Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide Read online

  “Do you need help getting the pooch party stuff back from the rec center?”

  “I’m going to go by there in a bit and make sure it’s all okay. I don’t want anyone driving on the roads if they don’t have to.”

  “The roads will be fine. The snow is melting already. I’ll grab another volunteer and go by later today. You don’t need to be hauling that stuff by yourself.”

  “You sure?”

  “You’ve done so much for us, it’s the least I can do.”

  I blushed. I didn’t do what I’d done for credit and recognition, regardless of Cindy Truelson’s implication. I did it for the dogs.

  I found Mary in the cat lounge with a cat under one arm and a pitcher of water in the other.

  “Need some help?” I bent down to pet the two cats rubbing against my legs.

  “Nope. Just filled the last one.” She set the cat down and grabbed another one. “Not surprised to see you here.”

  “I can say the same thing to you.”

  “The animals don’t shut down because of weather.”

  “True.”

  “Kerry’s been here all night. That girl’s a trooper.”

  “Poor thing. She’s got to be exhausted.”

  “She said she could have left, but she was worried no one could get here to feed the animals, so she decided to stay. Slept with the cats on the sofa in the lounge.”

  I cringed. “Oh, ick. There’s got to be a lot of hair buried in that thing.”

  Mary chuckled. “Knowing Kerry, she spent an hour vacuuming it beforehand.”

  “I’m heading over to the rec center. Don’t forget there’s donuts in the office.”

  “You need help getting the stuff from last night?”

  “I wasn’t planning on getting it. Kerry offered to go by later with a volunteer.”

  “So, you’re going why?” She set the cat on a perch and signaled for me to walk out with her.

  “Just to check on the stuff, I guess.”

  “And see what you can find out about last night?”

  “Maybe.”

  She laughed. “Be careful on the roads. They’re better, but not great.”

  I pulled into the rec center’s parking lot and parked in the same spot as the night before. The lot was empty other than a few police cars and city employee vehicles.

  Detective Bruno met me at the door. “How come I’m not surprised to see you here?”

  “Good morning, detective. How are you?”

  “I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.” Detective Bruno wasn’t the friendliest guy on the block, but I doubted most homicide detectives were.

  “I’ve come to check on our set up from last night.”

  “You’re concerned someone took it?”

  I shrugged. “You never know when someone’s going to need artificial turf and toddler fencing.”

  “Ms. Kingston, this is a murder investigation. You can’t just come here and wander around.”

  “I’m not planning to wander around, Detective.”

  He cleared his throat after a raspy, em hmm came out. “You want to see the crime scene, don’t you?”

  I jerked my head back trying to pass off a surprised look. “Oh, thank you, I’d love to.”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t an offer.”

  I gave him a big smile. “Maybe just a peek?”

  He sighed. “Johns said you’d do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Stick your nose in my investigation.”

  “I thought we worked together well on the Traci Fielding case, didn’t you?”

  “We didn’t work on the case together, ma’am.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Detective Bruno, I heard a lot of talk last night, and I’d just like a little peek at where George died. How ‘bout we trade?”

  “We already have your statement.”

  “I know, but I’ve learned more.” I stood there perky and happy, hoping my bright smile would convince him to let me see where George Watson died.

  He stood there for a moment, finally shook his head and sighed, and said, “I know I’m going to regret this.”

  I clapped my hands. “You won’t, you won’t. I promise.”

  He walked me back to the storage room, which wasn’t really a storage room, but a regular room used for storage. We stood at the door. “You’re not going in.”

  “That’s fine.” I scanned the entire room and was surprised they’d actually used tape to make the shape of a body. I thought that was just a thing for the movies. “Was there a lot of blood?”

  “Puncture wounds mostly cause internal damage. They’re not usually big bleeders.”

  “Where was he stabbed?”

  He stared at me with a straight, expressionless face.

  I raised my brows. “Is that confidential?”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “So, if it was internal damage, the knife would have to hit a major organ.” I should have taken anatomy in college like my counselor suggested. I took a guess. “So, the heart area?”

  He still didn’t speak, but he raised both eyebrows, so I took that as a yes.

  “Did it go through to the other side?”

  He rotated his head back and forth.

  I got it. He wouldn’t answer my questions, at least not verbally. That must have been his way of not telling me anything. I visualized the stabbing in my head. “It must have been a fairly large knife.”

  He grinned.

  “George wasn’t a small man. Whoever killed him would have to be fairly tall too then.”

  “That’s the obvious thought, but the angle of the weapon can say a lot about the size of the killer.”

  “Oh, he does speak!”

  He rolled his eyes.

  I imagined a person close to his height stabbing him in the back. For the knife to penetrate below the shoulder blade, the person would have to be far enough back to bring it down from over his head. He—or she—would also need to have enough momentum or force to drive it deep enough to kill him.

