Shoot First, page 4
I laughed. Hard. “I could burn the place down and it would be in better shape than when I moved in.”
“You do any damage, and I’ll come after you.” He started off but shot back over his shoulder. “I’ve got the lease you signed. I’d be licking my chops to take you to court. You think you’re all high-and-mighty, but there’s plenty at the courthouse who agree with me.”
“Don’t let what he said get you down,” Mike said.
“Oh, it doesn’t. You know the journalism saying — If everybody’s mad at me I must be doing something right.”
“No. I didn’t know that saying.”
I forgot sometimes how new he was to this journalism gig. “Probably originated with political reporting. If both sides are angry it presumably means you’re not favoring either, though it can mean the reporter’s doing an equally crappy job.”
“Still, I like it. If everybody’s mad at me, I must be doing something right. So if being unpopular at the courthouse isn’t getting you down, why’d you make a face?”
“I didn’t think it was possible to like the Hovel any less, but Stan Newton just did the trick.”
“Richard Alvaro’s got a cousin in real estate—”
“Of course he does.” Richard also had a brother with the phone company, a sister who worked for a doctor in Montana, and a sister, now married and with three children, who used to date Mike. Richard himself had helped us a couple times with varying degrees of willingness.
“—who knows her stuff. Would be happy to help you find a place.”
It sounded so simple.
He knew it wasn’t.
Like the lease, my contract with the network ended at the end of October. Beyond that? I had no idea.
It was an unusual contract, written by my then-husband for the network where he was an executive. I’d signed at his urging. When I later divorced him, he’d used that contract and his position to squeeze me out of my network job in New York.
I could have left reporting temporarily. Mel, a lawyer and distant relative by marriage, had obtained a couple offers. But I knew too many former colleagues who’d left reporting “temporarily” and never got back in the door. Because they didn’t have the will to pull it open or because those inside held it closed, I didn’t know.
My other option had been to work out my contract wherever the network sent me.
The network, in the person of my ex, had sent me to Sherman, Wyoming, which was so far down the list of small TV markets there should have been a micromarket designation.
Now I had a couple more months until the contract was done. A couple more months until I could start getting on with the rest of my life. Whatever that turned out to be.
“I have a lease,” I mumbled to Mike. “And we have a shooting to look into. But—”
Shadow snarled, loud and long, from somewhere behind the house. I was running that direction before I thought about it. Mike overtook me in three strides, despite his bad knees.
I had to get back to working out.
I rounded the back corner of the Hovel to a tableau.
Raised hackles and all, Shadow glared at Stan Newton, with only occasional looks toward Mike, who’d apparently stopped when he saw Shadow wasn’t chewing on Newton’s bones. Newton stood, looking as deeply rooted as a tree but nowhere near as graceful.
“Good dog,” I said, unsure how much I was approving his judgment and how much I was trying to placate him.
Shadow took one step toward me. Unfortunately that took him one step closer to Newton, too.
“Good dog?” Stan snapped.
Shadow growled.
“He’s vicious.” Newton’s voice skidded up.
“He won’t be if you shut up,” Mike said in a low, even voice.
“Good dog,” I repeated, stepping to the side, widening my distance from Newton. “It’s okay.”
Shadow gave me an assessing look but kept his main focus on Stan.
“You don’t have to worry, Shadow. I won’t let him hurt you.” The dog’s ears flickered. “Sit, Shadow.”
Nothing. For a beat. A second beat. Then, slowly, the animal dropped his butt to the ground, still watching Newton.
“Good dog. Good Shadow.” Well to the side now, I moved closer to him. “I owe you a treat for being so good.”
Newton must have said something, because Mike muttered in that same even voice, “Shut. Up. Now.”
“Shadow.” Slowly his head came around to me. I met his gaze. “It’s okay.”
He stood.
I felt my adrenaline going again. I still didn’t know what he’d do, other than he wouldn’t hurt me. I didn’t want him to hurt anyone, but I’ll admit I was more focused on the consequences to the dog.
