by Jenna Kernan
When he returned, he was grinning.
Molly greeted his arrival to the cab with a lick on the cheek and received what Nadine would describe as a headlock, but the dog seemed content with the attention.
“What did I miss?”
“The vet has custody of a black Lab found wandering on a highway.”
“You think it’s Nikki’s dog? Char?”
“She responded to her name.”
“We have to call Darnell.”
She phoned Skogen and relayed the find. He was sending someone to speak with the vet and check the dog before notifying Darnell.
She finished the call and tucked the phone away.
“I hope it’s his dog.” Small comfort was better than none.
“Next stop?”
“The shooting range and gun shop.”
“Finally,” she said. “Never been in one.”
“I could pick you up a nice—”
“No.”
“You need to carry protection.”
She briefly closed her eyes, summoning the emotional energy needed to have this argument yet again.
“These are enough,” she said, motioning to the Taser and pepper spray he knew she carried in her purse.
“They’re not. A Taser is only good at close range and you have to get both contacts into the body.”
“It worked for my mother.”
The mention of her mother momentarily stopped him.
He was trying to protect her. She knew it and that thought crashed up against his dictatorial posture and the orders he issued as if she was one of his patrol officers. Or worse, as if he were her mother.
She needed to let Clint know that, although they had been dating exclusively for months, he was not her keeper.
“I’m not carrying anything that can kill someone.”
“You should.”
She would not allow ready access to something with such deadly irreversible implications. A little squeeze of a trigger and she was no better than the lunatics swinging from her family tree.
“Nadine?”
She shifted in her seat, facing him.
“Sleeping with me doesn’t give you the right to make decisions for me, Demko.”
His mouth dropped open a moment. She only called him Demko when on the job or, it seemed, when she was furious at him.
He lifted his gaze and pinned her, letting her see the hurt her words had caused before turning his attention back to the road.
“Now, see, I thought that a relationship meant looking out for each other.”
That was a gut punch. She absorbed it and blew out a breath.
“Yes. It does.”
His jaw muscles tightened as he stared straight ahead.
“You know, a relationship sometimes means compromise.”
“My compromise is that you carry the gun and I carry my laptop.”
The remainder of the drive to the gun shop passed in silence.
After they arrived, Nadine headed in first to see if the place was dog friendly.
Inside, she was struck with a blast of welcome cold air and the sight of various animal heads mounted on the walls, all staring down at her with glass eyes. Both the buffalo and the pronghorn wore bunny ear headbands, and the coyote held an Easter basket in its gaping jaws.
Festive, she thought and shuddered.
“Hey, there!” The cheerful voice came from behind the row of showcases along the far wall.
The sales associate was a middle-aged inked woman with jet-black hair and a tight, low-cut top that revealed a turquoise bra.
Nadine inquired about their dog policy.
“I love dogs. Bring him in. Leash, though, okay?”
She retrieved the pair, finding Molly squatting to pee and Demko on the phone.
“All clear,” she said and returned.
The interior included rows of locked glass showcases, upright gun safes, regular safes and archery equipment. She narrowed her eyes on the arrows, relying on Juliette’s belief that the punctures were small, thin, deep and created with a double-edged instrument atypical of even a double-edged blade.
While the sales associate lavished attention on Miss Molly, Clint made a loop of the store. He also paused before the arrows.
“You sell a lot of these?” he asked.
“Archery equipment? Sure. Quail season just closed. Deer season opens for archery and crossbow season in August. Then there’s turkey and bobcat after that. No hunting now, though. Mating season. Critters got to raise their young.” She eyed him. “You need a permit?”
“Would you have a list of buyers?”
She straightened at this question. “I don’t give out customers’ information.”
“We’re working on a murder case.”
Her expression hardened. “Even so.” Then she called over her shoulder. “Dad! Get out here.”
From the back of the gun shop came an elderly man with twin gray braids, wearing a black T-shirt advertising a country music festival. He had a cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth.
The woman motioned her head toward them.
“Cops.”
“Can I help you, Officer?” said the owner to Demko.
“We are trying to learn who might have purchased archery equipment from you in the last year.”
“Long list. You got a warrant for this?”
“We don’t,” Demko said.
“Then I’ll say good day and ask you to leave my shop.”
“Your name?”
The owner lifted his chin. “Oliver Banderwall.”
“Thank you, Mr. Banderwall, for your help.”
They made a hasty exit.
“Banderwall?” she said.
Demko opened the computer fixed to his dashboard and started typing. A few minutes later, he shook his head.
“Yup. Mr. Banderwall. He has two daughters, June and Julie. Clean record. Veteran. Owns a Harley. No known criminal associates. No warnings for illegal sales. Seems to run a tight ship.”
“Do you think our killer would buy arrows locally?”
“Might. Hard to say. But I’d mention this place to Skogen.”
“How do you know he hasn’t already been here?”
“Banderwall would have said so. Visit from the Feds leaves an impression.”
Demko loaded Molly, and Nadine slipped back into the stifling hot vehicle.
“Clint? I’m sorry about the argument.”
He took her hand. “I just want you safe.”
“I know that.”
