Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  His voice faltered. “We’d better head to Iona.”

  Chapter 27

  Jerry drove my SUV to a location close to the Willards’ drive. Ben had brought Rock as I’d requested. He sat in the back, tail wagging. The sheriff had made an appointment for a junk pick up at a fictitious address nearby.

  Jerry’s phone rang. He listened and hung up. “The sheriff said we’re clear to go in now. Mr. Willard and Matthew left in their truck at nine-fifty. Mrs. Willard is still home.”

  Jerry hopped out of the SUV and I slid behind the wheel. He leaned in. “Wilcox told me to tell you not to be a wiseass with those people and get yourself killed.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound like I was being a wiseass, so I nodded. He hurried through the woods to join the sheriff behind the shed and junk pile within easy listening distance of me. Ben was stationed in the woods, his high-powered rifle trained on the Willards in case of sudden movements.

  I put the car in gear and moved toward the Willards’ driveway. Ben didn’t think I could steer the SUV with my bandaged hands but I’d assured him I could handle it.

  He was right. My hands wouldn’t bend in the bandages, and they hurt. Even going slow, the rutted road jerked the steering wheel, so I used my elbows and knees to steer slowly past the Willards’ house. The plan was for Mrs. Willard to see me and call her husband. He’d turn around and come back.

  I parked by the junk pile and Rock ran to it. A minute later, Mrs. Willard’s car bounced down the washboard road and pulled up next to the shed. She threw her car in park and jogged toward me, muffin top jiggling in her too-small tank top.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re getting away with. My husband is on his way home and you’d better be gone before he gets here.”

  “Or what?”

  I heard the truck before it rounded the corner. Dust flying, the Willards bore down on us. Brakes squealed, doors slammed and Mr. Willard came forward, rifle in hand. Matthew was a few steps behind, unarmed. Mrs. Willard scooted next to her men.

  Rock growled but I told him to wait.

  Mr. Willard’s mean eyes bored into me. “I told you the next time you came on my property I’d shoot you for trespassing.”

  He hadn’t pointed the rifle at me yet. I tilted my head toward the junk pile. “What are you hiding under there?”

  His eyes widened. “Now wait a minute.”

  “I’m thinking bodies.”

  Matthew grinned, his mismatched teeth dominating the bottom half of his face. “They’re right where they belong with the rest of the garbage no one wants.”

  Mr. Willard darted a nervous look at his son, clearly uncomfortable with the alpha dog role reversal.

  I said, “That’s the big project, right? Ridding the area of gay people.”

  Mr. Willard recovered his bluster. “Whoever’s doing that down in Spirit Lake isn’t with us but we thank him for taking on the cause.”

  Matthew spit a stream of tobacco at the ground and pointed at the junk pile. “This is what makes a difference and you and that dog will be joining them today.” I said, “You’re not worried about the sheriff?”

  Mr. Willard said, “We’ve had to scale way back on our project because of you. But I doubt your sheriff is going to be bothering us anymore.” He sniffed. “He was damn embarrassed when he found out we had nothing to do with those mutts or that old guy.” He lifted his rifle.

  I stepped back as Wilcox came out from behind the building. “Put the weapon down.” Jerry walked toward us from his crouching position behind the junk pile, gun raised. Ben came out of the woods, his rifle trained on Mr. Willard’s head.

  Matthew’s head swiveled. “She’s trespassing.” He sounded like a whiny kid tattling to his teacher.

  Mrs. Willard stepped behind her husband. “You got a warrant?”

  Wilcox held up an envelope. I said to Rock, “What did you find, buddy?” He ran to the back of the junk pile and started digging.

  That’s where they found the first body.

  ***

  A three-ring circus arrived on the scene—Branson and Iona police, forensics, a BCA investigator. Someone came with an earth mover to get the big junk out of the way and a crew with shovels set to work.

