The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5)

by Larissa Reinhart

  I lowered my voice. “We met Rick tonight at the lodge. He won the raffle to enter the hunt.”

  “Heard about that. He’s here all the time, just like Abel was,” muttered Desiree.

  “Friendly guy?” asked Todd, popping a bite of okra into his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Desiree curled her lip. “If people pay and don’t cause trouble in here, I’ll serve ’em. Men like Abel and Rick keep us in business. They’re here just about every night.”

  “Rick wasn’t here last night,” piped Sheri, waving the five ones.

  Desiree snatched the money and shoved it in her back pocket. “Well, he’s here tonight, ain’t he? So stop shouting his name for everybody to hear. They’ve all got eyes and ears.”

  I noted Rick’s absence in my mental “Abel Spencer’s Suspicious Death” file. “I’m glad Abel didn’t spend his last night alone. Did he hang out with anyone last night?”

  “That stranger was here,” said Sheri.

  I nudged Todd, who seemed too busy consuming our fried okra to mentally file anything.

  “That’s right. Guests from the lodge. That singer, Bob Bass, and his group came in for a drink.” Desiree’s tone revealed Bob Bass’s charm had not won him any favors at the Double Wide. “They couldn’t fool me. Stopped in to look down their noses at us.”

  “That’s not who I meant,” said Sheri. “Another lodge guest. The fat one. He was asking questions about Hogzilla. Talking a lot of weird stuff. I think he said he was a writer.”

  “Weird stuff?” My voice rose with my interest. “Was Abel interested in this weird stuff?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Sheri. “He’s not into that sort of thing.”

  “Abel’d rather talk about local doings,” said Desiree.

  “I heard that about him.” I kicked my heels against the stool rungs. The Bob Bass party might have met Abel. Although it didn’t seem likely that their visit would have anything to do with his death.

  “Abel didn’t really talk to anyone. I think he was waiting for someone,” said Sheri. “And he was kind of agitated. Like Ma said, he didn’t even drink his regular. Cut out early.”

  “It’s not our business, Sheri,” said the lone male Guterson. “You’re stirring things up.”

  “I’m not,” said Sheri. “It’s not like I talked to the cops when they came by, Caleb.”

  “We don’t talk to cops.” Caleb Guterson pierced Sheri with a hard stare.

  “Nothing to tell, anyway. Just Abel all riled up. Like he gets when he’s got news to tell.”

  “Sheri didn’t say nothing to ’em, Caleb,” said Desiree. “I did. They just wanted to know when he left so as to get a time of death. But I also told ’em Abel knows those woods well enough not to get his neck broke.”

  “You sound like you don’t think Abel’s death was an accident.”

  Desiree shrugged. “Don’t know if it was or wasn’t. All I know is Abel’s been walking that path his whole life. And that ditch ain’t even on the path. I can’t believe they found him there.”

  “He left the path? I didn’t think that looked like a path.” I pushed my beer away. “Was Abel even drunk? You said he didn’t drink his regular. He hadn’t been drinking when I met him either.”

  Desiree and Sheri looked to one another to jog their memories.

  “Maybe not,” said Desiree. “The man’s been stewing in liquor for so long, it’s hard to remember.”

  “So, Abel wandered off his path and fell into a ditch sober?” I muttered. “I wonder how long it’ll take to get the blood alcohol report back from the state lab?”

  Todd coughed. Desiree was exchanging a look with her son and daughter-in-law. Their eyes slid back to me.

  Realizing my social gaffe, I scooted off my stool. “Can I use your facilities?”

  I needed to think about how to extract more information from this group without ticking them off. And I really wanted to know if they spoke to Rookie Holt or someone else. Maybe this very information is what made Rookie Holt doubt Abel’s fall as an accident.

  Desiree jerked her chin toward the back of the trailer.

  I squeezed between picnic table revelers and flung back the beaded curtain.

