Sharpe Shooter (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series Book 1)

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Deena and Russell hung on every word. She set down her sandwich and wiped barbeque sauce from her mouth. “So then what happened?”

  “I was at the Park Street Café the next Wednesday when Meade, Collins, and this woman named Donna Morrison came in. I was sitting with my wife on the opposite side of the place. When I seen them, I switched places with her so that they wouldn’t see me. Donna was a secretary for the shipping department, so I figured she was in on it too.

  “We had to sit there awhile waiting for them to leave. They finished eating and Gene gets up and heads around the back by the kitchen. A minute later, Donna stands up and goes flying out of the place—that’s how my wife described it. I could see Gene over my shoulder. He goes to the pay phone and makes a call. Then he heads back to the table and they pay and leave. Apparently, it wasn’t long after that when someone shot and killed Mr. Meade.”

  “You say Collins went to the pay phone and not to the men’s room?” She remembered what Gene had told her and wondered why the stories differed.

  “That’s right. He made a phone call. If you ask me, he was calling one of his boys to tell him when and where to find Meade.”

  Russell looked puzzled and asked, “You think the warehouse guys killed him because he was going to blow the whistle on their stolen merchandise racket?”

  “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the sheriff’s office your suspicions?” Deena asked.

  “I saw what happened to your uncle. I knew then just to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business. A week later, management got wise to it and fired the whole lot of them, including Donna Morrison and everyone in the warehouse.”

  Deena wasn’t sure what to think about the story. “You say Donna was fired a week later? Did she stay in Maycroft?”

  “I heard she moved up to Oklahoma.”

  Deena surveyed the stranger as if buying a used car. “Did the company ever acknowledge a connection between the two events?”

  “No, but they weren’t there that night at the diner. They didn’t see what I seen.”

  “How much longer did you work there?” Russell asked.

  “I quit about six months later when my wife wanted to move here to Dallas.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Deena said, “but do you have any proof to back this up?”

  “I got my gut, and my gut tells me that’s what happened.”

  “What about Donna Morrison? Do you know anything else about her?”

  “She seemed nice enough. Very pretty. I didn’t really know her. The guys in the warehouse stayed away from her because she said her boyfriend was the jealous type and would come after them if they tried anything. Just gossip.”

  Reaching into her purse, Deena pulled out the photo she had been carrying around. “Do you recognize this girl?”

  Henry took the photo and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Nope. Can’t say that I do.” He handed it back to Deena.

  “Do you have the names of anyone else who worked at the company?” Deena was hoping to find someone to corroborate his story.

  “Nope, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. I only mentioned Collins and Morrison because their names were in the newspaper back when it first happened. It said they were the last two people to see him alive. I’m number three.”

  Deena looked at Russell and back at Henry. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you talking to us today. I can promise you that I will follow up on this information.”

  “I’d thank you kindly to leave my name out of it on account of what happened to your uncle.”

  “Of course,” Deena said. She excused herself to the ladies room to wash up. When she returned, Henry was gone.

  “We picked up his check,” Russell said. “I hope that was okay.”

  “Sure. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Forget it. It’s on me.”

  “Literally, it’s on you,” she said, pointing to the sauce that had dripped onto his shirt.

  “Ahh. It was worth it. Best barbeque I ever had. And what about that story? You’ve got to fill me in on the details on the drive home.”

  They filled their cups with more tea and Deena wrapped up her half-eaten sandwich.

  As they drove home, Deena started from the beginning, from when she first went to see Aunt Lucy and Uncle Richard. She told him how Aunt Cora was mostly confined to the bed and had dreamed she saw Matthew in her room. Trying to remember as many details as possible, she told him about her meeting with Deputy Simms, the church ladies, and Gene Collins.

  “So you’re saying that Collins gave the exact same story as Henry, except for the pay phone part. That seems like a pretty big difference if he were calling people to take out Matthew.”

  “I agree,” Deena said. “But I find it hard to believe that Gene Collins would have his army buddy—the friend who gave him a job—murdered for something like that.”

  “Maybe Collins was being pressured by others. Maybe he didn’t know they were going to kill him. They might have planned to just rough him up and scare him but something went wrong.” Russell leaned back in his seat. “Henry may not have been right about the murder, but he was definitely right about those killer ribs.”

  “Do you want to hear about our dinner with Leon Galt, alias Noel Future?”

  “I totally forgot about that! I was so drugged on my medication that I completely forgot. Did you get his autograph, by the way?”

  Deena looked over at her brother in the passenger seat and glared. “Just wait until you hear what he said.”

  She described his arrogant attitude—especially toward Texans—wanting Russell to dislike him as much as she did. She obviously had a bone to pick and finally got down to the marrow. “He said he was about to publish a book about the JFK assassination and that Uncle Matthew was involved.” She glanced over at her brother’s face for a reaction. His mouth gaped and his eyes widened. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  Deena was not sure if her brother was excited or appalled. “That’s ridiculous, right?”