  A news van arrived. Jason was there, of course, and Thor. My camera bag was in the SUV. I asked Jason to take photos, explaining what to shoot and which lens to use.

  Two hours later, they’d found a total of six bodies. One of them had been there longer than the others. Not feeling steady, I leaned against my car at the edge of the scene. Jerry and Wilcox had their heads together, then Jerry came over to me and asked if I was ready to go to Spirit Lake. I hated to leave but nodded. “Little doesn’t know I’m out here.”

  Ben intercepted us. “Britt, are you sure you’re okay?”

  I said, “We’re on our way to Spirit Lake.”

  His face had a stubborn set. “Let me take a look at that left hand.”

  I brought it out from behind my back. The gauze was red-stained in several places and coming loose. He said, “We’re going back to the hospital. Jerry, you can assist Wilcox.”

  Too tired to resist, I let him boost me into his truck. He pulled the seatbelt across my body and his lips grazed my forehead. “You have a fever.”

  I wanted to ask him to keep doing that with his lips but remembered my brother was waiting for me. “Do you mind calling Little to tell him I’ll be late?”

  Ben tapped in the number. “It’s Ben. Britt’s having her bandage changed so we’ll be delayed a while.” When he hung up, he said, “You shouldn’t have left the hospital.”

  I said, “Worth it to have the Willards behind bars, though, right?”

  He whistled for Rock.

  My hands and head were throbbing by the time we arrived at the hospital. I wanted pain meds and bed.

  Dr. Fromm discovered an infection on my left hand, the more badly burned of the two. Instead of heading home, I’d be spending another night in the hospital with an IV drip of mega antibiotics.

  Ben gave Little the message and then said he had to go.

  “Thank you for looking out for me, Ben.”

  He nodded, moving toward the door. “I won’t be in Spirit Lake for a while.”

  My head drooped from the meds. “You said the BW project was wrapped up.”

  “For now. I’ll be at the forestry office clearing up all the work that didn’t get done while I was up there.”

  “What you’re really saying is that you don’t want to be with me, even though I’ll be here the rest of the summer.”

  His voice had an edge. “Or maybe Marta will call in a couple of weeks, and you won’t be here.”

  My chin lifted. “You said you loved me and would always be there for me.”

  The squint lines at the sides of his eyes deepened. “Do you know how hard it was for me to do my job, worrying every minute about you? You almost got yourself killed. Again. Maybe my attitude is part of the problem, but I can’t change that.” He turned away. “Take care of those hands.”

  Late in the evening, Wilcox came into the room. His eyes were bloodshot but no longer haunted. I cradled yet another green smoothie between my knees. Utensils were still impossible to deal with. I wanted milkshakes, but Little said first I needed antioxidants. He’d left a strawberry milkshake for dessert.

  Wilcox leaned against a wall. “Five of the bodies matched the missing persons in the county. Tell me again how you were so sure the bodies were under that junk pile.”

  “It was kind of free association. I remembered how Rock wouldn’t leave it alone every time we were there.”

  His eyebrow went up. “I told you not to go back after that first time.”

  I studied my bandages. “I’d overheard them talking about a big project that would really make a difference, not like the small-time stuff they’d been doing. Plus, they were extra-protective of that junk pile. And when Jason’s research showed a dramatic n
umber of gay people had gone missing, I thought it was worth a look.”

  “That body that had been there longer than the rest has been identified as the Willards’ oldest son.”

  “I figured.”

  “Good work, Britt.” The sheriff sagged into a chair. “This has been one hell of a rough summer for all of us.”

  “Did you ask Matthew what he was doing in Spirit Lake all those times I saw him near the restaurant?”

  He nodded. “They wanted to keep an eye on you, but made sure Matthew had alibis.”

  I snorted. “Mr. Willard likes to think of himself as “strategic.” That worked out well for him.”

  Wilcox said he had to go, but I stopped him before he reached the door. “Sheriff, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for not listening to you. I’ll do better from now on.”

