Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (4 page)

“Boss, I think your bias is showing. July can’t have killed him because you know her and she’s
nice
?” Wayne Nichols shook his head. “Let me give you an alternative scenario. What if July knew Ferris was back in town? She was furious he disappeared so long ago. She asked him to come to the Booth house after everyone left, brought a gun and that was that.”

“He was shot in the back. We saw the point of entry.”

“And a woman isn’t capable of shooting a man in the back?” He looked incredulous. “What if Ferris rejected her again, turned his back on her and she pulled out her gun and shot him? Then, realizing what she’s done, she calls 911 and breaks down.”

Ben was definitely not enjoying this. “
If July was coldblooded enough to do that, I doubt she’d have called 911.”

“
We still have to rule everything out, boss.”

Ben sighed. His detective had a point. “I had Doctor Estes send the bullet over for ballistics testing. We need to know anything they can tell us about the gun. I’m also going to talk to the techs who took the fingerprints from John’s shop. How about you take your
suspicious mind and go question July. Draw your own conclusions.”

The big man was on his feet and headed toward the door. Over his shoulder he called, “Sure thing,
boss. You can be a Southern gentleman and leave the down and dirty to me.”

As he followed his detective out to the parking lot, Ben admitted to himself that Wayne might be right about his seemingly inbred sense that women needed protection. He knew he had shortcomings as an investigator. He was better with non-violent crimes and administrative work.

I probably should have gone to law school. Would have made lots more money and never had to visit the morgue
.

Autopsies still made him sick. The scent of pine disinfectant mixed with the smell of formaldehyde never completely covered the odor of death.

On his way back to the office, Ben called Dory to tell her that they would be investigating Tom Ferris’ death.

F
or Mae, the day started with a whimper. When she opened her eyes there was a cold wet nose touching her cheek and two puppy feet planted firmly on her chest. She remembered taking the puppy to bed with her the night before. The Tater was awake and crying to go outside. Mae swung her legs out from under the covers and snatched the puppy up before she could fall off the extra high bed. She pulled on shorts, and holding the puppy under one arm, hurried downstairs. After slipping her yard shoes on, she carried the puppy outside and set her down in the damp grass. The Tater looked up at Mae expectantly, wagging her tiny stump of a tail; then she sniffed around in a leisurely manner. The air was already heavy.

“I thought this was a matter of some urgency
,” she told the puppy. “We’re not out here to entertain ourselves. Hurry up!”

Tater tilted her head at Mae inquiringly and sat down. Sighing, Mae returned to the kitchen,
where she poured herself a cup of coffee and called the other three dogs before going back outside. She held the door open for Thoreau, who was the last one out as usual. He was getting old, she noticed with a pang. The fur around his face was all white. Titan and Tallulah bustled over to investigate the new arrival, while Thoreau sat down close to her. She nudged the big dog toward the grass.

“Dogs, hurry up.”

All three of the older dogs began to take care of business as the Tater looked on with interest. Mae praised them all and gave them each a treat before herding them back inside the house. Walking back to the puppy, she issued the “Hurry up” command for the third time and light dawned in the Tater’s eyes. When she was done, Mae praised her lavishly, gave her a treat from her pocket stash and carried her back inside. She put Tater in her crate and refilled her coffee cup.

Knowing she would be working intensively on training the new puppy, Mae had asked the owners of the dogs she was boarding to pick them up before the Tater arrived. She’d blocked out two weeks, so the kennels were empty. She was glad not to have to go out to the barn
and do chores on such a steamy morning, but her own dogs still needed feeding. She filled the food and water bowls and went upstairs to shower and dress.

Mae loved her bathroom
, with its robin’s egg blue walls and claw-foot tub. The bathroom, one of the first remodeling projects she did after moving in, had turned out even better than she hoped. She took a quick shower but didn’t linger over hair and makeup; instead she put her curly blonde mop into a ponytail and swiped on a coat of mascara. Stepping on the scale, she noted once again that she hadn’t lost ten pounds overnight. Not even one measly pound.

Back in her room, Mae put on her loosest, most lightweight sundress. She was on her way down to the kitchen when the back door opened, narrowly missing her nose
, and Mae’s best friend Tammy blew in. As usual, she looked like a blonde waif, albeit with perfect hair and makeup.

“What’s shakin’
, Mae-Mae? I’m not interrupting any torrid love scenes, am I?”

Mae shook her head. “You must not be too worried, or you would
have knocked.” Relieving her of the bakery bag she carried, Mae ushered Tammy into the kitchen. “Thanks for the pumpkin cream cheese muffin. Did you come to see the puppy?”

Her eyes widened. “No, I forgot she was coming this week. Of course I want to see her
.” She paused to pour herself a cup of coffee and then continued, “I came to ask you about July finding a body yesterday at the Booth Showhouse.”

