A Hint of Murder

by Mary Maxwell

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said. “Why the waterworks?”

  She sighed. “Because I’m a horrible friend. I haven’t tried to get in touch since you moved back down to God’s Country.”

  “That makes two of us,” I said. “You’ve obviously got your hands full here, and I’ve been dealing with Aunt Dot and my mother.”

  Emily giggled. “You have my sympathy,” she said. “I remember Dottie being a holy terror when we were kids.”

  “She still can be,” I said. “But she’s actually a lot more mellow these days.”

  “Naturally?” Emily asked with a wink. “Or with a little help from her pharmaceutical friends?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Do Jim Beam and Johnny Walker qualify?”

  She laughed. “A girl after my own heart, huh? There are days when I like a little shot of something strong when I get home.”

  “Same here, sister,” I said. “Those two old girls get me going with their antics and bickering. Luckily, I know they love one another and the squabbling just comes with the territory.”

  “Well, that’s what our relatives and parents are for, right?”

  I made a face. “Speaking of relatives,” I said. “How’s your—”

  “He’s in the office,” Emily said quickly. “Want me to get him?”

  It had been more than a decade since I last saw Emily’s twin brother, but I’d been thinking about him more than I’d care to admit since I moved back home. Our romance had lasted for a year, but his plans for grad school in New York and my desire to move to Atlanta after we finished school had put the kibosh on the relationship.

  “You know what?” I said. “Do you think he’d mind if I surprised him?”

  She scoffed. “Are you kidding? He’d love it! I swear, Lizzie. Since I told him that you were moving back, that boy has been blabbing about you constantly. Mostly rehashing stories from the good old days, but also wondering how you’re doing.”

  “Funny,” I said. “He hasn’t bothered to give me a call. I know that he doesn’t have my cell number, but Aunt Dot’s shop has had the same one since she and my uncle opened the place.”

  Emily nodded. “I know, but…” Her voice caught in her throat. “You haven’t seen Jason in ages. He went through a lot overseas.”

  “Oh, was he…” Something crossed her face, a fleeting shadow that dimmed the light in her eyes. “I mean, did he enlist after college?”

  She shook her head. “He never made it there,” she said. “It’s a long story, Lizzie. Jason thought his tuition was all set and everything would be perfect, but our dad invested a bunch of money without telling anyone else in the family. He thought it would somehow magically triple overnight so Jason and I wouldn’t have to worry about finances when we were away at school.”

  I hadn’t heard anything about the hardship, so I listened quietly as Emily shared a few details about her father’s monetary misstep. Besides college savings for the twins and a retirement nest egg for him and his wife, Emily’s father had also enticed a few other family members to invest in what turned out to be a scam.

  “It was all gone,” she said softly. “And then so was our father.”

  “What?”

  She frowned. “Didn’t you hear about it?”

  I shook my head. “Hear about what?”

  “Daddy got in his boat one Sunday morning,” she said. “He headed west into the Gulf, but never came back. Mama’s never been the same, although she does come in here on good days to help out at the front desk.”

  “Oh, my God,” I said, surrounding Emily with another long hug. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe my mother never told me.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” I said as my mind whirled around, trying to comprehend the family’s tragedy. “But I should’ve been a better—”

  She covered my mouth with one hand. “None of that, you hear? Why don’t you go on back to the office and see my brother? I know it’ll make his day!”

  “Point the way,” I said. “Then you and I can do some more catching up later on.”

  “It’s a deal,” she said, motioning toward a hallway on the far side of the dining room. “It’s the third door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

  CHAPTER 15

  As I approached the Smokehouse Bar-B-Q office, my heart began to beat faster and my palms grew damp. I hadn’t seen Jason Baxter in more than a dozen years. The thought of suddenly appearing out of the blue was making me more than a little anxious and queasy.

  “You can do this,” I whispered softly. “Just put one foot in front of the other, and don’t freak out.”

  After a few deep breaths, I knocked on the door and waited.

  “Come on in,” a gravelly voice called from inside.

  I took a final deep breath, opened the door and stepped into a small room lined with bookshelves crammed with storage file boxes. Jason was behind a battered metal desk. He had one hand on a calculator and the other holding a ruler on a printed spreadsheet.

  “What can I—” He stopped short after glancing away from the paperwork.

  “Hi, Jason,” I said. “It’s uh…Lizzie Hutton.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t say?”

  A knot of fear twisted in the pit of my stomach. “Emily told me to—”

  “I know that.” He held up his phone. “She sent me a text.”

  Okay, whispered the voice in my head. Even more of a disaster than we—

  “This is a pretty frickin’ big surprise.” He got up and walked around the desk. “How are you?”

  The lump of dread in my stomach began to soften as he gave me a hug. It felt simultaneously surreal and foreign and familiar to be in his embrace; the same muscular arms, the same woodsy cologne, the same steady heart beat thundering in his chest. We were standing in the office at his family’s restaurant, but we could’ve just as easily been shuffling clumsily around the high school auditorium during a school dance.

