Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “I don’t know. Maybe she was looking for the restroom.”

  “I’m surprised she’d leave your side. She’s pretty attached to you.”

  She tapped her expensive bejeweled shoes on the floor and stood, and said, “If you’re intent on finding George’s killer, you’ve got a lot of suspects to talk to but I’m not one of them,” before walking away.

  Max laughed. “I think you’ve convinced her you wouldn’t support her mayoral campaign.”

  I cranked my neck to see behind me. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to hear you accuse her of killing George.”

  “I didn’t accuse her of anything.”

  He smirked. “I don’t think that’s the way Cindy sees it.”

  “What happened in your interview? Did they take you off the suspect list?”

  He waved his hand. “They asked me a few questions, I answered them. That’s about it.”

  “And they took you off the list.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t kill George.”

  “Yet he’s dead, and he and I disagreed on a lot of things.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything to Justin.”

  “Don’t start that again. Listen, George had a reputation, and Cindy was right. Anyone in this room could be his killer. Even you.”

  “You know I didn’t kill him.”

  “I know that, but you’re here, and he died here, so that makes you a suspect like everyone else.”

  “I was with you.” My eyes widened. “Which means you couldn’t have killed him.”

  “I was with you after he was found. I could have done it and hurried back out to find you. Who knows how long he was back there before Stacy found him.”

  I groaned. “You’re innocent.”

  His eyes softened and he licked his upper lip before speaking. “Thank you for thinking that.”

  “I couldn’t think anything else.” I stared toward the windows and watched as the sleet pelted the ground. “We’re never getting out of here.”

  “The sleet’s slowing. The mayor said the two plows we have are working hard to get salt and sand out, so he thinks they’ll probably let everyone that’s been interviewed leave soon.”

  Relief washed over me. “That’s great. I need to find Justin then. I already told him what I know, and I really need to get these puppies out of here. Mary’s been fostering them, but she drove the shelter van, and it’s not heated, so I really should drive the puppies to her place.”

  I walked in the door to two sleeping dogs that couldn’t muster up even a head lift acknowledging my return. Since my neighbor fed them, and they could go out any time they wanted, I wasn’t all that interesting in the dead of night. I just gave them both a kiss on their head. “I’m tired too, but Momma needs a quick shower because she feels nasty.”

  Since Sam died, most of my conversations were with my dogs. Allie was a recent foster, and I brought Bandit home shortly after starting the pooch party program, but they weren’t my first dogs by any means, and I doubted they’d be the last. Sam and I always had dogs. I couldn’t imagine a life without them. Then again, I couldn’t imagine a life without Sam, and I’d been living that for two years, so anything was possible.

  I climbed into bed just as the clock switched to three. It had been a long night. I tossed and turned, constantly checking the clock and doing that, if I fall asleep now, I’ll get two and a half hours of sleep thing. My body naturally awakens between five and five thirty, and the last time I remember doing that was shortly before five o’clock.

  My eyes popped open promptly at five-thirty-six am. I laid on my back groaning and cursing people whose bodies didn’t betray their desire for sleep. Hoping for a magical ten more minutes, I closed my eyes once more, but it was useless, so I threw on Sam’s green plaid robe, one of the many things he’d worn I couldn’t bear to part with, shoved my feet into a pair of sock slippers, and dragged my weary body downstairs. The dogs typically slept on their beds in my room, but they hadn’t moved from the ones in the keeping room. It had probably been too late, and they were probably too sleepy to make the short walk upstairs.

  Once Hayden left for college, Sam and I created new routines. It wasn’t exactly intentional, things just kind of morphed from one standard to another. Since he died, most of the routines changed again. Some intentionally, and others did their own morphing to fit my new life.

  He’d get downstairs before me, let the dogs out, and then put on a pot of coffee. By the time I made it to the kitchen, I had a fresh cup of coffee waiting—and a hungry dog, or two depending on the time.

  When you lose someone, you don’t realize how much everything’s going to change. That simple gesture with that cup of coffee was one of the things I missed the most. A few weeks ago, while making a half pot I knew I’d never finish myself, I made a decision. I poured myself one final cup, using the Kennesaw Dad cup Sam preferred, and later that day I bought a Keurig.

  It didn’t stop me from missing Sam, nothing could ever stop that. It was just another small step forward in my life after him. The pain of losing the love of my life never disappeared, but I was slowly learning how to live with it.

  Allie stood and stretched, first into downward doggie pose, and then reverse doggie downward pose. Allie was a yoga master. She gave herself a good shake, something I probably should have done myself, and then pushed through the electric doggie door. We didn’t know for sure, but based on her teeth and size, the vet thought Allie was just over a year old, so I knew she hadn’t seen snow before. I grabbed my cell phone and snuck over to the window to video her reaction. She galloped through the thick, heavy white stuff, stopping every so often to stick her head in it. She sprung up, shook the cold stuff off her face, and then ran and rolled around like it was better than a slice of bacon.

