Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  Once in the car, she called Chief Finch. “What’s up?”

  He was more animated than usual. “I need you to get over to Denton’s Gas. Fennis found video footage of a Porsche. Pick it up and get your ass back here with it. Let’s see who’s on it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Vintage signs advertising Coke, Pepsi, Budweiser, Miller and Owl Cigars covered the rustic, wooden façade of Denton’s Gas and Convenience Store. A bold, black sign reading “Entering Ski Country” had been nailed above the entrance. Inside, a ski-lift poster that read “Unload Here” pointed to the restrooms. An “Experts Only” hung above the beer coolers in the back. The store was a couple of miles south of town. Holly knew it well because she’d been getting her gas, chips and beer from there for years.

  As she pulled into the parking lot, she did a double take. “Do you see that?”

  “Hard to miss,” Raines said, dryly.

  Officer Fennis Cooper had someone bent across the hood of his cruiser in a full spread eagle.

  “What the hell is he doing?” she muttered.

  “It appears he’s searching someone,” Raines replied, stating the obvious.

  “Looks more like he’s performing a proctological exam.”

  Raines grinned. “He does appear a tad overzealous.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Who’s he frisking?” Raines asked.

  “Silas Brown. He’s a local scumbag with a bevy of misdemeanors. Lucky for us, he happens to be one of Gavin Parrish’s drinking buddies.”

  As they got out of the car, Holly called out, “What’s going on, Officer Cooper?”

  Raines leaned against the cruiser with a nonchalant air.

  Fennis nodded in the direction of the store. “Mr. Brown purchased alcohol with the intent to sell to minors.”

  Holly spotted three pale teenagers staring out of the store’s window. She recognized them. Jimmy Turner was the tallest and heaviest. He seemed several years older than his fourteen years and without a doubt, the ringleader. He had distinct, arched black eyebrows and a wicked I’m-going-to-mess-you-up grin that made him appear menacing.

  Redheaded Nicky Logan, on the other hand, had eyebrows so blond it didn’t look like he had any at all. The smattering of freckles across his cheeks made him seem younger and far more innocent than he was.

  The last stooge was none other than Gavin Parrish’s son, Skeeter. He was skinny with long arms, narrow hips and curly brown hair that needed cutting. She wasn’t aware that he hung out with Turner or Logan. They made an interesting trio. Just the sort of kids she had in mind for the break-ins.

  Silas Brown sputtered indignantly. “No, I wasn’t. The beers are all for me. The kids were only helping me carry it home.”

  Holly glanced into the paper bag. “Hurricane Mountain Brewery? Come on, Silas. Since when do you drink local craft beer? I know you’re an old-school Milwaukee man.”

  “Yeah. Well. Haven’t you heard that change is good for the soul?”

  “That’s real interesting. Maybe you’ve heard about the changes in law enforcement. We now have portable lie detectors for the criminals who have an aversion for telling the truth.”

  Confusion flashed across his face but was quickly replaced by a sneer. “You’re shitting me. There’s no such thing as a portable lie detector.”

  “Sure there is. It’s the latest in police technology from California. They developed it for the Highway Patrol. It detects changes in a suspect’s pulse rate.”

  Fennis Cooper seemed just as confused as Silas.

  Holly turned to Fennis. “Can you get the CHP 101?”

  He stared at her with a blank expression. “The 101, Sarge?”

  “That’s right Officer Cooper. Let’s get some training on the new machine you have right there.” She pointed inside his cruiser.

  It took him a moment before it dawned on him that she wanted the radar gun, which he hurried to retrieve and hand to her. “You’re right, Sarge. I could do with some more training on this thing.”

  Holly messed around with it for a few seconds, pretending she was programming it. “Now, are you ready to tell the truth?”

  “You can’t fool me. That’s a damn radar gun.”

  “It may look like a radar gun because they didn’t want to reinvent the wheel. Police departments are on tight budgets, but this is the latest tool developed specifically for uniformed patrol officers to combat crime on the street. The FDA tested it on convicted gang members with great success.”

  He stared at it, clearly sizing up her story.

