by Hank Edwards
Michael’s brows shot up. “Does Misty know him?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I think he’s just a tourist, renting my neighbors’ loft on Airbnb—which I’m not at all happy about, let me tell you.”
“What’s he doing here?” Michael mused. “And why’s he lurking behind Misty’s bush?”
Jazz grinned. “That sounded kind of raunchy.”
“You’ve got a dirty mind.”
“Which you love.” Jazz watched the man inch along the fence behind the forsythia bush, then gave Michael a sweeping glance. “You’re both wearing hawaiian shirts.”
“So he’s got good taste too?” Michael said, then pointed and exclaimed, “Hey!”
Jazz looked in time to see the tall stranger climb up and over the wooden privacy fence.
“What the hell?” Jazz cried.
“That’s a little suspicious.”
“More than a little.” Jazz dropped his flip-flops on the ground and stepped into them. “C’mon.”
“What? Where?”
“To the bat-cycle, Robin,” Jazz declared.
Michael pulled his sandals on and then followed Jazz back to the front yard. “Firstly, who says you get to be Batman? I’m taller. Secondly, why are we going to your scooter?”
Jazz waggled his keys. “Because Batman always drives. And we’re gonna follow that guy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“FOLLOW HIM?” Michael said as he hurried to keep up with Jazz. “I feel rude leaving Misty’s party. If he’s staying in your building, why don’t you just ask him what he’s up to the next time you see him?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Jazz said with a wink. “Misty won’t even notice we’re gone. Besides, he could get up to all kinds of trouble between now and returning to the building. Like strangling someone else we know and propping them up somewhere.”
“When you put it that way….” Michael pointed to the driveway. “To the bat-cycle!”
They ran to the scooter and Jazz got on and started the engine. They attracted some looks along the cul-de-sac when Michael climbed on behind and wrapped his arms around Jazz’s waist. Herschel was out of sight, but Jazz thought he could feel a cold stare from the man wherever he stood.
Ugh, I am too old to be bothered by such judgmental shit!
Misty waved and hurried over. “You’re leaving?”
“Sorry, Misty,” Michael began.
“We’ll be back in a jiff. Going to check out some guy we saw lurking in your yard,” Jazz explained. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“What? Someone in my yard?” Misty glanced toward the wooden gate. “Are you sure it wasn’t one of my cousins?”
“Yeah, he wasn’t acting that weird.” Jazz smirked as Misty glared, then turned his head to ask over his shoulder, “Ready, sweetie?”
“I’m ready,” Michael said, his hand tightening on Jazz’s waist and making Jazz smile wide.
Jazz slowly rolled down the street, weaving around people and party games. Just as he reached the sawhorses at the end of the block, a small car drove past on the intersecting road, headed out of the subdivision. It was an older model, beige with a white vinyl roof stained after years of exposure to the elements.
The driver was a tall man with a baseball hat pulled down low.
“That’s him!” Jazz said. “I drove past that shitty car last night when I left Misty’s house. I didn’t notice the driver at the time, but Ally was with him.”
“Ally Roberts?”
“Sure as hell wasn’t Ally McBeal,” Jazz quipped. “Hang on.”
Michael interlocked his fingers around Jazz’s waist. The touch sparked memories for Jazz of Friday evening, when Michael had ridden him like a bronco buster, complete with ass slapping. As Jazz set off in pursuit, he shifted position on the small seat to let his rising erection have a bit more room. If it brought his ass a little closer to Michael’s dynamite package, neither of them minded.
“He’s driving pretty fast,” Michael said, chin on Jazz’s shoulder and lips right behind his ear.
“Beulah’s pretty fast too. We won’t lose him.” As long as the suspect didn’t go much over fifty-five, that is.