“How did you already hear about that?”
She should have known. Tammy’s grapevine was impeccable.

“Small town, you know how it is. Three of my mother’s ladies came in for early hair appointments today and they were
all talking about it. Mom called, and I decided to bring you some breakfast and get the news from a more reliable source.”

Tammy’s mother Grace owned and operated
Birdy’s Salon in the historic district of Rosedale. Tammy had her own business
—
Local Love, a dating service—in the same building. Between the two of them, not much went on that they didn’t hear about in a hurry, but this was quick even for them.

“Did you hear it was Tommy that she found?”

“Tom Ferris?”

Mae nodded sadly.

Tammy walked over to Mae’s kitchen table and sighed as she took a seat. Shaking her head, she looked out the window and said, “I had such a crush on him when I was fourteen.”

Mae sat down across from her. “Who didn’t? He was just so sweet.”

“Not to mention charming and handsome. Oh, your poor sister. What an awful thing.” Tammy rubbed her forehead with a circular motion. They both sat quietly for a few moments. Mae’s friend looked like she was going to say something but then thought better of it.

“Tammy?” Mae looked at her, “Did you know Tommy was back in town?”

A wary look crossed her friend’s face.

“Did you?”

Tammy put her hand over her mouth. Sometimes she knew things she didn’t tell Mae. According to her, it was for Mae’s own good. Mae could hear the wall clock ticking and a very faint snore coming from the Tater’s crate.

“All right,” she capitulated. “I did know he was back. I heard it from Bethany
—I mean, a friend of mine—but it’s complicated.”

“Bethany Cooper?”

“Don’t tell Ben, please Mae.”

Mae looked at her, frustrated. Her best friend looked like she was about to cry.

“You didn’t
tell
me, I guessed, but I should really tell Ben. For all I know, he and Wayne are about to arrest my sister.”

“Please don’t, Mae. I promised Bethany. And July didn’t even know he was here.”

Mae gazed at her steadily for a moment, until Tammy looked down. Mae went to the crate, let the puppy out and put a tiny bit of food in her dish. Tammy got out of her chair and crouched down beside the Tater.

“She’s so precious,” Tammy said, glancing up at Mae. “I’ll take her out when she’s done eating if you need to call Ben.”

“I have a better idea. I’ll call Dory later and she can tell Ben. Then it won’t come back to you.”

“I have to tell you something else, Mae, before I lose my nerve.” Tammy bit her lip and got to her feet.

“What is it?”

“I’m in love with Patrick. We’ve been together for a while now, and he moved into my apartment yesterday,” Tammy’s words were flying out of her mouth, but she was
avoiding Mae’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before this. I was afraid you’d be upset.”

Patrick was Noah’s West’s younger brother. Ever since the car accident that took Noah’s life, Patrick—along with Tammy—had been almost over-protective of Mae. The three of them had spent hours together, and Mae sometimes felt
as if Patrick and Tammy were parenting her. And, of course, she’d noticed the sparks flying between her friends months ago.

“I didn’t know you were living together, but the rest of it isn’t exactly a news flash,” Mae laughed. “I was wondering which one of you was going to tell me. Did you lose the coin toss?”

Tammy lips curved in a little cat-like grin. “Something like that. So you’re not upset?”

“No, of course I’m not. I’m happy for both of you. Maybe you’ll end up with the mother-in-law I almost had.”

“Nobody’s talking marriage.” Tammy frowned, but it quickly reverted to a smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I need to get going, Mae-Mae.” Tammy gave her a fierce, sudden hug. “Thank you.” The phone rang and Mae turned back to get it.

B
en was sitting at his desk when Dory called to let him know that the preliminary ballistics information had come in—astonishing. He couldn’t remember when the lab had gotten a report done a day after an incident.

The phone call to the Nashville Chief of Police earlier about his potential conflict of interest in the case had been eye opening. Dispatch routed Ben to a Captain Paula Crawley
, who said Ben couldn’t interview July or anyone else from the December family. She was okay with Detective Nichols questioning people, but until they had a suspect in custody, Ben’s involvement in the case was restricted to reading reports and doing computer research. If someone called in on the tip line, Ben could talk to the person on the phone.

The
captain had been perfectly clear she wanted periodic updates and that Ben’s job was on the line if he violated her orders. Ben reminded her that he was elected. He didn’t think Captain Paula could fire him. She reminded him that she could bring him before the Internal Affairs group or the Ethics committee. Ben wondered if the IA Department could actually investigate him. Most sheriffs’ units had their own IA, but Ben’s small unit did not. He wasn’t a member of the police force, but if Captain Paula told them to investigate him, they would probably do so. Ben shuddered at the thought. Every cop dreaded an IA inquiry. His father said they were like the KGB in Russia. At the end of their phone conversation, Ben gave her a brisk salute—for his own benefit, of course, since she couldn’t see him.

