Double Blind (5 page)

He stepped around the rack of flannel shirts that separated them and looked down. “Jesus Christ.” He knelt down by the body. “It’s Lloyd.” He cocked his head up toward her, eyes narrowing. “Want to tell me what you have to do with this?”

“Nothing. I found him just before you got here.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“The door was open.” She told him of driving by, seeing and hearing gunshots, stopping to investigate, and getting run over by the apparent murderer.

“What’d he look like?”

“I didn’t really see him, but he was big.”

“Hmm,” Wade said.

“You know who it might be?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He stood and looked around the room. “How big?”

 “Maybe 6-3 and 250 or more. Built like a tank. Fast on his feet.”

Wade sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sounds like Billy Bear Wingo.”

“Who?”

“One of our local trouble makers. Course, he ain’t never done anything quite this bad.” Wade hitched up his pants. “There’s a half empty box of shells in Lloyd’s truck. You find a weapon?”

“No, but a gun had been fired. I smelled it when I first got here.” Sam panned her flashlight beam across the floor. The circle of light swept past a dark object, which nosed from beneath the shirt rack, near the dead man’s hand. “What’s this?” she said.

She knelt. Wade stepped around the body and peered over her shoulder. She pushed the shirts back, revealing a revolver. Wade slipped a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. She lifted the weapon by the trigger guard and sniffed the barrel. “It’s been fired.”

Wade pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and took the gun. “Looks like a .38,” he said. He walked to the desk, swung open the cylinder, and shook the shells out on the desktop. Four bullets and two empty casings. “Looks like Lloyd got off a couple of rounds.”

“There,” Sam said, pointing to splintered hole in the wall above the desk.

“Let’s get some more light in here,” Wade said. He walked to the front of the store and flipped on the overhead lights. The sudden brightness caused Sam to flinch.

“Jesus,” Wade said. “Look at this mess.”

Sam walked toward him. The other smell she had sensed earlier increased as she approached. Then, she saw the three ruptured cans of Campbell’s Pork and Beans. Their gooey contents clung to nearby cans and cascaded off the shelf to the floor. That’s the mystery smell. Pork and Beans. A staple of her childhood.

Wade picked up the phone from the front counter and dialed. “Eloy, drag your butt out of bed. Stop by the office, pick up the crime scene kit, and meet me at Varney’s store. Lloyd’s been murdered.” He hung up and looked at Sam. “Eloy and I’ll see what evidence we can find.”

“Want some help?”

“We’ll handle it,” Wade said.

“I’d be happy to give a hand. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep for a while yet, anyway.”

“Where’re you staying?”

“I’m visiting my friend. Alyss Cameron.”

“Yeah. She just bought the Aspen Creek B and B up the road here. Nice lady,” he said.

“We’re old friends.”

He jerked his head toward the street. “They let you bring the county vehicle this far?”

“The Jeep’s mine. The lights and the decals belong to the county.”

Wade gave her a half smile. “Sounds like your budget’s about as generous as mine.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll call Alyss, let her know I’ll be there later, and give you a hand here.”

*

After Sam called Alyss and told her what had happened and that she would be even later arriving, she and Wade worked the scene. An empty boot box, a couple of shovels lying on the floor at the rear of the store, and a stack of sweaters knocked off a display shelf were the only things out of place. And of course, Lloyd Varney’s body and the bloody boot prints that led out the door into the night.

Sam slipped the strands of dark, thick hair she had lifted from Lloyd’s palm into an envelope and passed it to Wade. He folded it and shoved it into his shirt pocket. She then leaned on the desk and examined the two slugs she had placed on a paper towel. One she had pried from the wall with a screwdriver she found in the desk drawer; the other Wade had discovered by digging through the contents of a ruptured Pork and Beans can.

“Hello.”

Sam jumped. A man stood in the open side doorway. He wore a faded orange sweatshirt beneath frayed tan overalls and carried a gray tackle box with “Crime Scene Kit” printed in black marker on the side.

“You scared me,” she said.

The man gave her a head-bobbing apology, muttering something that sounded like “Sorry,” though Sam couldn’t be sure.

