Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (9 page)

“No thanks. I have lots of bad habits, but smoking isn’t one of them. Did you check on missing women?”

“Yes, I checked on the national database. It’s scary to find out how many missing females there are in the Midwest alone. Darn near thirty percent could be our victim. I sent inquiries to all the police departments involved, but no hits yet.”

“Who do you think made the anonymous call to the newspaper?”

“Boy, it could have been anyone in town. I just assumed it was a misguided person, not a troublemaker.” The chief blew a smoke ring and watched it rise and then slowly vanish into the befouled air of his office. “Why?”

“It could have been the killer or someone who knows who the killer is. You might want to contact the
Ames Tribune
and see if they can trace the call.”

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll let you know what I find out and keep you in the loop. In the meantime, keep mum on the details. You can resume the renovation of the theater; just keep out of the prop room for now.”

As Chip left the office, he heard the chief ask Sharon to get him the number for the
Ames Tribune
.

* * *

Lucinda, Amy Chang, and the film crew were due to arrive that evening. Chip did not have time to think about trips to the Twin Cities, solving crimes or renovating theaters—his mind was on the upcoming interview. He admired Amy Chang and was looking forward to meeting her. It was Lucinda he dreaded seeing. He supposed she was a good literary agent, but she was also a burr under his saddle and just about as prickly. He was scheduled to meet them at the Bend, the only bar in town.

Chip arrived early to fortify himself before the meeting. The Bend was decorated for Halloween. Paper bats and witches were suspended from the ceiling, fake cobwebs festooned the mirror behind the bar, and a plastic pumpkin sat on each table. He went up to the bar and greeted Joe, the owner.

“I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, Joe.”

“Coming up. You hitting the hard stuff tonight, buddy?”

Joe delivered the drink with a smirk on his face. Chip looked down into the tumbler and gasped. Joe chuckled.

“Gets ‘em every time. I make those eyeball ice cubes every Halloween. Put a black olive and some strands of red thread in the middle. Been doing it for years; it cracks me up.”

Chip was about to comment when the door opened and Lucinda made her entrance. Every head in the bar turned almost in unison to watch her. She was dressed in thigh-high leather boots and a short fur jacket. In her ears were hoop earrings as large as hub caps. The bar’s stale air was overpowered by her perfume, a musky exotic scent. She air-kissed Chip.

“Be a dear, Chip, and order me a Cosmo. Amy and her crew will be here in a few minutes. God, the last time I was in this establishment I met that vile man who turned out to be a crook, as well as an asshole.”

Ignoring her comments, Chip ordered her drink and another one for himself. Lucinda Patterson was more than a sober man could handle.

In contrast, Amy Chang, who arrived shortly after Lucinda, was charming and professional. Her long, straight black hair was tied back and her dark eyes made direct contact with him, urging him to be open and relaxed.

As Amy sipped a white wine, she went over her program notes. Vince Minnelli, the cameraman who accompanied her, gave Lucinda and Chip a copy of the shooting schedule.

“We’ll start with a promo on the street,” said Amy. “Where would you suggest we film, Charles?”

“Either outside the theater or the Cinnamon Bun Café.”

“We’ll be doing the interview in the theater, so let’s shoot outside the café.”

Vince jotted a note on his pad. “That will be at eight a.m. sharp,” he said.

“No need to prepare anything for the interview,” continued Amy. “I’ll keep it a folksy, Charles Kuralt-style interview. Anything in particular that you want me to include, Lucinda?”

“The movie, of course, and Chip’s next book,
Brain Freeze
, which will be released in December.”

Amy nodded. “That’s all for this evening. See you early tomorrow morning. Thanks for your time,” she said, as she and Vince gathered their belongings and left the bar.

Chip caught Joe’s eye and signaled for another round for himself and Lucinda.

“Well, I think that went very well, don’t you?” Lucinda said. “Just think, national PR for your books and
The Cranium Killer
movie, and it won’t cost you a cent. That is except for my expenses, of course.”

A cold draft of air blew into the room as the door opened. Lance Williams entered looking in Chip’s estimation like a European playboy. He wore a short leather jacket and a light blue cashmere scarf casually draped around his neck. He smiled his Crest White-bleached smile, waved to Chip, and moved to a barstool.