  When I said that to Bruno, he smirked. “You been reading forensic books?”

  I pressed my finger to my chin and stared into the room. “But if the person was shorter, they could come in lower and drive the knife upward using the strength of their core more than their shoulder.” I faced him. “What was the angle of the knife?”

  “It came from below.”

  “How tall do you think a person would have to be to do that?”

  “Anyone could do it, but at that angle, it would be easier for someone about a half foot shorter than the vic.”

  Max. “How many suspects do you have?”

  “How about you tell me that information you have.”

  As he turned away, I tried to snap a photo of the scene, but he stopped me. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Darn.

  We sat at a table with food on it from the night before. “Leaving this out isn’t good,” I said.

  “People are here to clean it up.” He took a small spiral notepad like Justin’s and flipped it open. “So, what do you have for me, Ms. Fletcher?”

  I caught the reference to the popular mystery series. “You’re too young to know about that show.”

  He chuckled. “Mom’s a fan. Watches it on Hallmark all the time.”

  I smiled. It was sweet that he knew that. Maybe Detective Bruno had a soft spot after all. “I think you need to focus on Turner Shaw. I told Justin he was very upset with George. I heard him say George offered him the job for the expansion but only if he’d do it on the cheap.”

  He didn’t write anything down.

  “You knew that already didn’t you?”

  “As I said before, we already have your statement.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t give it to you.”

  “Then fine, why don’t you go ahead and tell me.”

  “Turner said he thought George paid off the mayor to vote for the expansion.”

>   “But council voted against it.”

  Why did everyone think that had anything to do with how the mayor voted? “Yes, but the mayor voted for it, and there’s no reason George couldn’t resubmit it for another vote. He even said as much last night.”

  “And what? You think he’d pay off another council member to get their vote, too?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? People support the shelter. They want to help the women, and the expansion was a way to do that. They come to a fundraiser, throw a few hundred bucks in the pot and feel good about themselves for it. People had to assume their money would go to the expansion, especially after George got on the stage and put the mayor on the spot like he did. So, all George had to do was pick a council member most likely to change his vote.”

  “And who do you think that is?”

  “Rick Morring. Watson could have offered him the money already, but maybe he said no because he thought the expansion wouldn’t get through council, but since that wasn’t the case…”

  “But how does that make Shaw the killer?”

  “What if there’s enough money in the shelter funds to do the expansion without George’s funding? It’s a non-profit, their financials are available to the public. What if Turner did his research and knew that with George out of the picture the expansion was still possible? He wanted the job, he just didn’t want to cut corners when he got it.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re saying a guy that didn’t want to cut corners on a job murdered someone so he could get that job?”

  “He knew the mayor was already in. If he thought he could get Rick or Max to vote yes, and he could get the contract, you have to consider him a suspect.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  “But it’s a motive, right?”

  “It’s a stretch.”

  I took a page from Cindy Truelson’s book. “Money and power make things happen, Detective. Shaw Construction gets a lot of city contracts. It’s not a long shot to assume he’d get the expansion with George out of the picture.”

  He glanced up from his small spiral notepad. “Like I said, it’s a stretch, but it’s possible.”

  “So, are you going to arrest him?”

  “We’re not there yet. May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why wouldn’t Watson hit up Max Hoover for the vote?”

  “Max isn’t the kind of person that needs notoriety, but Rick is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Do you know Rick Morring?”

  “I’ve talked to him a few times.”

  “Well, talk to others about him. You’ll see I’m not the only one with that opinion. He likes to be the hero, likes to make people think he wants what they want, but really, he’s just out for himself. Besides, last night was the perfect set up for him. George announced he would fund the entire expansion and get the council to vote for it. He could have easily talked to Rick before that and convinced him to change his vote.” I adjusted my backside in my seat. “Oh, and Max was the one that stood up when George put the mayor on the spot last night too.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Didn’t that make Hoover look good? He stopped a potential confrontation.”

  I clenched my fists. “Max…he, no, he didn’t do that to look good. He did it because it was the right thing to do.”

  The door from the kitchen opened, and Beth Lennon walked out. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She backed up when she saw the two of us talking. “I was told to start cleaning the tables. I would have been here sooner, but I just got my car out of the driveway.

  Detective Bruno stood. “Not a problem. We’re finished talking.” He dipped his head at me. “Thank you for the information.”

  Darn it. I didn’t want to leave him with his last thought being about Max. “Max didn’t kill him, Detective.”

  Beth scurried to another table to clean it first.

  “I need to get back to the investigation, Ms. Kingston. I’ll see you out.”

  “Oh, I wanted to chat with Beth for a minute. Is that okay?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Make it quick, and don’t go anywhere but this room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I helped Beth clear the table. “Glad to see you made it home okay.”

