Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (4 page)

The words were out of her mouth before she even fully processed the thought.
“They plan to come back for more?”

***

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

JJ stared at the dust generated by the Harley heading down the country road. She and Edgar had searched one barn and were in the process of moving towards another of the three outbuildings on the farm, when they heard the motorcycle start up.

“I don’t think so. Look at my car!”

“
Girl, you drive out here with those flat tires?”

“
Do I look like someone who’d drive on flat tires?” The old man was getting on her nerves. Half the time she didn’t know if he was senile or just joking. Either way he was slowing her down. Mac was probably wondering where she was by now. Probably worried about his dog. Whiskey! Oh, geez. She’d forgotten the dog. “Whiskey!”

“
You’re too young to drink. But if you’ve got some on you, I could use a swig. For medicinal purposes you know. It’s gonna be a long, cold trek back to town.”

“
I was talking about Mac’s dog. I brought her with me and now she’s disappeared.”

“
You lost Mac’s dog? Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” He chuckled. “Hope you got other career options.”

JJ ignored him and ran to the car, all the while calling the dog. She verified the car was empty, barely glancing at the shredded tires and the pitchfork lying next to the driver
‘s door.

“
Whiskey! Where are you, girl?”

The hum of Edgar
‘s scooterchair as he approached was the only response she got. “You getting any cell phone reception here? I got nothing.”

JJ looked at him. The old man seemed awfully calm, but then he had a church van scheduled to pick him up. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her Blackberry. She had a weak signal. She wasn
‘t sure what she was she was going to do next, but calling for help seemed like a good idea. Only she would really like to find Whiskey before she called Mac. Maybe if she found the dog, they could all ride back in the church van. “When is your ride going to show up?”

Edgar shrugged his bony shoulders.
“Anytime or maybe never. I expected her back by now. Mrs. Filmore is a kind woman but she’s getting forgetful. I knew there was a risk having her drive me. Hope she manages to find her way back to the church okay.”

“
That’s crazy! What were you going to do if she didn’t come back for you? Scoot your way back to D.C.?”

“
I figured after I converted the farmer, he’d be so grateful he’d load me and this contraption up in his truck and drive me to the Amtrak station in town. I checked the schedules on-line before I left home. If you can get us to Landon, we can take the train home. Not sure about the dog; although it appears that might not be a problem. They got bears in this part of Virginia?”

“
Stop talking. I’m not going anywhere without Whiskey. You can help me look or go on down the road.”

“
Calm down–don’t get your leather pants in a twist. I’m fond of the pooch too. She probably didn’t like the smell here and headed home. You know a dog’s sense of smell is at least twice….I think I hear something. Is that barking?”

“
Can’t tell with the wind, I think it’s coming from the house. Stay here and watch for that van.”

“
You’ll need back up if you’re going to break and enter. I’m going with you.”

“
Whatever!” JJ took off running towards the house, one arm wrapped protectively around her side. The house was on a hill, about a quarter mile from the barns. Upwind, she supposed, winding her way past the turkey compost piles, then heading uphill through the trees. There must have been another road leading to the front of the house, but like Edgar she’d turned down the first road off the highway and ended up at the barns. She looked for a path but didn’t see one. She made her way up the steep slope as best she could without slipping. As she finally reached the two-story clapboard structure, it occurred to her that someone besides the farmer might be at home.

No one answered her knock, but the backdoor was ajar, moving a little with each gust of wind. She was wrong; the house wasn
‘t exactly upwind from the turkey barns. She could still smell the pungent odor of decaying turkey litter.

She was right about the dog. JJ could hear Whiskey clearly now, a familiar howling coming from upstairs. The young woman paused, vaguely remembering that sound. She associated it with blood…and with pain. She rubbed a hand over her ribs. She could feel the scar from the bullet wound she
‘d received six weeks earlier.

What she smelled probably wasn
‘t decomposing turkeys.

Walking up the staircase, she pulled out her Blackberry and punched in 9-1-1.

***

“
Red or purple? I was thinking the purple because then I could wear the scarf Sam gave me for my birthday.”

Rachel held up the hangar holding a lavender wool jacket trimmed with black velvet on the collar and pockets. She tossed a purple paisley scarf around the neckline.
“What do you think?”

Snickers, her butterscotch feline butterball, sniffed and offered a disgusted mewl.

She knew what that sound meant. The cat’s human had been home for thirty minutes, tried on six different outfits, and had yet to open a single packet of Meow Mix.

“
Soon I promise. What do you think of a black sweater underneath the jacket and black pants?”

