“Aye. But she also works with the fishes now.”
I was going to need a translator to get through this conversation. But I mentally went through everyone on the board and then realized: fish. “The eco-fisheries lady, you mean. Midge Andersen.”
“That’s the one!” He patted my shoulder with enthusiasm, then his expression darkened. “She was angry, there on the patio. I could barely hear her words because she was whispering at first, you see. But her vitriol was so venomous that it caused her voice to rise. Am I making sense to you?”
“Yes, I understand.” Not completely, I thought, given his heavy brogue, but I was able to follow along as he spoke. And the woman had been talking to Dillon, after all, so that would make anyone’s vitriol rise.
“Despite the hushed tone, I found I could hear her words,” he said. “I shouldn’t have stayed and listened in, should’ve left them alone to have their private chat. But I confess I stayed and heard every word.”
It would be so wrong of me to squeal with pleasure at his decision, so I just said, “So . . . what did you hear?”
“A vicious argument.” He winced. “She accused him of cheating. Of stealing and lying and ruining her life.”
“Wow,” I murmured. Midge Andersen had really been making the rounds last night. First fighting with Dillon, then off to an assignation with Sketch Horn in the barn.
That reminded me of what Mac and I had seen, peeking into the barn where Midge was getting hot and heavy with Sketch Horn. Dang, Midge had been busy. She must’ve gone directly from yelling and threatening Dillon to shagging with Sketch.
Troubled, Niall scratched his head, leaving a few strands of hair sticking out in all directions. “At first I thought the woman was speaking of a romance gone wrong. You know, cheating, lying, all the ways two people can treat each other badly.”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“But then Dillon began to defend himself, began speaking about the price of doing business, and how she should’ve known when she came to him with her idea that he would naturally put his own name on the patent, because after all, he would be doing all the work. I soon realized it was a business deal ’twas making her skin boil.”
I knew my mouth was hanging open. But had Dillon actually put his own name on a patent that should’ve gone to Midge? Wow.
I stared at Niall. “What did she say to that?”
He gazed up at the early evening sky. It was still blue, I noticed, but darkening by the minute. Then he looked down at me and said absently, “She’s such a little thing, you know.”
“Midge? Yes she is.” Midge Andersen was barely five feet tall, I thought, and figured that was where she got the nickname Midge.
Niall continued, “But after getting her steam up, she had the strength of an Amazon.” He held up one clenched fist dramatically. “She moved in, got very close to him, and said, ‘I will kill you for this.’”
Hearing those words almost made my eyes bug out, but I quickly recovered. “Did Dillon say anything to that?”
“Not exactly.” Niall sneered in disgust. “He just laughed in her face.”
“Ouch.” Oh, that was so not a good thing to do to anyone. To a furious woman, it was even more foolhardy.
“Aye, it was cruel,” Niall agreed. “The wee fish woman stared at him for a moment, then slapped his face hard and walked away.” Niall took a quick sip. “It was quite inspiring.”
I had to take a minute to think. I gazed at the hillside and reveled in the light evening breeze. It was another beautiful night, except for the fact that murder was in the air.
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “Midge went to Rafe’s partner Dillon and told him about an idea she had. He later stole her idea. And then last night you heard him admit it to her face and then you heard her threaten to kill him. Is that the gist of it?”
“Yes!” He beamed at me. “You’re a smart one, Shannon Hammer.”
I had to chuckle at his praise. But I sobered up immediately. “We have to go to Chief Jensen and tell him exactly what you heard last night.”
He downed the rest of his wine and gave an abrupt nod. “Aye, there’s no escaping it. So let’s go.”
Chapter Five
Halfway to the car, Niall and I ran into Mac, who was just arriving.
“Hi,” I said after Mac had planted a brief but solid kiss on my lips. I touched his cheek. “You made it.”
“Sorry I’m late. I really got into the new book.”
“That’s wonderful.” I grinned. “Will there be an Ecosphere in there?”
“Oh, yeah. I spoke to Julian the plant guy earlier.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “It’s going to be awesome. That’s one of the reasons I had to start the book. Get it all down while it’s fresh in my mind.”
“I can’t wait to read it.” I glanced up at Niall, then back at Mac. “We’re on our way to see Chief Jensen.”
“Turning yourself in?” Mac asked lightly.
I smiled indulgently. “Funny, but no. Niall overheard someone threatening to kill Dillon. He wants to make a statement.”
“Now that’s interesting.” Mac checked his wristwatch. “I came out here to find you because I’m supposed to meet the chief at the pub in an hour for a beer. I thought maybe you’d like to join us.”
“I would. And Niall would, too, right?”
“Aye, a beer would be helpful.” He looked like a drowning man who had just been tossed a life preserver.
“I’ll bet.” Mac grinned. “I’ll give him a call.” He gazed at me. “Why don’t I ask him to meet us at your place?”
“I like that idea,” I said. “I was going to have to stop at home anyway to feed the creatures.”
“I’ll order a pizza,” Mac said. “I’m starving.”
“My hero.” I turned to Niall. “Does that work for you?”