  “You may want to consider telling the truth before we proceed, though.”

  He frowned. “Why’s that?”

  She caressed the radar gun. “Although the FDA approved its use after extensive testing, I heard a rumor that there’s a lawsuit pending. Someone claimed this machine can shrink your nuts to the size of a squirrel’s.”

  Silas shoved his hands in front of his pants to protect any future Browns.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raines cough and turn away as he fought the urge not to laugh. Fennis went red from the collar up in a valiant effort to control both his shock and his amusement.

  “You’re shitting me?” Silas rasped.

  “I shit you not. Now move your arms above your head so the blood keeps flowing, and I have a clear shot.”

  “Wait just a damn minute! Don’t you go frying my nuts or you’ll have another lawsuit to deal with,” he sputtered as he clasped the front of his pants even tighter. “Those little assholes in there gave me money to buy beer, but I wasn’t going to give it to them. I swear,” he said, casting a nasty glare at the store window, which caused the teenagers to shrink backward.

  “So, you planned to steal their money?”

  “I’m doing them a favor. Those kids shouldn’t be drinking at their age.”

  “That’s a good one. Now,” she said taking closer aim with the radar gun. “Have you seen Gavin Parrish around?”

  “Gav? No.”

  She waved the radar gun at him. “I want the truth.”

  “Hey, take it easy with that thing. I ain’t seen him. I swear it. That asshole owes me money. I need to find Gav for myself.”

  “That’s his son in there, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. That’s Skeet. Gav will kill him if he hears he’s buying beers.”

  “Wait here,” she said and turned to Fennis. Handing back the radar gun, she winked. “Be careful with the new equipment.”

  He grinned at her. “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  “Where’s the video footage you found?”

  “In the cruiser.” He indicated with a nod of his head.

  They walked over to the car. When they were out of earshot, she asked, “Is it Mimi Milbourne?”

  “It looks like her. It’s definitely a dark-colored Porsche Cayenne, and,” he added, puffing out his chest. “Gavin Parrish pulls out right behind her about a split second later.”

  Had she been wrong about Parrish? Maybe he could stay sober long enough to carry out an elaborate revenge. Plus, he had a real problem with women. “Could you see if there was anyone else in the car?”

  “No. I think she was on her own.”

  “Okay. We’ll check it out. Take Silas in while I talk to Skeeter Parrish.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dread scurried up Skeeter Parrish’s spine like a cockroach at the sight of Silas Brown assuming the position across the front of the police cruiser. His anxiety only intensified when Detective Jakes tore into the parking lot faster than a Scud missile homed in on its target. As his legs turned to jelly, he tried to keep the fear from showing on his face.

  Skeeter knew his dad wouldn’t be pissed about the alcohol. His dad could be a major hypocrite on most things, but not when it came to booze. Skeeter had been seven the first time his dad got him drunk. He’d thought it funny as hell to see his young son stumble around the living room, bumping into things. Until Skeeter had th
rown up. Then it wasn’t so funny. But the epic beating he’d get now would be because he was out with Jimmy Turner.

  Since Jimmy was caught shoplifting in the eighth grade, Skeeter’s dad had forbidden him to hang out with his friend. This had nothing to do with any lofty ideals about theft because his dad had no aversion to stealing. What drove his dad nuts was the judge, who’d once sentenced him to probation for disorderly conduct, had dismissed Jimmy’s case. Jimmy boasted he hadn’t even been grounded. His cocky attitude hadn’t helped. For weeks, Skeeter’s dad ranted about Jimmy getting off because his parents were rich and that spoiled brat was in desperate need of a good beating.

  Skeeter trembled. He was going to be in for it now. Big time. No way was his dad not going to find out about this.

  He watched Jakes and Cal Raines get out of the car. Even if he hadn’t grown up with Melody Raines, he’d have known who Raines was. The guy was a legend. He’d returned to Caxton like a prodigal son. Only he wasn’t so prodigal, he corrected himself. Raines left town with nothing and made it all the way to the top. He was more like Luke Skywalker—the Tatooine farm boy turned Jedi Knight.

