A Luring Murder (5 page)

Watkins took both of Dawn’s hands to halt her furious cleaning.

“Dawn, we have to know if Warren was here last night. I know Samantha is a friend of yours, but we need to know. Was he here with her?”

She looked into his eyes and the hard expression on her face melted away. I guess boyish good looks did have some benefits. Her shoulders drooped, and she looked down at her hands.

“Yes, he was here with Samantha. But it wasn’t Samantha who killed him.” Dawn pulled her hand away. The hard edge returned to her face. “If it was anyone, it was Patrick.”

“Kinda understandable, especially if she was screwing around on him,” I said.

“Catherine.” Louise cut me a warning glance.

Dawn’s eyes flashed as she turned toward me. “You don’t know everything, Detective. It’s not like Samantha wants to be married to him.”

She turned on her heals and flounced away.

Deputy Watkins lowered his head and shook it back and forth.

“Okay,” I said. “What the hell was that about?”

Sheriff Anderson patted me on the shoulder like an understanding father.

“I’ve only heard rumors, so I can’t say for certain, but the rumor is that Samantha married Patrick to help her family get out of financial difficulties. He’s a very rich man, and rumor has it there’s a prenuptial agreement that says if she leaves him, she gets nothing. And neither does her family.”

“From what Dawn just said, that pretty much confirms it, doesn’t it?” Louise said.

“Yep,” The sheriff said. “Looks that way.”

“Tell me boys, did the whole town know that she was screwing around on her husband, and about the prenuptial?”

They nodded in unison. Just the answer I was expecting to get with the small town rumor mill in force.

“Why, all of a sudden, would her husband decide to murder her lover? He had to have known about it sooner than this. Everyone else in town knew about the affair.”

They all stared at me with blank expressions.

Check and mate. Part of me was surprised that Louise hadn’t caught on. She could usually be counted on to bust open any theory with a good why.

“It’s been my experience that when all the trails lead to one certain person. That person is usually innocent,” I said. “Whoever murdered Warren Pease wanted us to look at Samantha’s husband. Maybe it was Samantha. Maybe she was trying to frame her husband for the murder.”

Louise’s face blanched. I’d worked with her long enough to know that look meant she knew I was right. She’d be kicking herself for not seeing it sooner. I guess it’s hard to see the truth in front of your eyes when you’re staring at some guy’s butt.

Deputy Watkins cocked his head to the side, and his brows drew together. “Samantha has no reason to kill Warren, Detective.”

“Neither did her husband,” I said. “Everybody in town knew she was sleeping with him, and that she didn’t want to be married to her husband, so naturally the sheriff and the deputy would pick him as their likely suspect. There’s no motive and no evidence, so far, that he committed this murder.”

“She’s right,” Louise said. “If Samantha’s husband were going to commit a crime of passion he would have done it when he first learned of the affair.”

“The only thing the killer wasn’t counting on was that you’d be here, Detectives.” Watkins put his hand on Louise’s shoulder.

“Exactly,” I said. Even if Louise couldn’t see past Watkins’s smile.

“Either that,” the Sheriff said. “Or it really was Patrick.”

“That’s a possibility, too.” I nodded. “That’s why it’s called an investigation.”

“Either way,” he said, “we’re done here.”

I held up my finger, turned, and swallowed down my last bit of coffee. “Now we’re done here.”

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CHAPTER FOUR

By the time we reached the home of Samantha and Patrick King, the air conditioner in the sheriff’s cruiser was just beginning to cut through the stifling air. The oppressive humidity of this lake area was getting under my skin.

Each degree the dew point notched up, my patience notched down. I was likely to snap at anyone for any reason. Louise and Deputy Watkins flirted without shame in the back seat of the cruiser, which contributed to my increase of irritation. I didn’t trust this guy, and I sure as hell didn’t like what he was doing to Louise. Louise is normally a very capable investigator. Watkins was a distraction which affected Louise’s investigative ability.

As we walked up the front steps, a bead of sweat trailed its was down my spine and into my butt crack. Now I’d be uncomfortable the rest of the day. There is nothing worse than slippery butt cheeks. I’d purposely give myself a wedgie, if I could manage without anyone noticing, to clear a slippery.

Relief washed over me when Samantha opened the door, and a cold rush of air blew into my face. At least I wouldn’t have to drip through the entire interrogation.

The woman who answered the door looked as if she’d be more at home in the artsy Uptown area of Minneapolis. Paint covered her hands which she wiped on the front of her oversized shirt. Samantha King was in her early to mid-thirties and attractive in a plain sort of way. She frowned at me as if I was about to sell her cosmetics, until she saw Deputy Watkins and the Sheriff behind me.

“Oh, Sheriff, Deputy, how can I help you today?” She chirped like a songbird. “And who are your friends?”

