Hark! A Homicide

by Tricia L. Sanders

  Hark! A Homicide

  The Mattie and Mo Mysteries - A prequel

  Tricia L. Sanders

  Copyright © 2018 by Tricia L. Sanders

  Cover Design by Jenna St. James

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For Ray (Tiny) Sanders

  Always and Forever

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Releasing in 2021

  Also by Tricia L. Sanders

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  My first thank you is to my dear readers. Thank you for beginning Mattie’s journey. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Thank you, Margo Dill, Camille Subramaniam, Sarah Patsaros, Brandi Schmidt, and Grace Malinee.

  To Cayce Berryman at Kingsman Editing Services. Our first project together and the one that sold me.

  To Jenna St. James, thank you for your amazing cover and patience.

  Chapter One

  The fresh blanket of snow guaranteed a white Christmas. I kicked powder from my boots and inserted my key into the lock, balancing the package the mail carrier had just delivered. My mind whirled with thoughts about our family coming home to Pine Grove for the holidays. Before I could turn the knob, the door opened and Janine Lassiter, a member of the town council, stormed out of my house, slamming the door behind her.

  “I thought I recognized your car in the driveway,” I said.

  Janine blew past me. “Mattie, talk to your stubborn husband and tell him he’d better seriously consider the council’s offer,” she said over her shoulder.

  “What offer?” I asked, but she ignored me and got in her car.

  I shrugged and let myself in, puzzling over her outburst.

  Mo came out of the kitchen wearing his patrol uniform, which he hadn’t worn in years. It showed too. The buttons strained across his belly, not helped by the cookies he held in his hand.

  Even after forty years of marriage, and despite the straining buttons, he made me weak in the knees.

  “What’s that, babe?”

  “A present from Carrie,” I said, placing the box on the coffee table. “For me.” I swatted his hand when he passed. “Quit stealing cookies. There won’t be any left for the kids.”

  “Jeez, there’s enough to feed the whole town of Pine Grove. A few won’t hurt.”

  “Right! You said that about the fudge you helped yourself to last night.” I laughed and took one of the cookies and popped it into my mouth.

  Mo leaned over and read the shipping label. “Why’d she ship it? She’ll be here in three days.”

  “Beats me,” I said. “What was Janine doing here? She nearly knocked me down on her way out.” I pulled off my coat and gloves and pecked Mo on the cheek.

  Mo shrugged. “Came to deliver an edict from the council. Or at least from her cronies on the council.”

  I tugged at the tape, but it wouldn’t budge. Carrie, our eldest, had made sure the package would remain intact during transit. I’d need a blowtorch to get inside.

  “You want my pocketknife?” Mo asked, stuffing another cookie into his mouth.

  “Yes, please. What kind of edict?”

  Mo retrieved the knife from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to me. I gratefully accepted and attacked the packing tape with renewed vigor.

  “She’s got a bug up her butt to get me to retire.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Mo held his hands up, exasperation showing on his face. “Don’t start on me, Mattie. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I’m always on your side. But for once, you might want to consider what retirement could mean for us. We could travel. See our kids more often.” I sighed. “See each other more often. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “I’m not having this conversation again.”

  “Okay, okay.” I made a zipping motion across my mouth. “Why do you have your old patrol uniform on?”

  “Gotta work the street tonight.” Mo puffed out his chest and flexed his biceps in a he-man sort of way. “Covering for Tim.”

  Mo had been police chief of our little town in Gaston County for thirty years, only a few more than his father before him. To say the town loved Mo was an understatement. Three generations of Modesky men had served our community, starting with Mo’s grandfather, who was hired on when the department was first created.

  “You aren’t serious,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s risky? You haven’t been on patrol in years.”

  He swatted me on the butt. “Woman, I still got the touch. Once a cop, always a cop.”

  Rather than hurt his feelings, I kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t like it. Mo would be sixty-five his next birthday and lacked the quick reflexes he’d had when he was younger. In fact, I’d been trying to get him to retire for several years, but as stubborn as he was, I didn’t see it happening anytime soon.

  Mo put his arm around me and hugged me close. “Nothing to worry about darlin’. I’m going to ride around town—rattle a few doorknobs to make sure the shops down on Main are locked up for the night. I’ll be home before the late news is over. Promise.”

  I smiled and leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling my tension drain in his comfortable arms. Then I pulled back and looked up at him. A tiny flicker of dread inched its way into my bones. “What’s wrong with Tim?” Tim was second-in-command and covered evening shift. He hadn’t missed a day of work in the ten years he’d been with Mo.

  “He called while you were gone. Megan went into labor. They’re headed to the hospital.” Mo pushed the last cookie into his mouth and brushed his hands together, scattering crumbs all over the living room carpet.

