Shotgun Moon

by K. C. McRae

  She awoke at four a.m., muzzy, dry-mouthed, and intensely embarrassed about making a fool of herself the night before. At least she hadn’t danced on any tables. Yvette’s kindness had been welcome at the time, hell—it was still welcome—but watching the window in her living room brighten to a lighter shade of night, Merry felt exposed. Vulnerable. In prison she’d carved out a place for herself among the other women with great care and self-control, keeping the reality of who she was private. It was the only private thing she’d had for four long years. Her self-concealment had served her well for so long that now it was hard to give up.

  She folded the blankets neatly and stacked them with the pillow on the end of the sofa. Then she wrote Yvette a note and let herself out the front door. It was only a three-block walk back to Chewie’s, where the Blazer nosed up to the side of the building. She climbed in and drove home.

  At the ranch, she stepped to the ground and swung the door shut with a solid thunk. She leaned her back against it. She’d forgotten how pleasant the dawn could be here. Wind had blown an earlier shroud of cloud to the east, and the pale illumination from a sliver of moon low over the foothills allowed a luminescent spoor of twinklings overhead. She watched them wink out, one by one. A cacophony of birdsong and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the maple by the barn filled the yard. The flat odor of dew-damp dust, pine, and sage merged with the slightest hint of wood smoke in the air.

  Inside, she crawled into her own bed and fell back asleep.

  ———

  Merry awoke, less muzzy and more dry-mouthed, a little after eight. Her early morning slumber had been plagued by strange dreams she couldn’t remember, and the overall result was a general grumpiness, despite the promise of beautiful weather and the anticipation of riding Izzy.

  In the kitchen she poured coffee, and some of the hot dark liquid splashed onto the counter. Swiping at it with a dishtowel splattered some of it on the front of her yellow tank top. Swearing, she went back into her bedroom to change.

  She took her coffee out to the barn and turned her mare out to graze, then came back and settled on the front porch, propping her feet up on the railing. At least her ankle had reduced in size enough to allow her to wear her boots again. She sipped the pungent caffeine and let her eyes wander. The morning was cooler than normal, though only a few high shreds of white accented the incandescent blue above. A sea of golden grass rippled in her peripheral vision, and the air carried the scent of clover from a field further away.

  She was thinking of breakfast when they came. Eggs and sausage and chunky fried potatoes with onions. A veritable cholesterol fantasy.

  First she saw the plume of dust, then the blue and red flashing lights within it. Three Crown Victorias barreling down the ranch road like the place was on fire.

  Well, hell. There went breakfast.

  eighteen

  Rory Hawkins and Lester Fleck emerged from the first car, the sergeant’s hand hovering near his unsnapped holster. Merry stood with her hands visible on the railing and didn’t move as he approached. Lester sauntered behind him. The county sheriff had pulled up behind the Hazel Police cruiser. He got out and leaned against the driver’s door, seeming reluctant to join the festivities. Jamie followed last, shutting off the engine and hopping out.

  “Gentlemen,” Merry called. “What can I do for you?”

  Hawkins stepped up onto the porch. “You can get into the car without giving me any guff.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “We’ll discuss that down at the station.”

  Lester leaned against a porch support and shoved his hands in his pockets. Jamie stopped next to him. Merry’s blood thudded in her ears and her vision narrowed. She reminded herself to breathe.

  “Let me get my keys.” The words warbled a bit as she spoke them, and a flash of satisfaction crossed Hawkins’s features.

  “You won’t be driving.”

  “I need to lock up.”

  Hawkins looked unhappy but nodded. He followed close on her heels as she went in the front door and through to the kitchen. Her keys lay on the counter. She picked them up, and he held his hand out for them. She glared at him and went back outside. When he came out behind her, she shut the door and locked it, putting the keys in her pocket.

  Jamie watched but wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Am I under arrest?” Merry demanded.

  “Soon enough,” Hawkins said.

  Merry struggled with a horrible feeling of déjà vu. Soon enough. Should she resist? Or would that only get her into trouble later? Numb, she allowed herself to be led to his cruiser and deposited into the slick vinyl backseat.

  No one spoke on the ride into town. Merry turned around once and saw Jamie driving behind them, but the sheriff had left the procession by then. She guessed he’d only been along because the ranch fell within the county’s jurisdiction.

  At the station, Hawkins led her inside and put her in the same room where they’d questioned Lauri. Lester veered to another part of the building, but Jamie came in and sat at the opposite end of the table.

  Hawkins shook his head. “Gutierrez, go find something else to do.”

  “I’d just as soon sit in.”

  “Too bad.”

  Stony-faced, Jamie got up and left the room.

  Hawkins shut the door and turned to her. “Where were you last night?”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “In good time.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “You don’t have to be. We’ll just keep you here until you answer our questions.”

  “Not without my lawyer, I won’t.”

  The hatred she’d witnessed upon first meeting him flared to life behind his eyes. He turned and walked out of the room. The lock clicked.

  She was hungover and hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Her hands tingled and her head felt like it was floating—she’d managed to hyperventilate during the trip into town.

