Danger Returns in Pairs (Shawn Danger Mysteries Book 2)

by Nina Post

  "Do you know this woman?" Shawn pointed to Darcy.

  "Yes, of course. That's Darcy Kehoe. She's on our board of directors."

  Darcy was on the board, too? Shawn looked at the photos again. Darcy and Jasper's heads were close together. They looked intimate.

  "I believe that Ms. Kehoe brought Mr. Stowe onto the board," Annabelle said. "He's been an incredible asset. We're starting a folk dance program, thanks to his generosity, and will be making other improvements, as well. His sizable donation has guaranteed our solvency for years in a time when membership is perilously low. And he was such a nice man." She turned her lips between her teeth to regain her composure.

  "I'd like copies of those photos, and any financial transactions you have with Mr. Stowe," Shawn said.

  "Of course." Annabelle nodded with enthusiasm. "I'll get those for you."

  "How close were Mr. Stowe and Ms. Kehoe?" Shawn asked.

  "Oh, they were good friends."

  Shawn tightened his brow. They were? "Is there anyone else here who knew them?"

  Annabelle thought for a moment. "Yes. Peggy knows them. Let me check her schedule." She typed quickly then used the mouse. It took a couple of minutes.

  "She's butter churning today." Annabelle brightened. "Oh, why don't you go see her? Have you ever churned butter before?" She raised a brow and fanned herself with a file. "It's quite the workout."

  ***

  The camera was propped up on a table, looking on, Shawn imagined, with judging mockery as they agitated the milk or cream in the machine.

  He imagined it would say, years later, Hey, Danger, remember that time you and Sarah got stuck churning butter for a half an hour during a homicide investigation? Or, You think you're gonna find Darcy under all that butter? You think it's going to clarify itself into your missing councilwoman, Detective? While you're doing that, I'll be spending more time with your girlfriend than you are. Then the camera would laugh and laugh, derisively.

  Shut up, camera, he thought, as arm, shoulder, and upper back muscles he hadn't known existed were taxed beyond exhaustion. He gripped the paddle or churner or whatever the hell it was, and moved it like he was one of those Hindu deities churning the ocean for a hundreds of years to produce the Butter of Immortality.

  "Ugh." Sarah paused. "I won't be able to even lift my camera tomorrow."

  "Annabelle tells me you knew Jasper Stowe." Shawn looked up at Peggy, a steel-armed valkyrie with hair the color of butterscotch.

  "Yes, he wanted to know how to do everything we do here," Peggy said. He detected a slight accent. Polish? "Like what?" he asked.

  "Churn butter, work with yarn, weave baskets, press flowers, bake bread." Peggy spread her hands. "Quilt. He even did laundry and animal husbandry," she said in her clipped voice.

  "Why?"

  "What do you mean, why?" Peggy stopped churning.

  "Why do you think he wanted to be so involved with the museum?"

  "I don't know," Peggy said. "Darcy told me she thought it was a good way to get him involved with his community, get him out of the house. And once he saw what we do here, he got excited. Who wouldn't?"

  Shawn heard a subtle snort from Sarah.

  He had questions that Peggy couldn't answer. Why did Jasper move back to Erie? If Darcy contacted Jasper first, how did she know Jasper had moved back? If Jasper contacted Darcy, why did he contact her and no one else? What the hell was Brower so scared of that he wanted all of them dead? And how did they not know then that John Brower was a monster?

  Shawn wanted to ask Peggy how to characterize their relationship, and considered a few different ways of phrasing it. He finally settled on, "Did they seem like close friends?"

  Peggy gave him a sly look. "You could say that."

  Shawn exchanged a look with Sarah.

  "Are you saying…" Shawn tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

  "Ms. Kehoe is a married woman." Peggy sounded stern.

  "But," Shawn prompted.

  She lowered her chin and met his eyes. "But I saw them kissing in the hall one time."

  "Kissing, or kissing?" He lifted an eyebrow with the last word.

  "Kissing."

  "Huh." Shawn leaned on the paddle and stared off at nothing. "Did you ever see Ms. Kehoe with anyone else?" He thought of the white van. "Maybe talking to someone outside?"