Jazz opened up the throttle as he turned onto the two-lane blacktop highway toward Lacetown. To their left, a grassy berm led to the edge of a drop-off and the wide expanse of Lake Michigan, now burning orange and red as the sun set behind it. A field of corn just tall enough to block most of Jazz’s view of a farmhouse and Misty’s subdivision was a blur of green on their right. The scooter buzzed beneath them and Jazz felt the sting of a few bugs on his face. The law didn’t require a helmet anymore, but he really should get one with a face shield. Though he seldom opened Beulah up like this, and when he did, it was usually a last-minute decision.
Like pursuing a suspicious character.
This is way too much like one of Russell’s goddamn Brock Hammer books.
He suspected Michael had the same thought and was loving every wind-whipped second of it. The knowledge brought with it a variety of emotions. First and foremost, it gave him a bit of a thrill that he could anticipate Michael’s thoughts and emotions.
Right behind the thrill came a kind of exhaustion. It had only been a month since Russell had been arrested, he realized that, but he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put Russell, or his creation, Brock Hammer, behind him for good.
Maybe the trip to the prison tomorrow will help me get there sooner.
The beige car was half a mile ahead, and Jazz saw the brake lights flash before the driver turned onto another road. Dust billowed out from behind the stalks of corn. Great, a dirt road.
“Hang on, sweetie, we’re making a turn. Best to close your mouth too. It might get messy.”
“What? Why? Oh!”
Michael’s grip tightened even more, and Jazz slowed the scooter and turned the same corner.
The beige car idled on the side of the narrow dirt road about fifty yards past the intersection. The driver climbed out, cell phone in hand. Cornstalks formed a solid green backdrop to either side of them, and Jazz wondered if the man had a gun and whether the corn would deaden the sound of a couple of shots.
And I’ve left my gun back home.
“Oh shit,” Michael said.
“Chill out, sweetie,” Jazz said in a low voice. “We’re on a joy ride, that’s all.”
Jazz intended to motor right past the car and its driver, but the suspicious tall man had other ideas. He stepped into the middle of the dirt road and extended his arm, hand held up with the palm facing out.
A quick consideration of swooping around the man went through Jazz’s mind, but then he worried Michael might get a bullet in the back. At least if he stopped they’d see the shot coming.
Heart racing, he slowed to a stop and put his feet down. Michael squeezed him a little tighter.
“Your Supremes impression is on point,” Jazz said.
The man frowned. “Why are you following me?” He squinted and took a step closer. “I know you. You live in the building where I’m staying.”
“That’s right,” Jazz said. “Which, by the way, is against the rules.”
“That’s not my problem,” the man said. “Talk to the owner about that.”
“I intend to.”
“Fine. But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you following me?”
Michael sat up straighter behind Jazz, but did not let go of his waist. “Why have you been lurking around Lacetown?”
“I haven’t been lurking,” the man said. “There’s a festival in town. I’ve been listening to music like all the other people.”
“Why were you in my friend’s backyard just now?” Jazz asked.
“It was a block party. I heard about it and thought I’d check it out.” He crossed his arms. “Still waiting for an answer to my question. Why are you following me?”
“Because you were in my friend’s backyard, and you jumped the fence when we spotted you,” Jazz s
aid. “That’s suspicious enough to warrant being followed.”
“I jumped the fence because… because I thought you were going to let a dog out, and I’m afraid of dogs.”
“That sounds like a stretch,” Jazz said, then decided to try and throw the guy off. “Why were you with Ally Roberts yesterday?”
“What?” The man appeared startled and then annoyed. “How often have you been following me?”
“She’s a suspect in a murder case,” Michael said. “You could be arrested as an accomplice.”
The sound of car tires on gravel behind them made Jazz and Michael both turn. A sheriff’s car had turned onto the dirt road, the headlights flooding the scene. The bar on top burst into life, sending red-and-blue lights dancing across the clouds of dust, the stalks of corn, and right into Jazz’s eyes.
Sheriff Musgrave stepped out of the car, and Jazz sighed, hearing Michael do the same.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Officer,” the man said.