Great
,
this makes my day just perfect … first Lucinda and now my archrival.
He glanced over to see Lucinda’s reaction, and he was stunned. She looked as though she was in rapture. Her eyes were sparkling, and she sounded breathless as she whispered to him. “Who is that hunk of delicious manhood?”

“He’s an organic vegetable farmer,” Chip said taking a swig of his scotch, savoring its woody aroma and letting its heat work its way down his throat.

“I don’t care if he is a ditch digger, invite him to join us. Please.”

Chip had never before heard Lucinda say “please.” He beckoned Lance over to the table. “Lance, meet Lucinda Patterson, my agent and the woman who is the bane of my existence. Lucinda, Lance Williams, our town’s wannabe organic farmer. If you two will excuse me, I have to get home to walk and feed my dogs. Why don’t you buy this lovely lady another drink, Lance?”

“My pleasure, Chip. Your loss is certainly my gain. What are you drinking, Lucinda?”

As Chip left the table he could swear he heard Lucinda purring. He left the bar without paying his tab.

* * *

Later that night Chip sat with Callie on his lap. To stem his fantasy about Jane driving up to his house unannounced again, he began the next chapter of
Mind Games
. He had planned for Jo to fall for her stray kitten, which was a given. Cats are such a comfort to a person with a troubled love life, as he well knew.

He also thought it might be time to heighten the risk and raise the stakes.

Chapter Twelve

Mind Games

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Late July

Jo Schwann had a hard time getting up when her alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. Tempted to roll over and go back to sleep another hour or so, she was in no mood for a run. “Exactly the reason I should get out there.” She had dozed more than slept last night, thoughts of John and their future together–or lack thereof–rolling around in her head like loose marbles. Cleo stretched in her spot at Jo’s feet and walked across Jo’s body, coming to stand on her chest. She sniffed at Jo’s chin and then meowed, rather pitifully.

“Okay, okay. I’m getting up. Jeez, don’t you know guests are supposed to be on their best behavior?” Jo pushed the covers aside and sat up. The morning sun was already streaming through the edges of the blinds as she walked across the rug-scattered, hard wood floor. Her eyes felt puffy and gritty, as if she had cried in a dream.

She staggered into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, not bothering to check her reflection in the mirror. Cleo wound her way in and out of Jo’s legs, meowing impatiently. “Okay, already. There has got to be something in this house a kitten would like to eat.”

She found a can of tuna in the pantry and put it out for Cleo. As she watched the kitten gulp down her breakfast, Jo sighed. “Guess I’ll have to contact the Humane Society today. You need a home and I don’t have time for a permanent guest.” Jo’s voice broke on her last words, and she forced herself to turn around and head into the bedroom, where she threw on her running clothes.

* * *

Jo walked down her front steps, checking her smartphone for messages. One text was from Frisco, letting her know the ME would be ready for them at 10:00 a.m. She was disappointed and relieved at the same time to see there were no messages from John. “Guess I’d better get used to it.” She could feel a lump forming in her throat and she swallowed hard a couple of times.

She flicked the screen on the phone to pull up her running playlist and started down the street. Jo looked up in time to see a man walking toward her. He was tall and fit, with dark hair. She was surprised to see he was wearing slippers with a bathrobe billowing out behind him. Underneath, he wore a white t-shirt and tartan plaid pajama bottoms.

He blushed as she approached. When she saw he wanted to speak to her, she came to an abrupt halt.

“Excuse, me,” he said. “So sorry to bother you. I’m afraid I made a rather stupid mistake this morning. You see, I just moved into the house over there.” He pointed at the stucco and stone house two doors down from her own. “And I, well, I locked myself out when I took out the garbage. Would you mind terribly if I borrowed your phone? I need to call a locksmith.”

“Oh, you bought Mrs. Matthew’s house.” Jo hadn’t known the house had even been for sale, but then again, she’d been out of the loop of neighborhood gossip lately. And it was hard to be suspicious of a man in his pajamas. “You know, I think I might have an extra key at my house. She asked me to keep a copy several years ago, just in case. If you haven’t changed your locks since you moved in, I’m sure it’ll work.”