  Upon entering the tiny bathroom and closing the door, I decided the forest would be a lot cleaner. I undid the dubious hook and eye lock and pushed open the door. And found Rick Miller waiting.

  “You can have it.” The open bathroom door blocked my view of the main room. I took a step toward Rick.

  Moonshine wafted from his pores. His dull eyes glinted with the transmuting spark of alcohol. “You’re the girl from earlier tonight. At the lodge.”

  “Yep, the artist.” I scooted sideways into the tiny hall, but Rick and the open bathroom door blocked my escape. “If I can just get around you, maybe we can talk when you’re all...finished with your business.”

  Rick shoved his hands in his pockets, but otherwise didn’t move. “Are you a cop?”

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “I heard you asking questions about Abel.”

  “I’m sorry about Abel Spencer. I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier. Cherry Tucker.” I stuck out my hand.

  His handshake was akin to holding an angler worm. He also smelled like Guterson homebrew. Which meant Rick had downed quite a bit in the short time he had graced the Double Wide.

  “I found him,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you about him too.”

  His shoulders twitched. “Talk?”

  “I thought you might know Abel.”

  “We hung out some.” His eyes shifted to a point next to my left boot. “I tolerated him where others didn’t. At least since I moved back.”

  “How long were you gone?”

  “About ten years. But I’m leaving again. I don’t like it here. Actually, I was getting ready to move when I heard about this contest. Winning that twenty grand would make for an easier relocation, that’s for sure.”

  “I moved back home too. After college. And like for you, it was difficult for me. But I like Halo, despite some of its residents, so I’ll stick it out. My friend Red said that’s to do with unresolved mother issues. He claims I’m subconsciously afraid she’ll return and not find me. Red’s kind of a daytime TV junkie.”

  My face heated, realizing my interior issues were slipping into off-topic tangents. “Anyway, I’m glad I got to talk to you. I realize the impropriety of speaking about a man so recently deceased, but I’d like to know more about Abel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just found his fall kind of peculiar.”

  “Peculiar?” His gaze rose to my shoulder before moving behind me.

  “Yes. Peculiar. It didn’t look right.”

  “Abel hit his head on a rock. Don’t know how that’s going to look right.”

  “Did you see Abel the night he died?”

  His eyes narrowed and honed in on me. “Who said?”

  “Nobody. The Gutersons thought something was bothering Abel before he died. Maybe that’s connected to his accident. Some of the lodge guests were here last night. Do you think something about the hunt bugged him? It could be important.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “I ask because there’s a deputy who may be investigating on her own and if she doesn’t find any evidence quickly, she’ll probably be forced to stop.”

  Rick moved forward a step. “You’re some kind of snitch?”

  “No, you’re misunderstanding me.” I backed into the door frame. “You see, I met him the night he died. Abel asked me a lot of questions about the hunt.”

  “That’s nothing to do with me.”

  “Listen, I saw you at Abel’s. I was there checking on his dogs. Rookie Holt pointed you out to me. Did you follow me there? Maybe you’re worr
ied about what happened to Abel too?”

  “You leave me out of this.” Rick’s hands ripped from his pockets and he lunged drunkenly towards me. “Stop talking about Abel Spencer.”

  I pushed forward, knocking him into the open door and scooted around him. Plastic beads swung and clicked, licking my shoulders and back. Beyond the picnic table crowd, Todd turned, caught my expression, and a moment later, he hustled me out the door. A cold gust blew rain off the roof of the trailer and sprinkled our heads.

  “The Gutersons said you were sounding like the cops. I thought we better get before they kicked us out.” Todd handed me my coat and we slipped into the golf cart. “What happened back there?”

  “Rick Miller. He knows something. Unfortunately, my interview techniques haven’t improved much.”

  “Are you worried? He’s going to be on the hunt with us.” Todd’s fingers rapped a breakneck rhythm against the golf cart steering wheel.

  “Rick was full of shine. Maybe out in the woods, I can make amends. He’ll be sober and hopefully calmer.”

