Shotgun Moon

by K. C. McRae

  “There is.” Merry dropped into the recliner and told them about the fingerprints on the murder weapon belonging to Lauri, and that the footprints under Clay’s window matched a pair of boots taken with the warrant. Shirlene stared at her slack-jawed.

  Kate’s expression was sober as she absorbed this new information. “You’re sure about the gun?”

  Merry nodded.

  “How did you come to find out about it?”

  Merry told her about Jamie. “He’s probably telling me things out of school. It’d be good if you didn’t spread around where you got the information.”

  Kate shrugged. “I’d find out soon enough anyway. This just gives me a leg up. Tell me what else he told you.”

  “Nothing that would matter.”

  “Let me decide that.”

  Shirlene said, “Lauri’s going to trial, Merry.” Her voice broke. “Please. Anything might help.”

  Regretting bringing up Jamie’s name at all, Merry sketched out what he’d told her, including the information about Gus Snyder and his alibi for the night of the murder. For good measure she threw in what she had gleaned from Anna Knight while giving blood, though much of it was repetitive. Kate wrote on a yellow legal pad as she spoke, scribbling in the weird shorthand Merry remembered from high school. The fan sounded loud in the quiet that followed.

  “Well.” Kate leaned back. “We still need to work on that bail. I called the courthouse and the hearing is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Once the judge sets bail—and they should unless it’s a capital crime—we can figure out where to go from there. I’ll meet you at the courthouse at nine a.m. Okay, Shirlene?”

  She nodded.

  “But if I find out anything before then, I’ll call you here, okay?”

  Shirlene nodded again, her lips pressed together.

  “It’ll work out. We just have to take it one step at a time,” Kate said. She clicked her briefcase closed and stood. “Merry, can you give me a ride? I walked and I’m running late.”

  “Uh, sure,” she said, but her attention was on Shirlene, who was rubbing her face with both hands as if trying to wash it all away. Her aunt felt her gaze and looked up.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll come get you in the morning and take you to the courthouse.”

  “Thanks. That’d be good.”

  She hugged her aunt and went outside with Kate. “You walked?” she asked when they were on the street.

  “You thought I made that up?”

  “No. Just making conversation.” Merry hoisted herself into the Blazer, irritated at how awkward her swollen ankle made her look.

  Kate settled in the seat beside her. “Well, I did want to talk to you.”

  Shit. “Thought you never wanted to talk to me again.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Oh, yes. You definitely said that.”

  “Hmm. Probably. But that was a long time ago. Much as I’d like to revisit that unpleasantness, I don’t have time right now. But we will, okay? I have some things I need to say about what happened.”

  Bully for you.

  “Take a right here, and—”

  “I know where it is,” Merry said.

  “Oh.” Then, “I heard about your mom.”

  Merry nodded, keeping her gaze on the street ahead.

  “I saw her every once in a while. I liked her,” Kate said.

  “Most people did.”

  “So how are you doing with it?”

  “‘It’ being her death, you mean?”

  “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

  “I have my moments.”

  This time Kate nodded. Then, “I’m going over to meet Lauri, tell her about the bail hearing tomorrow, get her side of things. What’s she like?”

  Merry shrugged.

  “It’s possible she killed him, isn’t it?”

  “Anything’s possible. But it’s not probable.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, you know. I’ll defend her to the best of my abilities no matter what,” Kate said.

  “I know. That’s why I told Shirlene to call you.” She pulled to the curb in front of the Hazel Office Mall.

  “It was your idea? She didn’t mention that.” Kate opened the door and got out. Stood on the other side of the open window. “I appreciate your confidence after all these years.”

  “You were always so determined to be a defense attorney. I figured you must be pretty good at it.”

  “I am.” She leaned one elbow on the door. “Do you have a lawyer up here?”

  “No. And I fired my sorry-ass lawyer in Texas, too.”

  “You’re on parole. You might need one.”

  “Have a lot of faith in me, don’t you? I think I can manage on my own.”

  “Hey, I know you’re still angry, okay? But get over it. I’m offering my services, if you should need them. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Merry looked out through the windshield. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Good.” Kate turned and started to walk away, then came back. “And we’ll talk about the other stuff. Soon.”

  Merry met her eyes. “I guess maybe we should.”

  Kate nodded once and walked across the street. On the opposite sidewalk, she turned and looked at Merry, then raised her hand in an uncharacteristically tentative gesture. Merry hesitated, then raised her own hand, feeling that doing so somehow sealed some kind of truce between them.

  ———

  Despite the heat, the huge tangle of copper rose looked fresh and lively against the yellow duplex. The street number hung by the door

  on the right. Merry wondered who lived in the other side of the dwelling, and if they knew anything about what had happened the night of Clay Lamente’s death. The police would have talked with them, she reasoned. Jamie hadn’t mentioned that they’d added anything to the investigation.

  On the other hand, she didn’t trust Rory Hawkins as far as she could kick his flabby butt. She changed direction and went up the neighbor’s steps.

