“You’ve been spit on before.”
“Do you know how much these oxfords cost me?”
“Do you know how many pairs of oxfords you coulda bought with your cut?”
“But they’re fuckin’ Guccis!”
“Unfuckingbelievable.”
Dead guy?
Spine tingling, Kylie’s instincts screamed for her to back away.
Leave.
Leave!
Instead, she scanned the wooded area for two hostile men with East Coast accents. Surely she’d misheard or misunderstood.
Then it dawned on her.
This had to be a joke.
Two sportsmen affecting accents and
pretending
to be wiseguys. She wouldn’t be surprised given the popularity of
Omertà
. Since the DVD release, three-quarters of the people in Eden were working their way through six seasons of the gritty show, compliments of Mac’s Video Circus. These two idiots were rehashing a grisly scene.
Yeah. That sounded reasonable. Besides, who in the real world killed over a pair of shoes?
Morbid curiosity propelled Kylie into motion. Following the sounds of the voices, she crept closer, using tree trunks to shield her presence.
“Why did I let you talk me into this? When this gets back to the boss, we’re as dead as this fuckin’
finook
.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure no one finds out. Stop bitching and give me a hand.”
“All because of a goddamned pair of shoes.”
Kylie froze when she spied her prey. Two broad-shouldered men, average height. Black leather jackets, dark trousers, dark hoods. As for the spat-upon-shoes—both men were wearing black oxfords. She couldn’t make out the Guccis. However, it was the third pair of shoes that made her heart stop. A silver buckle glinted in the sun. The unique soles rang a bell. Were those Ferragamos? She watched in numb horror as the two beefy goons stuffed a well-dressed body, a man with exquisite taste in shoes, into the trunk of a compact black sedan. “Oh, my, God.”
“What the…?” The first bruiser whipped around and spotted her as she stumbled back.
Not a black hood,
she thought as panic set in.
Black ski mask.
“I’ve got him. You get her,” said Bruiser number two. “And, dammit, make it clean!”
Survival instinct gave Kylie’s feet wings. She flew through the thicket, the thick rubber treads of her flower-power boots eating up the rough terrain. She heard Bruiser number one slipping on the dewy grass, heard him curse. Heart pounding, she weaved through the forest, an area she knew like the back of her hand, hoping to lose the killer before reaching her bike.
Make it clean!
What did that mean? No blood? So, maybe instead of shooting or stabbing her, he’d just strangle her and dump her in the lake?
Panic fueled her speed. Kylie used her arms to guard her face from low, spindly branches as she fought her way uphill. Still, she felt the occasional sting of a lash.
Better scratched than dead.
She thought she was a goner when she tripped on an exposed root. She flew forward. Her glasses flew…somewhere else. Adrenaline packed a hearty punch. In a flash, Kylie was back on her feet and sprinting, although squinting. No time to search for her glasses. She was running for her flipping life!
When she heard a foul curse close on her heels, she turned and winged her helmet, clipping the mystery murderer in his fat masked head. The impact sent him tumbling back down the hill into a massive evergreen.
She booked it and cleared the forest, lungs bursting as she heeled her kickstand and revved the engine. The bike peeled rubber, gravel spitting beneath its tires as she raced toward the dirt road leading home. She’d traveled these roads so many times she could probably do so blindfolded. Good news, since she was now visually impaired.
Damn her and her frugal ways! If only she owned a cell phone. She needed to call the police. She needed Jack.
Don’t go home
, she could hear him saying.
What if they follow?
She squinted in her rearview mirror, spotted a dark car turning onto the road. Was it them? From this distance, she couldn’t be sure. If it was, surely they saw the dust kicked up by her bike.
Wave a flag, why don’t you, McGraw?
She leaned low and gunned the throttle and jumped her silver Ninja into a grassy pasture. She zipped toward a copse of trees. Three minutes later she came out on the backside of Max’s house. She steered her bike into the listing barn, hid it behind accumulated junk and ran toward his house. She didn’t bother to knock. Max never locked his doors. She burst inside, shouting his name. “I need to use your phone. Max!
Max!
”
She glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink.
Oh, no
. About now he was enjoying a post-church breakfast with his cronies. It was a ritual. Same café. Same time.
Every. Stinking. Sunday.
Kylie nabbed a nearby phone, punched 911. Nothing. No ring. No dial tone.
Dammit.
Max had mentioned canceling his landline, cutting costs and relying solely on his cell. Apparently, he’d done just that. If only she’d followed his lead.