“Och aye,” he said. The phrase came out in one smooth, breathy syllable.
In spite of the serious situation, I had to sigh. I could listen to him talk in that Scottish brogue all day. And I felt the same way about his sister Emily. I wasn’t always certain we were speaking the same language, but I loved the sound and rhythm of their voices, the appealingly musical quality of it. And I had to be honest, just looking at Niall while he talked was no hardship, either.
Mac looked at Niall. “I can give you a ride home later if you need one.”
“No, no,” Niall said. “But I thank ye. I’ll call Emily, have her pick me up on her way home.”
“Well, then,” Mac said. “We’re all set.”
* * *
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into my driveway and turned off the engine. Mac drove his car in behind me and we all walked through the backyard gate together. I could already hear Robbie barking like a maniac and I had to laugh. He was going to go bonkers over my guests. I couldn’t blame him.
“You have a dog,” Niall said, his eyes lighting up.
“How did you guess?” I said with a grin. “He’s a Westie and very friendly. And loud.”
He grinned broadly. “A perfect guard dog. I expect we’ll get along just fine.”
The three of us walked into the kitchen and watched Robbie go insane.
“His name is Robbie,” I explained over the barking, “short for Rob Roy, and he loves people.”
“Well, then, we have a few things in common, don’t we, Robbie?” Niall hung his leather satchel on the back of a kitchen chair, then sat down and patted his legs. “Up you go, lad.”
I laughed as I watched Robbie wiggle his butt until I thought he might shake it off. Once in Niall’s lap, he managed to sit still for a few seconds while he got his back stroked. Then he flipped over for stomach rubs, staring all the while at the big Scotsman with sheer adoration in his eyes.
“He’s a darling
thing, isn’t he?” Niall said. “A true warrior.”
I laughed. “Yes, he is.”
Tiger the cat, meanwhile, managed to maintain some dignity. She gave her attention to Mac, who held her and scratched between her ears. Then, hearing the sound of cans being opened, she jumped down and slunk across the room to the counter where I was preparing dinner. Wending her way in between my legs, she meowed loudly and head-butted me mercilessly.
“I’m hurrying,” I said, reaching down to ruffle the fur between her ears. “Chill out, why don’t you?”
Barely a minute later, I carried both of their dinner bowls over to their assigned spots and the two starving animals raced to gobble up the food. The humans were forgotten. For now.
I got beers out for Mac and Niall, then jogged upstairs to change out of my jeans and boots into yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and socks. I sent a quick text to Emily, Marigold, Jane, and Lizzie, asking if we could all meet tomorrow morning around ten o’clock because Marigold needed to vent.
Marigold quickly responded by inviting everyone to her new home with Rafe. He’ll be busy at the conference so we’ll have the house to ourselves, she assured us.
Emily wrote that she would be on-site and would provide pastries and coffee.
Lizzie said, Yay! I’ll be there.
Jane said, Can’t wait to see y’all.
Marigold thanked us all for the support.
That’s what we do, Jane typed, and wished us all sweet dreams.
* * *
* * *
Chief Jensen and the pizza delivery guy arrived at the same time, so the four of us sat down in the dining room and ate pizza and salad, drank wine or beer, and talked about murder.
Once Niall had dictated his statement to Eric, the chief asked him to sign it, and then slipped the handwritten sheets of paper into his notebook. Then he turned back to Niall. “I apologize again for the informality. I might need you to come down to the station if I have any other questions.”
“I understand,” Niall said. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Thank you.” Then Eric looked at me. “I apologize to you, too.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got to take care of this right now. Otherwise, I’ll have to drag you all down to the station.”
“Then you won’t get any pizza,” I said lightly.
“That’s why I’m staying right here.” Eric had his briefcase opened on top of the low cabinet across from the dining table. He twisted around in his chair and removed a small manila envelope marked EVIDENCE from his briefcase. Then he turned to Mac. “I’d like to ask if you can identify this item.”
“Looks like an envelope,” Mac said.
“Very good,” Eric said. “Smart-ass.”
Mac bit back a smile. “Can’t help myself.”
Eric reached into the manila envelope and pulled out a clear plastic bag. Enclosed inside the bag was a dangerous-looking knife. He handed it to Mac. “We don’t want any contamination, so don’t remove it from the bag. Just examine it as well as you can through the plastic and let me know what you think.”
We were obviously staring at the murder weapon. Blood from the blade was smeared against the side of the bag. I really tried hard not to look at it, but it was hard to look away. I felt my stomach wobble and folded my arms tightly across my chest.
“It’s a knife,” Mac said, but he wasn’t being funny this time. He took the bag from Eric and stared at the knife for a long time. He turned it this way and that, then over to examine the backside.
“It’s not a regulation weapon,” he said finally. “But then, there’s really no such thing these days.”
“Explain,” Eric said.
“When it comes to knives,” Mac began, “the military will occasionally issue a particular type to everyone. Maybe it’s because they got a package deal, or because some corporation wants the endorsement. But more often than not, we choose our own. Not everyone likes the same weight, texture, embellishments, whatever.”
“Embellishments,” Eric muttered, writing it down.