  Bandit on the other hand, walked outside and froze. It hadn’t snowed since I adopted him, and because he was older than Allie, I couldn’t be sure if he’d ever been in the stuff before, but from the way he lifted his paws, I had a feeling he had.

  He carefully dipped each foot into the snow only to quickly pull them out again. He stepped carefully to the side of the door, did his business, and was back inside a few seconds later. I wiped off his legs and underbelly, but he shook anyway. “I’m on your team buddy. I don’t much care for the stuff either.”

  Allie came charging through the doggie door, raced circles around the sectional, and then flew right back out again. Bandit stared at her like she was crazy. He lifted his eyes to mine.

  “Hey,” I said, shrugging at my dog. “She’s her own woman.”

  I could have sworn my dog rolled his eyes as he walked over to his bowl and waited for breakfast. I flipped on the news and waited for Allie to charge back inside to feed them.

  It didn’t surprise me when George Watson’s face popped up on my screen. The reporter talked of his contributions to the community but said the police hadn’t provided details of his death.

  The weather woman, a young and cute, but too skinny stick of a girl—someone needed to feed her a sandwich—reported that we, thankfully, weren’t in the throes of another Snowmageddon. Schools and city governments across the metro area were closed due to ice. That wasn’t surprising. I shuffled over to the large picture window in our living room and examined the damage. My house was too far from the road to see much, but I had a feeling at least a few people had braved the weather for one reason or another.

  I was one of the top calls on the list for the shelter if the morning staff couldn’t get in, and since I hadn’t received a call, I assumed the dogs were okay. Allie still hadn’t come in for breakfast, and if the slobber dripping from Bandit’s jowls was an indication of his hunger, the poor guy was starving. I called Allie in and laughed when she bounded toward the door, her tongue flapping in the air.

  “Good girl! It’s time for breakfast.” I grabbed the towel I’d used on Bandit and gave her a quick
drying, but it didn’t do much. She’d rolled in the snow enough to be soaked though she didn’t seem to mind.

  I sipped my coffee and thought about the night before. I never got the chance to talk with Turner Shaw. By the time I’d left, he was already gone. Did that mean he wasn’t a suspect? Had he snuck out or was he interviewed? Max was allowed to leave even though Justin said he was under suspicion, but that could have been because Max was a city councilman. Since the reporter hadn’t mentioned an arrest, the killer was still out there. Was Cindy right? Would there be another murder? I hoped not. It was the start of the holiday season. One person suffering from such a loss was already one too many.

  Both Cindy and Max were right. Two hundred people, plus staff and the catering employees were there when George was killed. The suspect list was long, and other than a few people, I barely knew anyone on it.

  I checked the clock on our microwave. Would Justin be up this early? When I thought about him, I imagined the lanky armed boy with the Justin Beaver style haircut Hayden complained slept late every weekend, but that wasn’t Lieutenant Johns. Hayden always laughs at that, telling me it’s Bieber, not Beaver. I know that, but it was always more fun to say it wrong. That younger Justin was long gone these days. In his place was a muscular, short haired police lieutenant I’d grown to respect as an adult.

  That didn’t mean it wasn’t odd, because it definitely was.

  He answered the phone with a strong, clear voice. “Missy? Everything okay?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to call so early, but I saw the news reported about George. Nobody was arrested?”

  I heard voices in the background on his end. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”

  “My friend is a suspect.”

  He exhaled. “No, we didn’t make an arrest.”

  “Did Detective Bruno talk to Turner? What about him? Is he a suspect?”

  “We have a list of suspects. We’ll be looking into them further today.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “No.”

  “No, you didn’t answer my question or no, Turner’s not a suspect?”

  He breathed into the phone. “Hold on.” The surrounding noise in the background lessened. “We cleared Shaw.”

  “You did? What was his alibi?”

  “Missy.”

  “What? I’m a concerned citizen asking a question. Is that confidential?”

  “This is a murder investigation. Everything is confidential.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Listen, there’s a lot going on here. I’ll try and come by later and tell you what I can, okay?”

  “I can come there. I have to go to the shelter anyway.”

  “I’d rather you stay home than go out in this stuff.”

  “The roads are drivable. I saw cars on the news. Besides, I have four-wheel drive.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Drivable doesn’t mean safe. Hayden will kill me if I encourage you, just stay put. I’ll be by later.” He ended the call before I had a chance to argue any more.

  It could take hours before Justin showed up, and I had no intention of waiting, not with Max a murder suspect. The severe weather alert was over, the storm had passed, and if other people were willing to brave the roads, so was I.

  Justin walked me back to an interrogation room. “I should have known you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “The roads are fine. I stopped to get donuts, but they weren’t open.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “What’s going on with Max? Did you clear him, too?”

  He set his Styrofoam coffee cup on the long metal table. “We have several suspects.”

  “Why aren’t you answering my questions?”

  “Because this is an active murder investigation, and it’s none of your business.”