Kylie squashed the panic eating at her nerves and brain. “Think, Kylie, think.” She needed to get to a phone. Better yet, to Jack. Killers were on the loose in Eden. He had to catch them before they got away or, worse, before they found her. Because, cripes, she’d witnessed a
murder.
Not the actual murder, but close enough. She couldn’t risk driving her Ninja into town. They knew her bike, or if they didn’t, they’d put two and two together since Bruiser number one had her helmet.
That left one option. Senses buzzing with determination, she nabbed the coveted key hanging above the retired fire chief’s coffeemaker and sprinted out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
S
HY TROTTED INTO THE
chief of police’s office ahead of Jack, circled three times, then curled on the doggy cushion Dorothy had placed near his desk in an effort to keep the mutt off the station house’s padded chairs.
Jack shoved the box of magazines and videos he’d collected from Jessie’s house to the back of the closet and locked the door. He didn’t want the department’s efficient office administrator tripping across the pornographic evidence during her organizing frenzy. If only he could’ve spared Jessica the unpleasant discovery.
It had taken Jack several minutes to convince his traumatized sister to trust his process. That included consulting with his second-in-command, who, he’d promised, would be discreet. Bottom line, though Jack was acquainted with many of Eden’s citizens, he’d been away and out of touch for years. Where details of daily life were concerned, Deputy Ziffel was better connected.
Meanwhile, Jack promised to handle aspects of his sister’s B and E on his own. Patrol cars were typically outfitted with basic crime-scene equipment. Jack’s SUV was no different. He had immediate access to a latent-print kit and a camera. He’d photographed the crime scene, lifted fingerprints, collected evidence, documented observations. He was certain he was dealing with an amateur. He wouldn’t be surprised if it
was
a cuckolded husband, but what was the man looking for? Evidence of the affair? Lewd photos? Homemade video? For that matter, maybe the suspect was one of the adulterous wives.
Though a small force, the EPD did have access to the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System (IAFIS), a computerized database accessing thousands of fingerprints. Between that and basic detective work, Jack felt confident he’d soon nail the culprit. This was nothing compared to what he’d dealt with in NYC. The difference was, this involved family. His family.
By the same token, while investigating the crime scene, Jack’s thoughts kept flashing on Kylie. He’d always thought of her as family, but now the stakes were even higher with friend and lover in the mix. Kylie who lived in the middle of fricking nowhere, in a trailer with no security lighting and basic locks on the doors that any half-witted criminal could break. Luckily, Jessie had been away when her home, or rather Frank’s office, had been ransacked. Except for last night, Kylie slept at home, alone, every night. She was a crime statistic waiting to happen. He’d have to do something about that.
Ziffel walked in just as Jack claimed the seat behind his recently organized desk.
“Got here as quick as I could, Chief.”
Jack shook off thoughts of Kylie, assuring himself she was fine and en route to McGraw’s. He focused on Jessie and Maddie, whom he’d talked into joining Mrs. Carmichael over at the Methodist Church. Along with several other women, they were currently coordinating the booths that would feature and sell homemade crafts over the next few days. He felt better knowing they were surrounded by people. Plus it would help to divert Jessie’s dark thoughts.
“Sorry to pull you in on your day off, Ed.”
Ziffel smoothed his windblown hair and shrugged off the imposition. “Figured it was important.” Though dressed in faded jeans and an
Omertà
T-shirt, he still managed to look official in his EPD nylon jacket.
Jack noted his bright eyes and controlled movements. Though playing it cool, Deputy Ziffel was primed for action. “Shut the door,” Jack said, then motioned the man to sit in an opposing chair. “Until otherwise notified, what I’m about to say is off the record.”
“Understood.”
Ziffel listened intently as Jack informed him of the break-in and the possibly connected sleaze factor.
“I can see why Jessica Lynn insisted on keeping this under wraps,” Ziffel said, then shook his head. “Why the heck didn’t Frank hide his…er,
private
collection in a better place? I mean, jeez, a suitcase on the shelf of their bedroom closet?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Jack wondered about a lot of things. “There were two dozen or so fashion and health magazines in the mix. I assume he buried the fetish mags underneath, still…” He drummed his fingers on his desk, worked the puzzle aloud. “Found a few porn videos stashed in a spare bedroom. According to Jessie, Frank’s returning to Eden tomorrow. Two reasons. The divorce settlement and unfinished business.”
“Maybe that unfinished business includes packing up the sensitive materials he left behind in a rush.”
“Maybe.”