“You know, doodads, fancy stuff. Colors. That sort of thing.” Mac carefully set the sealed bag down on the table and grabbed a piece of pizza. “Some of the SEALs teams were issued a specific knife when we graduated, but nobody was forced to use them. I never used mine. It didn’t work for me. The manufacturer’s label was raised and it was right where my thumb sat.” He shrugged. “It was irritating. Now I carry a mini-reflex. It’s small, easy to hold, and the blade is retractable.”
“Retractable,” I repeated. “You mean, like a switchblade?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Eric said.
“I’d like to see it as well,” Niall added. “I use a number of different knives for work. Always in the market for something new.”
Mac nodded, then held up the bloody bag again. “This blade is fixed. Not retractable. A buddy of mine has something similar to this. He was an Army Ranger, if that helps.”
“Army Ranger?” I said, frowning. “Doesn’t Sketch Horn profess to be a former Army Ranger?”
“That’s what he says,” Mac groused. “But if he ever served one day in his miserable life, I’ll be a blue-nosed gopher.”
I stared at him. “A blue-nosed . . . gopher?”
He shrugged. “It’s an old saying my father always used.”
“’Tis a good one,” Niall said cheerfully.
“Were you in the military, Niall?” I asked.
“Aye.” He downed the rest of his beer. “British Army. Served in the Middle East for six years.” He gazed at each of us. “I built a lot of walls. The British military loves their walls.”
I patted his arm. “If they put you in charge of walls, they clearly recognized one of your strengths.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Our military forces are issued knives, but they’re fancier than this one. Stainless steel, with gadgets attached. Very handy.”
“Gadgets? Like a Swiss Army Knife?” I asked.
“Much the same, but sharper, stronger blades.” He winked at me. “British steel, you know.”
Eric rested his elbows on the table and looked at Mac. “So you don’t think Sketch Horn was an Army Ranger.”
“Not a chance. He’s a fake,” Mac insisted. “One soldier recognizes another.”
Niall gave a brief nod. “Aye, it’s true.”
I pointed to the bag he was still holding. “Maybe he’s faking it right down to his Army-issued knife.”
“Maybe,” Mac allowed. “Knowing Sketch, he probably read about some knife or other being ‘army issued’ and went out and bought it. But trust me, when it comes to knives, that whole ‘military issue’ hype doesn’t hold a lot of water. Now if you want to talk about guns, that’s another story.”
“Good to know.” Eric took the plastic bag from Mac, slipped it into the manila folder, and then set it inside his briefcase. “What do you know about this Sketch Horn character?”
“At the risk of repeating myself, I don’t like him,” Mac admitted. He took a sip of beer as if to wash the taste of the Sketch conversation out of his mouth. “I don’t trust him. He’s a liar and a cheat. But to be honest, I doubt that he killed Dillon, mainly because he’s a coward. But also, I’d be surprised if he even knew how to handle a knife like this. And more importantly, I don’t think he knows the guy.”
Eric sat back in his chair. Took a deep breath and blew it out. “That all makes sense. But since he pisses you off, I won’t remove him from the suspect list yet.”
Mac laughed out loud. “Thank you.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “I’ll bet there are a bunch of other people who hated Dillon Charles just as much as Midge Andersen did.” I winced, remembering something important. I quickly averted my eyes and stare
d at the pizza. “Mmm, I might have another slice.”
“Shannon,” Eric said sharply. “What aren’t you saying?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t the carefree ha-ha-ha laugh of a happy person. “You are by far the worst liar I have ever met.”
“What’re you talking about? I’m a good liar.”
Mac reached over and squeezed my arm. “You’re digging a hole, babe.”
I glared at him. “You were there, too. You heard them fighting. Why didn’t you tell Eric?”
Mac grinned. “God, I love you, Red.”
Despite wanting to bask in his words, I frowned. “That’s a non sequitur.”
“He wants to hear it from you,” Mac prompted.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but I’m having this last slice.” I reached for the pizza, then added, “And I love you, too.”
Eric took a slow sip of his beer. “You’re stalling. You should know that I’m not leaving until you talk.”
I pointed to my mouth, which was now full of pizza.
“I can wait,” he said. “You can’t chew forever.”
Briefly I considered trying. But then I swallowed the bite, drank some of my beer, and sighed. “All right. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything in terms of adding to your suspect list, but Rafe had a horrible argument with Dillon last night.”
That caught him by surprise and he stared at me for a long moment. “Rafe.”
“He wouldn’t have killed his own partner,” I insisted.
“Ex-partner,” Eric murmured.
“I think maybe they were still partners,” I said. “I guess you could find out. My point is, Rafe wouldn’t have killed him because Dillon was running the company for him. Rafe didn’t want to do it, so why would he kill the guy who was taking care of business?”
“Unfortunately,” Mac added, “that’s exactly what they were fighting about.”
“Right,” I said. “Dillon wanted Rafe to come back to work, but Rafe wouldn’t do it. Dillon said some really awful stuff about . . .”
“About what?” Eric demanded.
Shot Through the Hearth Page 10