Shadow swung his head back to Newton, then flicked me a look that I swear was disapproving, as if questioning my judgment for saying Stan Newton was okay. Finally, he turned and trotted off, disappearing around the barely standing structure the ad had called a garage.
Half a minute after Mike and I moved, Newton came to life. “That dog is vicious. I’ll report him. I’ll have him put in the pound!”
“For what? Looking at you?” Mike asked.
“He snarled. Loud. Showed his teeth.”
“If showing your teeth and being loud are the criteria, you should be put away for life,” I said.
He ignored that. “You signed the lease, and it says clear, you can’t have a dog in the house.”
“I don’t,” I said with absolute truth for both the letter and spirit of his statement. Not only had Shadow never been in the house while I’d been a resident, but the dog had me more than I had the dog.
When I’d gone for chewable supplements and a monthly pill to ward off fleas and ticks, the vet had lectured me about bringing my dog in for the heartworm check. Had Shadow had his puppy vaccinations?
I’d explained Shadow was less like a puppy than an adult child who had moved back home with bad habits. He’d eat my food, hang around some, even wag his tail now and then, but he wasn’t exactly keeping me company.
Although, he had shown admirable judgment.
First, by cornering someone who’d thrown bricks through my kitchen window as a way to discourage me from pursuing a story last spring.
Second, by obeying without question the commands of Tom Burrell’s daughter, Tamantha. Tamantha was starting third grade, and all who knew her expected this to be a short-lived way station on her path to world domination.
And now, third, by his dislike of Stan Newton.
“Well, see that you don’t let him in the house. Or any other dog, either,” Newton said, stomping away.
I had to admit, cowboy boots were effective for stomping, even on would-be lawn. As for his words, the man sure knew how to take the witty out of repartee.
Chapter Four
Watching Newton’s departure drew my eyes to an arrival. Tom Burrell.
In close conversation with Deputy Shelton in the street, Burrell was probably picking up all the details Shelton had denied me. They made a contrasting pair, Shelton’s short, stocky frame packed into the deputy’s uniform. Burrell’s long, rangy frame hugged by jeans and a denim shirt. Each topped by the hat denoting his occupation: Shelton in what I thought of as a Mounties’ hat and rancher Burrell in a cowboy hat.
“There’s Tom. Let’s go—”
I stopped Mike with a look and a low “Uh-uh.”
It made me cranky that Shelton might pour out information to Burrell, but it didn’t make me stupid. We had a better chance of learning things from Burrell than Shelton.
“Let them talk,” I added. “I’m going to check Shadow’s water.”
Mike grinned. “Got it. Yeah, Shadow might be dry now. Thirsty business scaring the piss out of Stan Newton. Besides, we might want to give him extra treats.”
I filled the water bowl from the hose and added a couple treats from my pocket to the food bowl Shadow had emptied since I’d left for work. Apparently, scaring Newton was also hungry business.
I started recounting the conversation with Mildred to Mike, but he said to wait for Tom. So, instead, I told him about Shadow’s behavior with Shelton and my feat of dog training by having him sit.
“Sounds like he’s protective of you. And if he backs off when you tell him to, that’s all to the good.”
“Not if he gets a reputation.”
The topic dropped there because Tom arrived with his long-limbed, unhurried gait.
After hellos, he shot me a look from under the brim of his hat. “You okay, Elizabeth?”
My eyebrows hiked up. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Wayne Shelton said you looked a little shook up.”
I grimaced. “Was he concerned about my well-being before or after he let me think my neighbor was dead when she wasn’t?”
“Maybe he was interested in why you thought she might be dead when she wasn’t.”
“A police call about someone being dead in the home of an elderly woman who lives alone — not much of a jump. No matter what Deputy Shelton might think about my brains.”
“He thinks your brains are fine. Too nosy for your own good, but smart.”
