Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3 Page 28

  I shot a glance at the redhead and her husband. “I can see that.”

  Before he could offer an equally snotty comeback, Mayor Hadwell banged his gavel on the podium to start the meeting. Artie took a seat across the aisle.

  “As you know, this is the final meeting before this weekend’s fair. We have a lot of local and out-of-town participants coming, and I want to make sure we are ready. Lois, what about setup? Do you have enough tables and extension cords?”

  Lois Green stood. “That’s all taken care of, but because of the number of vendors, we are going to need an extra day to get everything ready this year. I want to start setting up on Thursday instead of Friday.”

  “I object!” A man near the front of the theater leaped up.

  “Coach Barnes, this isn’t a courtroom,” the mayor said. “What’s the problem?”

  Calvin Barnes had been named the head coach at Cascada High School back when I was a student there. And in those nearly twenty years since, he had struggled to put together winning teams. The New Mexico Sports Association had named him the best high school coach without a playoff win. It was probably meant to be a slam, but he proudly included it in his credentials every chance he got. Calvin looked like he could step back onto the field at a moment’s notice and go toe-to-toe with any NFL linebacker. He was good-looking if you were into older musclemen who likely opened beer bottles with their teeth.

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his CHS ball cap. “I had to give up the gymnasium last week for the science fair and two weeks before that for the Sadie Hawkins dance. How am I supposed to get my boys ready for the district basketball tournament if everyone and his brother keeps taking over the gym?”

  “Ah, pipe down, Cal. It’s not like they ever win anyway.”

  All eyes turned to a mustached man in aviator glasses sitting next to Artie. Under his brown plaid jacket, he wore a polyester shirt with a wide collar and a loud orange floral print. Both hands were adorned with gold rings and he had a bad comb-over, which is actually kind of redundant.

  Calvin puffed out his chest. “I’ll have you know, Clyde, I’ve been called the best loser in the state.”

  As laughter snaked through the crowd, I turned to Nancy. “Who is that guy and does he know the seventies are over?”

  Nancy chuckled. “That’s Clyde Hornsby. He used to own the pawn shop. Now he just hangs out at Karol’s Kafé and gambles at the casino.”

  The coach’s tanned face turned purple. “That’s not what I mean. I meant—”

  Mayor Hadwell intervened. “We know what you mean, Coach Barnes, and we appreciate your cooperation. Lois, how about waiting until school is out Thursday to get started? I bet the coach would volunteer some of his athletes to help set up those tables. Right, Coach?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He plopped down in his seat, and the metal supports squealed in protest.

  “Good. Now, as you may know, Sherry Grady has graciously agreed to take over as chairman of the pie auction.”

  An audible gasp filled the room. Nancy elbowed me in the ribs. “That’s not fair!” she whispered. “She shouldn’t be allowed to be chairman and enter her own pie. That’s why a man should be in charge.”

  I just nodded, pretending to care and pretending not to notice how sexist that statement sounded. You see, Sherry was my high school nemesis. I’m sure we all had one. Only problem was that mine still held a deep-seated resentment toward me. Luckily, our paths rarely crossed, except when we worked out at the gym.

  Sherry took the stage. Her skinny jeans disappeared into tall snakeskin boots. “Ladies, I’m doing things a little differently this year. After last year’s mix-up with some of the auction forms—that was even before the catastrophe with the table getting knocked over—I am requiring all pies to be delivered to the school cafeteria no later than four o’clock Friday afternoon. That will give me an hour to get things ready before the auction begins at five. I, and I alone, will secure the auction forms to the tables in the cafeteria to ensure no one tampers with them again. As the sheriff’s wife, I can assure you there will be strict supervision of the event this year. If you have any questions, see me after the meeting.” She pranced off the stage.

  The mayor returned. “Now we are going to hear a report on the financial status of the event.” He shielded his eyes as though he were under a spotlight and searched the crowd. “Has anyone seen Margo?”