  After several moments, a young woman holding a baby answered the door. The pungent aromas of garlic and Italian spices wafted through the screen.

  “Hi. I’m Merry McCoy. Could I talk to you for a minute?”

  The smile that had begun to form on the woman’s face faded. “I’m not buying anything, and I already go to church.”

  Merry laughed. “Well, I’m not trying to sell you or save you. It’s about your neighbors.”

  The baby gazed at her sideways, cheek against his mother’s shoulder, blue watery eyes never leaving this interesting newcomer. The woman opened the door and gestured her inside. Aerosmith thumped through the wall from the other side of the duplex.

  The living room was furnished in early-marriage thrift accented with new-baby clutter. The bright plastic toys had seen use, as had the furniture. But the blank television screen and smell of home cooking won Merry over. The woman put the baby in a bouncy baby holder hanging in the kitchen doorway.

  “What’s this about?” Her dishwater-red hair, clasped in a large silver and turquoise barrette, exploded in a cloud of curls at the nape of her neck. Freckles dusted her light skin.

  Merry gestured with her chin. “You know about what happened over there?”

  “God, yes. Scared the living daylights out of me.”

  “I bet. Did the police come and talk to you?”

  She nodded, looking curious. “Big guy. Kind of … abrupt, you know?”

  Merry knew. “Well, I’m just following up on a few things.”

  “You work for the police?”

  She’d be in a pile of hurt if she impersonated a police officer. “No. I’m doing a study. A research project for a class. About how t
he police interact with the public.”

  The woman nodded. “I went to MSU. Accounting.” She smiled at the gurgling child, trying to fit his entire fist into his mouth. “But this is good, too.”

  Merry plunged on. “Did the policeman you spoke with ask you about the night of … the night it happened?”

  The woman nodded. “Do you need some paper to write this down?”

  “Oh, that’d be great. I walked off without my notebook. Can you believe that?”

  Rifling through a kitchen drawer and coming up with a pad printed with kittens gamboling through a basket of yarn, she nodded. “When I was pregnant it was like I had a brain tumor. I couldn’t remember anything.”

  “Well, I don’t even have that excuse. Thanks.” Merry took the proffered pad and pen and began writing earnestly. “What’s your name?”

  “Samantha Cisco. But you can call me Sam.”

  “Okay, Sam. The officer asked you about that night. Did you see anything?”

  “No.”

  “Hear anything?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. There aren’t any right or wrong answers here. How would you characterize the officer when he questioned you?” It was a throwaway question, but she hoped it would fit her assumed character.

  Sam hesitated. “Will he hear about this?”

  “All the data I compile is anonymous. That way people can be honest in their responses.”

  “Oh. Good. Well, he seemed like he was in a hurry. Like I said, kind of abrupt.”

  Merry smiled. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret. You’re not the only one who thinks that. Did he ask you about the week prior to the crime?”

  Sam shook her head.

  “If he had, would you have had any information to give him?”

  “Not really.”

  “No unusual visitors next door, no arguments, stuff like that?”

  “Well, there was this blonde girl who came over. She drove a Honda. She wasn’t there very long, and when she left she looked like she’d been crying.”

  Lauri. Great.

  “And then there was that older man. I’d seen him before a few times. He and Clay, the one who, you know, got killed? They got in a shouting match. I could hear it through the wall.”

  With effort, Merry kept her tone mild. “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  Sam shook her head, looking apologetic again.

  “How long before the, uh, incident did this happen?”

  “Oh, it was that same day. In the morning.”

  Merry scribbled furiously, thinking. Harlan? Or maybe Bo?

  “Was the other resident home at the time?”

  “Denny? His van wasn’t there.” She grimaced. “And I can usually tell when he’s home by the music.”

  Merry looked up. “He plays it that loud all the time?”

  “My husband has gone over a couple times to ask him to turn it down, but that only lasts a day or so. Me and Quinn just try to ignore it,” she said, smiling at the baby again. Quinn bounced a couple times and started working on his other fist.

  This woman was too good to live. Merry felt bad lying to her.

  “Can you think of anything else?”

  “About that week? No.”

  “What about your interaction with the officer who questioned you?”

  “Not really. Like I said. It didn’t take very long.”

  “Well, I sure appreciate you talking to me.”

  “Oh, no problem. Would you like a cookie? I just baked them this morning.”

  ———

  The music vibrated through the all-weather siding, and she had to pound with her fist to be heard. The volume lowered, and Denny Teller opened the door. His stringy blond hair flowed down over a black T-shirt. Long toes gripped leather flip-flops below the hem of his faded blue jeans. He was deeply tanned and muscles roped over his arms and flexed in his neck. Unfocused blue eyes hazed with red peered at Merry above a sharp nose and thin lips.

  He blinked at her. “Yeah?”

  “I’m Merry McCoy.”

  “So?”

  “I want to talk to you.” She didn’t offer her hand.

  “What about?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No. It’s a bad time.” He started to shut the door.