The man looked immensely relieved. He had kind, pale gray eyes and a dimple in his right cheek when he smiled at her. Jo guessed he was somewhere near her age. He said, “Really? That would be terrific! I’m so sorry to screw up your run.”

“Not a problem at all.”

He followed her to her house and reached out his hand when they arrived at her front door. “I’m Stephen, by the way. Stephen Paulson.”

She shook his hand, “I’m Jo Schwann. Nice to have some new blood in the neighborhood. Mrs. Matthews was a dear, but I was afraid the house was becoming too much for her to handle.”

“That’s what her son said. He moved her into an assisted-living home close to his house. He said she’s settling in very well,” Stephen replied.

“I’m so glad to hear it. I worried about her, being by herself so much. I’m sure the house needs a bit of work.”

Jo stuck her key in the back door lock and let them into her kitchen. “If you’ll wait here a minute, I’ll go and see if I can find that key.”

He called out to her as she moved into her den. “Yes, looking forward to making some changes to the place. I love your house. Did you and your husband do all this yourselves?”

Jo had noticed Stephen didn’t wear a wedding ring, and she wondered if his question was an attempt to determine her marital status. She sidestepped the part about her husband – or lack thereof – and said, “Some of it, but I’ve got the numbers of a great plumber and electrician. I’ll get them for you.”

Jo walked back into the kitchen, and handed him the key, along with a list of handymen. “They’re sometimes hard to reach, but be persistent. I think you’ll be happy with the results.”

“Thanks, I owe you one. Would you be free for a cup of coffee some morning?”

“Actually, that might be a bit tough to swing. I …” She was interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She looked at the screen and saw it was Frisco calling. She held up a finger to Stephen. “Excuse me a moment, I have to take this call.”

“No worries, I’ll just let myself out. It was very nice to meet you.” He held up the key, “And thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.” With that, Jo heard the front door shut.

She answered her phone. “Good morning, Frisco. What’s got you up this early? I didn’t think we were due at the ME’s office until ten.”

“Jo, there’s been another murder.”

“One that involves the FBI? Who this time?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but it’s that woman who writes all those columns in the editorial section of the
St. Paul Pioneer Press
.”

Jo was shocked. “You mean Annie McDonald?”

“Yeah, that’s her. She was found at the newspaper offices this morning. Wouldn’t have called you, except there are a lot of similarities between her case and our recently deceased state representative.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for starters, they are both well-known and ultra-conservative. Both were shot in the face by a shotgun, and they were both moved from the original crime scene.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow is right. Can you join me at the crime scene?”

Jo looked down at her running shorts. “Sure, Frisco. Be right there.”

Chapter Thirteen

Turners Bend

End of October

The week before halloween turned cold and blustery. Most of the leaves had fallen, but a few stragglers hung on, fluttering in the wind. Amy Chang, bundled in a camel coat and red muffler, was filming the teaser for the segment from the middle of the street outside the Bun. Chip stood on the sidewalk, out of earshot, shivering in the dark gray suit he had not worn since Iver and Mabel’s wedding on Valentine’s Day.

“This is Amy Chang reporting from Turners Bend, Iowa, the home of crime author Charles Collingsworth. In our next entertainment segment, I’ll be talking with Charles and his literary agent, Lucinda Patterson, about the upcoming movie version of his first book,
The Cranium Killer
, and about the next book in his Dr. Goodman series. You won’t want to miss the startling discovery about a real-life crime in this charming little town in the middle of the country’s heartland. What’s Collingsworth’s connection to the crime? Stay tuned in the nine o’clock hour for the surprising details.”

Chip glanced into the window of the Bun and saw a collage of faces above the café curtains. Like children pressing their noses against a toy store window, many had turned out to see the famous TV personality. Two of the smiling faces, side-by-side, were Lance and Jane. The sight un-nerved him.

“That should do it here, Amy,” said Vince. “Let’s move over to the theater and get out of this ball-busting weather. Lucinda is going to meet us there for the interview.”