I gave him a sharp look. Shelton’s opinion? Or Burrell displacing his reaction about me being too nosy for my own good on to Shelton?
Mike asked, “Did he fill you in on what’s happened, Tom?”
“I think I’ve got the basics.” He gave me a look. “How well do you know your neighbor?”
“Why ask me? You’re the local expert.”
“Your contact’s more recent,” he said.
“Good point,” Mike said.
I glowered at Mr. Need-to-Call-the-Local-Expert, but got an oblivious look back, so I said, “I don’t know much. Some information she told me, a few observations.”
“Anything raise worries about her mental state?” Tom asked.
“No.”
Mike asked, “You think she might need to plead insanity, Tom? You think there could be trouble with self-defense?”
He shifted his shoulders in a hint of a don’t-know shrug, then came back to me. “So, what has she told you?”
I gave them an expanded version of her growing up on the ranch, moving in with her grandparents to be in town for school, then inheriting the house from them.
“Her parents stayed on the ranch. Her aunt and a husband lived in the house behind the grandparents. Later, her cousin Avis and Avis’ husband lived there. The husband died sometime back, then Avis earlier this summer.”
Tom nodded now and then, confirming this matched what he knew of her.
“Maybe losing her cousin unhinged her,” Mike said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “From the way she talked, I got the impression they were best friends and even bigger rivals. Besides, how unhinged is it to shoot someone who’s trying to drag you to your basement by the hair?”
“It’s not — if that’s what was happening.”
I conceded Tom’s caveat with half a shrug. “No reason to think otherwise, is there?”
He responded with his own half shrug. “Anything else?”
“She likes to appear tough, but she’s got to be rattled. And alone. No family. She’s talked about a friend around her age. Doesn’t sound like the friend would be any more familiar with negotiating the aftershocks of a situation like this than Mildred is.”
Mike patted my shoulder. “She’ll be okay. Aunt Gee is with her.”
“If you want, I’ll see if James Longbaugh will help her through the legal tangle,” Tom said of a well-regarded lawyer in town.
I wanted. I thanked them both.
“Elizabeth, you started to say before that something bothered you. When we were talking with Shelton,” Mike prompted. “We were talking about self-defense and what was likely to happen with Mildred.”
“Right. It was what he said at the end, that most likely Mildred will be out of jail and back in her house, living alone.”
“Okay.” He drew it out, clearly not seeing my point.
“Mike, if you wanted to burglarize a house, would you go in the middle of the morning? Would you call the person ahead of time to make sure they were there?”
“No, but—”
“So why would you call the person ahead of time to make sure they were there?”
“To get information they had or—” He rocked back on his boot heels. “Got it. Or to hurt them.”
“Right. So maybe this guy wanted information. Or maybe he wanted to—”
“Hold on, you two,” Tom said. “Don’t go running away with theories. Most likely explanation is the guy was not that smart.”
Mike started to say something, but I shifted my weight to get an elbow in his ribs.
He gave me a questioning look.
I returned a bland one.
For once Burrell missed the byplay because he was consulting his phone, apparently checking the time rather than missed calls.
“I gotta go, it’s early release for these first couple days of school.”
“Tamantha told me she’s riding the school bus,” I said.
He grinned a little sheepishly. “She does if I don’t get there first. She keeps telling me she’s plenty old enough to ride the bus.”
“Ride it and probably rule it,” I said.
He grinned more, transforming a face composed of so many sharp angles and long lines that the first time I’d seen him I’d likened him to Abraham Lincoln’s better-looking cousin.
“Yeah. Could say I’m giving the other kids a chance to rule the roost. But truth is, I enjoy the time with her.”
“You better go then. Thanks for stopping by. Tell Tamantha I said hello.”
His gaze sharpened. Then his hand tightened around his phone. “Okay. See you later.” That, to both Mike and me. What followed, he directed at Mike. “If something does come of this, give me a call.”