He put them in gear and on they went.
“Outdoor adventure place?”
“Yes. It’s the one where Karnowski and Betters rented the kayak.”
The outfit he mentioned was inside the forest. Nadine read the reviews on Google as they pulled into the lot of Big Water Marina in Kerr City.
“Marina, kayak rentals, boat launch, eco-tours, bird-watching, fishing outings, uh-oh… bait, camping and hunting supplies.”
“You want to come along or go explore?” he asked.
“Bit of both, I think.”
They piled out and into the marina office and gift shop. The place was filled with useful items for boating, branded clothing and knickknacks. The area closest to the door seemed a camp store, with the sorts of foods you might enjoy while on a houseboat or RV.
Behind the glass counter stood a door to an inner office. Demko called a hello and a woman stepped out to greet them.
Her hair was stick straight, the color of wheat and hung beside her weathered face. Her smile deepened the lines bracketing her mouth. Nadine thought there were more than a few dark spots on her face that she might want to get looked at.
“Hey there, folks. Sorry, I didn’t hear the bell.”
“You the owner?” asked Demko.
“Me and the mister.” She blinked benignly at them. “How can I help ya?”
“I’m Detective Clint Demko.”
Her brows lifted. “Lou Anne Kilpa
trick. What’s this about?”
“Murder investigation.”
Her eyes widened at that and her thin brow rose.
“We’re speaking to all the businesses in the area. Not just yours.”
Lou Anne nodded, seeming reassured by this.
“Seen in the paper about them two bodies found in the forest. Such a shame. Their poor families.”
Demko went through his battery of inquiries. Asked about men traveling alone. Asking if she’d seen anyone that made her uncomfortable.
“No. Just the normal folks. Tourists, travelers, nature lovers and fishermen.”
“One of the victims rented a kayak here the day she went missing,” said Nadine.
The owner blinked and then said, “Oh, God.”
Clearly, they’d beaten Skogen’s team here. Nadine thought that would not be well received.
Demko continued his queries as she circled the store with Molly. Nadine eyed the bag of marshmallows, recalling Rosie mentioning a firepit table on the pool deck. Then she perused the collection of hunting knives and jackknives in a glass showcase. She saw no ammunition, firearms or archery equipment, but the corner was chock full of fishing gear, nets and a bubbler tank she assumed held live bait.
From Demko’s questions she learned Lou Anne ran several types of tours per week and had three full-time employees, plus her husband and son. They were all here.
Finally he showed her the photos of Karnowski and Darnell.
Lou Anne pointed to Rita Karnowski. “She looks familiar. Might have seen her. You say she rented a kayak?”
“Tandem. Mid-March.”
“Then I got a waiver. What’s her name?”
“Karnowski. You have those waivers?” he asked.
She nodded and retrieved a stack.
“That’s March.”
He handed them to Nadine and asked for permission to speak to Lou Anne’s people. She gave the okay.
“You’ll find Simon out by the kayaks. He’s my son.”
Nadine found it curious that her smile faltered at the mention of her boy. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves and fingered through the stack of waivers.
“We have one naturalist, Lionel Decristofaro. He runs all the nature tours on the boat, the bird-watching outings and the nature walks. My husband is Roy. Anyone’s guess where he might be, store, town, on the lake. Outdoors, that’s all I ever know for sure. I’ll call him on the radio if you can’t track him down. Then there’s Kelly Dietz, who takes morning kayak and paddleboard tours. She’s part-time. Gotta be home before the kiddos, you know? And Jessie Useche who fixes anything with a motor and helps me here in the shop.”
She glanced down to Molly, now lying beside Nadine’s feet. “Uh, you want to buy that?”
Molly had somehow purloined a stuffed manatee from a lower bin without detection and now sat happily gnawing on its head.
“Oh, of course,” said Demko. His hand went to his wallet again and he drew out a fifty-dollar bill.
“Detective Demko,” said Nadine, holding up a waiver.
He met her gaze. “Karnowski?”
She nodded. Out came a large evidence bag. Nadine took custody of the evidence as Lou Anne called Jessie Useche in to take over so she could bring them around.
He was in his early thirties, with grease under his nails and on his jeans. He wore well-broken-in construction boots, a faded long-sleeved shirt and a worn cap advertising the marina.
He answered all questions but added nothing to the case. Lou Anne brought them out to see the naturalist next. Unlike Jessie, this man wore spotless tan clothing of light nylon and the sort of shirt that deflects the sun’s harmful rays. His wide-brimmed hat and glasses covered much of his face, but Nadine noted he was average height, fit and mid-thirties. Around his neck hung the largest pair of binoculars she had ever seen, secured in a harness system, much like a reverse backpack.
As Clint spoke to him, a small, disheveled man made his way up from the boat launch. This employee wore frayed jean shorts that threatened to slide off his narrow waist and flat rear end. Sweat and lake water soaked his stained T-shirt, and he wore only flip-flops on his feet.
“Simon! Where you goin’?” Lou Anne’s voice was sharp as cut glass.
Nadine gawked at the transformation between the jovial host who greeted them and this miniature tyrant now screeching at her son.