  Voices raised outside the door, then it opened and the tall man Nadine had identified as the chief of police stepped into the room.

  “Who’s your lawyer?”

  “Kate O’Neil.” Her voice felt raw.

  “We’re calling her now.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and closed the door again. The lock didn’t click.

  “Excuse me?” Merry called, hoping someone would hear her. If she dared to open the door, Rory Hawkins would likely shoot her on the spot. She tried again. “Hello?”

  The door opened again.

  Hawkins pooched his lips. “Whadaya want?”

  “Could I get some aspirin?”

  “Got a little headache? Poor thing.”

  She had a little everythingache, but she didn’t feel it necessary to enlighten Hawkins. “Yes. A couple aspirin would be great. Tylenol, ibuprofen, whatever.”

  “I’ll get it.” Jamie’s voice wafted in from someplace behind the sergeant.

  Hawkins turned his head. “The hell you will. We’re not a goddamn pharmacy.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Sarge—”

  “This isn’t your case.” He turned, and the door drifted behind him but didn’t close all the way. “You’re too close to her. Might be sleeping with her for all I know.”

  Jamie, Hawkins, and Chief Matthews all started talking at once. The chief’s voice rode above the rest.

  “Quiet. Gutierrez, he’s right. The sergeant is handling this case. It’s not like there isn’t enough for you to do.”

  Jamie’s retort came too fast. “Think maybe a murder investigation’s a little too big for me to get involved in? Or maybe you’re afraid investigating all aspects of this case instead of forcing evidence to fit your version of things might put a real criminal in jail? You might end up having to cover up something one of your
hunting buddies got themselves into. Like last fall.”

  Oh, God. Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.

  A long, taut silence followed Jamie’s words.

  The chief said, “Officer Gutierrez, as of this moment you are suspended without pay for insubordination. Your badge and gun.” Another long silence. Then: “Good. Now leave the building.”

  Merry buried her face in her hands. She’d only wanted a couple of aspirin. Why had he said those things? Even if they were true—and no doubt they were—why would he say them now?

  She waited, sans painkiller, for over three hours. When Kate finally arrived, the first thing Merry did was demand to go to the bathroom. She’d been crossing her legs for over an hour but hadn’t wanted to give Hawkins the satisfaction. When she returned, Kate shut the door behind them and sat down with her.

  “So what’s this all about?” she asked once Merry had swallowed two ibuprofen and most of a granola bar Kate had pulled from her purse.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No idea at all?”

  “None.”

  Kate frowned. “Well, let’s get this party started, then.” She rose and opened the door.

  Hawkins entered, a frown creasing his florid face. “You done dancing around?”

  Kate inclined her head. “You can ask my client all the questions you want, Sergeant Hawkins. And she will consult with me prior to answering any of them.”

  She shot Merry a look as she spoke, and Merry responded with a grave nod. She felt tremendous relief at having someone she trusted navigating the shark-infested waters with her.

  Hawkins settled into a chair across the table. “Where were you last night?”

  “Don’t answer,” Kate said. “Sergeant, can you be more specific as to time?”

  “I don’t know the exact time. Why can’t she just tell me where she was all night? It’s not that tough a question.”

  “If you don’t know the precise time for which you are asking my client to be accountable, then may I suggest that you explain the circumstances that prompt your asking in the first place.”

  Merry stared at her. So did Hawkins.

  “Sergeant?”

  “There was a guy shot dead last night. And Ms. McCoy here didn’t get along with him so well.”

  Holy shit. They thought she’d killed someone last night? “Who was it?” she asked.

  Kate sent her a look, and she shut up. “Yes, who was the victim?”

  Hawkins grimaced. Glared at Merry. Sighed. “Denny Teller.”

  Kate raised one eyebrow. “So? Why would my client have anything to do with it?”

  “Her mother’s gun was found by the body.” He said it with great satisfaction. “Another thirty-eight revolver.”

  Mama’s gun? The one she’d had forever? Merry had forgotten all about it.

  Wait a minute. She murmured in Kate’s ear. Kate nodded, looked up at Hawkins. “How do you know it was Elsa McCoy’s gun?”

  His smile was smug. “Had her name engraved on it.”

  “Mama sold that gun.”

  “Who to?”

  She looked down at the table. “I don’t know.”

  He leaned forward. “Right. Unless you can show me a bill of sale, that poor kid was shot with your gun. I already know he got your cousin pregnant, and you got into it with him yesterday and threatened to kill him. And now you don’t seem to have an alibi.”

  Kate shot Merry a questioning look.

  “I never threatened—” she began.

  “But threatening wasn’t good enough for you. Or maybe he blew you off. So you went home and thought about it and got pissed off and decided to do something about it. Decided you’d show him. Did you mean to kill him when you went over there, or were you just going to scare the crap out of him? You know what I think? I think you did mean to kill him. You got a taste for it now. I’ll tell you one thing—you’re never getting out of prison again after this.”

  No. This could not be happening.