“Frank split town the same day he broke off with your sister,” Ziffel said. “No one saw it coming. There were rumblings of a high-paying job and a lady lawyer friend with influential ties. You know Eden. Folks speculated plenty. The longer Frank was gone, the more certain they were he wasn’t coming back.” Ziffel shifted, looked away. “You’d be shocked by the buried secrets that started to see light.”
“I’m not easily shocked,” Jack said, but he was intrigued. He knew Ziffel would have answers. This was almost too easy. “Let’s hear what you’ve got, Deputy.”
Ziffel opened his mouth and a siren wailed.
Shy howled.
Jack and his deputy rose as one, although Ziffel was the first out the door.
They both gravitated to the station house’s large front pane, Shy howling on their heels.
“What on earth is Max up to?” Ziffel asked.
Jack raised a brow as the retired fire chief’s 1951 Dodge/Van Pelt pumper zoomed up Main Street, then skidded to a stop. One of the most popular events of the Apple Festival was the Antique Car and Truck show. Max’s hook-and-ladder fire engine was an annual favorite, but that didn’t entitle the man to speed into town, siren blaring. “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d have to lecture Max on safety,” said Jack. Only it wasn’t Max who jumped down from the driver’s throne, but Kylie.
“What the hell?”
he thought, followed by
“Christ, she’s beautiful.”
The petite woman faltered on the running board, the hem of her red coat caught in the door she’d just slammed.
“Man, oh, man,” Ziffel said as she struggled to pull her trench free. “I didn’t realize she was this desperate.”
Jack moved toward the door. “Meaning?”
“Like I have to tell you?” Ziffel asked, hot on his heels. “Kylie’s been trying to set Eden on its ear for days. So far we’ve rolled with the punches, but
this?
There’ll be no living with Max Grogan. Kylie stole his pride and joy.”
The siren and Shy continued to wail as Jack pushed outside. “How do you know she stole it?”
Ziffel snorted. “I know you’ve been away for a while, but surely you haven’t forgotten. No one drives Red Rover except Max.”
Jack cleared the front steps just as Kylie shrugged out of her trapped coat and the owner of the vehicle poured out of Kerri’s Confections, followed by his cronies. Shaking his fist, Max bellowed something, but Kylie paid no mind. She ran hell-bent for the station house. For Jack.
Stuck between curious and worried, he focused on the wide-eyed, dark-haired woman flying toward him. Dirt-stained clothes, rumpled hair, no glasses.
Running full out, she tripped and slammed into Jack. “Murder!”
He gripped her upper arms, steadied her, studied her. Her eyes were wild and glassy. Her face was flushed. She had a twig stuck in her tangled hair and a red welt on her left cheek. He willed his pounding heart steady. “Slow down, hon.”
“Murder,” she gasped. “Lake. Two men. Mobsters.”
Jack’s blood cooled the moment she mentioned the mob. What the hell was she playing at? If she was looking specifically to shake
him
up, then she’d scored.
“Hooligan!” Max pressed in, flanked by the mayor, Jay Jarvis and Ray Keystone. “
You
are in big trouble!” Max railed to Kyle. “I tried to play nice. Tried to be understanding. In your defense,
I
spearheaded un-vandalizing the water tower. And for what? You broke into my house and stole my priceless truck! I’ve never felt so…so…violated!”
“I didn’t break into anything!” Kylie shouted back. “You never lock your doors. And I didn’t steal your truck, I borrowed it!”
“Without asking!”
“It was an emergency!”
Meanwhile the siren whirred and Shy yowled. Jack snapped. “Would someone shut off that damned cherry top?”
Most of the stores in town were closed, but select shopkeepers were hanging “sale” banners in preparation of the festival, and Front Street, one block down and over, had been closed off for carnival rides and food and game booths. Several people started trickling over, curious about the fuss.
“I’ll get it,” Max grumbled. “It’s my truck. Besides, sometimes the door sticks. Gotta know the trick.” He jiggled the knob, then tossed Kylie’s freed coat. “Hope it got grease on it,” he taunted while climbing into the antique red cab to squelch the noise.
Jack caught the coat midair.
Kylie snatched it away. “Are you going to do your job or not?” she snapped at Jack.
He narrowed his eyes. “Mobsters?”
“Yes, darn it! Stop looking at me like I’m nuts! Mobsters. You know. As in wiseguys. Hit men. Gangsters. Didn’t you ever see
The Godfather?
”
“Or
Omertà?
” asked Mayor Wilson. “Although not every member of the mob can be classified as a hit man, Kylie. That’s generalizing.”
“What’s the mob got to do with you stealing my truck?” Max railed as he rejoined the show.