“It’s Sheriff,” Musgrave replied as he walked up and loomed over Jazz and Michael. “And I’m not at all surprised to find the two of you here.”
“Hilton,” Michael started, but Musgrave lifted a hand.
“That’s Sheriff Musgrave, Mr. Fleishman.” He puffed up his barrel chest. “Someone called in that they were being followed by two guys on a blue scooter with white fucking flowers on it. Not many other men would match that description. Were you following this man?”
“Yes,” Michael and the stranger said in unison.
“What in the hell for?” Musgrave demanded, glaring at them on the scooter.
“Because he’s been acting fishy all week!” Jazz cried.
Michael added, “He witnessed the altercation between Ally and Norbert at the festival. I’ve also seen him hanging around both crime scenes, and yesterday Jazz saw him driving with Ally Roberts. And just now we saw him at Misty’s house.”
Musgrave took a couple of steps closer, his expression darkening. “He was at Misty’s house?”
Jazz nodded. “Yeah, he was lurking around in her backyard. When he saw us, he climbed over her fence and took off. That’s why we followed him.”
“Misty’s house?” Musgrave repeated, and it sounded like a threat that time.
“I take it you’ll handle this from here, Sheriff,” the man said, looking nervous as he backed away.
“Not so fast, Hawaii 5-O,” Musgrave said, taking in his bold shirt with a sneer. “I have some questions for you.”
Jazz smirked. This guy had no idea what demon he’d summoned by calling the cops on them. And Musgrave’s newfound interest in Misty had turned the tables, making Jazz and Michael the good guys for once. It was kinda fun to sit back and watch Musgrave treat someone else, especially this annoying Airbnb guy, the way he usually treated them.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Musgrave said as he approached the tall man.
“Joe Stinson.”
“You from around here?”
“No, but I’m staying at the Holland Harbor Lofts.”
“He’s subletting one of the lofts in my building,” Jazz interjected. “Through Airbnb.”
“That right?” Musgrave turned to Jazz. “Frank lets his tenants do that? I would’ve thought that would be against the rules of the building.”
“Oh, it is,” Jazz said and gave Joe a tight-lipped smile.
“That’s not my problem,” Joe said. “I’ve got a contract with the apartment owner. If you have a problem with it, take that up with him. Right now, I’m able to stay there for another three days.”
“Interesting you’re staying in that building,” Musgrave said. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen anyone Friday night or early Saturday morning?”
“You’re asking about the murder,” Joe said.
Musgrave raised eyebrows that seemed to have been trimmed recently—by Misty maybe? “Did I say the word murder?”
“No, Sheriff, you didn’t,” Jazz said, happy to play along with Musgrave giving someone else a hard time.
Joe rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows about the body found in the salon downstairs. I can assure you, Sheriff, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Musgrave said with a snide tone. “Your assurance is saving me a lot of time questioning you. Tell you what, how about you come to the station with me and we’ll have a longer chat. That work for you?”
Joe’s lips pressed into a tight line. “On what grounds? I’m on vacation and I called you for help, and now you wanna question me? Why? Because I went to a block party? That’s not against the law.”
“It is if you weren’t invited. You got any reason against helping a local officer of the law, Don Ho?” Musgrave said, narrowing his gaze. “Got something to hide?”
“No,” he insisted. “And you have no probable cause.”
“I’d say fraternizing with a POI in a murder investigation is grounds for a thorough questioning,” Michael said quickly.
Musgrave’s eyes narrowed even more as he looked at Jazz. “You’re sure it was Ms. Roberts you saw in the car?”
Jazz nodded. “She was in the passenger seat when I passed him leaving Misty’s house yesterday.”
The mention of Misty’s name seemed to respark Musgrave’s anger. Jazz wouldn’t deny he’d hoped it would.
“You drove past me yesterday?” Joe blustered at Jazz. “How could you have seen anyone clearly in those few seconds?”
“I know hair,” Jazz said with a sniff. “And Ally’s got a unique hairstyle for these parts.”
