Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

  She looked at Myra with faint recognition. “I’m here for my pictures. The editor of the Gazette is waiting for me.”

  “I’ve got them ready. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t want to leave the two women alone together considering the circumstances and hurried to get the sack of photos and a business card.

  I was too late.

  “Aren’t you that woman who locked the clown in the freezer and ruined my stepdaughter’s birthday party?” Leslie asked. “The poor child will probably be scarred for life.”

  Myra balled her hands. “Lady, she may be scarred for life, but it won’t be because of anything I did. It’ll be because she’s a spoiled brat with you as her stepmother.” Myra spoke with a thick Spanish accent like she does when she loses her temper.

  “Well, I never! How dare you speak to me like that? And why aren’t you locked up?”

  I handed Leslie her package. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” I was hoping to avoid a civil war.

  “Misunderstand this!” Myra spewed out what I assumed were Spanish curse words.

  I narrowed my eyes at her and pulled Leslie toward the door. “I’m so sorry. She’s a sweetheart, normally. Jail can make a person a little...edgy.”

  Leslie’s mouth dropped open but no words came out.

  I held open the door. “Be sure to tell them to include my name in the photo credit. Let me know if you need any more prints. Thanks for visiting the Foto Factory. Ba-bye now.” The door closed and I turned to Myra. “What on earth? She was a customer!”

  Myra bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been an ex-con before. Prison changes you. I’m not the same innocent woman you used to know.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “First of all, you were in the jail, not prison. Second of all, you were only there a day and a half.” I grabbed my key ring and pulled off the house key. “You and your ‘crazy need to go home and relax. You can get Brutus from my house and leave the key under the front mat.”

  “Under the mat? That’s the first place gangsters look. And I should know; I learned a lot about crime while I was on the inside.”

  I rolled my eyes. Should I even tell her about the leads I had been following? Now probably wasn’t the best time considering she thought she’d just stepped off the set of Law and Order. “Go home. Take a hot bath. A long one. I’ll call later to catch you up on all the news you missed while you were in the slammer.”

  After she left, I decided it was time to pay Sheriff Grady a visit. I wanted to tell him about the flask and the previous clown case. Maybe his curiosity would be piqued. After all, he wouldn’t want to end up with pie on his face from arresting the wrong person...again.

  An apple tart would be just the thing to soften him up. Karol had just taken some out of the oven when I got to the café.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a little something for yourself?” she asked when I told her the pastry was a bribe for Grady.

  It took all my willpower not to get something for myself. “I can’t. I burned off thirty-seven calories yesterday at the gym, and I don’t want to backtrack.”

  “Thirty-seven whole calories. I burn more calories than that getting dressed.”

  “Okay, maybe it was forty. Either way, if I’m going to start dating again, I need to carve at least ten pounds off my waist.”

  “So you and Jake Faro are a thing, I suppose. I’ve flirted with that guy for years and never got out of the batter’s box. I was starting to think he might be gay. Not too many men can resist this.” She pushed out her chest.

  “Be careful with those. You could put somebody’s eye out.”

  I walked down the square and around the corner to the sheriff’s department. The sun was out, and slushy brown snow lined the roads. It felt good to walk and get some more exercise. At this pace, I’d have those extra calories off by the first of never.

  My leg muscles were cursing at me by the time I walked into the building. The receptionist called the sheriff and then pointed me back to his office. Not exactly high-tech security around there.

  “I come bearing gifts.” I waved the bag.

  “You mean ‘bribes,’ don’t you?”

  “That all depends. Is it going to get me answers about Myra’s case?”

  Grady grabbed the sack from my hand and took a big bite of the warm pastry. He wiped sugar from his mouth and motioned for me to sit. “What do you want to know?”

  “For starters, when are you going to drop the charges on her and find the real killer? That’s assuming Grover Ward’s death wasn’t an accident, which it probably was.”

  Grady coughed and took a drink from his “World’s Greatest Sheriff” coffee mug, a gift from Sherry, no doubt. “You don’t hold any punches, do you?”

  “Not when it comes to justice. And neither should you.”

  “I can assure you, I don’t either. The DA says we have Myra Mendoza dead to rights on this one. She confessed to locking the freezer. That’s a fact. She and her pal had a physical altercation with the victim a few hours before the guy’s death. That’s a fact. Freddy Callahan has a record of committing crimes with the victim. That’s a fact.”

  That one threw me for a loop. “With the victim?” I remembered Freddy telling Myra and me that he had gotten in trouble with the law when he was younger and had been hanging out with some bad people. Could his cousin, Grover, be one of those people he was talking about?

  “That’s right, although that’s confidential. I’m only telling you this so you can prepare yourself for the inevitable. You see, your friend is going down. At a minimum, we have her on involuntary manslaughter. If we can get our hands on the boyfriend, we might get him to roll over on her and charge her with homicide. Why do you think that newbie lawyer is the only one in town who would take the case? Everyone knows this is a slam dunk.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “But you don’t even know if Grover was in the freezer when she locked it!”

