Dead For Good Book 1

by Stacy Claflin

  He set the alarm and hurried into the knife shop. A new kid stood behind the counter. Brad couldn’t remember his name. But he looked too jumpy to be anywhere near weapons.

  Not his call or his concern. Finding his boss was a singular mission.

  “Hey.” The kid gave a half-hearted wave and an even less enthusiastic smile.

  Brad nodded as he made his way to the back room.

  Ghost town.

  “Where is everyone?” He kicked a candy wrapper out of the way.

  “It’s the day of the big game,” came a feminine voice from behind.

  Rose. Though she’d been with the company for several years now, she still acted like she had too much to prove. She’d be a loose cannon until she got that under control. He’d tried when training her, but she had some deeper issues that went beyond the scope of his job or interest — always going against what he said or trying to show him up. Once trained, she’d grown even worse.

  “Right.” Brad looked behind her. “Kurt in?”

  “Nope. I think he’s hosting a party tonight for his hoity-toity friends.” She licked chocolate off her finger, then tucked some of her long, dark hair behind her ear. “What brings you in?”

  None of your business.

  “What about Ralf?” he asked.

  Ralf Bergmann was Kurt’s father and still the head of the company in his mid-seventies.

  Rose snorted. “Right. He comes in, what, once a quarter now?”

  Brad passed her and knocked on Bergmann’s door. Turned the locked knob. Muttered under his breath.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Rose gave him a sultry smile.

  “No.”

  “I’m resourceful, you know.”

  “You can’t help with this.” He called Kurt again. No surprise, his call went to voicemail.

  Rose pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. Unburden yourself.”

  He didn’t budge. Needed to figure something out. Couldn’t wait until the next day.

  “I heard you ran into trouble on your last job.”

  Brad glared at her. “Some guys jumped me, and my target nearly got away. You could call that trouble.”

  “But you did get him.” She sat next to the empty chair, slowly crossing one long leg over the other.

  “Of course! That’s what I do.”

  “Then why so upset?”

  Pressure built behind his temples as he sat in the stiff plastic chair. “My neighbor was murdered.”

  Her lips parted, and she rested her hand on his. “Were you close?”

  Brad pulled his hand away. “No. That’s the problem. Some of my neighbors seem to think I did it. Those neighbors not only told the cops, they’re discussing theories.”

  “If you didn’t do it, that should be easy enough to prove.”

  “Right, I’ll just tell them I was killing someone else at the time.”

  “Oh, my.” Rose covered her mouth.

  “Yeah. Not exactly the alibi of the century.”

  “What did you say?” She leaned forward, exposing her cleavage.

  He looked up at a rare knife hanging on the wall — even rarer than the one used to kill Duke. “My wife said we were together. Dinner and a movie alone. Nobody to vouch for us.”

  “I can.”

  “What?” He turned back to her.

  She nodded quickly. “I was on a job, too. Send them to me. I can say we ran into each other getting food. It’s perfect. You’ll be off the hook.”

  “I’ll think about it. Don’t say anything until I can figure out how that can work into our story, which probably involves a cabin in the woods.”

  “Probably?”

  “The details aren’t hashed out yet.” He cringed, feeling like an idiot. If Faye hadn’t blurted her story, he could’ve come up with something legit. That’s one of the things he was best at.

  “Let me know if I can help.”

  “Kurt said he was working on something, but he hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “That’s not like him. But it is Super Bowl Sunday.”

  “I could be charged with murder, but all anyone wants to talk about is the game.”

  She cocked a brow. “Are you going to a party tonight?”

  “My wife wants to host a party. She thinks it’ll put us in a good light for the neighbors since the dead guy was originally going to have it at his place. Obviously, that’s off.”

  They shared a chuckle, and Brad finally began to relax. It was nice to be around someone who understood his comfort with death.

  Rose glanced to the side before meeting his gaze. “I have an idea.”

  “To help with my situation?”

  “Exactly. I’ll come to your party — maybe bring a few guys from work.”

  He stifled a groan. “How’s that supposed to help?”

  “Don’t you get it?” She batted her eyes. “I can put in a good word for you — talk loudly about how great it was running into you two Friday night. And even better, I can grill your neighbors for deets. Since I don’t know any of them, it would make perfect sense for me to ask questions. I wouldn’t be nosy, I’d be friendly, curious.”

  Instinctively, he wanted to object, but the idea had merit. “It could work.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “Stop. You know it’s genius. What do you want me to bring?”

  “Huh?”

  “Appetizers. Everyone brings food to these things. It’d raise eyebrows if I showed up empty-handed.”

  “Oh, right. I have no idea. Faye is planning the party.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Go home and get ready for the party. I’ll take care of your alibi and questioning the neighbors. All you have to do is show everyone what a friendly guy you are.”

  “That still doesn’t fix my problem of not being able to reach Kurt.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll be back in the morning — unless he has a hangover.” She snickered. “But by the time I’ve spoken with your neighbors, you won’t need Kurt.”

