Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3

by Lisa B. Thomas

He started to stand but I jerked him back down.

  “You know the first thing the cops look for is a suspect who can’t keep his story straight. That deputy probably already talked to Alex. If you just tell the truth—”

  “All right!”

  Several skiers posing nearby for a selfie stopped and stared at us. I smiled so as not to alarm them.

  “The truth is I was with a girl,” Alex whispered.

  That didn’t seem like much of a stretch. Why would he try to keep it a secret? Then I knew. “Would this girl happen to be married?”

  He nodded without looking at me.

  “If you’re telling the truth—”

  “I am.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, you have an alibi. Why not tell the sheriff?”

  “Because, it’s complicated.”

  I tilted my head. “If I had a dime for every time I heard—”

  “It’s Alex’s wife.”

  “—it’s complicated.” Ugh. “Oh. That really is complicated.”

  “That’s why I haven’t told anyone. Alex said he had some errands to run and asked me to cover for him. I fully intended to, but then Raven called and said she had some time before she had to be at work, and, you know...”

  “You’re a snake, you know that, right?”

  “If I had a dime...”

  We both sat staring at the eager skiers going up on the lift and others, exhausted and exhilarated, coming down the mountain. Skiing, in my mind anyway, was really just about gravity. The story Brett told wasn’t the kind you make up. He broke the Bro Code. How could he do such a thing?

  Just then, Alex stuck his head out of the lodge and yelled, “Hey, Brett! Your next victim—I mean, student—is here.”

  Brett and I exchanged a knowing look.

  “Are you going to tell him?” I asked.

  “Not if I don’t have to.” He stood up. “You won’t say anything to anybody, will you?”

  “Not if I don’t have to.”

  As he walked off, he gave me a half smile, the most genuine I’d seen from him yet.

  I watched the snow lovers a few more minutes while I collected my thoughts. I was actually relieved to be able to cross Brett off the list of suspects. It would have crushed his poor parents if they had thought he’d done such a thing.

  A clump of dark clouds made their way in front of the sun as the wind picked up bits of ice and snow, tossing them around like confetti. A chill came over me. With Brett in the clear, I was still a suspect, even if it was only a formality since I’d found the body.

  Not only that, but someone was after something I had. Was it the photographs stored on the memory cards?

  A young couple stopped and asked me to take their picture. I snapped a few with their cell phone and then started to leave.

  Pictures. Maybe that was it. There must have been something in the pictures I took at the Boswell house that the killer didn’t want me to see. I hurried to the parking lot, suddenly anxious to get home, determined to figure out what the burglar wanted before he decided to come after me.

  Chapter 14

  Everything was as it should be when I got back to the house that afternoon. Cricket greeted me lazily from her spot atop the sofa, the furnace puffed warm air across the cold wooden floors, and the computer clicked and hummed as it came to life, eager to swallow the SD card and reveal its secrets. The photos I had taken at the Boswell house popped up on the screen like little soldiers waiting for their marching orders.

  I examined each one in detail, zooming in and out to make sure there was nothing I had missed. Perhaps someone had been in the house with me, someone living, that is. Was there a shadow? A reflection in a window? The more I studied the pictures, the more disheartened I felt. Nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself as a clue. Nothing explained the invasion of my home or business.

  Deputy Darnell had said the disk in Artie’s camera only contained video. Could there be another memory card? Maybe it was left at the house and overlooked by the deputies. That gave me an idea. I still had the code to the lockbox on the Boswells’ house. Maybe I should run over and take another look. It wouldn’t be illegal since I had permission from Nancy to be there.

  Maybe I could finish taking pictures while I was there. That would be my cover story if I got caught. However, it was getting dark and there wasn’t really enough light left to take pictures of the house.

  I grabbed my camera bag and headed that way. The crime scene tape was gone from the front of the house. As I walked up to the door, I moved deliberately and held my head high. If any neighbors were watching, I didn’t want them to report that it looked like a woman was sneaking into the place.

  The code worked and I opened the door with the key. The front room looked the same as when I was there on Monday. “Anyone here?” I called out. No answer. I crept around the corner to the master bedroom. The bed had been stripped and the carpet had been vacuumed where the broken lamp had fallen. The room gave me the creeps.

  I looked on the floor, dresser, nightstand. I looked behind the TV, in the trash can, and on the floor of the closet. No memory card. The last two places to check were next to the wall where Artie had been lying and under the bed.

  I moved slowly toward the wall and peered down on the floor. It was obvious someone had made an effort to clean up the bloodstain, but a pink hue was still visible on the carpet.

  Still nothing. As a last resort, I walked to the end of the bed and got down on my hands and knees. It was too dark, so I used my cell phone as a flashlight. The carpet was covered in dust and hair and who knows what. Lying on my stomach, I began inching my way further and further under the bed until I was almost to the wall.

  A noise drew my attention. Did someone come in the house? I looked to the side and saw a pair of bare feet standing next to the bed.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  Startled, I raised my head and bumped it on the underside of the bed frame. I shimmied my way out from underneath the bed, not knowing who I’d find upon escape. It was Brett.