  “How are you?” I said when the embrace ended and he stepped back. “You look the same.”

  He patted his midsection. “A few pounds heavier,” he said, smiling. “But I can’t complain.”

  His sister’s voice echoed in my mind as Jason gazed at me with the same ice blue eyes. There was a faint scar on his forehead that I didn’t remember along with a scruffy beard and tousled hair that touched the collar of his untucked gingham shirt.

  “What brings you to Smokehouse?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Can’t an old friend just happen to be in the neighborhood?”

  He shook his head. “C’mon, Liz. It’s been years, but I still recognize that little eye twitch thing.”

  I reached up and put one hand beside my right eye. “What eye twitch?” I teased. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  We shared a brief laugh, and his eyes crinkled the way they always did when we were younger. Then I stopped trying to pretend that my facial tic wasn’t patently obvious.

  “Yeah,” he said. “There it is. You were always so easy to read back when we were kids.”

  I shrugged. “And I guess it’s the same, even though we’re not quite that young anymore.”

  “Ah, what the hell?” he said. “You look great! I was trying to play it cool, but seeing you here is bringing back all the stuff from school. I remember telling Danny Keaton and Brian Lonergan that you were going to prom with me. It made me feel like the king of the world.”

  My cheeks warmed and I looked at the floor. Even though years had passed and we hadn’t seen one another for a very long time, the butterflies were circling my stomach now as I heard his voice and saw the spark of mischief, quiet calm and strength in his eyes.

  “So?” He smiled. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “About why I stopped in?”

  “That’s the one,” he replied. “Between the way your hands are trembling slightly and the squiggly eye, I’m guessing there’s so
mething more than wanting to catch up with old friends.”

  “Okay,” I said, holding up both hands. “Busted! I did have a specific reason.”

  He motioned at an empty chair. “Want to sit?”

  “Sure, thanks.” I walked over and got comfortable as he leaned against the desk. “And I promise not to take up too much of your time. I can see that you’re busy.”

  He scowled at the scattered files and spreadsheets. “End of month,” he grumbled. “The bane of my existence, as our father used to say. When the old man and our mother ran the joint, they used to argue constantly about who was responsible for bookkeeping and ordering. They both hated it so much.”

  “And now you’re in charge of those things?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know about ‘in charge,’” he said, making air quotes with two fingers. “If you remember, my sister’s a little on the pushy side. But I don’t mind. I’d do anything for her, considering how she’s been there for me during some pretty dark times.”

  His jaw muscles tightened and he cleared his throat. Clearly, the difficult days were still very close to the surface, but Jason didn’t want to broach the subject. He might’ve recognized my eye twitch from the past, but I also recalled the way he clenched his teeth whenever someone mentioned a topic that he didn’t want to discuss.

  “You’re both lucky to have one another,” I said. “Support from friends and family is an essential part of getting through life, don’t you think?”

  He rubbed his chin and flashed a smile. “Amen to that, Lizzie. I’m living proof.”

  “Me, too,” I replied.

  “Alrighty then,” Jason said. “We keep getting off topic. What’s going on? Was there something we can do for you? Special order of ribs? A couple gallons of Smokehouse extra spicy sauce?”

  “It’s actually something a little more off-beat than that,” I said. “I don’t know if the news got down here or not, but there was a murder in Crystal Bay a few days ago.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t heard about it, but I don’t really follow the news much.”

  “Probably a smart choice,” I said. “There doesn’t seem to be an end to it these days.”

  “Which is why I keep my head down,” he added. “But what happened? Was it anyone you know?”

  “I didn’t really know him well, but my mother and aunt were friendly with the guy,” I said. “He was a real estate guy named Simon Wargrave.”

  Jason nodded. “Isn’t he on all billboards and TV commercials?” he asked. “‘You’ll be treated like royalty by the real estate king of Crystal Bay County,’ right?”

  I laughed. “That’s the one!”

  “That stupid guy’s all over late-night TV. What a putz!”

  “Some people use even more colorful language to describe Mr. Wargrave,” I said.

  “Kind of a jerk?” asked Jason.

  “Pretty much,” I said. “His business model was a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean. He could be loud and abrasive and pushy.”

  “Sounds like my sister,” Jason grumbled.

  “I’ll remember to tell her that you said so,” I joked.

  “Go right ahead,” he replied. “She hears it from me every frickin’ day.”

  “There it is!” I said. “That’s the playful banter I remember between you guys from back in the day.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Playful banter, knock-down-drag-out fights, screaming matches without end.”

  I shook my head. “Admit it, Jason. You guys love one another.”

  “I already told you, Lizzie. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for my sister.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s really nice to hear that she was there for you. Being alone with those dark days can be more than some people can handle.”

  He smiled. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

  “No, not at all,” I said. “And we’re off the subject again.”

  “Hey, I’m trying to keep us focused,” he said with a wink. “You were talking about the murder up in Crystal Bay. What’s that got to do with us?”