  That was doubtful, but he nodded. At this point, he needed all the help he could get. And his neighbors would be more willing to talk to Rose than to him. If he started questioning people, they would get defensive and close right up.

  “What do you say?”

  “Okay. I appreciate the help.”

  “My pleasure.” She leaped from the chair and nudged him. “Besides, I was looking for a party.”

  He forced a smile. “Great.”

  “Go on. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He hurried to his car. Maybe with Rose’s help, they could find the real killer.

  If that person had the nerve to make an appearance at the party.

  Chapter Eleven

  Faye stuck another batch of cookies into the oven and wiped her forehead. Outside, she could see part of Duke’s backyard. The edge of a porch swing and part of his apple tree. He used to bring over bags of apples for her to make pies.

  She felt a sting of guilt for hosting the party. Maybe it was a bad idea so close to his death. Would the neighbors think it was in poor taste?

  Everyone had been friendly enough when she’d invited them, but what if they really saw her as heartless? Maybe she should’ve listened to Brad when he first said no.

  Too late now.

  Ding-dong!

  She glanced at the time. The party wasn’t due to start for more than a couple of hours. She set the timer and hurried to the front door, brushing her face in case there were flour smears.

  Outside the window, Allison Campbell balanced a container of food in one hand while she adjusted some Panther streamers hanging from the porch.

  Faye opened the door. “Allison, what a surprise. I wasn’t expecting anyone yet.”

  Allison turned and smiled widely, brushing some wavy blonde hair behind her shoulder. “I thought you could use some help. You know, since this party was sprung on you last minute and all. And I brought my famous bean dip. H
ope you have chips.”

  Faye was glad for the help. With Brad at work, everything was on her. “I’m sure someone will bring some. Come on in.”

  Allison sniffed dramatically in the entry. “Mmm. Smells delicious. Snickerdoodles?”

  “Yes. How’d you know?”

  She tapped her nose. “I’m a baking expert.”

  “Fantastic.” Faye took the food and led her to the kitchen.

  “I didn’t realize you have the same layout as us. Does the main bathroom upstairs bother you? Wes never stops complaining about it being too far from the bedrooms.”

  “Nope. No problems.” Faye set the dip down. Hopefully, Allison wouldn’t mention anything more about never having been in the house.

  “What do you need help with? I’ll do anything — decorations or clean up.”

  Did the house need cleaning? She usually kept it up and thought it looked fine, but now she was inspecting the room for any missed dust. “I was just going to blow up some balloons. Do you think that’s enough decoration?”

  “That’s it? Given how elaborate everything is outside, I think the neighborhood is probably expecting something phenomenal in here. Duke went all out.”

  “Like you said, we weren’t planning on hosting this. I only thought of it this morning.”

  “Too bad we can’t get inside Duke’s.”

  Faye gasped.

  “Too soon? Sorry.” Allison sat at the island and tapped her perfectly manicured nails. “Maybe Brittany has something? It would all be Seahawks, though.”

  “I think people will understand if we don’t have—”

  “This has to be special. We’re here to lift morale. Everyone is so glum about the murder.”

  “A party isn’t going to change that.” Faye turned off the timer a second ahead of its ringing and took out the cookies. “I can check the garage. Brad might have some stuff he didn’t put out this year.”

  “Wait! I have the perfect idea. Joey had a football-themed birthday party a year or two ago. I hung onto everything — just in case.” Allison rubbed her loose-fitting shirt.

  “You’re expecting?”

  “Six months. Another boy.” She beamed, then the smile quickly faded. “But I’m huge this time.”

  Faye choked on air. “I couldn’t even tell.”

  “You’re too sweet, but I’m big as a whale. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few minutes with those decorations.”

  “You really don’t have to. Please, don’t go out of your way.”

  “Nonsense, I’ll be right back,” Allison said. “If you’re done with the oven, you’ll want to put the dip in there to keep warm.”

  She left the room with an elegant grace.

  Faye stared after her for a moment. How could she be six months along? When Faye had been that far, she was waddling and swollen everywhere — not to mention her beach ball-sized belly.

  She turned back to the counter, counted the cookies, decided they had enough, then put the bean dip in the oven.

  The front door opened and closed.

  “Faye?” Brad called.

  “In here!” She pulled out her favorite recipe book and flipped through the pages, looking for anything potentially delicious that she already had the ingredients to make.

  He paused in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled. “Why was Allison here?”

  They must’ve run into each other out front.

  “She’s helping,” Faye replied without looking up.

  “With what?”

  “The party.” She stopped at a page for cheese and bacon tater tot skewers. That seemed easy enough to whip up.

  “Why her?”

  “She showed up.” Faye dug around the pantry for skewers and seasoning.

  Brad groaned. “At least she left.”

  “Not for long. She’s coming back with decorations for inside the house.”

  “I could’ve picked something up on my way.”

  Faye glanced back. “It was her idea.”