  A petite blond came forward from the back of the room. “Mother is down with a head cold,” she said in a pixie-like voice that matched her appearance. “She asked me to give you this report.” She handed a manila folder to the mayor, who thanked her and began reading aloud from the papers.

  Nancy let out another gasp and grabbed my hand. Several people turned to see what was wrong.

  “What is it?” I asked, thinking she was having some sort of attack.

  She smiled to let others know she wasn’t having a medical crisis. Finally, when they’d turned their attention back to the mayor, she leaned over to me and whispered, “That’s Jake’s ex-girlfriend. I had no idea she was back in town. I wonder if Jake knows.”

  Chapter 2

  Jealousy was not a totally new emotion for me, even though I usually had the upper hand with my gentlemen callers, as Gran used to refer to them. Maybe it was because I was thirty-five and still single, or maybe it was because my relationship with Jake was so new, but something about seeing Liv Olsen made my stomach lurch.

  Liv Olsen. That was her name, by the way. She looked like a little Norwegian princess from some Disney movie where gnomes guarded her castle from hostile neighboring villages. And speaking of villages, why had she come back to this one? Nancy promised to do some sniffing around and get the skinny on her for me.

  Skinny. The word made me shudder. Over the past year, I had gone from trim to curvy and was on my way to well-padded. Consequently, that morning I headed to the gym for an extra workout. Spin class was getting a little easier now that I was actually attending on a regular basis. Maybe it was time to add a little strength training to the mix. I needed to be ready in case I got in a throw-down with the pixie vixen.

  One of the perks of owning my own business was the flexibility it gave me. As long as I kept my appointments, I could sleep late, work from home, or take time off whenever I wanted. Sure, I hoped someday to be so busy that I’d have to keep regular business hours, but for now it was nice to be my own boss. And as my own boss, I ordered myself to hit the gym before going to the studio.

  I changed into my workout clothes and grabbed my gym bag. As fate would have it, just as I was walking out the door, my phone rang. It was Nancy.

  “I need a favor,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically anxious. “Can you take some pictures for me?”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “Artie Becker didn’t show up at the Boswells’ place this morning, and he’s not answering his phone.”

  “You want me to take pictures of the house?”

  “Yes. I know we talked about your doing that in the future if my contract fell through with Artie. It looks like the future is now. I’m fed up with his no-showing on me.”

  I looked down at my outfit. “Are the Boswells going to be there? If so, I’ll need to change.”

  “No, they’ve been out of town taking care of her mother for a while now. That’s why they are so anxious to get the property listed. Their son, Brett, and his friends have been partying there on the weekends, and they’re afraid he’s going to tear the place up. Just do your best to make the house look as big and nice as possible.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but I won’t use a wide-angle lens to distort the size. I hate it when they do that.”

  “That’s fine,” Nancy said, sounding relieved. “I trust your judgment. You know where the house is, right?”

  “Yep. In the upper canyon by the fire station. But how will I get in?”

  “I’ll text you the code for the lockbox. There’s a key inside. Just make sure you lock it b
ack up before you leave.”

  “Got it.” I hung up after we made plans to meet later at my studio to look over the pictures. After swapping out my gym bag for my camera bag, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. If I changed clothes now, I could go straight to the studio after the Boswell house. I had several appointments later in the afternoon. Looked like I wouldn’t be going to the gym today after all.

  I changed clothes and said goodbye to Cricket, who sat curled up, purring contentedly, on the back of the sofa. She barely opened an eye as I left.

  Pete and Audrey Boswell were longtime residents of Cascada. They were active in the church, respected in the community, and charitable to their neighbors. But like a lot of families, mine included, there was a black sheep among the flock. Brett Boswell was their black sheep.

  His father tried to get him to go to college with a promise to make him a partner in his accounting firm, but Brett would have nothing to do with it. He preferred the ski slopes to the classroom and had spent the past five years or so working on his career as a professional snowboarder. He had even gotten a sponsor. But when he failed to make any of the national teams and suffered an injury, he took a job at the Snowbird Ski Resort just outside of town.