  “Okay, let me focus,” I said. “Without going into all the nitty-gritty, there’s a person of interest in the murder. He’s been traced to the Beachcomber Motel, and the manager there told me that the guy was a Smokehouse fanatic.”

  Jason frowned. “Are you saying we had something to do with the killing?”

  “No,” I said. “But I was wondering if anyone here might remember the guy.”

  “At the Beachcomber?” he asked.

  I nodded. “The manager at the motel told me that the suspect came here to eat, but also had delivery to his room.”

  Jason’s face suddenly lit up. “Fat guy with greasy hair,” he said. “Am I right?”

  “I’ve never seen him,” I replied. “But he drives a—”

  “Black Mercedes,” Jason cut in. “Is that the guy?”

  “Sounds about right,” I said. “Late model SUV with a football helmet decal on the window.”

  Jason nodded. “I actually said something about the SUV,” he said. “The guy told me it was supposed to be his girlfriend’s car, but he kept it for himself because she was fooling around with someone else.”

  I smiled. “Can you say that one more time?”

  “What?” Jason asked. “About the SUV?”

  “All of it,” I said. “Just to be sure that I’m tracking everything.”

  After he repeated the information again, I asked if he remembered more details about the conversation.”

  Jason smiled. “I’m pretty sure he spent a long stretch behind bars.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Prison,” Jason said.

  “Did he mention that?”

  Jason shook his head. “He didn’t have to. There’s a tattoo on his right wrist of a watch with no hands. That’s popular with inmates who get long sentences.”

  “Anything else about the guy that you noticed?”

  “A second tattoo on his left forearm,” Jason replied. “It had two sets of initials inside a heart: NM and BG.”

  “Do you think one set could be his,” I said, “and the other one belongs to the unfaithful girlfriend?”

  He laughed. “Actually, I saw him with a woman at the Beachcomber.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  He thought for a few seconds. “She was attractive,” he said. “Probably around fifty or thereabouts. Red hair, skinny legs, big caboose.”

  “Caboose?” I said.

  “Backside,” Jason explained. “The guy used that term when she got out of the car with a bunch of shopping bags. He said, ‘Check out the caboose on Baby Girl when she walks by.’ Did you catch that? I bet the second set of initials stands for Baby Girl instead of the woman’s real name.”

  “He really called her Baby Girl?”

  Jason smiled. “Not very enlightened,” he said. “But it fits the guy perfectly. He reminded me of an old-school mobster, like one of the characters from The Sopranos.”

  “Yeah? How many times did he say, ‘Fuggedaboutit’?”

  “I stopped counting,” Jason said with a grin. “And I’m not joking. He was like every gangster cliché rolled into one!”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Can you say that again?” Ethan Shaw asked when I called from the Smokehouse parking lot.

  It was a few minutes after I said goodbye to Jason and promised his sister that I’d bring my mother and Aunt Dot to the Smokehouse for dinner soon. The Big Dipper closed early on Sunday evenings, so we could finish for the day and head south to enjoy a zesty meal of spicy ribs and ice-cold beer.

  “Jason told me that he delivered food to the guy that owns the Mercedes SUV,” I said.

  “And what was that about a girlfriend?”

  “The suspect told Jason that he originally bought the vehicle as a gift for his main squeeze, but she turned out to be a little less than monogamous.”

  “Does that mean she cheated on him?” asked
Ethan.

  “That’s my guess,” I said. “We didn’t spend too much time discussing the dishonesty in their relationship.”

  He laughed. “I can understand why. Did your friend get a look at the girlfriend?”

  “Red hair, slender legs,” I said. “And what the SUV’s owner described as a nice caboose.”

  “Why was he…” Ethan paused. “Oh, never mind.”

  “He wasn’t talking about a choo choo train.”

  “Right,” he said. “I kind of figured that out after a second or two.”

  “Isn’t that a new lead?” I asked. “About the person of interest and his girlfriend?”

  “That’s correct,” the detective said. “Now we have two nameless individuals tangentially linked to our homicide.”

  “Did you recover anything at the Beachcomber to check for a DNA match in the system?” I asked.

  “Waiting on results,” he answered. “We recovered two of the motel towels stained with barbecue sauce along with an empty beer can, two cigarette butts and a tissue with lipstick on it.”

  “Was that from the suspect’s room?”

  “Yes,” Shaw replied.

  “Any idea when the results will be back from the lab?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “That’s the million-dollar question, Liz. I finally taped a note to my desk. It says, ‘Do not call the lab again.’ The last time I did, I think the guy would’ve punched me through the phone if he could.”

  “A little on the impatient side there, detective?”

  “Not impatient,” he said. “Driven. Especially with homicides.”

  “I understand that,” I said. “When I worked for the Atlanta PD, I heard detectives lamenting how long it took sometimes to get test results.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s not like the shows on TV. Living in the real world demands a different set of parameters.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said. “But at least we’re getting good leads. The details from Jason’s description should be helpful to identity the perp.”