  Transfixed, Skeeter watched Jakes speak to Officer Cooper, who went over to his car and handed her something that appeared to be a radar gun. She messed around with it as she turned her attention to Silas. Then she stroked the machine, and Silas grabbed his nuts. “What the hell is she doing to him?” he hissed.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Looks like she’s about to check how fast his mouth is moving.”

  “Aw jeez. You don’t think it hurts, do you?” Nicky whispered.

  “Not too bad,” Jimmy added. “But I bet he’ll have a nasty radiation burn.”

  “Jesus!” Skeeter and Nicky said in unison.

  He continued to watch as Silas held onto his nuts and kept talking. A few minutes later, she handed the device back to Cooper and walked over to the cruiser with him. Cooper gave her something. Then Detective Jakes and Raines looked over at them. They looked like something out of an action movie. They were tall, ripped and lethal looking, which had nothing to do with their guns and everything to do with how they were squinting at them—Clint Eastwood style. When Jakes crooked her finger at him, his legs went even weaker.

  The three boys shuffled toward the door, down the aisle containing chips, canned dip, salsa and beef jerky. Skeeter, walking right behind Jimmy, wanted to pick up a jar of salsa and smash it over his head. He should have known hanging out with him wouldn’t end well. It had been Jimmy’s idea to buy the beers. What’s more, it was Jimmy’s money. But Jimmy would be okay. His parents were away on a cruise. Besides, they wouldn’t care.

  “So boys,” Jakes said to them as they strolled over to her. “You’re in quite a predicament.”

  Skeeter eyed her nervously. Jakes had a reputation for making your life miserable if you messed with her. While Jakes talked, Cal Raines stared down at them with cold, steely eyes. His arms hung loosely at his side like a badass gunslinger ready to draw his gun the moment you flinched.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” Jimmy chirped. “Whatever Silas told you was a lie.”

  “But Officer Cooper caught you buying a bag of Hurricane Mountain brews, Jimmy,” Holly said.

  “All we were doing was holding it for him.”

  “That’s not what Silas said, and now he’s facing a two-thousand-dollar fine and up to a year in jail while you are all facing a three-hundred-dollar fine.”

  Jimmy smirked and opened his mouth to wise off. Skeeter had to stop him. Three hundred bucks was nothing to Jimmy. His parents would pay it, but he couldn’t afford a fine. One thing his dad hated more than Jimmy was parting with his money. His dad would hit the roof and then hit him. So, before Jimmy could get them into any hotter water, he said, “We didn’t know it was that bad, did we guys?”

  Nicky nudged Jimmy and mumbled, “No. We swear we didn’t, did we?”

  Skeeter felt queasy. He prayed that if Jimmy did say something, he’d take the fall for it.

  Jimmy’s response came loaded with insolence and was about as convincing as Skeeter’s dad was when he promised to lay off the booze. “No, Officer. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

  Skeeter watched Jakes and Raines for a response, but their faces gave nothing away.

  The sick feeling in Skeeter’s stomach intensified. He couldn’t take another beating this week.

  Jakes said, “I’ll let you boys off with a warning if you tell us where we can find your dad, Skeeter.”

  “Why?” he blurted. “Are you going to tell him about this?” Skeeter realized he must have looked scared because Jakes gave him a reassuring smile.

  “If you help me find him, we’ll call it even.”

  She seemed on the up-and-up, but his dad said you couldn’t trust cops. “And we won’t get a fine?”

  “No.”

  He glanced at Nicky and Jimmy. He hoped they didn’t think he was a snitch. That was the last thing he needed. Jimmy had a condescending grin smeared across his face, while Nicky seemed relieved. Nicky’s parents weren’t as cool as Jimmy’s. Skeeter decided he didn’t have much to lose. “He’s either at The Muddy Paw or The Downslope Grill. If he’s not there, look for Lennie Pitts. They went out together last night.”

  “What time was that?”

  Skeeter shrugged. “Dunno. Around six or seven. Lennie picked him up.”

  “Did he come home last night?”