“Samantha, this is Detective’s Montgomery and O’Brien from the Saint Paul Police Department,” Anderson said. “We need to speak with you and Patrick.”

“Okay. Come in out of the heat first.” She fanned herself with her hand and stepped away from the door. “I’m about ready to melt.”

A woman after my own heart.

We stepped into a gigantic great room with vaulted ceilings. One entire wall was floor to ceiling glass that looked out onto a field of wild flowers.

The room was decorated with knotty pine furniture, with hardwood floors to match.

Her house was the picture of how I’d decorate my lake house, if I could afford one on my salary, except for the willow reed moose head hanging over the fireplace opposite the window wall. Other than that decorating faux pau, the house was peaceful – not overdone and fluffy for someone of her supposed money.

“Come in and sit down,” she said. “I’ll get some cold drinks for everyone.”

She breezed through the great room and into the kitchen which was separated from the living area by a bar and four stools.

“I’m having a spicy tomato juice.” She jerked open the fridge. “Not everyone’s favorite. Would you prefer fruit juice or water?”

The unanimous vote was for water, and Samantha King brought a pitcher full of ice water and glasses for everyone on a tray. She set the tray on the coffee table, then floated with the grace of a ballerina into an oversized chair, and curled her bare feet underneath her.

Samantha set her drink on a side table next to her chair, then tucked her hands between her thighs and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Louise and I sat back on the couch and sipped our water. After all this wasn’t our investigation. Sheriff Anderson and Deputy Watkins would have to drive the car. Our job was only to point out the landmarks along the way.

“Did you want to wait for Patrick? I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I could call his cell and find out.”

Anderson held up a halting hand and shook his head. He shifted from side to side and wrung his baseball in his hands. His eyes fixed on the floor, then flicked up to Samantha’s face for half a second, then jumped back to the floor.

He looked like a dog who’d shit on the carpet and whose master had just walked through the door. Finally, he cried uncle by pointing his cap at his deputy.

“Thomas. . .”

Watkins nodded his understanding.

“Have you been out yet today, Samantha?” Watkins asked.

“No, I’ve been in the studio all morning. I’ve got a large project to finish. Why?”

He sat on the chunky, wooden, coffee table across from her and took her hands in his.

I glanced at Louise in time to see a slight edge of irritation ruffle her perfect face. She’d already staked her claim to Deputy Watkins. Any sign of affection to another woman even in the line of duty was out of line.

Part of me understood. I’d been there when I met Gavin.

Samantha’s brows drew together as she looked into his blue eyes. “What’s going on, Thomas?”

“It’s about Warren, Samantha.”

She bit her bottom lip. Her gaze flicked to Louise and I for a brief moment then back to the deputy. “What about him?”

“He was murdered this morning at the Peterman place.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She pulled her hands away from Deputy Watkins and gripped the arms of the chair. The knuckles on her hands went white, almost as white as her face.

“Murdered by who? How? Why?”

Neither the deputy nor the sheriff said anything as if telling Samantha the truth would break her in half. They were missing the perfect opportunity to gauge her reaction to a calculated blind-siding.

Louise elbowed me in the ribs, then raised her eyebrows at me. Apparently, I was to be the tactless one again. I’d taken the hint, but I waited for the second rib poke before I leapt into the fray.

“He was murdered with a knife,” I said.

She looked at me with shock and horror. Then she turned her puddled eyes back to the Deputy. “It just can’t be. It can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it is true, Samantha. I’m very sorry.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and let her cry.

From somewhere in another room, a door opened and slammed shut. Samantha went ramrod straight, and her tears stopped as if someone had shut off the tear faucet.

Deputy Watkins slipped off the coffee table and moved away from her. His face went stony cold.

The sheriff straightened his uniform and turned toward the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. A strange uneasiness filled the room. Louise and I exchanged befuddled glances and braced ourselves for whoever could make these three so uncomfortable.

“Samantha?” A booming voice called from down the hall. “The credit card bill arrived today. What the hell is a Model 8000 furnace and why do we need one?”

Finally, a tall man, well built in his late thirties or early forties, appeared from a hallway at the back of the room.

His attention was focused on the bill in his hands as he rattled off a few more items the Kings had been charged for this month. Finally, he looked up and caught sight of the five of us staring at him.

He smiled and gave a small chuckle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had a full house.” He folded the bill and tucked it back into the ragged, torn envelope. He nodded a hello at Louise and I, cut his eyes at Deputy Watkins, and then turned toward the sheriff.

“Sheriff Anderson, how are you today?”

The Sheriff hitched up his belt. “We’re good, Patrick. Real good.”

“What are you doing here in full force? Did Samantha forget to pay a parking ticket, or something?” He chuckled. “Are you going to haul her away?”