  “It wasn’t easy. I live up a big hill. My neighbor was out with his big pickup truck pushing cars up it when I got back. There were four cars in front of me. What’re people doing out at two o’clock in the morning anyway?”

  I laughed. “Probably thought it would be fun to take a drive in the snow.”

  She stacked the plates in a big plastic tub. “That’s just stupid.”

  Beth had a way with words. I carted a handful of silverware over to the tub and dropped it in the smaller section. “This is where it goes, right?”

  She glanced over. “Yup.”

  I picked up a few wine glasses. “You doing okay? I was worried about you last night.”

  “It was pretty intense, that’s for sure. All the servers were freaking out in the kitchen.”

  “I bet. Do you know if anyone saw anything?” I hoped I’d get more from her than I had the night before.

  “A bunch of people used the cut through to get to the bathrooms, so we were all throwing names out, but we didn’t know everyone. People that are servers in a restaurant don’t usually hang out with the kind of crowd that goes to fundraisers.” She picked up the tub and carried it to the next table. It couldn’t have been light, and she held it up to rest on her shoulder. I imagined my vertebrae compressing from the of weight. “They’re not really our crowd.”

  “They’re not really my crowd either.”

  “Really?” She pinched her eyebrows together. “You seem to fit in with them. I mean, I know what you did for the shelter. All that money to start the program and all.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that, but I wanted to keep the conversation going, so I let it lie. “I’m more of a dog person than a people person.”

  “Me, too.” She set the tub down and began filling it some more. “Manny loved the snow this morning.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, tapped on it, and shoved it almost to my nose. “Look at him.”

  I backed away so my old eyes could focus on the photo. Manny was a cutie pie. “He’s got snow all over him. So cute.”

  “I know. I love him.”

  “Me, too. I’m glad you two picked each other.”

  “We really did, didn’t we?” She grabbed another tub and gently set a pile of plates in it.

  I followed suit. “What people did the staff recognize?”

  She glanced up at me from the tub. “Why do you ask?”

  “A man died last night and someone in that room killed him. Aren’t you curious?”

  She blinked. “Do you think Mr. Watson was the only target? I mean, it could be a serial killer or something. That happens all the time.”

  I tried to ease her concerns. “I don’t think this was a serial killer. I think whoever killed George Watson thought he had a reason.”

  “Or she.”

  “Yes, or she.”

  She set her dish cloth on the table. “I remember a few names and some faces. That snobby woman—” she paused for a moment. “Cindy Truelson? And that guy Rick Morring. I only know his name because his political signs are still all over the sides of the roads on my side of town. Maybe one of them did it?”

  Rick Morring as a suspect didn’t work for me. I didn’t like the man, but unless there was something about his relationship with George Watson I didn’t know—which could easily have been true—he didn’t fit the killer role.

  “Did anyone mention Turner Shaw?”

  “That construction dude with the big signs all over town?”

  I chuckled. “Yes, him.”

  “Yeah, a bunch of us did. And I saw him arguing with the dead guy about fifteen minutes before we started serving dinner.” She added a few glasses to the tub. �
�Mr. Watson seemed like a nice man, and he did a lot for the shelter. It’s sad what happened.”

  “It is. Did you tell that to the police you saw Turner Shaw?”

  “Yes, and that a few of us talked about seeing him because his face is plastered all over those signs.” She gathered the last of the silverware and placed it in the tub. “I need to bring these back.”

  “Oh.” I went to grab the other one. “I’ll help.”

  She eyed me up and down. “Take this one. It’s lighter.”

  I laughed. “I appreciate it.” We walked in back, and I scanned the room hoping I could see something to store in the back of my brain for later. “Where’s the cut through you mentioned? The one people used to get from one side to the other.”

  She pointed her finger at a side door. “Right there. You don’t really know it’s there though unless you’ve been back here before.”

  Great. I had no way of knowing who would know that trick, and since she’d mentioned several people used it, the killer could have easily slipped through unnoticed. “Do you know Max Hoover?”

  She titled her head upwards. “I don’t think so. Was he here last night?”

  “Yes, he’s another council member.” I described Max for her, but realized he probably looked like any dad aged man in her eyes.

  “Is that the guy that stopped the fight from starting on the stage thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know him, but I saw him cut through here last night. Told the cop that, too.”

  Great. One more person throwing Max under the bus. I removed my phone from my pocket and snapped a few photos of the kitchen just in case. Beth raised an eyebrow my direction. I blushed. “I’m into true crimes.”

  “That’s cool.” She grabbed another tub. “I appreciate your help but, um...”

  “But it’s easier to do yourself?”

  “Yeah. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Chapter 4

  Hayden called me on my way home. “Are you seriously driving in this stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  “Mom.”

  “There’s this thing called the sun, and when it rises, the temperature miraculously rises with it, and the snow just magically melts away. It’s pretty amazing to watch.”