  Peggy tapped her fingers on the paddle and frowned. "It's probably nothing."

  "Let me judge that," Shawn said.

  "One day as I was going to my car to leave in the middle of the day -- my father is in an assisted living facility and had an emergency," she explained, as though leaving the museums during the day was a sin punishable by butter churning, or in Peggy's case, buying it from the store. "And I saw Ms. Kehoe talking to the driver of a white van."

  Hope springs eternal.

  "For how long?"

  "A few minutes. Possibly longer, I don't know."

  "Did you see the driver?"

  "No, I was facing the passenger side, and the window was closed."

  He released the paddle and stretched his arms across his chest, one at a time, suppressing a wince. "Well, this has been a whole lot of fun, Peggy, and as much as I hate doing paperwork, it's still a necessary evil, and I'll need the strength to do a lot of it."

  And what if he had to use his service weapon in the line of duty, and missed his target or hit a civilian because he'd been butter churning and his aim was off? You don't live that down.

  Peggy smiled in a mildly disconcerting way then turned to someone who had a question. Shawn stood and cracked his back to the side. He was used to mild trampoline-bouncing, not this. Maybe he should work on his upper-arm strength.

  "My arms are like noodles," Sarah said to him in a low voice.

  "I think Peggy must be some kind of covert operative."

  ***

  Shawn drove to Presque Isle Downs and Casino, south of downtown and close to Mercyhurst -- with some difficulty. "I probably shouldn't be driving right now."

  Sarah leaned over and kissed him on his cheek. "Scratchy." She straightened back in her seat. "So: beloved community figure and local politician, cheating on her husband."

  "With someone who ended up dead," Shawn pointed out.

  "You think her husband knew about the affair and planted the note you found?"

  "I know I don't need to tell you that the note is -- "

  Sarah shot him a wry side grin. "Top secret info, and I really shouldn't know about it."

  "But I don't think it's likely he was involved." He thought about it. It was possible the husband, Julian, could have found out about the Lo5 from Darcy, had seen her Zippo lighter, and added the note at the scene. But the husband had a solid alibi and the DI confirmed that Jasper was killed early that morning, not days before, and certainly not before Thursday. He had also vetted the alibi, including calling the hotel to verify Julian's check-in and check-out.

  "Maybe he hired someone to do it, like in Fargo," she said.

  Hired Brower? Or hired someone to frame Brower? Maybe Julian thought Darcy was having an affair with him.

  They parked and walked through the casino, through clouds of smoke and past what looked like hundreds of slot machines, then headed out to the open racing track. "Oh my God, I can't breathe," Sarah said, fanning out her shirt to get the smoke out.

  Shawn was armed with a time-lapse artist's rendering of Brower, aged up, and a photo of what could be Brower, but in disguise. He stopped everyone on the way who seemed like they worked there and asked if they recognized either one of the men in the photos. No one did.

  The oval horse track wasn't currently in use. Shawn walked out there, crouched down, and ran his hand over the synthetic material. He separated a particle on his palm, squinted at it, then bolted up when he saw a man go into an employees-only area.

  "Wait here a sec," he told Sarah.

  "Like hell."

  Shawn knocked, then opened the door to a trailer-type structure. Ins
ide were several desks.

  "Help you?" The sandy-haired guy he just saw heard the door and turned. He wore neatly-pressed pants and a Presque Isle Downs and Casino polo shirt, and carried a clipboard. An access card dangled from a lanyard around his neck.

  "I hope so." Shawn held up the photos. "Do either one of these men look familiar?"

  He peered at them. "Nope." He took Brower's drawing. "I don't know. Maybe that one." He straightened and shrugged. "Hard to say. Lot of people come through here. He's probably just a type."

  "Are you in charge?"

  "I like to think so. Jerry Knowles, manager." Jerry shifted the clipboard to his side as he rested his fists on his hips, as though to attest to his in-chargeness.

  "I need to see a list of all of your employees, contractors, and vending companies who have been on site in the past month," Shawn said. "And any security footage you have from the past two weeks."

  Jerry worked his mouth in consternation. "That'll take a little while."