“
Or,” she hung the jacket on the corner of her mirror, “Does that look too funereal? I don’t want it to look like I just came from work. I thought the scarf added a festive touch.”

Snickers jumped down from the bureau where she
‘d been giving running commentary on the fashion show and flounced to the door, parking herself in the threshold.

Rachel ignored the cat
‘s less than enthusiastic response.

“
I think the scarf could also go with the red jacket, although that may be a tad too festive. I don’t want him to think I’m taking on part-time work as one of Santa’s elves…although if I wore one of those Missy Claus outfits from that catalogue I found under Sam’s bed, I could probably get a job at the Camelot Showbar. Oh, who am I kidding?” Rachel sighed and slumped down on the bed. “My days as Missy Claus or Cutie Claus are long gone.”

Apparently giving up on food, the cat jumped up on the bed and snuggled into her owner
‘s lap.

Rachel scratched behind the perky ears, and both human and feline relaxed for a moment to the steady thrum of contented purring.

“I don’t even know where we’re going for dinner. Last time Mac Sullivan paid for a meal was three weeks ago. It was lunch at Taco Bell on New York Avenue.”

Snickers closed her eyes and stretched out her right paw, then her left. The cat flipped over on her back and Rachel gently rubbed the furry belly.

“He said tonight’s meal was to make up for the two dinners he had to cancel last week. Since lunch was a total of seven dollars, plus a dollar fifty for antacids, I figure tonight’s date might actually top twenty bucks.”

Rachel glanced over to the jacket.
“It’s not like he’s exactly going to make Esquire’s best-dressed list anytime soon. That brown corduroy jacket of his probably was on the final markdown rack when Woodie’s closed. They probably paid him to take it off their hands.”

Rachel stood up and unceremoniously plopped Snickers on the floor.
“Come on.”

The cat growled at the sudden displacement.

“I think there’s some leftover meatloaf. Who knows what we’re going to eat tonight and fashion always makes me hungry.”

Feline fur flying, the cat quickly followed her owner downstairs for dinner.

Chapter 4

It was too early for Christmas music but that was what came out of the open window of the patrol car. The deputy must have left his AM/FM radio on along with the police scanner. The music was overlaid with calls about a loud party and a stolen car.

“
Edgar Freed. That’s F R E E D.”

JJ only half listened as Edgar gave his statement to the young Landon sheriff
‘s deputy. The sheriff, a George Clooney clone, was still upstairs.

“
So you were here doing missionary work? We don’t see a lot of that out here.”

Edgar chuckled.
“No, that was my cover. I work for a P.I. firm. My associate and I were here on a missing person case.”

Had a very shiny nose
. JJ didn’t say the words aloud, just let them bounce around in her head. The sheriff had known the man rotting on the bed upstairs. He’d called him by name, Brian Crager. The same man who’d called the office this morning and said he was missing some turkeys. The real Brian Crager hadn’t called anyone in weeks. 
And if you ever saw him.
 Oh, she’d gotten a good look at him alright. At first from the bedroom doorway, she’d thought he was still alive; she’d seen his head move. But as she’d stepped into the room, she realized she was seeing flies. They were moving on his face. 
You could even say it glows….

A wet nose pressed into the palm of her left hand and JJ stopped humming along with the radio.
“I told the sheriff you found him; that you stood outside the bedroom and barked until someone heard you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

The dog whined.

She stroked Whiskey’s head. “I want to go home too.”

“
Sir, describe the man in the barn.”

“
Late forties, about five-ten, 170 pounds, dirty blonde hair. Had an uppity attitude for someone shoveling turkey–”

“
I understand, Mr. Freed. Just a few more questions.”

JJ almost felt sorry for the deputy. Edgar liked to add lots of color to his recitation of the facts. The deputy
‘s little notebook was almost full. She wondered who the man in the barn was. She couldn’t remember if his voice was the same as the man who’d called about the turkeys. She thought it was different, but most people sound different on the phone. What was really going on?

All of the other reindeer.…

Whiskey bumped her leg–hard!

“
Sorry. You don’t like that song? Or is it my voice?” JJ blinked, trying to clear the image of the bloody bedspread from her eyes. It was white chenille. Her grandmother had one like it for years–but without the blood. The man looked like he’d had a massive nosebleed. Blood had pooled around his nose and chin, before running down his neck and onto the bedding. Those stains weren’t going to come out.

“
Miss? I need to get some information from you now.”

“
Poor Rudolph.”