  “What? She’s not due for a couple of weeks.”

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t know nothing about having babies, except they come when they’re ready. This one decided he couldn’t wait. Now I’m down two officers. Megan’s replacement up and quit last week.”

  Megan worked for Mo too.

  “You’re the chief of police. You shouldn’t be covering the street,” I said.

  “With our manpower shortage, it’s either me or I’ll have to call the sheriff and get a deputy to cover a shift. County’s shorthanded too. With Christmas right around the corner, no one wants to take on extra shifts.”

  Mo’s walkie-talkie crackled, and the dispatcher announced suspicious persons lurking near the loading dock of Kramer’s Furniture Store—the location of our Christmas donation drop-off. After Thanksgiving, all the churches in the area established a consolidated site for the public t
o donate new toys and clothing for children who would otherwise have no presents, much less a tree to put the gifts under.

  “Oh no.” I groaned. “Hope no one’s trying to make off with the gifts.” My best friend, Lizbeth, and I had worked so hard to make the drive a success. I clenched my fists at the thought of someone wiping out our efforts.

  “I’ll go check it out. You get to baking more cookies. Santa’s going to need a big snack this year.” He patted his belly then planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Make sure that drop box is secure. It’s too close to Christmas to have to do this all over.” I finished cutting the tape off the package, folded the knife, and remembered too late what I’d done.

  “Daggum woman, how many times do I have to tell you it’s bad luck to close a knife that someone else opened?” Mo frowned and pocketed his knife. “Last time you did that, I had a flat tire. Now, I’ll probably get stuck in a snowbank.”

  Chapter Two

  Mo’s superstitions grated on my nerves. After he left for work, I finished opening my gift—an antique Santa. Carrie constantly fed my obsession for all things Christmas, which did nothing but irritate my better half. I loved the man, but lately we’d been pushing each other’s buttons. Me, with my badgering him about retiring, and him hassling me about all my Christmas décor. I did overdo it, but I loved Christmas, and part of me hoped the feeling would rub off on him eventually. Every year I had to coerce him into playing Santa. He’d grumble and howl until he saw the children’s faces light up as he handed out the gifts.

  After Mo left, Lizbeth came over, and we worked on our plans for the big celebration. After tying up a few loose ends, we were ready. We’d managed to secure turkeys with all the fixings from the local market and pies from the Double L Café. The high school art class volunteered to decorate the hall. After dinner, Mo, aka Santa, would arrive and hand out gifts. This Christmas would mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of the annual event, and we expected a record turnout.

  “The church ladies are set to prepare the meal,” Lizbeth said.

  “Huh?” I asked, my mind preoccupied. I hadn’t told her yet about the suspicious persons spotted near the collection box.

  She closed the planning book. “You’re a thousand miles away. What’s wrong?”

  I shared my concern, and she scolded me, “Go call Mo. He’ll tell you everything is okay. Nothing bad ever happens in Pine Grove, worrywart.”

  Unless I had an emergency, Mo hated me calling him at work. He wasn’t much for talking on the phone. At the most, I’d get a grunt and an uh-huh before he’d hang up, because he had something important to tend to.

  I hesitated but picked up the phone and punched in his cell number. It rang several times and went to voice mail.

  “Mo, call me,” I said into the phone. “Lizbeth’s here, and we’re going over all the plans. We won’t have much of a celebration if the donations are gone.” An instinctive tremor raced up my spine. Something felt off. I quickly added, “Love you, honey. Call me, okay?” Worry, for a cop’s wife, always lurked just beneath the surface. Anytime my husband was late coming home from work, anxiety set in. Not being able to reach him tripled my fear.

  I disconnected and called dispatch. “Cora, have you heard from Mo?”

  “Not since he went out to the furniture store.”

  My stomach lurched, and I glanced at the clock trying to determine how long it had been since he’d left.

  “I was just getting ready to call you to see if he had swung back by your house for a late dinner and was ignoring me,” Cora said. “Oh, let him know that alderwoman came sniffing around questioning the budget, training hours, and manpower. She wants a full report for the next board meeting.”

  Her words barely registered. It wasn’t like Mo not to check in with Cora. “He’s not here. Call the county sheriff’s department and get a deputy over there. With Mo not answering, there’s no one covering the city. I’m going to head over there now.”

  “Wait, let me—”

  I disconnected before Cora could finish her sentence. I knew what she’d say and didn’t want to hear it. My husband might be in danger, and I wasn’t going to wait around for a deputy to drive who knew how many miles to check on him. Especially when I was only two blocks away.

  “Come on, Lizbeth. Grab your purse. We’re going on a mission.”