  “Cherry,” said Todd, “in the woods, Rick will have a gun.”

  Twelve

  If I had been in my hometown, I would have marched myself to Uncle Will’s office at the Forks County Sheriff’s Department and reported the hearsay pointing toward Abel Spencer’s suspicious death. Uncle Will would have leaned back in his desk chair, making it groan in protest under his considerable weight, and steepled his hands over his belly to consider my information. More often than not, he would have told me I was jumping to conclusions—something he didn’t favor—but he would file the scuttlebutt into his cranial bank to use later as needed.

  Uncle Will never trusted rumors, but always said, “A good officer could use the right rumor to point toward the location of facts.” It pleased me to feed him those rumors.

  I wanted to help Rookie Holt in the same way. I imagined her arguing with her commanding officer, pleading with him to ignore her rookie status and to let her follow her instincts.

  He wanted hard evidence that Abel’s death hadn’t been an accident.

  She didn’t have any. Yet.

  The scene ended with Deborah tossing her badge and gun on his desk, storming out of his office, and driving like a bat out of hell to Big Rack Lodge. I would jump into her ’66 Thunderbird—in my imagination, not only did she have that sweet car, but the Georgia sun had returned—and together we would investigate Abel’s death.

  Following our success, we’d share a round of beers back in Halo at Red’s. Shawna Branson would walk in and see everyone congratulating us. After Shawna’s hissy fit of immeasurable magnitude, the scales would fall from Halo’s eyes, calling her out on her snobbish and unjust attitude toward my family. Humbled, Shawna would testify she had lied about her alleged forced abduction by my brother. My family would forgive the Bransons.

  Luke would walk in, see me, and fall on one knee and...

  “You’re awfully quiet again, Cherry,” said Todd.

  “Making out my Christmas wish list,” I jabbered. “Also I think I’m long overdue for a GNO. Do you think Rookie Holt does Girls’ Night Out?”

  Todd’s doubtful grunt was lost in the wail of the golf cart engine as he accelerated through Big Rack’s gates. The lodge grounds were quiet, but music and laughter drifted from across the fishing pond. In the largest cabin, an open porch door and brightly lit windows displayed the profiles of hunters partying in Bob’s cottage. The pond Christmas lights bathed the surrounding darkness in a soft, enchanting glow. A world removed from the gritty realism of the Gutersons’ trailer town.

  “We better keep an eye on Rick,” I said. “Maybe he’s just a mean drunk and he’ll be calmer tomorrow. He was pretty quiet earlier today.”

  “Maybe.” Todd kept his eyes off me and on the enchanting glow. “Or maybe put this Abel Spencer business to the side and just focus your energies on your family’s problems. I know you’ll feel better if you do.”

  “Todd, my purpose for this weekend was not to think about home. Anyway, you know I’m not a good peacekeeper. I get riled up and shoot off my mouth before my brain warns me of the consequences. Especially when it comes to Shawna Branson. I don’t fear much, but I am afraid if I get involved, I’ll just make everything worse. I need another solution.”

  “I know you don’t want me to bring it up, but you have to think about Luke Harper’s part in this. Everyone in Halo suspects you two are sneaking around. As the arresting officer, Harper shouldn’t be involved with you at all. Cody’s trial could get real ugly.”

  I liked to give Todd his due, but when it came to this subject, I really hated to admit he was right.

  Instead I gave him a half-hearted hug, leapt from the golf cart, and turned toward the brightly lit lodge. My comfortable bed beckoned as an escape from the seediness of the Double Wide, but I felt keyed up. Strolling down to the edge of the fishing pond, I watched the shadowy revelers. But instead of celebrity hunters, Abel Spencer, or even Rick Miller, my thoughts still stole toward home.

  Exactly where I didn’t want them, thanks to Todd’s badgering.

  But I did need another solution.