  He half-grimaced. “Let’s hope the rest of the summer is quiet so we don’t have to test that statement.”

  ***

  A warm breeze blew through the open windows and white dots of sailboats tacked back and forth across Spirit Lake. Customers were back in full force and the kitchen hummed under Little’s direction, but he lacked his usual energy. Using a cane, Lars stood behind the counter telling customers where to catch the biggest fish. His voice wasn’t as hearty, his laugh less engaging. Maybe time would help but they’d been talking about going back to teaching.

  Grateful for the ability to use utensils again, I awkwardly finished my pancakes and looked across the counter at Lars. “Are you going with me to therapy? The skin on my hands had dried and cracked and it hurt to bend them, but I went to the hospital every day. Occupational therapy was a matter of survival. If I couldn’t take photos, I wouldn’t exist.

  “We’re too busy for me to leave right now. I’ll have to reschedule.” A family of four came in, and with his cane in one hand and menus in the other, he led them to a table.

  On the days he had therapy, Lars and I drove together. He wasn’t angry anymore, although he still didn’t remember what happened to him. We all thought that might be for the best.

  The writers’ group had dispersed, no doubt having gotten more ideas for their writing than they’d bargained for, especially Anke. She’d almost gotten arrested. Lars had told Neil he couldn’t use the information Lars had given him about fishing on Spirit Lake. I’d finally checked messages on Gert’s computer. Sebastian had sent information about Peder Halvorsen from Oslo, noting that he wasn’t the same person in the photo I’d sent. That information would have helped if I’d gotten to my cabin earlier.

  And I was in the same situation as at the beginning of the summer—no Ben. Two weeks had passed and Ben hadn’t been seen anywhere near Spirit Lake.

  Before heading to Branson, I stopped in at Bella’s for a shampoo. I could shower with the plastic mitts the hospital gave me but had trouble doing my hair. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy Violet’s soothing scalp massages and citrusy shampoo.

  Ginger Bolger was just leaving the salon. She waved a hand, heavy with diamonds. “Not selling us your little piece of property was no biggie. Mo’s working on a deal on the other side of us. The place recently burned down and Mo says the owner is a motivated seller.”

  I winced at the memory of that fire and offered Ginger my best fake sweet smile. “Now your ‘family’ can all be together.”

  Bella, in her corner rocker, watched CNN on the wall-mounted TV. A reporter talked into the camera as scenes of civil war in South Sudan played out in the background. I turned away. No amount of Violet’s ministrations would make this a better day.

  Violet swooped in from the back of the duplex. “Ready for your shampoo?”

  I slumped into the chair and stared at the TV again. Bella turned down the volume. “What’s got you so mopey?”

  “Everyone in town knows why, Bella.”

  “You and Ben have been obstinate since you were kids, but one of you has to make the first move and it might as well be you; you’re the one who’s always doing something foolish.”

  Violet tipped the chair against the sink and tucked a towel under my neck. Her cupid’s bow lips turned up. “He might be ready now. It’s been nearly two weeks.” Warm water sluiced over my head as she sudsed and massaged with gentle fingers.

  She was right, why not give it another shot? I had nothing to lose.

  His green truck was parked in front of the forestry building. I pulled in, rehearsing what I’d say to make him trust me again.

  I braced myself and walked in. The freckled volunteer looked up from a rack of brochures she was straightening. “Hey, Britt! I haven’t seen you in ages. Ben’s in his office.”

  “Thanks, Lisa.” His door was slightly open so I tapped once, then went in. His desk faced the door, the blue expanse of Branson Lake visible in the window behind him. He smiled from behind his computer.

  Stepping closer, I said. “I’m on my way to therapy and saw your truck.”

  He tilted his head toward my hands. “How’s it going?”

  I held them out. They were normal size now and covered with a thin gauze as if I wore fishnet gloves. “Fromm says they’re right on track. I’m getting flexibility back. It’s slower with the left because of that infection.”