Wade introduced her to Eloy Fuller, Gold Creek’s only other police officer. They shook hands and then Sam returned to examining the slugs while Wade brought Eloy up to speed on what they had thus far found.

To say that Eloy was strange didn’t even approach the truth. Sam figured he possessed more than his share of recessive genes. He was short, thin, edgy, with wide, low set ears that projected from the side of his head like open car doors. His misaligned eyes constantly darted around the room as if following some invisible moth. He emitted an aura of old sweat and stale cigarettes.

As Wade spoke, Eloy seemed to only half listen, appearing more interested in Sam’s anatomy than any evidence that might be present. Every time she glanced over at him, he would quickly look away as would a child caught by his mother pilfering cookies. He would then turn his attention to Wade, furrow his brow, and nod his head, as if he was concentrating on the Chief’s every word.

Sam scraped the slugs into a plastic bag and handed it to Eloy. He smiled at her. She couldn’t decide which eye to look at, but offered a half smile in return.

Wade and Eloy dusted the door, the lamp, and the shovels they had found on the floor for prints. Then, Eloy began taking Sam’s prints for exclusion. As he rolled her ink stained fingers on the print card, he held the first two a little longer than necessary.

“I can finish this myself,” Sam said.

“Sure.” Eloy nodded and shuffled away, shoulders slumped like a scolded child.

Sam completed the process in less than a minute and then cleaned her fingers with a paper towel.

Wade took one last look around the store and sighed. “I guess that about does it.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly two. You both get home and grab some sleep. I’ll lock everything down here and go see Louise Varney.” He released a heavy sigh. “This is going to kill her.”

A bright morning and the aroma of fresh muffins and coffee greeted Sam when she rolled out of bed. She stood and stretched, her muscles and joints protesting every movement. She felt older than 27. Much older.

Last night when she finally reached Alyss’, the inn had been dark and quiet. A note, telling her which room to settle into, had been taped to the front door. She had simply dropped her bags in the corner, shed her clothes, fallen into bed, and lapsed into a coma-like sleep. Now, she saw the room for the first time.

A four-bladed fan hung from a white, pressed tin ceiling and spun lazily overhead. An antique writing desk sat to her right and a heavy armoire squatted in the corner to her left. The pale yellow walls with white crown molding, window trim, and lace curtains, the four-poster bed, and the puffy down comforter were so Alyss. Tasteful. Perfect.

She walked across to a pair of French-style, multi-paned windows that faced the front of the inn, flipped the latch, and pushed open one side, She looked out over a lush flower garden embraced by a weathered split-rail fence. Thick clusters of red, yellow, and variegated pink and white roses filled the yard and scented the clean morning air. Rich green hydrangea shrubs, still a month or so away from showing their bright blue and white snowball-like flower clusters, hugged the fence and the front of the inn. To her right, toward the east, a sun-gilded meadow stretched the length of a deep, narrow valley, which was ringed by towering snow-capped peaks.

Unbelievable. Samantha, you aren’t in Mercer’s Corner anymore.

A yawn escaped and she eyed the bed again. Maybe just one more hour. Before she could crawl beneath the covers, the kitchen aromas captured her attention once again, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the quick stop in Grand Junction last night. What time was that? Twelve hours ago at least. Her stomach released a series of audible grumbles.

She made her way to the bathroom and eyed her reflection in the oval mirror that hung above the pedestal sink. Not pretty. Her strawberry blonde hair looked like a wind-blown wheat field and both eyes puffed out at her. She gently fingered the small blue bruise on her left cheek, still tender.
Thanks Marta.

After a quick shower, she raked a comb through her tangles and pulled her hair into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic band. A thin coat of make-up muted the bruise. Somewhat. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a faded black LA Raiders tee shirt and then followed her nose to the kitchen.

Alyss sat at a round dining table, behind an open newspaper. She let the paper collapse and looked over it as Sam walked in. “There you are,” she said, standing, dropping the paper on the table. They hugged.

Alyss had changed little in the three years since Sam had last seen her. Still trim and fit, with lively green eyes, her auburn hair was longer, now reaching her shoulders. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Alyss said.

“You, too,” Sam said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I figured you needed the sleep. What time did you get in?”

“After two.”

“Hungry?”