Since it was all right with Captain Paula, Ben read the lab report. John’s shop had faxed only the basic data with a brief sentence saying that if he needed more information, he could call their office. The ammo was a Winchester 158 grain semi-wad cutter hollow point. Ben was familiar with this type of bullet. It was one of the expanding types
that inhibit tissue penetration. Even shot from the doorway of the nursery, the bullet would not pass through a body. The killer must have known the police would recover the bullet, but without the gun, it would be virtually impossible to find the killer. There were hundreds, probably thousands of guns in Rose County that used the same type of ammunition.

Ben called Detective Nichols
, who was on his way to meet with July. He picked up but said he didn’t have much time. He was driving into their neighborhood.

“I got the preliminary ballistics report,” Ben told him, “The perp used a Winchester 158 grain bullet, most likely for a Smith and Wesson revolver or a Beretta.”

“That’s the snub-nosed small one,” Wayne said. “I’ve seen the silver and the black models. They’re light and small enough to fit in a coat pocket, or a purse.”

Ben said nothing, remembering July’s devastated face.

“Have John’s deputies gone through the trash in the neighborhood in case the perp disposed of the gun?” Wayne asked.

“Yes, no luck. And that gun’s about as common as wild tattoos in East Nashville.”

“Later,” Wayne said and was gone.

Ben walked out to the front office.

“Yes?” Dory said, looking up at him. Her phone rang. “I need to get this,” she said and picked up the tip line phone. He stood there for a moment, thinking about the bullet and wondering how he might trace it back to the gun, when Dory held up one finger. It was her signal for Ben to stand by her desk. Far be it from Ben to ignore Dory’s non-verbal commands. He waited.

“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” she said, “I will certainly tell Sheriff Bradley immediately. This will be a big help. Thank you very much for calling.”

Dory hung up the phone, turned to Ben and said, “That was Mrs. Laurel Anderson. She’s eighty-three years old and lives near the Booth Mansion. She was walking her terrier at the back of the grounds around five-forty last night when she caught sight of a man standing in the house by the French doors that lead out to the side yard. He stepped through the doors, closed them and the full-length shutters across them. He also latched the two shutter dogs.”

“Whoa, back up a minute here. First off, get Deputy Phelps out to the mansion right away to see if there’re any footprints leading away from that patio. I trust you told the deputies about the case already?”

She just sighed and rolled her eyes. “Do you really need to ask?”

“The Mont Blanc crime scene people looked all around the house last night. They didn’t notice any footprints, but it was dark. George needs to start doing the house-to-house check also.”

“I already buzzed George. He’s calling back.”

“Did you get Mrs. Anderson’s phone number?” Dory raised her eyes heavenward.

“Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll call her back. I need to know whether Tom Ferris had a will
. And Dory, what the heck are shutter dogs?”

Dory raised her imperious first finger. “One thing at a time there,
boss man,” she said as the phone buzzed. It was George and she told him to get out to the Booth Mansion and check the area by the French doors for footprints.

“Start the house-to-house right after that,” she told him.

Ben looked out the window. They’d had lots of rain in the past few days. Finding any footprints would be a long shot in the thick, freshly mulched landscape around the Mansion.

“Oh, and George, take some fingerprint powder with you and dust the shutter dogs on the French doors for prints.”

Ben was chagrined that Dory would think about fingerprints. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Sometimes Ben wondered if Dory might make a better sheriff than he did. It was also embarrassing that his not-too-swift deputy apparently knew what the hell shutter dogs were. Dory wrote down a phone number and handed him the slip of paper.

“After you’ve finished talking to Mrs. Anderson, we will discuss the lamentable gaps in your education that have resulted in you not knowing about shutter dogs
.” She gave Ben an intimidating smile.

Ben went back to his office and called Mrs. Anderson. A frail woman in her eighties
made for an unlikely suspect, so he assumed he could talk to her. She described the man she saw as about six feet tall and heavy-set. He was wearing a baseball cap, jeans, and a black T-shirt. She was too far away to tell eye or hair color, but thought she had seen him once before somewhere, either in the newspaper or on television. She might be elderly, but the old lady was sharp as a tack. Thanking her again and telling her to call his private line if she thought of anything else, Ben obediently returned to Dory.

“So?” She was sketching something on a pad of paper.

“Dory, could I have your attention, please?”

She gave him a long-suffering look and gestured to a sketch that showed a window with shutters. The left shutter was
kept open by something that looked like a large, fancy “S.” He’d seen them before on old houses; most were made of wrought iron. Dory pointed to it with one long, purplish painted fingernail.

“Shutter dog,” she said laconically.