  Lizbeth wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody. Kind of like a ninja warrior who wore comfy shoes and yoga pants. What I liked most about her was that she could keep a secret. She knew more about me than even my husband. When we arrived at the store, Lizbeth slung her car door open and took off like a scalded cat. She beat me across the parking lot by a full minute. Not bad for a woman of sixty-three. By the time I caught up with her, my breath came in spurts and gasps. I had one year on her, so at least I had an excuse for being slower.

  We took the slippery, snow-covered steps up to the loading dock where the collection box sat. Two legs clad in green tights and pointy shoes stuck out of the drop-down door.

  “What in the world?” Lizbeth reached out and touched one of the legs. “Omigod, it’s real. Someone’s in there.”

  “You don’t think—” I leaned in closer.

  Lizbeth tugged on one of the shoes. It fell off, revealing the ugliest foot I’d ever see.

  A feeling of relief spread through me. My husband’s feet were pretty rough, but nothing like this gnarly mess. “Call Cora and make sure there’s a deputy on the way. I have to find Mo.”

  A slew of shoe prints and paw prints in the snow led to the other side of the dock. I ran to the edge and peered over. Mo lay sprawled on his belly next to a large black dog I’d nicknamed Max. The gray-muzzled lab, who had been running loose in Pine Grove and evading capture for several weeks, whined and struggled to get up.

  “Call an ambulance too,” I screamed. Without a second thought, I jumped to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain up my spine, bringing me to my knees.

  I winced as I crawled over to my husband and said a prayer of thanks when I saw small puffs of breath. I knew better than to turn him over without knowing the full extent of his injuries, but when I dug the snow out around his face so he could get more air, I saw a deep gash on his forehead. Blood oozed out, mixing with the snow.

  “Mo, honey, it’s me.” I bent near him and continued to talk. “Mo, can you hear me? Wake up, honey.”

  He opened one eye. “What happened? Where am I?” He tried to push himself up and groaned. “I think my shoulder is dislocated. It hurts like the devil. Help me up.”

  “Stay still. You have a nasty cut on your head. Lizbeth’s calling an ambulance,” I said. “Cora dispatched a county car, but who knows where he is. Remember, you were checking on the suspicious person?”

  Mo blinked. “That’s right. Now I remember.”

  “Mo, there’s a body sticking out of the box,” I said, my teeth chattering at the thought.

  “Stay away from there,” Mo said. “It’s a crime scene.”

  The dog beside Mo yelped. Lizbeth had made it down where we were and kneeled beside the animal. “It’s okay, buddy.” She rubbed the dog’s head and talked to him in soothing tones.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked Mo. The faint sound of a siren cut through the evening air. The county deputy still hadn’t arrived.

  “Santa Claus,” Mo said. “And here you thought Christmas was all goodness and giving. The old guy was stuffing his elf in the box when I arrived. He’d have done the same with me if that old dog hadn’t intervened.” Mo rolled onto his side, wincing when he jostled his shoulder. “That dog saved my life. He pushed between me and the perp—that’s when I fell off the loading dock. Then the dog took a tumble.”

  Lizbeth pulled herself up. “I’m gonna go out on the street and flag down the ambulance.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  “Is the mutt okay?” Mo asked.

  I reached over and laid my hand on the dog’s side. He craned his head and licked
my fingers. I twirled his red collar to see if he had a name tag, but there was none. Then he belly-crawled over to Mo and licked his face. “I think he got the wind knocked out of him, and his back leg has a nasty-looking wound.”

  Chapter Three

  Lizbeth loaded the dog into my car and took him to the vet while I rode in the ambulance with Mo. My heart sank to see Mo flat on his back in the ambulance. But when they wheeled him into the ER, he’d already picked a fight with the EMS attendant. I had to smile. My husband would never go down without a fight.

  “Let me up,” Mo shouted. “I’ll have your job, you insubordinate knucklehead.”

  “Chief, you need to calm down.” The attendant gave me the side-eye and rolled my husband toward a curtained-off area.

  “Mattie, this is all your fault. What did I tell you about closing my dang pocketknife?” Mo said, adding a chuckle.

  I teared up. The prospect of having my husband shot or killed in the line of duty had been ever-present in our marriage. Each day when he went off to work, I made a pact with God to watch over Mo. I’d always promise to be a better wife, mother, citizen. Earlier in the afternoon, I’d been aggravated at Mo and forgot my usual ritual. Between the pocketknife and forgetting to plea bargain with God, I’d let my husband down. This really was my fault.

  The EMS guy laughed as he recounted Mo’s injuries to the admitting clerk. “He got into it with Santa Claus. Minor scalp laceration, but he also fell off a loading dock. Or rather, he was pushed off by that mangy dog that’s been hanging around town. Might have busted his shoulder.”