“
Would you like some water? You look kind of pale.”

JJ tried to focus on the deputy. She felt kind of pale. Her side hurt and just the thought of what she
‘d seen when she’d topped the stairs kept her stomach churning. Whiskey had been standing at the open doorway, howling. Even as she’d punched in the numbers on her cell phone for the police, she’d known it was much too late to help the victim. The smell was terrible. She’d tried to run into the bedroom, just in case, but the hardwood floor might as well have been wet sand. Even moving her feet forward had been almost beyond her strength. She’d seen the blood, the bedspread, the flies, then turned, intent on leaving before she saw any more. A ray of light, shining through the sheer curtains had reflected off the mirror, catching her attention. Below the mirror, on the bureau top was a newspaper–a newspaper with a square cut out of it. It was so much like what she’d done that morning, she almost picked it up. Her fingers had hovered inches above it, before she pulled them back.

Join In Any Reindeer Games.

A killer was playing a game and he’d involved her in it. Why?

“
Feel like tossing your cookies, Julianna?” The old man moved his scooter closer to the spot on the porch where she stood. “Maybe the deputy can make you a cup of tea. Law enforcement work isn’t for prissy little girls. Next time maybe you’ll stay in the office, typing letters and doing your nails.”

Crazy old.… She felt a surge of anger and the music in her head stopped. Maybe that was his intent. Someday, but not anytime soon, she might thank him for it.

“I’ll answer your questions.” JJ nodded at the deputy. “But first let me try to call my boss again.”

***

Rachel checked her watch again. 6:46 P.M. A minute later than the last time she looked and fifteen minutes after Mac Sullivan was supposed to have arrived to take her to dinner. She was glad she’d eaten the last slice of meatloaf. She’d skipped lunch to hunt for missing caskets, and breakfast, more than twelve hours earlier, had been a small carton of yogurt. Snickers, curled up in a tight ball fast asleep next to her on the sofa, stirred as the loud grumbling noises from Rachel’s stomach echoed in the room.

“
I’ll give him five more minutes, and then I’m ordering a pizza and deleting Mackenzie Sullivan’s phone number from my cell phone.” Snickers opened one eye, and then snuggled deeper into the cushion. Apparently she’d heard this rant before and wasn’t interested.

“
A woman of my age acting like a lovesick teenager,” Rachel explained to the dozing cat. “It’s embarrassing is what it is. Mac Sullivan does sort of remind me of Sean Connery, minus the Scottish accent, of course, and Mr. Connery is sex on a stick, who I’d do anytime, anyplace.”

The cat slowly opened her eyes to stare at the woman rambling on the sofa next to her.

“Good God, did I say that aloud? I’ve been listening to Sam too much.”

Snickers yawned.

“Okay, it’s a little over the top, but I’ve always had a thing for Sean Connery, post-James Bond, of course. He was too slick for me then and I’ve never much liked martinis. A nice chardonnay, on the other hand.…” Rachel ran her fingers through the orange fluffy fur. “You have to admit, Sean Connery was hot in The Hunt for Red October.”

The cat sniffed and stretched.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. That Russian accent would have had you forking over your catnip in a heartbeat.”

The doorbell rang, halting further discussion of the hotness of Scottish actors. Rachel stood and wiped her sweaty palms on her black pants, then shook her head in embarrassment.

“Get a grip,” she mumbled, deliberately walking slowly to the door.

“
I’m sorry I’m late,” were the first words out of the faux-Connery.

Rachel smiled and opened the door wider. Her grin faded as she realized Mac Sullivan had company. The man really didn
‘t know how to date.

“
Have you met Bridget O’Herlihy?” Mac took a step back to let the younger woman enter first.

Rachel was momentarily speechless, and then offered a hand in welcome.
“We’ve never met, but I recognize you from the photos on your Dad’s desk. Congratulations on your engagement. I was just talking to your mother today about all the wedding plans.”

Bridget shook her head.
“Yeah, Mom has taken to wedding planning like she’s Martha Stewart on steroids. Of course, if I’m dead, it might cut into the father-daughter dance.”

Rachel inhaled sharply, and then looked at Mac, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Why don’t we all sit down for a minute?” the detective suggested.

“
No kidding, Sherlock,” Rachel muttered. “What the hell is going on?”

“
You still got the pizza joint on speed dial?” Mac asked calmly, as he picked up the cordless phone on the coffee table.

“
I’m sorry to interrupt your date,” Bridget said. “I’ve never met any of the women Uncle Mac usually dates, but maybe they weren’t the type that–”

“
Bridget, don’t make me regret my promise to save your sorry little butt,” Mac growled.