  “Of course, but it’s intriguing. Noel Future has researched and published some pretty compelling stuff on all kinds of topics. The fact that he would even make this claim is really something.”

  “He did not offer even one shred of evidence, by the way. Said we could read all about it in his book. I don’t trust him as far as I could pitch him.”

  “If he didn’t back it up, what was his point in telling you about it?”

  Deena exited the highway to take the road to Crossbow. “Gary and I wondered the same thing. We decided his main point was to tell me to stop my investigation. He acted like he was doing me a favor.”

  “That actually makes sense. As soon as one of these conspiracy books is released, it starts a firestorm of blow back. Everybody and his dog wants to prove why parts of the theory, or even the whole thing, is wrong. The conspiracy community goes nuts with speculation.”

  “Sounds like good publicity for a new book.”

  Russell shook his head. “Absolutely. And Noel Future is a master at it. He’ll be on television, in magazines, at book signings—you name it.”

  “So whether what he says is true or not, he will end up making a lot of money.”

  “Yep, Noel Fortune.”

  Turning down the road toward Russell’s house, Deena was outraged by the very idea of someone making blood money off their uncle’s death. “What about the publisher? Wouldn’t they worry about lawsuits if what he says is proven false?”

  “I am sure they are careful. That’s probably why he wants you to stop your investigation. If you find out what really happened to Uncle Matthew, the publisher will probably back out of the deal.”

  “Good point. Right now our only theory is Henry’s. As much as I would hate for it to be true, we may need to make a case for it just to stop Galt from publishing.” She stopped the car in the driveway. “I really need to find out what Galt is specifically cl
aiming about Matthew’s involvement in the assassination.”

  “That was eight years after he left the military, right? Didn’t you say Collins called Matthew a sharpshooter?”

  “Yes. So did Deputy Simms. Collins said he did ‘wet work.’”

  “Wet work?” Russell seemed astonished. “You mean like sniper stuff?”

  “I think that’s was he meant.” She turned in her seat to face her brother. “You don’t think he’s saying Matthew was part of the assassination itself, do you? Please, for god’s sake, say no.”

  Russell sat silently. Deena suddenly felt a cold chill.

  *

  Maggie scratched and howled on the other side of the door ready for Russell to come in. He stepped in the doorway and squatted to scratch her neck. Catching a glimpse of someone standing in his kitchen, he fell backwards and yelled. “Geez!”

  Cliff stepped out from the kitchen and waved to Russell. He was talking on the telephone that hung from the kitchen wall. He shook his head and mumbled something Russell couldn’t hear and then hung up.

  “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you. My air-conditioner is on the fritz, and I didn’t think you’d mind me hanging out here until the repairman comes. I used the key under the garden gnome.”

  “No problem. I just didn’t expect to see anyone in here,” He stood back up. “Hey, didn’t you install that air conditioner? We used to fix systems like that all the time.”

  “It needed a part. Couldn’t find anything to rig it with.”

  Russell walked over to the sliding glass door to let Maggie out. He picked up the key Cliff had set on the counter, taking it outside to return it to its hiding place. Cliff walked out behind him.

  “They should be here any minute. I’m going to wait at my house.”

  As he walked toward the connecting gate, Russell asked, “Who was on the phone?”

  “Sales call.”

  The large plastic bowl that Maggie drank from outside was empty, so Russell got the hose to refill it. He put the nozzle to his mouth for a drink then spat the water out on the ground. “Hot,” he grumbled. He went back into the house and walked down the hallway toward his room, not noticing something out of place as he passed the second bedroom. The door of the gun safe, always kept shut, was slightly ajar.

  Chapter Ten

  The developer who built Butterfly Gardens, the subdivision where Deena and Gary lived, was an amateur entomologist who chose insect names for streets rather than the usual tree or bird names. Residents of Maycroft poked fun at the area at first but could not resist the open floor plans and large lots. However, when he tried to name a street “Boll Weevil,” the city council had to intervene.

  Deena lived on Cricket Lane, just down from June Bug Drive. As she turned the corner on the way home from dropping off Russell, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar car parked in front of her house. She could tell someone was sitting inside, and for a moment debated just driving past, but her curiosity got the better of her. She pressed the garage door opener and pulled into the driveway. The driver got out of the car.

  “Uncle Mark! What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Aunt Cora?”

  “No, nothing like that,” he said as he walked up to her. “I was just in the area and thought I would stop by.”

  “Come on in.” They entered the house through the garage, and Deena set her purse and keys on the entry table. “This is a nice surprise. I wish you had called. Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, not that long.”

  Deena could tell by the sweat on his face and shirt that it had been longer than he was letting on. “Oh dear,” she said when she spotted the piles of papers in the middle of the den floor. She walked over to close the double doors to hide the mess. “Let me just close these. I’ve been going through all the papers and stuff I got from your folks.”