  I should’ve been celebrating this mini-vacation like those hunters. But Shawna Branson had ruined this holiday season and now threatened to ruin my future Christmases. Just like her father, Billy Branson, had ruined all my past Christmases by stealing my momma. But then, I guess Billy had also ruined Shawna’s Christmases in the same way.

  I sucked in a breath. That meant Shawna and I had something in common. Besides an unhealthy attraction for her step-cousin.

  A step-cousin trained to solve particular problems.

  I turned my back on the holiday lights and my hand fumbled for the phone in my coat pocket. So much for being on the wagon.

  Calling Luke made everything worse. And calling Luke made everything better.

  There’s a rub for you.

  I hit his direct dial number and counted off the rings.

  “Sugar,” said the sleepy drawl. “I know you don’t sleep, but some of us have early shifts.”

  “I probably won’t get any signal out in the forest primeval. I wanted to say good night.”

  “Then I’m glad you woke me. Does this mean what I think it does?”

  As much as Luke’s voice settled my nerves, I couldn’t go there with him. “If you mean a professional consultation, then yes. I visited the Double Wide tonight.” I explained what I had learned about Abel, but left off Rick’s bumbling attack. No need to worry a man one hundred miles away. “I bet you anything Abel’s blood alcohol comes back low. He did not fall into that ditch drunk.”

  “You won’t be at Big Rack long enough to find out what his BAC report says.”

  “I know.”

  “You think someone pushed him.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. But I don’t have a real motive. Just some guesses. Probably the same as Rookie Holt.”

  “What you’ve learned is circumstantial. Holt’s probably learned the same. She may not find any evidence. The BAC report won’t be enough.”

  “Desiree Guterson also mentioned the lodge owners have enough weight to influence the police not to look too hard at Abel’s death before the big hunt. The lodge employs a lot of locals. That might be why Rookie Holt is alone in her theories.”

  “I guess it could happen, but without evidence she can’t do much. If you’re really worried, talk to the friend, Rick. He might give you something that he won’t tell the police. Maybe he knows why Abel was agitated. If you can learn what worried Abel, you might have a motive. Point the rookie in that direction.”

  I chewed my lip, considering Rick’s drunken warning. “Rick’s not so hot on social skills, but I’ll give it another shot.”

  A long sigh carried from one side of Georgia to the other via the airwaves. “I’ve a fe
eling you’re getting your nose stuck in business where it doesn’t belong.”

  “The only issue I’ve had with my nose is detecting the foul order of death and the even fouler odor of the Double Wide.” I shivered and ambled toward the lodge doors.

  “Just don’t let your suspicions bend someone else’s nose out of joint.”

  “Is this your way of telling me to be careful?”

  “Would it matter?” He yawned. “You’ll do what you want.”

  I smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you recognize that fact. You’ve come a long way, baby.”

  “I’m half-asleep here. Don’t even know what I’m saying.” He paused. “Sometimes it feels like this isn’t going to get any better. Late night calls spent discussing a vagrant’s death instead of making breakfast plans in bed.”

  Hope took a nosedive and I struggled to swallow my misery. “Abel Spencer wasn’t a vagrant, just an alcoholic.”

  “You’re avoiding the subject of us again.”

  “I had an idea that might help our situation. It could resolve some of the issues between our families.” Or make them worse. But he didn’t need me to spell out that possibility.

  “What’s that?”

  My voice thickened, letting sugar dissolve the words he wouldn’t want to swallow. “Find Billy Branson.”

  “Billy Branson?” The sleepy voice sharpened. “The man’s been missing for twenty years. What would that accomplish?”

  “A kind of trade-off for Shawna,” I said. “Her daddy for my brother.”

  “Cherry.” His voice held that awful pitying tone, similar to the one the church ladies used on my younger self when they’d find out my lineage. “What makes you think Shawna even wants to know her father?”

  “She had those pictures of him and my momma.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Why else would she resort to these tactics? Shawna’s not just hitting below the belt, Luke. We’re talking full body blows. Knockout punches for my family. All starting when those pictures went missing.”