  “We’re working on a timeline. Motive is obviously important in this case.”

  “And what motive do you think she had?”

  “Look, I know you like to play junior detective, but you need to leave this one to the professionals.”

  If only I knew Spanish, I would have cursed Grady out big time. “Have you even considered any other suspects? What about the flask? Did you know it belonged to Gwen Palmer? Do you know she’s having an affair with Preston Harper?”

  The frown that crept across Grady’s smug face clearly said this was all news to him. The wheels in his head seemed to turn—slowly, of course. “What does any of that have to do with the clown’s death?”

  He had me there. “I don’t know for sure, but it seems pretty suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “Are you implying that Grover Ward knew about the affair and was locked in the freezer to keep quiet?”

  Dang. That was a motive I hadn’t considered, although I didn’t really think Grover had stumbled upon evidence of the affair. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he just found the flask in the coatroom and went into the freezer to drink without being seen.”

  “You’ve floated that theory before.” The color had drained from Grady’s face. Maybe he finally realized he’d been too quick on the draw again. He swallowed hard and grabbed a legal pad. “Okay, tell me everything you know about this flask and the affair. I’ll follow up, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. It might raise the question of reasonable doubt. Although I knew I could kiss any future business with the Harpers goodbye, it would buy some time to follow up on the clown burglary angle. I wasn’t ready to share my new lead with Grady in case it was a dead end. At this point, I was running out of options.

  Chapter 22

  On the walk back to the studio, I stopped and pretended to look in some of the shop windows. I was actually trying to catch my breath. I still hadn’t completely acclimated to the thin mountain air. I waved to Charlotte Randall, who was talking to
a customer inside the candle shop. My phone rang. Perfect. I could use the call as an excuse to sit on one of the park benches while my lungs refilled with oxygen.

  “Are you okay?” Nancy asked. “You sound like you’ve been climbing a mountain.”

  “Just trying to get a little exercise,” I wheezed.

  “Sounds like you need to increase your cardio.”

  I wanted to say something snarky but was too light-headed to form a thought.

  “Anyway, I looked up the house you asked about. I knew the address sounded familiar. You’ll never guess who it used to belong to.”

  “I’ll give you my first child if you don’t make me guess.”

  “You’re no fun. Hold on to your hat. It’s William Woodgate.”

  “The founder of Woodgate Industries?”

  “Yes, indeed. Leslie Harper’s father.”

  My mind reeled. If that was Leslie’s childhood home, she must have been the eyewitness to the burglary. Maybe she had a motive to kill Grover after all. I jumped up. “You’ve been a big help. Your check is in the mail. Call you later.”

  I hung up and jogged back to the studio. And by jog, I mean walked faster than usual. I found Leslie’s cell phone number and called her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  A whirring noise in the background made it hard to hear. “I need to ask you something important.”

  “Look, Ms. Fairmont, I appreciate your calling, but I have nothing more to say to you.”

  “It’s about the death of the clown.” The background noise stopped.

  The edge in her voice was obvious. “Look, I told you that is none of my concern. Now if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll have to call the sheriff and tell him you are harassing me.”

  “You might not have to call him. He’s probably going to call you first.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “He knows about the flask...and the affair.” For a minute I thought she’d hung up on me, then the background noise started up again.

  “I’m at Bobbie’s. I’ll give you five minutes.” She hung up.

  Bobbie’s Beauty Salon was right around the corner. Could I get away with driving instead of walking? I decided I could. Bobbie’s was where the elite got their hair done. Us regular gals went to the Style Station.

  Only two of the shop’s three stylists were working. Leslie was sitting under a dryer while a manicurist worked on her nails. Leslie sneered at me when she saw me approach. Turning to the girl, she said, “Can you turn this dryer off and give us a few minutes?”

  I sat in the chair next to Leslie’s. “I’ll cut right to the chase. I know about the robbery.”

  “Robbery? I wouldn’t call someone stealing an over-priced flask a robbery, but whatever.”

  “I’m not talking about that robbery. I’m talking about the one in 1982.”

  “Are you on drugs or something? I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m losing my patience with you and your wild accusations.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was sincere or doing a great job of acting. I pushed her harder. “In 1982, your house was broken into by a man dressed as a clown. You were the only witness.”

  “That’s it! I’m calling my husband. You can’t keep spreading these lies about me and my family.”

  “It’s not a lie.” I pulled out my phone to show her the article. “It’s right here in the police report.”

  She grabbed the phone and read the article. Her face softened from crazy mad to super confused as she read. “That’s my address, all right. How come I never knew about this?”

  “Leslie, you had to have known. It says right here that the witness was a child, unless you have siblings.”

  “No, I’m an only child.” She shoved the phone back at me. “What does this have to do with my husband and me? Did you tell the sheriff about the flask?”

  I had hoped she wouldn’t ask. I nodded.