“
I don’t think dragging me along on your date is exactly Secret Service protection. I thought you’d be able to figure out who’s behind the grand plan to off Bridget O’Herlihy in a couple of hours and then I could go on about my business.”

“
Well, if you’d agree to stay at your parents, then I wouldn’t have felt the need to babysit.”

“
Right! So I could spend yet another evening looking at bridal magazines and praying the few remaining brain cells I’ve got don’t die in a sea of white tulle. No thank you. My mother is expecting me tomorrow afternoon at the same time the Lasky clan arrives and that’s when I’m showing up. Not a minute sooner. I can’t take much more of her undivided attention. And don’t even get me started on my dad. He’s done nothing but put obstacles in the way of my marriage. He doesn’t even pretend to like Josh. Now he’s started complaining about the costs of everything and I never wanted the big wedding in the first place. The whole thing is a massive headache. Eloping is looking better and better to me.”

“
With that attitude, it’s no wonder someone is trying to kill you. Maybe it’s a family member, tired of listening to your selfish tirades while your mother works her fingers to the bone–”

“
Mom is planning the wedding she never had. She doesn’t care what–”

A shrill whistle interrupted the two.

Rachel removed the fingers from her lips, pleased to rediscover her childhood ability to whistle loud enough to bring home her grandfather’s dogs, as well as her wandering younger brother.

“
What in God’s name is going on? Is Bridget in danger or just in a really bad mood? Who’s trying to kill her? Why isn’t she under police protection? Does Jeff know about any of this? Remember he’s my boss and he’s not going to like being kept in the dark.” Rachel sighed. “And Mac, haven’t you ever dated before? This showing up with a third person is not standard dating protocol.”

“
Sorry, next time I’ll bring flowers instead of a spoiled goddaughter.” Mac pushed Rachel gently onto the sofa. “Let’s all calm down. Bridget is exaggerating, which isn’t the first time that’s happened to Miss Sarah Bernhardt here. You know reporters, give them a few strange events and they draw all kinds of connections that might not even exist.”

Bridget started to object, but Mac held up a warning finger.
“You’ve said enough, now I get to talk. Here’s what we’re going to do. Rachel, you order some pizza, with some pepperoni, if you please.”

“
I don’t like pepperoni,” Bridget mumbled.

“
Then pick it off, Missy,” Mac answered. “Then we’re going to.…”

A ringing cell phone interrupted further discussion of the evening plans. After a quick glance at the number, Mac nodded apologetically to the two women, and flipped open his phone.

“Hey where’s my dog?” Mac grinned.

Snickers, who
‘d been jostled awake when the two women sat down on the couch, now moved quickly to the kitchen.

“
Slow down, slow down. What do you mean dead?”

Rachel and Bridget both started to rise in horror.

“Whiskey’s fine,” Mac whispered, then turned his attention back to the loud voice on the phone.

“
Did you call the cops?” After a moment, he added, “Okay, don’t touch anything else. Where exactly are you?”

Mac dug a pen from his pocket and mimicked writing to Rachel. She handed him a pad.

“James Monroe Highway in Landon? What in the hell are you doing out there? I don’t care if you thought it needed personal investigating. Right! You know you could have faxed him a contract. You shouldn’t have gone out there alone.…”

“
Edgar? Edgar is there too?” Mac started pacing in the small living room. “Look, I don’t want to know right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can. What’s the guy’s name again? Brian Crager. Okay, I’m on my way.”

Mac snapped the phone shut and looked grimly at the women.
“Sorry about dinner, but it seems my assistant has decided to earn her junior detective badge. And somehow Edgar Freed is…. Never mind. Bridget, stay here with Rachel and don’t move until I get back.” He gave his goddaughter a fierce look that brooked no argument.

“
What happened to Brian Crager?” Rachel asked, grabbing her coat.

“
You know him?”

Rachel shrugged at his look of surprise.
“Landon is close to Warrenton–where my grandparents lived. I’ve known Mr. Crager since I was a teenager. He’d probably be in his sixties now. Retired military. Used to coach football before he took over the family farm. Kind of gruff, but a nice guy.”

“
Well, apparently somebody didn’t share your opinion. He’s dead.”

Rachel picked up her purse and started digging for her keys. She was going with him. It was time she took some control back over this on-again, off-again relationship. She didn
‘t spend hours picking out an outfit only to stay home with her cat and a stressed out bride-to-be.