  “Of course it was.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He threw her an exasperated look. “Are you kidding? The woman is just trying to make me look incompetent.”

  “That isn’t true, Brad. She only wants to help.”

  “She always comes over to put the decorations outside.”

  “Allison’s a little pushy, I’ll admit, but she just likes giving people ideas to make whatever they’re doing better.”

  “I don’t like her being here.”

  Faye crossed her arms, defensiveness blooming in her chest. “I wasn’t about to turn her away. It wasn’t like I was getting help from anyone else.”

  “You could’ve asked the kids. And now I’m here. What do you need me to do?”

  “Help Allison hang the decorations?”

  “That isn’t happening.” Brad threw his arms in the air. “I’m going to send the kids down here. They can help her while I check the garage for anything I have that’ll work. If she makes one remark about me wanting Duke dead, I’m kicking her out of our house.”

  “She won’t.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Remember, we’re hosting this party to show everyone how hospitable we can be. That means putting our best foot forward. Kicking Allison Campbell out is the opposite of that.”

  He scowled. “She has it coming.”

  “Why do you think she’s so bad? She suggested we use Duke’s decorations.”

  “She did? That sounds like something I’d say.”

  “Exactly. Give her a chance. She really isn’t as bad as you think.”

  “I’m not holding my breath, but I can promise to try.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m more interested in finding out who the real killer is anyway.” He went upstairs, calling for the kids to help their mother.

  Faye turned to the fridge and gathered the rest of her ingredients.

  It was going to be one long night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Crash!

  Brad whipped around, his skin hot with irritation.

  Mitch, from down the street, picked up a lamp next to the couch. "Ha-ha. Trevor is so rambunctious. No harm, no foul."

  "Right." Brad forced a smile while shoving his fists into his pockets.

  Pretending to be nice to several dozen people who thought he was a murderer for an entire evening might just kill him.

  But if he could nail down some actual suspects, everything would be worth it. So far, Brad had nothing.

  The night was still young, with the pre-game show winding down. It seemed like half the neighborhood was in his house, and more were still coming. He'd been eyeing the stairs since Allison arrived with her armload of streamers and decorative paper footballs. So far, everyone was being good and staying where they belonged.

  He almost wished someone would try and sneak up. It would be the perfect opportunity to confront somebody.

  Two little boys ran in his direction, screaming at the top of their lungs. The smaller one smashed into Brad's legs, backed up, and chased after the other one with a screech high-pitched enough to crack glass.

  Brad drew in a deep breath and walked around, nodding and smiling at neighbors. Giving the good impression Faye wanted and listening to conversations just as he had planned to.

  Duke was the subject of some discussion, but so far, nobody had been dumb enough to mention Brad, at least not within earshot.

  Could that mean nobody actually believed him capable of killing his innocent neighbor? It would be so much easier to find the real criminal without all those fingers pointing at him.

  Faye waved him into the kitchen and placed a platter of football-shaped sandwiches in his arms. "Offer these to the guests. Don't forget to smile."

  "I am smiling. Even when Mitch's kid knocked over your grandma's lamp."

  Faye's eyes widened.

  "It's fine. No harm, no foul." Brad impressed himself with an imitation of t
heir neighbor.

  "Pass those out. And compliment people."

  "Now you want me to give fake flattery?"

  "They'll see right through it if you're phony. Find something you genuinely like. A haircut, nice shirt, something."

  He cringed at the thought. "Fine."

  "Or at least ask questions about their lives. People like those who seem interested in them. It's a law of nature."

  "If it'll help stop the accusations, I'm all in." He shuddered.

  "They'll genuinely like you if you give them an opportunity."

  Brad headed back to the living room, offering the platter to everyone he passed. There were at least twice as many guests as there had been a few minutes before. He tried to find something nice to say about the first few people who took the mini sandwiches but found nothing. Donna Brown, from one street over, had a ridiculous haircut that looked like her toddler had done it blindfolded. Larry Davis was decked out in Seahawk gear, despite the local team not even making the first round of the playoffs.

  How was he supposed to suck up to these people? It was like they were trying to be off-putting.

  Brad placed the platter on the coffee table between other snacks and checked the TV. The announcers were discussing their views on how the game would play out.

  Good. That meant the game would start soon.

  He was already itching to get everyone out of his house. But on the bright side, he had at least four hours to question people. Maybe by the end of the night, he'd have at least one good suspect.

  Out of habit, he kept glancing over every time the door opened. He didn't know what made his skin crawl more — the adults and their suspicious eyes or the kids running around, crashing into things.

  He wandered around, making small talk and offering compliments like Faye suggested. It did seem to put some of their guests at ease, but others held their accusatory stares.

  It was those he needed to focus on. If saying nice things didn't work, he'd have to find some other way to loosen them up. Or straight-up ask where they were at the time of the murder. That would also work.

  Shortly after kickoff, familiar voices sounded at the entry. Rose, who had brought several guys from the shop with her. Justin, Roger, Dillon, and that kid from earlier were all making their way to the living room.