  “Knock off the bullshit, sergeant.” Kate’s matter-of-fact voice brought Merry back from the hysteria gabbling in the back of her mind.

  The nails on her clenched fingers had left red, half-moon indentations on both palms.

  Kate continued. “We’re not interested in your fantasies, sergeant. Is my client under arrest or not?”

  “Not yet. But—”

  “We’re leaving, then. And next time? Don’t even think about trying to question Ms. McCoy without my being present.”

  Hawkins stood. “I think it would be better for her to cooperate with this investigation.”

  “Sergeant Hawkins, I thought I made it clear: I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think.”

  ———

  Merry followed Kate out past the desks and through the front door. They kept walking until they reached the tiny Hazel Veterans’ Memorial Park, half a block from Kate’s office.

  She turned to Merry. “Did you kill him?”

  “Christ! Of course not.”

  “Were you at the ranch last night?”

  She shook her head. “I was in town.”

  “How late?”

  “I drove back out to the ranch about four a.m.”

  Kate quirked an eyebrow. “Really.”

  “No, nothing like that. I was at the Lucky Lowdown, and then at Chewie’s. A friend made me stay on her couch, didn’t want me driving after drinking. I woke up early and went home.”

  “Who’s this friend?”

  “Yvette Trager.”

  “You stayed last night with Yvette Trager? Your parole officer? Merry, that’s perfect!”

  “Hang on. I left awful early, and she wasn’t awake. I wrote her a note, but didn’t say when I left. She can’t vouch for me being there all night. And we still don’t know when Denny was killed. I’m not in the clear yet.”

  “Okay, you’re right. No good getting ahead of ourselves. I’ll call Yvette and see what she can tell me. Now, what’s this business about you threatening Denny Teller?”

  Merry sighed. “Lauri told me he’d fathered her baby and that he wouldn’t give her any child support. So I went over there yesterday to talk with him.”

  “Yeah, and how did that go?”

  “Badly. I let him know we wouldn’t let him off that easily. He got … aggressive.”

  “Aggressive how?” Kate’s voice was sharp.

  “Aggressive like guys with big heads and little dicks get aggressive. Bark, not bite.” She almost felt casual as she said it, but there must have been something in her expression because Kate narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “Well … sort of.”

  “Did you threaten him?”

  “Not exactly. I said it seemed strange that he wasn’t afraid to be in the house where Clay died. That someone might want to kill him, too.”

  Kate looked aghast. “You said that? Who else was there?”

  “We were alone.”

  “Alone. With that little creep. Jesus fucking Christ, Merry. After everything that happened to you, what in holy goddamn hell were you thinking?”

  “I—”

  “You weren’t thinking, that’s what. Don’t do anything like that again, do you understand me?” Kate was almost shouting and looked like she was about to grab Merry by the shoulders and shake her.

  “Okay.” She held up her palms. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  Kate took a deep breath and watched a mother pushing a toddler on a swing in the kiddy playground across the park.

  She turned to Merry again. “If no one else was there, then Hawkins is getting his information secondhand. Denny told someone about your visit. But they can’t testify about what you said—that’s hearsay.”

  “Who would he have
told?”

  “I don’t know. But whoever it was has Rory Hawkins’s ear.”

  And quite possibly, whoever it was had taken Denny’s life.

  nineteen

  Kate drove Merry back out to the ranch. “I wish you’d called me when the shit hit the fan in Dallas. I didn’t find out about what was going on until it was too late for me to do anything.”

  Merry’s brow furrowed. “You made it clear you hated my guts. Why would I have called you?”

  “I know I said a lot of stuff back then. I was angry about Rand. I thought you’d intentionally seduced him. I didn’t realize he was just a cheating asshole.”

  “I was pretty flattered that he’d picked me. I’d always thought of you as the one who had it all together, the one who got the guys.”

  “You did?” Kate laughed. “I always thought that about you.”

  That gave Merry pause. “Well, you ended up the lucky one, Rand-wise.” Her tone was bitter.

  “I know.”

  “Not that you would have stuck around as long as I did. You would have realized right away and left him.”

  Kate shook her head. “Don’t beat yourself up. He’s a charming bastard. And if I’m so damn discerning, why did I blame you instead of him when he broke up with me?”

  “Well. There’s that.”

  Kate looked sidelong at her. “We okay now?”

  Merry nodded. “Yeah.”

  Kate smiled. “Good.”

  Jamie’s Jeep was parked in the round drive in front of the ranch house when they arrived. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he sat on the porch in Mama’s rocking chair with his feet up on the polished log railing.

  She got out of Kate’s Volvo and hurried toward him. “Jesus, Jamie. Why did you mouth off like that?”

  “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

  “When will the chief let you go back to work?”

  “I don’t know if he will. Don’t know that I’ll go back even if he does.”

  “Hell. You can’t give up your job over … well, you just aren’t going to do it.” She had been going to say “over me.” Like Jamie couldn’t control himself where she was involved. And that, as their brief physical encounter by the river had proven, simply wasn’t true.