“What’s with the pansy combat boots?” asked J.J.
“Last time you wore those flowered boots,” said Keystone, “you tried to sabotage the historical block. Now you’re trying to wreck a historical truck. I’m thinking those crazy boots make you do crazy things.”
“Maybe you should return to more sensible footwear,” suggested the mayor. “Seems like you gave up your good sense on your birthday when you gave over your practical shoes to Wanda.”
“Would you forget about my shoes?” Kyle shrieked. “There’s been a murder and the wiseguys are getting away!”
“Lower your voice,” Jack said, worried that she’d alarm the growing audience. Instead, the onlookers snickered.
Kylie flushed a deeper shade of red. “You don’t believe me,” she said in a choked voice.
“Mobsters?”
Deputy Ziffel stepped into the fray, brow creased. “In Eden, Indiana?”
Max snorted. “And she accuses us of being obsessed with
Omertà
.”
“Are you making fun of us now?” J.J. asked, looking hurt.
“Enough with shaking up Eden,” Mayor Wilson said. “Shaken, stirred and over it, Kylie.”
“Don’t you lecture me, you…you tattletale!”
The mayor puffed out his chest. “So, Spenser called you, did he? Gave you an earful, huh?”
“Told you that would backfire,” Max said to his friend. “Just made her act out more.”
“Hey! Check out the old fire engine,” a kid called.
“Cool,” another added.
“Look, don’t touch!” Max yelled.
Wanting to break up the scene, Jack looked to Ziffel.
Shooing the onlookers away, Deputy Ziffel worked his magic. “Move along, people. Nothing to see. Get back to what you were doing. Move along. Move along.”
Being law-abiding citizens, everyone cooperated. Except Max and his cronies.
Mayor Wilson focused on Jack. “The Apple Festival opens tomorrow, Chief Reynolds.” He angled his head toward Kylie. “Can we or can we not depend on law and order?”
Kylie blew out a frustrated breath. “What do you think I want?” She tugged at Jack’s lapels. “While we’re standing here arguing, the trail’s going cold.”
He felt the same way about the B and E case. Jack traced a thumb over the welt on Kylie’s cheek. Her claim was preposterous, but her anxiety seemed genuine and she looked like she’d taken a spill in the woods. Had she wiped out on her bike again? Wrecked it? Why else would she
borrow
Max’s fire truck? “Give me the key, Kylie.”
She stiffened her spine. “You have to believe me. They were shoving a dead guy in the trunk and—”
“Clichéd,” said the mayor.
“Pitiful,” said Keystone.
“Now,” said Jack.
Jaw clenched, she passed him the key to Red Rover.
Jack passed it to the fuming owner. “Sorry about the inconvenience, Max.”
“Want to press charges?” Ziffel asked.
Max considered. “No.” He glanced at her flowered combat boots. “Clearly, she’s going through a crisis.”
Kylie whirled. “I’m not—”
“Cheese and crackers!” Keystone exclaimed. “I get it now. She feels inadequate. Her brother’s got a hit television show—fame and fortune, a woman in every port. And what does she have?”
“The responsibility of running a store she doesn’t even own,” said J.J. “And have you noticed how she’s always pinching pennies? Plus, she’s thirty-two and single.”
“With no prospects,” said the mayor. “Unless Jack’s stepping up to the plate.”
“Maybe her baby clock’s ticking.”
“You mean biological clock.”
“Same difference. Maybe she’s hormonal.”
“Ease up, gentlemen,” Jack warned. Holy shit.
Kylie had frozen with embarrassment.
“Looks like she took our advice,” said Max. “She let her hair down.”
“Except she forgot to comb it.”
“Maybe she’s going for tousled,” Ziffel said in her defense.
“Is that some sort of newfangled hair accessory,” Keystone asked, plucking the twig from her hair.
Kylie snatched it back and flung it to the ground. “Without my helmet, you…you busybodies,” she sputtered, “my hair got a little windblown. Now, could we please—”
“A little?” J.J. noted with a snort.
“You rode your bike without your helmet?” Jack asked. Part of him wanted to rescue her from Max and gang. The other half wanted to shake her for being so damned reckless. Riding without a helmet? And where the hell were her glasses?
“Did you wreck your wheels,” Max asked. “Is that why you stole my truck?”
“She stole your truck to shake up her boring life,” said J.J. “Get with the program, Max.”
“I feel for you, Kylie. I do,” said Mayor Wilson. “We’re always talking about your brother and his adventures. Must get tiresome for the sibling who’s stuck in low-key Eden peddling humdrum shoes. Still—”