  “But I helped with Traci Fielding’s murder.” That was the only theoretical gold coin I had to offer, and I’d probably used it too much already.

  “Not because we asked you to.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I liked you better when you were in high school.”

  He laughed. “You’re like family to me, and now with Hayden and I spending time together—”

  “Dating. You’re dating.”

  “Not officially, but still, the last thing I need is you getting involved in something that could get you hurt.”

  “You do realize that’s irrelevant to me, right?”

  He chuckled. “Pretty much.”

  I smiled. “Good. I’ll tell Hayden you made a good effort, but I didn’t listen.” I sat down across from him and leaned his direction. “My gut says it’s Turner Shaw. He wants that expansion contract, Justin.”

  “We discussed that.”

  Justin had given up pushing back on my prodding, at least for the moment, so I kept going. “And if George was out of the picture, he had a chance at getting it.” I leaned back and smiled. “But the only way to get George out of the picture was to kill him, right? So, he took him out.”

  Justin tilted his head slightly and then shook it, though there was a slight grin on his face. “I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you.”

  “And yet you are.”

  “General terms. I’m speaking in general terms.”

  “Okay, fine. Generally speaking, is it possible for someone to want something bad enough they’d kill for it?”

  “The expansion fell through.”

  I leaned forward again. “But according to George that wouldn’t be a problem, and Turner knew that. Everyone knows George runs the show for the shelter. He’s the main donor.”

  Justin eyed me like I should continue, so I did. “It’s like a university. You know, some rich guy donates a lot of money and gets a building named after him. George’s money makes things happen in this city, and he knew how to use it. So, what does he do? He slips some money into the mayor’s pocket, gets his vote, but whoops, it’s not enough. He needs another one to get what he wants. And how does he do that?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little. But seriously, answer the question. How does he do that?”

  “By doing the same thing, only with a council member.”

  I pointed my finger at him. “Right.” All he needed was one more vote to seal the deal and he’d present it to city council again for the win.”

  He crinkled his eyebrows together and they made a straight groove just above his nose. “How exactly does that make Shaw a killer?”

  “Because he knew if George got the vote, he couldn’t get the expansion contract. He didn’t want to play George’s game. He refused to pay to play, or well, cut corners and do shoddy work. He even said that. I told you that.”

  “The guy that doesn’t want to cut corners, but you think he’s capable of murder?”

  “It’s all about the money.”

  “We can’t arrest someone based on a theory, Missy.”

  “But you can look for evidence to prove that theory, right?”

  “If that’s the way the investigation goes, yes, but it’s not. We’ve cleared Shaw.”

  I jumped from my seat. “Rick Morring! He voted against the expansion. You need to talk to him.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You think Morring killed Watson?”

  “No, no. Morring is a jerk, but I don’t think he’s a killer. But he is an opportunist. He voted against the expansion, but George may have already offered him the cash and Shaw might know that. If you put pressure on him, he might fess up, and there’s your motive for Shaw.” I paced as I thought my theory through. “And,” I pointed at Justin again. “Shaw might have approached him too. Yeah, think about it. Maybe he offered him some kind of benefit if he helped get Watson out of the deal and ensure the council voted again, but only if he promised to give it to Shaw somehow.” I pinched my chin with my finger and thumb. “I’m not sure how that par
t would work exactly though.”

  Justin laughed, and not a small, easy laugh, but a loud, booming, straight from the belly laugh. “What…what are you doing, reading a bunch of murder mysteries or something?”

  I groaned. “It’s a plausible theory, Justin. You should consider it, and you should talk to Morring. Please. For Max’s sake.”

  The humorous curve of his lips straightened, and the laugh in his voice disappeared. “We have. He doesn’t know anything, and he said he voted against the expansion.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he won’t change his vote or that Shaw hasn’t already made a deal with him, or George for that matter. If you didn’t ask the right questions, he wouldn’t have to tell you any of that, right?”

  “Possibly.”

  “And if George already hit Rick up with a payoff, and Shaw knew, he could easily kill George and casually bring up a new arrangement with Rick last night at the fundraiser, right?” I stared at Justin, but he just shrugged. “Rick’s a businessman and he loves his notoriety. If he can rush in and save the day, he’ll do that. And you know what? Maybe that was his plan all along. He wanted to look like the hero, so he voted against it, and planned to vote for it the second time because he knew George would get it in front of the council again.” I said all of that so fast I had to stop and breathe.

  “What exactly does that have to do with Watson’s murder?”

  “Because if I could figure that out, Turner Shaw obviously could too, and maybe getting that contract was important enough for him to commit murder. Can’t you see what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I can. It’s a stretch, but I can.” He tapped his pencil on the table. “So, let me ask you this. If you can theorize that, would it be safe to assume Max can, too?”

  I froze. “Well, yes, but Max isn’t the kind of guy that needs people to praise him. He wouldn’t do what Rick Morring would do.”

  “You’re right, but that’s not what I’m saying. Think about it this way. Max voted against the expansion, right?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”