“Starved,” Sam said.

“Here.” She peeled back the floral towel that covered a basket of muffins. “Blackberry.”

“Hmmm.” Sam selected one, broke off a piece and took a bite. “Delicious.”

Alyss lifted a carafe that sat on the table. “Coffee?”

Sam nodded. “Please.”

Alyss poured a cup for Sam and refilled her own. She retrieved a bowl of fresh strawberries from the counter and placed it on the table. Sam selected one and bit into it, catching the juice that slipped down her chin with a napkin.

“Tell me about Lloyd,” Alyss said. “What happened?”

Sam told her the story, including her gun barrel to gun barrel face-off with Chief Wade.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

“That thought crossed my mind a couple of times. Darkness, fear, adrenaline. Bad mixture.”

“Why would anyone want to kill that sweet man?” Alyss asked.

“Looks like a botched robbery.”

Alyss shook her head. “I heard he’s had several burglaries lately.”

“That’s what Chief Wade said.”

“I moved here to be in a safe place. Then, the burglaries. Now this.” Alyss shook her head. “This crap is the reason I left LA.”

“So, you knew him?” Sam asked. “The victim.”

“Everybody knew Lloyd. And his wife Louise. Nice people. Did Wade have any idea who might have done it?”

“Not really. Said there was only one person in town as big as the man that trampled me.”

“Billy Bear Wingo,” Alyss said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. That’s who he said. Who’s Billy Bear?”

“I don’t really know him,” Alyss said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times. Big. Very big. I’d guess 6-4, maybe 300 pounds. Long, thick beard, ponytail. A mountain man for sure. He owns a ranch near here.”

“Would he do something like this?” Sam asked.

“I hear he’s a little wild. He and Wade have apparently had a few run ins in the past. For what, I don’t know, but I do know he’s close to the Varneys. Helps out at the store from time to time.”

“So, he would know the layout? Maybe even have a key?”

“Sam,” Alyss scolded. “This is a vacation. Remember?”

Sam laughed. “I know. I know.”

“I saw you on HBO Friday night,” Alyss said. “Congratulations.”

Sam nodded a “Thank you,” her mouth too filled with muffin to speak.

“Why do you do that?” Alyss asked.

Sam washed down the muffin with a sip of coffee. “I was asking myself the same thing about halfway through the third round.”

“Looks like you survived it OK.”

“I covered the damage,” Sam said. 

Alyss laughed.

“So,” Sam said. “How are you?”

“Not bad.”

“And Shelby?”

“She’s here.”

“Where?” Sam looked around as if she expected to see Shelby sitting in the corner.

“She went out for a walk and to pick some flowers. She’ll be back soon.”

“I thought she was living with Dan?”

“She is. He and his rich bitch girl friend.” Alyss sighed heavily. “He and Tiffany...don’t you just love that name? Tiffany. Like the damn lamp.” Her eyes glistened.

Sam reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, unable to find any soothing words.

Alyss tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, but it refused to stay. “Anyway, he and Tiffany are off to Europe for a couple of months, so they packed up Shelby and dumped her here three days ago. No warning. And he knew I was struggling to get this place put together.”

“But, you are glad she’s here?” Sam asked.

“Of course. I miss her so much. Everyday.” Alyss offered a weak, half-smile, which dissolved into a worried frown. “But, she’s changed.”

“How?” Sam released Alyss’ hand and lifted her coffee cup, cradling it with her fingers, taking a sip.

“Angry. Rebellious. She calls herself a raver. Dresses like a clown. Stays out at all night parties.”

“Dan lets her do that?”

Alyss massaged the back of her neck. “He’s changed, too. He’s not the dedicated detective you knew when you worked with him at LAPD. He’s totally Hollywood now. Fancy clothes. Fancy haircut. And Tiffany. Silicon and all.”

Sam couldn’t suppress a laugh. The image of the Dan she knew---lean, fit, starched, crew cut---as a Hollywood hustler was comical. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“Go ahead. If it weren’t so painful I’d think it was funny, too. Hell, I think it’s funny anyway.”

“I just can’t picture Dan that way,” Sam said.

“I couldn’t either,” Alyss shrugged. “Until he packed up and left.”