  "We'll be right outside."

  Jerry tried again. "We're prepping for a new one-hundred-date horse racing season that opens in less than a week, so we're pretty busy right now."

  Shawn stepped closer. "I'm trying to solve a homicide and find a missing woman, so I'm kind of busy right now, too."

  "Yeah, all right," Jerry said.

  "Appreciate it," Shawn said.

  Jerry rolled his eyes and trudged off.

  Sarah gave him a gleeful thumbs-up and held up the camera. "That was great."

  "Thanks. I'm method."

  She glanced around then gave him a quick kiss. "I'm going to film from that direction." She pointed the other way and walked there. He watched her go because he loved looking at her. He frequently wanted to scoop her up in his arms, but knew she would fiercely object to that, so restrained himself most of the time.

  He doubted Jasper had been here, though it was possible he got into gambling or the slots or liked to play the horses. It was also possible that Jasper went to the Downs for some kind of artistic inspiration, to find a new location to get back into writing songs, even though it was an odd choice. It was funny how little he knew about people who used to be his best friends, and how his real family was still intact and in his life, when the friends who got him through the misery of living with the same family hadn't been in his life for a long time. They had served a purpose, and then fell away.

  His family was a huge pain in the ass, but as far as he knew, none of them were killing off the others. He rolled the particle of Tapeta Footings in between the pads of his thumb and index finger. The particle could have been anywhere on the property. Jasper or Brower didn't have to be out on the track -- it could have gotten there by indirect transfer, and then Shawn would have even less of very little. His hunch, though, was that Brower, not Jasper, had been to the Downs, and brought the particle into Jasper's house. Sarah came back and stood next to him as she adjusted some settings on the camera.

  "How's your dad doing?"

  "He's well. He's working."

  Jerry Knowles came out of the employee door holding a sheath of papers and walked toward them.

  "That's what you were helping him with?"

  Sarah nodded. "Discovery. So much paperwork, it's just staggering. You wouldn't understand." When he looked over, she grinned.

  "After that butter churning incident, I'll be doing the paperwork on this case for months." Shawn massaged his right shoulder. "Slowly and painfully."

  "Got your print-outs for you." Jerry handed the papers to Shawn. "That's all the records you asked for." He indicated the discs as Shawn looked through the papers. "And the past week of surveillance from the casino and track. That's all we've got saved."

  Jerry practically ran back to his office, to show just how busy he was. Shawn chuckled and walked with Sarah past the track. He noticed a small man in a riding hat walking briskly toward the stables. Shawn called out and gestured to him before walking over. The five-two, maybe five-three man halted and waited. Shawn introduced himself and showed him the drawing and photo.

  "I know this is a long shot," Shawn said, "but have you seen anyone who could be this person? Maybe someone who works here?"

  The jockey folded his arms and stared at the papers. He chewed on his lip, then shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

  Sarah held her camera at half arm's length and took a step forward. "Hi. Do you mind if I record this? I'm making a documentary."

  The jockey shrugged and Sarah took that as an enthusiastic 'No, of course I don't mind' and stepped back, bringing the camera up to her face again. "Do you like working here?" Sarah asked.

  Shawn turned his head to give her a 'What are you doing?' look.

  The jockey relaxed a little, despite having a video camera focused on him. Maybe he liked the attention. "I love it," the jockey said. "The caliber of horses is top-notch and the Tapeta surface is better for them. On top of that," the jockey continued, completely at ease with the camera, "because of the slots, you get a good purse structure and you get to ride better horses. We've got one of the best jockey colonies in the country here. I commute from Shaker Heights every day. Wouldn't keep doing that if I didn't like it."

  Shawn glanced at Sarah as though to say, 'Anything else?' She shook her head slightly, so he handed his card to the jockey. "Just in case you see this man again, or remember seeing him before." He held up the still photo of the deliveryman again.

  "Sure. Good luck," the jockey said, then was on his way. "Come see a race next month," he called over his shoulder. "Gonna be a great season."