My instincts weren’t picking up any deception on the liar radar when Patrick King spoke. My radar found more to disbelieve about the good Deputy than Mr. King.

“It’s much more serious than that, Patrick.”

Deputy Watkins went mute and did his best to blend into the knotty pine background.

Patrick came further into the room and noticed Samantha’s pale, tear streaked face.

“Oh, Jesus. Samantha are you alright? Are you hurt?” His eyes darted around the room. He approached the sheriff, gripped him by the arm, and gritted through his teeth. “Did someone break in? Did they hurt her?”

“No, Patrick. It’s nothing like that.” He patted the big man’s hand.

Samantha slid off the chair and faced her husband.

Genuine concern blanched his features. He looked as though he wanted to go to her to wipe her tears away, but he stayed rooted in place.

“Samantha, honey? What’s wrong?”

“Warren Pease is dead, Patrick.” She strained with the effort of holding back her flood of tears.

Patrick frowned at his wife. “How did he die?”

Samantha and Patrick faced off across the room. Samantha held back a flood of emotion that threatened to consume her. Patrick held back pure contempt.

He knew about the affair alright and had for some time.

“He was murdered.” Her words were just above a whisper and followed by a sob.

Patrick jumped as if someone had given him a Paul Bunyan sized goose in the backside.

“Murdered?” He opened his arms wide toward his wife. “Samantha, I’m so sorry.”

She rushed into his arms and collapsed against him. Patrick caressed her hair while she sobbed into the shoulder of his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Samantha.”

“You’re sorry?” Watkins regained his voice. “Why are you sorry? You wouldn’t happen to know anything about his death would you, Patrick?”

“Why would I, Watkins?”

If the contempt between these two men wasn’t evident from Patrick’s open dismissal of the Deputy when he came in, it sure was now. I half expected one of them to pee on the couch leg, or some other manly display that would prove who was the alpha male.

“Oh, come on, Patrick. Everyone knew how you felt about him.”

Samantha pulled away from him, turned her back to us, and hugged herself.

Patrick King opened his hands palms up in front of him, then curled his finger into fists. He tightened his hands until they shook with effort. After a few seconds, he released his fingers and let his arms hang loose at his side.

Watkins’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Everyone knows how you felt about him too, Watkins.”

“Gentlemen,” Louise said, before the situation could escalate further. “Let’s try to be civil to one another.”

Patrick looked at Louise as if he’d just noticed her for the first time. He glanced at Samantha whose shoulder rocked with silent, tearful sobs.

“I’m sorry.” Patrick shook his head. “Who are you?”

“I’m Detective Louise Montgomery.” She inclined her head toward me. “This is my partner, Detective Catherine O’Brien.”

“Detectives? I didn’t know the town had hired two new detectives. Sheriff?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I admit it’s a nice piece of foresight on your part, but did I miss a city council meeting?”

“These Detectives are from the Saint Paul Police Department.”

“Saint Paul? Is the suspect in this murder from Saint Paul? Or is there another reason you were called in on this case?”

Samantha recovered herself and turned to face us. “You have a suspect?”

“No.” I spread my hands out in front of me. “We’re just on vacation. We thought we’d tag along to see how your sheriff handles things out here.”

Samantha sagged against her husband. Patrick slipped his arm around her waist in an unconscious gesture, the kind only a married couple could accomplish with ease. Doubt about the validity of the town’s rumors spread through me.

“You’re not here to investigate then?”

“No,” Louise said. “Think of us as impartial bystanders.”

“Impartial bystanders who happened to be here the day someone gets murdered.” Patrick arched his eyebrows. “How fortunate for us.”

A smirk twisted his lips.

I could see why he might doubt our story, but the truth is the truth. For my part, I really was on vacation. Louise, on the other hand, well, she had to live with her own conscience. If she was okay with fudging the truth a little, who was I to judge?

He swept his eyes up and down me, then Louise as if trying to decide what kind of people we were, and if he could trust anything we said.

“Then welcome to our little town, Detectives.”

His smile was broad and genuine.

“I apologize for my, and Deputy Watkins’s, behavior. We have a long history of dislike for one another. It’s not just this one thing that brings out the worst in us.” He turned toward the Sheriff again. “I don’t know anything about the murder. Why don’t you tell us what happened.”

The Sheriff opened his mouth, but I cut him off before he could say something stupid.

“First, I think the Sheriff has a few question for you, Mr. King.”

The sheriff’s gray, bushy brows drew together. “Right.”

Patrick looked at me and gave me a knowing grin. “Well, Sheriff, go ahead and ask.”

“Where were you between the hours of four and ten this morning? It’s just that I have to ask, you understand.”

King’s intimidation of the sheriff was clear. Maybe it was his stature, Patrick was at least six foot three, or perhaps it was his position in the community, his money, or it could be some history between the two that I knew nothing about.