  Next to the curb in front of the house were several overflowing trash cans. Empty beer bottles had fallen out of one bag and were scattered on the ground. Nancy must have put the bags out when she was there earlier; otherwise the raccoons would have ripped them to shreds by now.

  I tromped through the snow on the walkway leading up to the house. Apparently, Brett hadn’t bothered to shovel it. I punched in the code Nancy had sent me and opened the lockbox. There was no key inside. I tried the handle and the door opened. Nancy must have forgotten to lock it back up before she left. She really was angry at Artie if she’d left without locking the door.

  Inside, the house was in more disarray than I had imagined. Surely the Boswells wouldn’t have left it that way. Although I didn’t know him all that well, I couldn’t believe Brett would treat his parents’ home like this. Or maybe the Boswells were really just slobs. You never know what goes on behind closed doors.

  I immediately began tidying up the den and kitchen, straightening the furniture and clearing the countertops of clutter. As I did, I couldn’t help but think about my own brother, Tyler, and the trouble he had given my parents. Luckily, he finally seemed to be headed down a better path. Although he and Nancy had gone out a few times, I was relieved when she said they had decided just to be friends. It’s hard to predict if a leopard can really change its spots.

  Before I knew it, I had slipped into full-on maid mode. It was like I was back at my parents’ lodge helping our housekeeper, Myra, clean the guestrooms. I’d have felt better wearing gloves but tried to make the best of it.

  The bookcase was covered in a layer of dust. Would dust show in the pictures? Surely not. I was tempted to find a cloth, but that might be taking things a bit too far. A large ceramic bookend in the shape of a native warrior sat precariously on the edge of the shelf. Its mate was gone. As I propped the books back up, I thought about the mayor’s description of the pie fiasco at last year’s art fair. What a mess that must have been. Then I thought about Artie Becker.

  I wasn’t surprised that he felt threatened by me since he had been the closest thing to a professional photographer in Cascada for the past few years. But there was a new kid in town. If he was willing, I’d be glad to work out a deal with him. He could shoot video and I could shoot stills. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to try to talk to him before Saturday; otherwise I could kiss my thirty-dollar registration fee for the photography contest goodbye. But after seeing his less-than-professional interaction with the redhead and her husband, I had a feeling Artie wasn’t the kind of guy to listen to reason.

  As a final touch to the den, I straightened the throw pillows and arranged the magazines on the coffee table in a homey vignette with a candle and plant that surprisingly was still alive. I got out my camera and searched through the bag for a new memory card in case Nancy needed me to leave it with her.

  Taking pictures of the house to capture the best features was not as easy as I thought. I crammed myself into corners to get the widest shots I could, trying not to show some of the stains on the carpet. If I aimed too high, the ceiling lights created a distracting glow. If I turned them off, the lighting was insufficient. And the windows. Don’t get me started. Blinds open, blinds closed. I took a lot of shots, hoping some of them would work. I had a feeling there would be a lot of cropping in my future.

  Finally finished with the front of the house, I picked up my bag and headed to the back. Who knew what might await me in the bathroom. To my surprise, the master bedroom was in pretty good shape, except for the bed pillows and a pair of blue boots lying on the ground on the far side of the bed.

  I opened the dresser drawer to put away the remote control for the TV. It felt kind of invasive, but I didn’t think the Boswells would mind. It wasn’t like I was rummaging through their underwear drawer. After straightening the pillows, I reached down for the boots. They didn’t budge. When I moved closer, I gasped and jumped back, slamming into the dresser. The lamp swayed, then crashed to the ground, sending glass everywhere.

  The boots, as it turned out, were still attached to their owner, Artie Becker. And judging by the blood coming from his forehead, the camera strap pulled around his neck, and the purple color of his face, it was obvious he was dead.