  Merry stuck her cane in the doorway just in time. Denny said “Hey!” and continued to push on the door. She pushed back, hard, and the door flew open as he let go and stepped away. She walked into the living room. The air held the unmistakable skunk smell of pot smoke.

  Denny backed into the room. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “For one thing I want to talk to you about Lauri Danner.”

  His eyes narrowed, and a calculating smile crept onto his face. “Hey, you’re the one just got out of jail. So McCoy’s your name, killer?” He said the word as if it were an endearment.

  Feeling as if a cold hand had snaked inside her chest, she stiffened. “I’ve heard about you, too, Mr. Teller. And believe me, it ain’t all good.”

  He laughed, his teeth flashing. “Hoowee! Simple question sure got me some flutter. Well, Miz McCoy, I ain’t no Hatfield, so you can go ahead and lower your gun. I don’t mean no harm.”

  I’d rather just lower my aim.

  “You Lauri’s sister or something?”

  “Cousin.”

  Denny barked a laugh. “Well, Cuz, what do you want to talk about li’l Lauri for?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Don’t I know it. She kept trying to pin it on my poor roommate. He’s dead now. I’m in mourning, you see. So maybe you could come back later.”

  “Lauri says it’s yours.”

  “Shee-it. That’s not my kid.”

  “She says it is.”

  “Then she’s lying.”

  “You know, I don’t think so. And it’ll be easy enough to prove.”

  Denny swaggered to the battered recliner sitting in front of the TV and flopped into it, one long leg hanging over the arm.

  “It was one time, just one of those things. She told me she was on the pill. She wanted me bad, and I try not to refuse the ladies, you know what I mean?” He winked at Merry.

  He reminded her of Zeke and his patter and obnoxious come-ons when he’d had a few beers. She fought the urge to run right back out the door.

  She forced herself to look him in the eye. “Well, she’s pregnant. And you’re the lucky guy, Denny.”

  “Man, that is one crazy girl. How can you believe what she says? She could have slept with anybody. Everybody.”

  A lot of people would buy that, but he’d already admitted he could be the father, and that was good enough to start with.

  “There are tests once the pregnancy is well enough along. We’ll find out for sure then. And then you’ll be legally bound to pay child support after it’s born.”

  “Fuck that. Lauri’ll probably be in prison, anyway.”

  “I’d heard you were kind of an asshole, but I had no idea.”

  He looked bored. “Yeah, yeah. No one’s keeping you here.”

  “Did Clay know you got together with Lauri?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “You’re proving that every time you open your mouth. What would he have said if he’d known?”

  “They were long over, man, and he had a new little hottie.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him about you and Lauri, then?”

  “Never came up. Besides,” he looked embarrassed, “he was kind of a holier-than-thou type, you know? If I’d a known that, I never would’ve answered his ad for a roommate. Had to have a place to stay while I’m working, though, and he was working the Hi-Sho, too. Thought he’d be cool.”

  “So he wouldn’t have approved
on principle.”

  He shrugged.

  “Bet your wife wouldn’t be very impressed, either.”

  “Hey, man, that’s none of your business. My wife and me, we have, like, an understanding, you know? She does her thing and I do mine.”

  Maybe. And maybe your thing is to sleep with every female you can wrangle around whatever job you’re working, and her thing is to put up with it.

  “It’s a shame about Clay.”

  “Yeah …” He shook his head, an exaggerated movement. Merry wondered just how high the guy was.

  “I hear you were right here when he died that night. And that your gun killed him.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Nice try.”

  She swallowed. “Doesn’t it creep you out to be in a house where someone was murdered?”

  He shrugged.

  “Aren’t you afraid they might come back?”

  “Man, you are something else. Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  She turned and twisted the doorknob. “Funny. I can think of a couple reasons with no trouble at all.”

  Denny shot out of his chair, slamming the half-open door shut and grabbing her wrist.

  “And you’re just the one to do it, is that it, killer?” He hissed the words at her.

  “Let go of me.” The words grated out around her panic, and she knew she’d do whatever she had to in order to get away from this guy. It must have shown on her face, because his eyes widened and he stepped back, releasing her.

  “Go. And don’t be coming back here, honey. That’d be a mistake.”

  But the threat was a weak one, and she left with a feeling of victory that lasted until she reached the Blazer. Then she realized how willing she had been to hurt the guy. Really, really hurt him.

  What was wrong with her?

  fifteen

  As much as Merry wanted to go home and saddle up Izzy, she had one more errand in town. Harlan’s comment about Clay had been bothering her more and more. Since Shirlene hadn’t been able to enlighten her, she could think of only one person who could.

  Eyes adjusting to the dim light in the hardware, she followed the aisle to the rear door. Out on the loading dock, heat crept through the afternoon air, intensifying the woodsy fragrance from a pile of cedar bark off to one side. The subtle scents of oats and sweetened corn from the sacks nearby tangled in the breeze. Behind it all lurked the not unpleasant odor of composted manure.