  I could feel the redness crawling up from my neck to my face. When I got up, Brett was standing in the doorway dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel.

  “Wendy? Why are you hiding under my parents’ bed?”

  “Oh. That. I wasn’t hiding. I was looking for something. An SD card for my camera.”

  “And you thought my parents might keep one under the bed?”

  “Um, no. I thought I might have lost one when I was here the other day taking pictures.”

  He came closer and laughed. I could smell beer on his breath. “Did you find it?”

  “No, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  He laughed. “Likely story. No use making this a wasted trip. How about you and me fool around a little since you’re already here.” He reached for the towel.

  “No!” I put my hand over my eyes. “Don’t.”

  “Ahh, come on, sweet cheeks. This could be fun.”

  I pulled my hand from my eyes. Luckily, the towel was still in place. “Get away from me.” I grabbed my camera bag and stormed off. “I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you.”

  As I started out the front door, I heard him yell, “You’re the one who’s going to be sorry.”

  THAT WAS A MISTAKE, to put it mildly. Sure, I was used to drunk guys coming on to me. But this was the first time one of them was naked.

  I thought about Jake and what a gentleman he was. I longed for his protective arms. It was time to bite the bullet and go talk to him. Not only would I apologize for my less than flattering behavior the night before, I would let him know about what happened with Brett just in case he decided to call the police and charge me with breaking and entering or something.

  I parked at my house and hurried down the street, glancing up at the light pole that I now knew held Jake’s security camera. I blew it a kiss, hoping he’d see it if he ever watched back the video footage.

&nb
sp; I knocked on the door, although I was tempted to just open it and go inside. But Jake and I weren’t quite there yet in our relationship, especially after last night. To my surprise, he answered on the first knock.

  When he opened the door, his face fell as though I were the last person on earth he’d expected to see. Had he been madder than I even imagined? It’s not like I threw up on his mother or danced on the table.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to play it cool. “I really need to talk to you.”

  I took a step forward, but he didn’t budge.

  His face drained of color as he spoke. “Wendy. I thought you’d be at work.”

  Then another voice came from somewhere behind him in the house. Was it Nancy? I had been so anxious to get here I hadn’t even noticed the car parked in the street. It wasn’t Nancy’s.

  Liv Olsen came up behind Jake and put her hand on his shoulder. “Who’s there?” she asked. “Oh, Mindy. It’s you.”

  “It’s Wendy!” I took a breath and forced a smile. Between the lurch in my stomach and the knot in my throat, it was all I could do to stay standing on my wobbly knees.

  “Give us a minute,” Jake said to Liv over his shoulder and stepped onto the porch. He closed the door behind him. “It’s not what it looks like. I was just tasting her pie.”

  Of all the lame excuses I’d ever heard from a guy, that was the lamest. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My fight or flight response kicked in. I’d always been a flier, so I started to flee.

  Jake grabbed my arm. “Seriously, Wendy. She brought over a pie to see if I liked it. It’s her recipe for the winter fair. It’s—” He let go of my arm. “Whatever. I can see you don’t believe me, even after all our discussions about trust.”

  My mind practically exploded. Jake and Liv. I wanted to trust him. I needed to trust him. Still, something inside me ached. I couldn’t talk to him knowing she was on the other side of the door.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I said, and hurried home. Jake didn’t follow me.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe all men were the same. Maybe Jake was no better than Brett Boswell.

  Chapter 15

  Sitting at my desk, I rubbed my temples and tried to think. What were the chances that Jake wanted to get back with Liv? Sure she was petite and tanned and blond like a sun goddess, but looks weren’t everything. What about my great personality? I know, I’d been more of a drama queen lately, but how could Jake have carried a torch for me since high school and then just suddenly blow out the fire when his ex came waltzing back into the picture? Besides that, he said he was the one who broke it off.

  I needed to stop being so sensitive and suspicious. Jake and I had been getting along so well. I needed to trust him, just like he said. I would text him an apology and see what happened.

  Looking around for my cell phone, I remembered dropping it in my camera bag before I left the Boswells’ house. When I reached in to get it, my hand contacted something foreign and sharp. I jerked it back to see a spot of blood trickle down my finger.

  I sat down on the floor and pulled out my phone, camera, and lens and then dumped the remaining contents onto the ground. A few bits of broken glass had made their way into the bag, either from when the lamp broke or when Deputy Darnell picked up my spilled belongings from the floor.

  I peered in the black bottom of the bag, making sure nothing was left inside. Picking up each item carefully, I checked to make sure there were no parasitic slivers of glass attached and placed it back inside. There were three SD memory cards, one still in the packaging. Another appeared to be a stranger. It was a cheap brand I would never buy.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked as though the little disk would give me an answer. Only one way to find out. I got up and slipped it into the computer, and just like that, the investigation into the death of Artie Becker took on new life.