  ***

  Shawn dropped off the discs at the lab and the records at the office. He leaned against the side of his desk and ran through his messages again. There was one from his mother, who sounded even more agitated than usual. She could probably churn butter with her voice, he thought. Sarah came in with her coffee and took the chair across from the desk.

  "I've deleted about a trillion texts from everyone in my family," he told her.

  "About what? The engagement party?"

  "That, and my dad's scans, or whatever he's getting." Shawn brought the phone to his ear again.

  "Mom. Mom. Stop for a second and listen to me. I'm trying to --" Solve a murder, find a missing councilwoman, prevent a quasi has-been from getting an icepick through his head, and stop some crazy bastard before he kills again, and maybe kills me. And by the way, you're not even a third backup to take care of my cat if that happens, if that tells you anything.

  Instead he said, "I'm in the middle of an investigation. I can't go to Melly's engagement party, and I can't take Dad in for tests." He paused. "I told you the first time you asked that there was no way I could take him. And will you please tell everyone else to stop sending me texts and leaving voice mails, okay? I have to go."

  He put the phone on the desk. "God, they make me tired. I should change all of my numbers. Change my name. Move to Iceland with you."

  "I'd move there," Sarah said. "But not to any place that has tornadoes."

  Did that mean she wanted to leave, too?

  "Do they have an appointment for your dad?" Sarah asked.

  "Today or tomorrow, I think. They've been so busy with my sister's party, apparently, that no one there can take him. He refuses to do anything before noon."

  "Why don't you let me take him in for the tests?"

  Shawn laughed.

  "I'm serious," she said. "You think I can't handle mean old men? My grandfather was like the pharaoh of mean old men. The spirit animal of mean old men. Why do you think my father is so gentle and even-tempered? Because he cultivated himself to be unlike his father."

  Shawn leaned toward her. "There is no way I would ask you to do that. I'd rather hang out with the DI. I'm serious. I would do anything to prevent that from happening."

  "It would take the heat off you," Sarah pointed out.

  "The heat is always on me. They're like the dew point in Thailand." But he considered it. God help him, he c
onsidered it. "What about your film?"

  "Just sit still and don't do anything while I'm gone." She flashed him a smirk. "Besides, you won't give me what I need."

  He feigned offense. "I resent that."

  "With my documentary," she clarified. "I'm taking him in. No arguments."

  "Oh, sure, no problem. You two have fun." He rolled his eyes. "No way."

  "He's still your father."

  "Please don't remind me." He sighed and put a hand on the papers covering his desk. Disorder. "Okay, but I'm not comfortable with it, and if he gives you any crap -- "

  "Shawn, I have so much experience dealing with family like him. Not my father, but -- "

  "That doesn't mean you should put up with any more of it." He pushed away from his desk and put his hands on her shoulders. "Sarah, I want to thank you for spending as much time with me as you did. I'll think about you forever, knowing you were the one who got away."

  Her lips curved up slowly. "What are you going on about?"

  "Your birthday is tomorrow. And you're offering to spend part of it taking my father, a world-class asshole, for medical tests. While I work. So I can only presume that you'll come to your senses later tonight and realize that you deserve so much better."

  She punched him in the arm.

  He clutched his bicep. "Ow! That's my butter churning arm!"

  "Let me know what time." She wiggled her fingers in a wave and wandered off toward the break room. "Hey, you want some coffee?"

  He reached out his arm. "Yes, intubate me. Start a central line."

  "I'll see what I can do." Sarah left and he rubbed his hands over his face. What had he wrought?

  "Danger!" Shawn heard, and automatically thought, Will Robinson. Old habit. Ashburn strode toward him, sideswiping a towering stack of paper, causing the detective at that desk to leap out of his chair and embrace the stack, like Comet when he pounced on something.

  "Let's review the book," Ashburn said when he got to the chair Sarah left. He pulled the book closer and put on his reading glasses. The captain, as part of his job, would look through the detectives' murder books, mostly to make sure everything was on track, but also to help guide the case by recommending different ways to approach it. After giving the book a once-over, Ashburn would make his call, like a referee, and tell the detective to close the case or keep at it. Or in this case, Shawn thought, call the detective an impostor and fire him with no severance pay and a paltry three months of paid medical coverage.