  “Well, hopefully, he has the good sense not to say anything to anyone until he talks to me first.”

  “But what about the clown?” I waved my phone.

  “What about him? I’m telling you that I know nothing about this robbery.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe seeing the clown brought back a memory and you just...flipped out.”

  She shook her head. “I know you are trying to help your friend, but you are barking up the wrong tree. And now, your five minutes are up.” She pulled the dryer down over her head and switched on the machine.

  I tucked in my tail and left, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Maybe Jake could give me some pointers on how to interrogate a hostile witness. Between his psychology degree and his FBI training, he could probably get whatever he wanted out of a person.

  That was probably important to remember since we were about to start dating.

  Chapter 23

  Being one of the younger residents in my small neighborhood had its advantages and disadvantages. The older folks loved to share. Whether it was their favorite pumpkin spice cake or the latest gossip from their kids in California, they always had something to give. Of course, there was a downside. Sometimes those stories were a little boring and sometimes that cake included a few cat hairs.

  And then there were the favors. Once I opened my studio, word spread that I “went into town” every day. I had become the official neighborhood Picker Upper. Mrs. Byer’s mail. Mr. Gleason’s low-fat milk. And practically everyone’s prescriptions.

  But that was the beauty of small-town life. I knew someday I’d be the one needing favors.

  As it turned out, Jake and Curtis took care of many of the neighbors’ more demanding chores. Curtis, being a banker and OCD about getting dirty, mainly changed light bulbs and gave advice to the neighbors on financial matters. Because he worked from home, Jake was the go-to guy for most everything else.

  When I drove up to his house, he was across the street at Mrs. Oglesby’s, shoveling snow from her walkway.

  “You should get a merit badge for everything you do around here.”

  “Don’t need one.” He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “I was an Eagle Scout.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Part of the fun of a new relationship were the little surprises that popped up as you got to know someone. “That explains the reason you can never say no to people.”

  “Like you can?” He grinned and leaned on the shovel. “Did you know Mrs. Oglesby writes a letter to her son every day?”

  “Really? Why?”

  “He’s in prison. Arson. It’s a sad story.” He rammed the shovel into the muddy, slushy ice and tossed it to the side. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”

  My heart sank a little. “I could come by and pick up her letter on my way into town. Then she wouldn’t have to walk out to the mailbox.”

  “I’ve offered. She likes to do it herself. She says it makes her feel less helpless.”

  I watched as he shoveled his way toward the house. “Maybe I should come back later.”

  “No, it’s fine. On the phone you said Leslie Harper denied knowing about the break-in. Let’s just think this through.” He jammed the shovel in a pile of snow and took off his work gloves. “Thirty-five years ago the Woodgate home was broken into. How old would Leslie have been?”

  “I’d guess she’s almost forty now, so let’s say around five.”

  “That’s awfully young. Do you remember things from when you were five?”

  I thought for a moment. “I was about that age when my parents took over the lodge from my dad’s uncle. We had a big party. There were balloons and streamers and—”

  “Got it. You can remember that far back, but not everyone can.”

  “But if seeing the clown was a traumatic event, wouldn’t that make Leslie’s memory more intense?”

  “Who says the memory was traumatic? After all, she chose a circus theme for her kid’s birthday party. That doesn’t sound like someone who has a fear of clowns.”
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  Good point. “But when I asked her about it, she honestly didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.”

  “Hmm.” He kicked at the icy mess. “It could be a suppressed memory, or she simply may have forgotten.”

  “Or she could be lying. Some people are really good at it.”

  “True.”

  “What about you, Jake Faro? Are you a good liar?”

  “I feel like no matter how I answer that, I’m going to be in trouble. Anyway, would seeing the clown again at the party have been enough for Leslie to want to hurt him?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the shrink.”

  “Believe me, a bachelor’s degree in psychology hardly qualifies me as a shrink.” He put the gloves back on and picked up the shovel. “If Leslie had been suppressing a traumatic memory and seeing the clown triggered it, she very well may have reacted irrationally. She may also be trying to keep the whole thing suppressed even now.”

  “So what should I do to get her to open up about it?”

  He thought a minute. “When you showed her the article, how did she react?”

  Tiptoeing through the last of the slush, I stood on the bottom step of the front porch. “Like I was making it up or that it was the first time she’d heard about it.”

  “Now that she’s had a little time to process it, you should ask her again. This time though, I’d walk her through it more slowly. Ask if she remembers the house. You said the robbery occurred at night? Ask if she remembers getting up and seeing a strange man in the house. Eventually show her a picture of the clown you took at the birthday party.”

  “And if she doesn’t remember?”

  “Then it’s time to hand it over to the sheriff and see what he can make of it.”

  I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. “I just wish I trusted Grady to do the right thing.”

  “You said he was going to follow up on the flask information. That’s a start.”

  I squared my shoulders to look straight into Jake’s eyes. “Do you think I’m just on a wild goose chase? Be honest.”