Musgrave crossed his arms and glowered at Joe. “Do you know Ally Roberts?”
“I gave her a ride, big deal,” Joe said, running a hand nervously through his hair but holding his ground.
“You know Ms. Roberts’s current whereabouts?” Musgrave asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you meet her through Russell Withingham?” Jazz asked, hoping to throw him off. This guy could be connected to Russell, maybe be the hitman—which made Jazz and Michael insane for following him, now that he thought about it.
For once, Jazz was damn happy to have Musgrave there.
Joe flinched. “The writer? No, no. And I don’t know Ally, so I don’t know where she is now. I ran into her on the street, and she asked me for a ride.”
“You often give strangers rides to places?” Musgrave asked.
Jazz had to fight a giggle. He hadn’t expected it to be so fun watching Musgrave bully someone else.
As if rethinking his initial answer, Joe shifted from foot to foot. “Look, I’m just an acquaintance of hers, okay? But I don’t know where she is or anything about her being a murder suspect. I’ll be happy to stop by the station later and answer any questions you may have, but right now I’m late for an appointment.”
Musgrave regarded Joe a long moment, then asked Jazz, “You know what apartment he’s in?”
“The one next to mine.”
Musgrave nodded. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the license plate on Joe’s car. Holding up his phone, he took a pic of Joe, who flinched in the bright flash, and then Musgrave held out his hand. “Driver’s license.”
Joe rolled his eyes but fished his license out of his wallet and handed it over. Musgrave studied it a moment, then walked back to his squad car, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t move.” He withdrew a device from the front seat and scanned Joe’s license. He waited for the results, then sniffed, as if disappointed. “No warrants,” he said before handing the license back. He fixed Joe with a hard look. “Don’t skip town.”
“That’s one of his favorite things to say,” Jazz said. “I’ve heard it a few times myself.”
Musgrave ignored Jazz’s quip as he held Joe’s gaze.
Finally, Joe gave a single nod. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got business to finish here in town.”
“That sounds ominous,” Michael whispered, and Jazz nodded.
&nbs
p; “Good,” Musgrave snapped. “Now you’ve got business with me as well.”
Joe shot Jazz a glare before he turned away and got back in his car. He drove off down the road, leaving the three of them in a cloud of dust.
“Asshole,” Musgrave muttered as he looked after the car. Then he turned to them with a stern expression. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? I should impound that goddamn scooter to keep from pulling you over so often.”
“Technically, you didn’t pull us over this time,” Michael said.
“No,” Musgrave said with a sneer. Then his face softened and he shuffled his feet, the movements kicking up tiny clouds of dust. “Misty doing all right? Handling the investigation and the block party okay?”
“She’s doing as well as she can, considering her salon’s a crime scene and she’s got a house full of zealots,” Jazz said. OMG, he’s really into her!
Musgrave’s face wrinkled. “You don’t like Misty’s new relatives?”
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” Jazz said. “It’s just that I want to spend as little time with them as possible.”
Musgrave grunted quietly. He stood in place a moment longer, then pointed at them like some kind of scolding parent or teacher. “Stop following people on this goddamn thing. You’re going to kill yourselves.”
“That sounds like you might miss us,” Michael said.
“Nah, I just don’t want to have to write up the report about it and oversee the road cleanup. Go the fuck home, and for God’s sake—”
“Don’t leave town,” Jazz and Michael said together.
“Smartasses.”
Jazz slowly turned Beulah back toward the paved road and beeped the high-pitched horn twice as they passed Musgrave in his sheriff’s car, hopefully annoying the man. As they motored into town, Jazz wondered about Joe and his reason for being in Lacetown. He’d claimed vacation, then said he had business. That was fishier than the smell at Christy’s Marina. Could Joe be involved in Norbert’s and Denton’s murders? He had been at the festival, both crime scenes, he was connected to Ally Roberts somehow, and Jazz had seen him going in and out of the apartment for a few days now.