  The photos were arranged with the most recently taken ones first. Pictures of the Boswell house, much like the ones I had taken, filled the screen. My pulse raced at the realization that these were the pictures taken by Artie before he was killed. I recognized some of the clutter I had hidden or moved before I took my shots. But how did his disk get into my bag? I leaned in closer and scanned each picture quickly, but there were no people, just walls and furniture and the usual trappings of home.

  But it was the next picture that made me gasp and slap my hand across my mouth. I hit the arrow button and soon the monitor looked as though I’d stumbled across a soft porn site on the internet. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There, wearing only a skimpy brief and in poses that made me blush, was none other than Rick Darnell, deputy with the Cascada County Sheriff’s Department.

  Dare I look further? The last thing I wanted was to invade someone’s privacy—or private parts, in this case. Luckily, the other pictures were milder. In some, he wore his uniform. In others, only parts of his uniform.

  A combination of adrenaline and nerves made me giggle. I sobered up, however, when I hit the next set of pictures. They were of Coach Barnes. He wasn’t scantily clad; in fact, it was just the opposite. He wore a dark suit and tie and sat with a forced smile and puffed out chest. What were these pictures for? I couldn’t recall ever seeing Coach Barnes in anything other than a sports shirt and slacks, or sweats, if he was at practice. On more formal occasions he would actually remove the whistle hanging around his neck.

  No one gets this dressed up for passport shots. These looked more like pictures you’d use on a résumé. Was that it? Was Coach Barnes interviewing for a new job?

  That was the end of the pictures from Artie’s camera. I skimmed back through them again, not dwelling on those of Deputy Darnell. Instinctively, I saved the file to my hard drive just in case someone tried to steal this card as well. However, I wasn’t about to let that happen. This evidence was going straight to Sheriff Grady.

  Man, the boys at the station were going to have a field day with these. Darnell would never hear the end of it. He was going to wish I’d never found them.

  That’s it! This was the reason Darnell had asked Grady to let him look at the camera evidence at the station. This was why he asked me if I’d taken anything from the crime scene. This was why he said he’d do “anything in his power” to find my memory cards. And this was who broke into my house and my studio.

  But could this mean he also killed Artie Becker?

  Chapter 16

  Sheriff Grady rubbed his forehead and groaned. “I had a feeling you’d be down here to tear me a new one. Let me explain.”

  I knew I should have stopped him, but I kind of liked seeing him on the defensive. I waited.

  “You see, the county has charged me with protecting its citizens. That requires a lot of time and resources. Consequently, I have to prioritize. Now when the town council established its latest budget, they—”

  “Stop,” I said, covering my ears. “I get it. Luckily for you, some of Cascada’s citizens are here to help you do your job.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not going to deputize you.”

  “No need. I solved the case.”

  He perked up his ears. “You solved the Becker murder?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But I solved the break-ins at my house and studio.”

  “Don’t tell me. It was your no-good brother looking for a little extra spending money. Am I right?”

  The feud between our families—the Fairmonts and the Gradys—didn’t quite rise to the level of the Hatfields and McCoys, or the Montagues and Capulets, but it was close. Ever since I could remember, Sherry Grady, formerly Sherry Spitzer, had had it in for me. When our older brothers got in trouble with the law, it only widened the great divide and made our relationship even more contentious. I had hoped my years living away from Cascada would have healed some old wounds, but apparently they had only festered. I chose to ignore the sheriff’s comments, knowing he was about to get his just desserts when he found out one of his men had been caught on the wrong side of t
he law.

  “You know,” I said with a sly grin, “they say pictures are worth a thousand words. Let me just show you why I’m here and let the pictures speak for themselves.” I handed him the memory card.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s from Artie Becker’s camera. Stick it in your computer.”

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “Just look.”

  He did as I instructed and waited for the pictures to appear. I watched his face as they came up. He scrolled through each one slowly, as though it were a game and he was trying to find the clues to win. Then he got to the beefcake shots of Rick Darnell and his eyes widened. His face reminded me of a selection of fine wine as it turned from blush to rose to burgundy.

  Before he even got to the end, he grabbed the phone on his desk and punched in some numbers. “Get Darnell in here now!”

  I felt sorry for whoever was on the other end of that line. Hazard pay for a hearing checkup would probably be called for.

  Deputy Darnell tentatively stuck his head inside the door. His eyes went first to me and then to the computer monitor. I’m not sure, but he might have wet himself.

  “Explain yourself!” Grady demanded.

  Darnell inched into the office and shut the door behind him. “I didn’t think anybody would see them. I—I—”

  “Spit it out!”

  He swallowed hard. “They’re for one of those calendars. It’s called ‘Totally Illegal Law Enforcement.’ I thought I could make a few extra bucks.” He dropped his head.

  “Like this? In the uniform of this department?” Grady shook his head. “Most cops do a little security work on the side. Pick up some extra shifts. But this...”

  Now that Darnell was sufficiently humiliated, I got to the real question. “Are you the one who broke into my house and studio? Was this what you were looking for?”

  He cut his eyes at me. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “Explain yourself,” Grady said through gritted teeth.