Apparently he felt he couldn’t rely on me doing that.
He was right.
Tom had been part of two investigations Mike and I had pursued. A reluctant part both times, though for different reasons. Whether this turned out to be anything or not, I didn’t see a need to try to overcome his reluctance again.
With Tom out of earshot, Mike said, “If we need his local knowledge, I’m sure he’ll help.”
I made a noncommittal sound.
That appeared to satisfy Mike. “So, you were saying the reason someone would call ahead to make sure the target was at home would be because they wanted information or to hurt the target.”
“Could be,” I amended.
“You’re thinking the object might have been to hurt Mildred from the start?”
“I don’t want to close my mind to the possibility.” I sent a look after Burrell’s truck, slid a quick frown in the direction Shelton had gone, then faced Mike. “Information is a possibility, too. But he didn’t try to ask for it, according to Mildred. Why not try the easy way first? It doesn’t make sense to go directly to violence if you want information.”
Mike nodded. “That’s another question — what could Mildred Katarese know?”
“I have no idea. That applies to why anyone would want to hurt her, too. But clearly someone did.” I shook my head. “It makes no sense. There’s something off about this. I just want to be sure Mildred is safe.”
He started to grin. “And we’re going to find out what’s off.”
“We’re going to try to find out what.”
“We’re going to find out.” His grin spread wider.
* * * *
But first we had to return to our place of employment.
KWMT-TV’s squat building sat amid plenty of open space on the eastern outskirts of Sherman, not long after Cottonwood Street gave way to Highway 27. The architecture was as uninspired as the leadership in the person of News Director Les Haeburn.
Who stood, with hands propped on hips nearly as narrow as his shoulders, inside the second set of glass doors at the main entrance as he demanded, “Where have you been?”
Interesting.
Haeburn rarely emerged from his office. I wasn’t sure if he feared what might happen to him among the rabble in the newsroom. (A fear not entirely unjustified.) Or if he thought it gave the impression he was too busy to leave his office. (It didn’t.) Or if he hoped being seen behind his big desk gave him added gravitas. (Nope.)
Thurston Fine, who hovered at Haeburn’s shoulder, would generally be enjoying his morning nap about now. Rousing in time to spend half an hour with his image in his personal bathroom before departing for lunch with cronies.
“I said,” Haeburn intoned without giving us a chance to answer, “where have you been?”
“Working on a story,” I said.
Fine squeaked. Might have been meant as indignation, but it came out so high-pitched I bit my lip to stop a giggle.
“Both of you? Together? Sports and consumer affairs?”
Haeburn’s disdain for the beat twisted those last two words. It resurrected my curiosity about how I’d landed here. I’d picked up a few intriguing pieces indicating he’d had orders from higher up. We minions in the newsroom never saw anyone higher up. An absentee general manager and the ownership were lost in the mists of Mount Olympus. But those people had no better reason to want me than Haeburn.
I needed to pin down Mel, who had shouldered the duties of agenting me after my ex dynamited my career.
Face-to-face, that would be easy. I’d known Mel since I was a kid, even before he married Peg, the oldest daughter of my mother’s cousin. But on the phone, he could weasel away unless I exerted more energy than the situation seemed to warrant.
All that flitted through my head as I said, “Yes, sports and consumer affairs.” Repeating the question, a politician’s trick. Delay, delay, delay.
And then I had it.
“A piece for Helping Out,” I said, referring to the consumer assistance segment I did. “On collectibles and how to avoid being taken with fakes.”
“Sports memorabilia,” Mike added, bless him.
“You went home,” Fine objected. “In the middle of the day. On company time.”
I gave him a long look, then turned back to Haeburn. “I don’t know what your source of information might have overheard—” From the corner of my eye, I caught angry red tinting Fine’s ears. “—but I never went into my residence. I did go to my neighbor’s home. She’s a notable collector. I learned a great deal from her.”
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