  “Good.” He moved some papers on his desk, a hint he wanted me to go, but he didn’t look angry, just indifferent.

  “Ben.” I waited until his eyes met mine. “Can’t we start this whole summer over?”

  He sighed. “That’s always your solution.”

  I spoke past the lump in my throat. “It’s a way to keep from losing each other.”

  His dark eyes were fathomless, likely pondering how to say no to me again.

  “I have to get to my therapy.” I backed out the door.

  On the way to the hospital I mentally ranted at Bella. Did I really need to humiliate myself with Ben again? He had it right. I never learned.

  ***

  That afternoon, as the waves slapped at the soles of my feet dangling off the end of the dock, I decided things were okay. I couldn’t swim, but I’d run for an hour and worked on reps of situps and squats. Marta hadn’t fired me. Gonzales was in South Sudan and the important thing was that someone was covering it. My hands were healing and there would be other projects. I congratulated myself for thinking like a grownup.

  Rock rolled in a dead fish that had washed up on shore a few yards away. Knute was flopped on his side next to me. He no longer walked in circles in the driveway or howled at the moon. Remembering Gert, as I often did, I said to him. “That feeling of loss never goes away, Knute, but there’s still a sweetness in life and if you think about that person in one of those moments, they’re with you and they know you’re sharing it with them.” The old dog’s tail thumped a couple of times.

  I raised my eyes to the sky at a buzzing sound off in the distance. A low-flying plane came into view. I held up my hand to block the glare. The plane veered toward my side of the lake. It flew closer, and I recognized Woz’s blue Beaver heading straight for my dock. It circled and landed, bounced on the floats, skimmed for a few yards and stopped. I waved, wondering why Woz was making a personal visit. He wasn’t the social type and not usually on the scene unless there was trouble.

  In the next second, the door opened and Ben jumped out. He waded over, soaking his shorts and pulled himself up next to me. Rock raced to him, tail wagging. Ben reached over to pet him, wrinkled his nose and pulled back. “Rolling in fish again, buddy?”

  I found my voice. “You and Woz tracking down bad guys on Spirit Lake?”

  “We’re heading to the BW but I wanted to see you first.” He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning.”

  Hope quivered in my chest. “You want to start over?”

  “No, I don’t want to start over because then nothing changes.”

  A defiant heat rose to my cheekbones and I pointed toward the plane. “Then I guess that means you aren’t
carrying me off to the BW in your mighty blue steed.”

  “I’m sorry, not this time, but what you said is true. I do dangerous work and the cases take over my life and I expect you to be cool with it. But when you’re in the middle of something like what happened here, I go crazy worrying about you even though you’re as tough as they come.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I’d handle it better if you were trained in law enforcement. You hardly even know how to use a weapon.”

  “I hate guns. My martial arts training and instincts have worked for me so far.”

  “It’s not about guns, it’s about training, learning how to protect yourself.” His eyes searched mine as if asking for understanding. “I don’t see how I can change my attitude but I’m going to work on it.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. “I could go to one of those citizens’ academies and learn some law enforcement stuff.”

  We turned as Woz started the engine, a hint our time was running out.

  Ben kissed me. “I’ll be gone a week and when I get back we’ll find a lake all to ourselves, no tourists, no fishermen, just us. How does that sound?”

  I grinned. “You and me in a tent in the middle of the wilderness sounds good.”

  He put his hands under my arms and raised me to my feet. The right side of his mouth twitched. “You probably won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

  My newly dexterous index finger beckoned him closer. Our lips nearly touching, I said, “Worth it even if it sets my recovery back a bit.”

  I waved as the Beaver lifted off, then walked into the cabin feeling light as air. A week wasn’t that long. Across the room, my landline message light blinked.

  Marta’s message was brief. “Pack your bags.”

  Acknowledgments