  What was she fishing for? Had his dad done something wrong? Had he dropped him in it? His mouth went dry. “I’m not sure. I was in my room all night playing video games.”

  She squinted at him as if she were going to hit him with another question. “Okay. You kids get out of here. And stay out of trouble.”

  Relief flooded through him, and he scurried over to his bike.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The heady scent of juicy, broiled sirloin burgers and fried onions greeted Po as he entered The Muddy Paw. His mouth started watering immediately. The place was packed, which was typical for Sunday lunch, but he was pleased to spot an empty stool at the bar. That’s where the owner, Frannie Lacroix, usually worked. She captained the spotless length of the bar like a skipper at the helm of a ship. From her vantage point, Frannie could see most of her restaurant.

  A chocolate Labrador lounged there, positioned to make a move if so much as a French fry hit the floor. Technically JD was a service dog for Frannie’s legally blind mother, but the handsome hound had become the perfect mascot for the restaurant. Po knew that he’d come from the same litter as Cal’s dog. Abbey and Melody had given Memphis to their uncle as a gift.

  The dog looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

  Po patted his head in greeting. “Sorry, boy. No treats today.”

  Frannie came out of the kitchen with a plate of food for someone at the counter and smiled when she spotted Po.

  His pulse raced at the sight of her. Placing his helmet on the counter next to the wall, he lowered his massive frame onto the stool and watched her deliver the food. Next, she poured a Diet Coke, headed down to his end of the bar and placed it in front of him. “What will it be, Po? Are you going to have lunch or just two servings of pie? I have cherry cobbler today.” Her grin revealed perfect white teeth.

  “That’s tempting, but I need to watch my figure.” He patted his stomach, which was surprisingly firm considering his appetite. “I’ll have a cheeseburger with onions, mushrooms, bacon, hot sauce and a side of fries. You can hold the tomato and lettuce.”

  She laughed. “One Po burger coming right up.”

  He loved to hear her laugh. It was deep, throaty and honest. There was nothing coy about Frannie, which is what he liked about her. She was straight up, no rocks; although she did tend to leave most of the men sitting at the bar shaken and stirred. She had long, curly bleached blonde hair that always seemed messed up as if she’d been screwing someone all afternoon, he thought. She lived in blue jeans and skintight t-shirts that emphasized h
er large breasts, and whenever she served him, he made sure she didn’t catch him gawking at them. He pictured her living somewhere in Texas running a rowdy country and western bar. He could see her slapping the ass of some poor wretch she’d convinced to take a turn on a mechanical bull named Slayer.

  When Frannie went to the kitchen with his order, Po sipped his soda and looked around. There was a high-energy hum in the bar as people talked about the fire and the murder. The TV on the wall was muted, but it was turned to a news channel, which on any other day would be an anomaly. Weekends were always sports.

  Frannie came back through the kitchen doors with a pile of crispy Buffalo wings drenched in hot sauce. She served two men sitting at a table in the center of the bar. Po’s stomach rumbled at the sight of them.

  Frannie chatted with the customers as she slowly made her way back to him.

  “So, how have you been?” he asked.

  “Busy but good.” She glanced up at the TV screen on the wall in the corner that showed a reporter standing in the parking lot of the Lafayette Campground. The scrolling text below provided details about Mimi Milbourne for those who couldn’t hear the broadcast. “I shouldn’t say good. That’s awful. I mean it’s good to be busy.”

  He nodded his understanding.

  “We’re all so shocked,” Frannie said. “I can’t believe it. At first, the talk was all about arson. Now they’re saying Mimi was murdered. I can’t believe this is happening here.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “Yes.”

  Po pushed the ice around in his glass with the straw. “What was she like?”

  “She wasn’t the gossipy type, but that’s not to say she wasn’t friendly. She’s supportive of women who run their own companies. I’m a member of a small business group. I met her when she came to offer some advice. She suggested the women meet once a month to discuss any issues we’re having. It was so helpful. She started coming in on Saturdays with her husband for the fish and chips special. She claimed they were better than what she could get in Boston.” Frannie choked up and tears filled her eyes.