  Chapter 3

  After calling the sheriff’s department, I tried Nancy’s cell phone. When it went to voicemail, I froze and left a quick “Call me” message. I couldn’t hardly leave a message telling her the man working for her was dead on the job.

  I didn’t know whether to wait in the house or in my car since it was creepy sitting in the den knowing a dead guy was on the other side of the wall. But it wasn’t like this was my first corpse, unfortunately. The curious side of me won out, and I sat down on the sofa to wait.

  Whether it was the force of gravity or the ghost of Artie Becker, I couldn’t say, but as I sat there waiting for the sheriff, the books I had propped up earlier on the bookcase chose just that second to tip over and send the warrior bookend crashing to the ground. It bounced and rattled its way under the coffee table. I picked it up to see that the headdress had cracked on top but the piece was still mostly intact. Returning it to the shelf, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized something important. My fingerprints were all over this house, at least the rooms I’d been in. Not only mine but Nancy’s were probably there, too. Sheriff Grady was going to have a field day with this one.

  Sirens pierced the silence and I went to the front door to greet the first responders. They followed me to the bedroom, stepped over the broken glass, and pushed the bed out of their way to get to Artie. That’s when I noticed a few drops of blood on the bedspread—the bedspread I had straightened out earlier. I jumped as a voice came out of nowhere.

  “You again.”

  It was Sheriff Tucker Grady and he looked annoyed. Before I could respond, he took my arm and led me back to the sofa.

  “Wait here,” he barked and headed into the bedroom.

  Another deputy was already stringing crime scene tape across the front porch. A man with a dog walked up to the officer. The deputy motioned for the man to move along.

  Within minutes, an ambulance pulled up and the paramedics wheeled in a gurney. More officers arrived. A steady stream of people walked in and out of the house. Finally, Grady came out of the bedroom, followed by the paramedics wheeling the gurney. The sheet covered Artie’s face.

  I could hear the click of a camera and see the flash bouncing into the hallway as someone took crime scene pictures. A deputy stood by the entrance to the bedroom. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was a Chippendales dancer wearing a police officer’s uniform as a costume. He had the build of someone who spent a lot of time at the gym and the hair of someone who spent the
rest of his time in front of a mirror. He wasn’t my type, but I bet the female officers went nuts over him.

  Once they had the body in the ambulance and had driven away, Grady came back inside and stared at me, making me feel like a child about to get a lecture. Finally, he sat in the chair across from the sofa and took out his pad of paper and a pen.

  “Do I need to read you your rights, Ms. Fairmont?” he asked.

  “Who? Me? No. I didn’t do anything.”

  He rolled his eyes mockingly. “Said every guilty person ever.”

  My heart began racing even faster. “Sheriff, you know me. You know I’m not a killer.”

  “Yeah, I know, but there’s a first for everything.”

  My cell phone rang. When I saw it was Nancy, I answered it. “I’m at the Boswells’ house. Artie Becker is here. He’s dead.”

  After an initial gasp, Nancy said she’d be right over and we both hung up.

  Grady narrowed his eyes at me. “Who was that? Your lawyer?”

  “No. It was Nancy Faro. She’s the reason I’m here. You see, Artie Becker was supposed to be here earlier to take pictures of the house for Nancy’s real estate listing. When he didn’t show up, she called and asked me to do it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Grady made a note. “How’d you get in?”

  “Actually, the door was unlocked. I assumed Nancy had left it opened earlier when she was here, but maybe Artie showed up after that and used the key in the lockbox.”

  “Where’s the key now?”

  “I found it on the kitchen counter and put it back in the lockbox.”

  “What time did you get here?”

  I looked at the recent calls list on my phone. “Nancy called me around nine forty-five. I changed clothes and then drove over. I probably got here about ten fifteen.”

  Grady made a note of the time. “It looks like there was some sort of struggle in the bedroom. What happened? Are you okay?”

  “You mean the broken lamp? I did that. I bumped into the dresser when I saw—the body. It fell onto the ground and busted.”