Simon skidded to a halt. “Um, break?”
His eyes held caution and his shoulders lifted toward his ears. Nadine frowned at the odd high tenor of his voice.
“You rinse all those kayaks?”
“Most of ’em.”
Lou Anne stepped away. Nadine watched her berate the man, who looked close to forty, and send him scuttling back to the launch to drag the kayaks up from the lakeshore and onto the racks. Lou Anne supervised with hands on hips as he hosed down the crafts and then ordered him to put all the flotation vests in the shed.
Simon trudged through his chores, occasionally squeaking a reply to his overbearing mother. The scene reminded her of her own mother’s outbursts as she screamed at her and Arlo over various offenses and she felt instantly sorry for Simon.
“She always on him like that?” asked Demko to the naturalist.
“Yeah. I told him he should quit, but he said he can’t find another job. I mean, who would hire him?”
Nadine noted the worn sci-fi novel in Simon’s back pocket.
“He average intelligence?” asked Demko, watching Simon.
“Yeah. Think so, but there’s something off about him.” Lionel’s attention flicked to the lake. “Look at that!”
An osprey dove into the water, emerging with a fish.
“I’ll bet she has chicks to feed. Nature’s way.”
“You a bow hunter?” asked Demko.
“Me? No. Never.”
Demko finished up with Lionel who studied the photos of the known victims but did not recognize either. Nadine took Molly to a picnic table to watch as Demko interviewed Simon.
The man shifted restlessly, rubbed his neck and glanced away for rescue, but his mother had left for the office. He barely glanced at the photos. He was showering Nadine with signals of deception and projecting his unease.
They caught up with Roy before leaving. His wife had given him a heads-up. He seemed distracted, rushed and offered little.
Back in the vehicle, Demko turned to her.
“What do you think about Simon?”
“Odd guy. I’d run a background on all of them, but he’s got loads of tells that speak of some issues.”
“I agree.”
She turned to watch Molly toss her manatee toy in the air and then dive behind the seats to retrieve it.
Demko was on his computer: “No priors on Useche, Dietz, Decristofaro or Mr. and Mrs. Kilpatrick. Useche is listed as a resident of Louisiana. The rest are Florida residents. All but Decristofaro and Useche have hunting and fishing licenses. Simon Kilpatrick has a failed attempt to enlist in the army and marines.”
They made one more stop, at a bike rental and repair shop. The only interesting detail there was one employee with an outstanding warrant. Demko called that one into the sheriff’s office and then headed toward Ocala.
Nadine now had two men who were providing many nonverbal cues of deception: Rita Karnowski’s boyfriend, Hugo Betters; and the odd handyman and son of the owners of the marina, Simon Kilpatrick. Betters made her suspicious, but Simon gave off a different vibe. He reminded her of the runt of the litter, picked on by the rest of the pack.
“I forgot to tell you, last time I visited my mother, I mentioned you to her,” he said.
Demko’s comment jolted her from her musings as he casually dropped that bombshell in her lap.
“Did you?” she asked.
“She’s anxious to meet you. I told her I’d try to talk you into a visit. Maybe Saturday?”
A visit to the high-security prison where Clint’s mother was held—that also happened to hold Nadine
’s own mother—made the stress of meeting his parent all that more nerve-wracking.
“It’s Arlo’s weekend,” she said, referring to her monthly visit to see her brother.
“Maybe next weekend.” Demko cast her a long glance. “She’s doing everything right. I don’t think it’s really necessary for her to serve her entire sentence.”
“Except she planned your father’s murder and he’s still dead.”
He scowled, the expression sending furrows across his forehead.
“My half brother did that. He threw her under the bus to get leniency.”
She knew from doing some digging that his mother had given her eldest son, Connor, the cash to purchase the shotgun, but her boy had a prior for drugs and could not complete the transaction. She also provided Connor with the key to the back door to his father’s medical building.
In addition, prior to the homicide, Clint’s mom had at least two affairs with men she tried to convince to kill her husband. Her motive was the two million insurance policy and over one million in assets.
Unfortunately, Clint had told her none of this.
“Clint. It’s not healthy to allow your mom a pass on this or to level all of the blame on Connor.” She knew Clint did not speak to, visit or write to his half brother. Connor Nesbitt had been twenty-four at the time of the crime. He and Arlo shared the same correctional facility.
Had their mothers met? she wondered.
Demko had legally changed his name after adoption by his dad’s sister. He’d been born Caleb Nix. His sister, Carlie, born Caroline Nix, had done the same.
“She’s a good person inside,” he said.
She gave a long exhalation as she tried to gather her patience.
“What is wrong with loving my mother?”
“You can love her. My issue is with your unwillingness to assign her any portion of blame.”
His face reddened and his grip on the wheel tightened.
“Do you think she was falsely convicted?” asked Nadine.
The pause stretched for more than a mile.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.”
His voice turned sullen. “I’m not one of your patients.”
“I realize that.”
Molly left the window, where she had her entire head outside of the vehicle, and laid her chin on Demko’s shoulder. He gave his dog a one-armed hug and a kiss.
