehow opened Joe’s cell, choked him, and then escaped into the alley without being seen. Perfect crime.”

  “So? Was it unlocked?”

  He shook his head. “Locked tight as a drum, deadbolt and everything, so it had to be locked from the inside. No one could have gotten in that station except through Greg.”

  “And you told that to the state police, too?”

  “A police officer tells the truth, even a volunteer one. Greg was the guy that told me that.”

  “Greg’s right.”

  But it brought up an interesting question. If Greg, the nicest guy I knew, was so intent on telling the truth, why did he keep saying he killed a man?

  Chapter 9

  “The police don’t know about Rich being at Joe’s place earlier in the day?” Carrie asked me as we walked up to Rich’s parents’ house, a nice split-level on the edge of town.

  “Jesse knows. He was there.”

  That didn’t seem to make her feel better. Rich, aside from being Carrie’s employee, was also the nephew and cousin of two of our quilt group members, Susanne and her daughter, Natalie. So, in a way, he was family. It was highly unlikely that he had anything to do with Joe’s death since, as Larry had made clear, it would have been impossible for him to slip past Greg and get into Joe’s locked cell. But it felt like just by coming to his house we were suspecting him of something, and that in itself seemed wrong.

  “I’m sorry about Mr. Proctor,” Rich said when we sat in the family room. His parents had left us alone with him, given that we were all friends, but I could tell his dad was hovering just outside the room.

  “We’re not sure yet how he died,” Carrie told Rich, “so Jesse has asked us to help find out about Joe’s day—kind of a separate investigation from the one the state is doing. And something we’re doing quietly.”

  Rich nodded. It wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in the quilt group’s unofficial investigations and was asked to keep it quiet. “I heard this morning that the police think Greg shot him,” he said.

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think it was true, but you know the way things get started. A couple of guys I went to school with texted me about it, and someone said Greg was arrested.”

  “He wasn’t,” I assured him. “And Joe wasn’t shot. In fact, like Carrie said, we don’t even know if Joe was murdered. All we know is the death was suspicious. We just want to piece together Joe’s last day to see if he ran into anyone who might have wanted to kill him.”

  Rich raised his eyebrows. He didn’t want to say it, but that didn’t exactly narrow the list of suspects.

  “What I meant was,” I started again, “we’re trying to see who wanted him dead yesterday so much that they actually killed him. Assuming that he was actually killed.” I hadn’t told Carrie yet about my conversation with Larry, but the image of a bruise on Joe’s throat was firmly in my mind.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Of course you didn’t, Rich,” Carrie jumped in. “But you had a fight with him yesterday. We’re just trying to sort out the facts.”

  “I went in to get a couple of slices for lunch,” Rich explained. “I figured it’s been a while since my run-in with him, so maybe he’d let bygones be bygones. I’m working at Jitters now. I’m not causing any trouble. I figured it was stupid to be banned from the only pizza place in town just because I pulled a prank two years ago.”

  “What prank?” I asked.

  “When I was in my junior year, me and a buddy went in to Everything Pizza after school and were going to just split a slice ’cause we didn’t have a lot of money to each get our own. But when we were waiting for our food, I kind of stole a pizza Mr. Proctor had on the counter and boxed up for someone to pick up.” He looked embarrassed.

  “Rich!” Carrie gasped, but Rich’s past as a troublemaker wasn’t exactly a secret. I’d actually met him because he’d stolen some things from a crime scene. But since Carrie had given him a second chance, he’d not only straightened up his act, he’d shown us all what a great kid he was.

  “It was just a goof, you know, and really stupid. I get that. Mr. Proctor went to Jesse to get me charged with a crime, to get my friend in trouble, too. He wanted us sent to juvie, said we were thugs, but Jesse wouldn’t charge us with anything. Instead Jesse went to my dad and told him what had happened. He said we had to make it right. I went back the next day and paid for the pizza, and Jesse told me to stay out of the restaurant and away from the Proctors. Which I did, until yesterday,” he said.

  Rich seemed like he was about to cry. “Carrie’s always saying that I’m an upstanding citizen now, that I’m as good as anyone else. So instead of hurrying past the place like I usually do, I figured it was time to stop being ashamed of myself and to walk in, head held high, and, you know, finally put that stupid prank behind me. Mrs. Proctor was at the counter, and she was really nice about seeing me. She told me that she heard I was doing really well working and everything. I told her I was going to pay. I even had the cash in my hand so she could see I was going to pay.”

  I’m not an advocate of stealing, but as far as I could tell, Joe’s beef with Rich was a minor problem that had been remedied quickly. In a town the size of Archers Rest where people cross paths every day, Joe’s still holding a grudge two years later seemed more than a little petty. But that, I reminded myself, was Joe.

  “You have that cut above your eye,” I pointed out. “Did Joe give that to you?”

  Rich reached up and touched the small cut. “I ordered two slices of pepperoni and a Coke. Mrs. Proctor was heating up the pizza when Mr. Proctor came out from the kitchen and told me to get out.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Carrie asked.

  “Because he blocked the door. He’s yelling at me to get out, and then he won’t let me leave. So I try to get past him, and I hit my hea
d on the corner of the door.”

  “He didn’t touch you?”

  “No, Nell. He didn’t lay a hand on me. He probably would have, but Jesse walked in and Mrs. Proctor walked out, and then it was just me and Jesse and Mr. Proctor. Jesse stood between us and tried to get Joe to calm down, but he wouldn’t.”

  “I know,” I said. “I heard him. Why was he threatening to kill you?”

  “’Cause he said that I upset his wife.”

  “By walking in the store?”

  “I don’t see how. Mrs. Proctor always says hi to me when she sees me in town. And all I did yesterday was order my slices. I was getting tired of the Chinese place in Morristown. And she said she’d never been there, but, come to think of it, she did get all flustered, and then Mr. Proctor came out of the kitchen.”

  “When I was outside, he was saying something like, ‘Do you think you can hurt me?’ Were you trying to hit him or something?”

  “No.” Rich half laughed, half frowned. “I was just standing there. All I wanted was to get out of that place. I don’t know what set him off.”

  Carrie patted his arm. “It didn’t take anything to set Joe Proctor off. He was always ready to blow.”

  That was true. And if we knew that, so did Lori Proctor. And when Rich brought up the Chinese place in Morristown, Lori must have gotten flustered for a reason. She might have worried that the mere mention of the place would be a problem. As we left Rich’s house, I crossed my fingers and hoped Eleanor was with Joe’s widow, finding out exactly what that problem would have been.

  Chapter 10

  “She wasn’t there.”