  “Would you mind if I have a look? I’m curious to see what all was in there.”

  “Well, sure. But you must be burning up. Would you like some water or iced tea?”

  “Iced tea would be great.” Mark stepped into the den and stood over the piles.

  Deena got two glasses down from the cabinet and filled them with ice from her refrigerator door. She pulled out a pitcher of tea and filled the glasses. “Sweetened or unsweetened?” she called out from the kitchen.

  “Sweetened.”

  She picked up the sugar packs, stirred a generous amount into each glass, and carried them into the office. “Nothing like a glass of sweet tea on hot day to wet your whistle.” Mark, leaning over a pile of letters and documents, quickly stood up.

  “See anything interesting?” She took a sip from her own glass as she handed the other to Mark.

  “No, no,” he said. “Just looking.”

  She set her glass on the desk and reached down for some of the photos. “Here are some pictures with Matthew in them. Maybe you know some of the people he’s with.” Moving a stack of mail over to the side, she put the photos in the middle of the desk. “Why don’t you sit here and have a look.” She turned on the desk lamp and motioned to the chair.

  “Thanks.” He took several big gulps of tea, put down his glass, and sat down in Deena’s rolling desk chair. “Have you found anything out about his death?” He squinted, trying to make out the faces in the fuzzy black and white photos.

  “Not really. I’m still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.” She did not want to say anything that might cause him to worry. He shuffled through the pictures as she stood beside him.

  “These are some of the cousins on my father’s side.” He handed her the photo, and she labeled the back with a ballpoint pen. “These are people we went to school with. I can’t remember their names, though.”

  “I didn’t realize you and Matthew were in school together.” It was more of a question than a statement.

  “We lived in Bingham until I was in 8th grade. That’s when we moved to Ft. Worth.”

  Deena continued making notes on the pictures. When her hands were full, she set the photos on a stack of mail, toppling it to the floor.

  “I’ll get that,” Mark said and he bent down to retrieve the letters. For a moment, he froze, doubled over in the chair. When he sat up, his face was a ghostly white.

  “Are you okay? Did you get dizzy?”

  “No. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Come on into the living room. This room gets all the sun. I’ll get you some more tea.” Picking up his glass, she stood by the door, waiting for him to follow, worried he might be unsteady from leaning over.

  He got up and followed her. She went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out the tea pitcher. “I do have another picture in my purse I want to show you, though.” When she turned around, he was standing by the door to the garage with his hand on the knob. “I’ve got to go. I forgot I have to get back. Thanks for the tea.”

  “But wait. Are you sure? Gary will be home in—” Before she could finish her sentence, he left. She walked to the front window and watched him get in his car and drive off. How strange, she thought. Although he was her uncle, he was only about ten years older. Maybe it was his blood sugar. She walked back to the den to get her glass. There, sitting on top of the stack of mail, was the letter from Aunt Cora, purple roses and all.

  *

  When Gary walked through the door after work, Deena was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by the sorted stacks of papers and photos. She looked like a daisy, the stacks her petals. “Don’t stop me now,” she said when Gary poked his head in the door to greet her. “I only have this last bunch to sort and I’m done.”

  He returned after a few minutes wearing shorts and sandals, carefully stepping over the piles to sit in the desk chair.

  “There. That’s it,” she said, standing up to stretch. She sat down in the easy chair to admire her work.

  “Congratulations. So what are all the stacks?”

  “I have this small stack of photos of Matthew when
he was older. The other big one has all the pictures I don’t think are important. Then there are military papers, legal documents, and other papers for Aunt Cora and Frank that seem irrelevant. That huge stack has postcards, letters, greeting cards, and such. It will take me awhile to get through all those. And this stack is report cards, school certificates, and things that really don’t involve the case.”

  “Nice job. Does that mean we can pick up some of this mess?”

  “Definitely. I only have to deal with those few photos and the correspondence. Let’s put the rest in the boxes.” She picked up the pictures and put them on the desk. Gary helped her with the rest.

  “Guess who was here today?” Not waiting for an answer, she said, “Mark Lancaster.”

  “Lucy and Richard’s Mark?”

  “Yes. When I got back from Oak Cliff, he was sitting in his car outside the house.” She told him about the strange visit.

  “Maybe you should call later tonight and check on him.”

  “I don’t have his phone number, but I’ll call Aunt Lucy tomorrow. I was going to call her anyway because I want to drive back down there and talk to Aunt Cora.”

  “I want to hear all about your meeting with this guy today.” Gary stacked the three boxes in the corner under the window.

  “If his story turns out to be true, we may have solved the mystery.”

  “Can you tell me about it while we eat?” Gary asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Sure. You fire up the grill, and I’ll get the chicken ready.”

  It was too hot out to eat on the patio, so they sat at the kitchen table. Deena, still full from lunch, pushed food around her plate as she described the meeting with Wilcox.