Kill Devil Falls by Brian Klingborg

Author:Brian Klingborg [Klingborg, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: kill devil fall, bryan klingborg, Mystery, mystery novel, mystery fiction, mystery book, sierra nevadas
Publisher: Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
Published: 2017-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Helen came to, face against a thin, scratchy mattress. She groaned, lifted her head, took in the brick walls, the door constructed of iron slats. She was in Rita’s cell, on the cot. A halogen lantern sat on the floor.

She touched the back of her head, felt gauze and tape. The room started spinning. She lay back down until it stabilized. Then she slowly sat up.

Next to the lantern on the floor was an open first aid kit. Helen riffled through the kit until she found some aspirin. She tore open the package with her teeth and dry-swallowed two pills.

She shivered, cold, and realized she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just her bra, a lacy lavender number with a little bow between the two breast cups. She wondered where her shirt was, who had undressed her, treated her head wound.

“Marshal?”

A whisper came out of the darkness.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Lawrence.”

Of course. She mentally slapped her forehead with a palm. She rose from the mattress. Her shirt was on the floor, crusted with partially dried blood. Her coat was lying across the foot of the cot. She left the shirt where it was and gingerly slipped into her coat, wincing at the pain in her knotted muscles, the burn of fabric rubbing against her cuts and bruises. She picked up the lantern, walked out of her cell, peered through the iron slats of Lawrence’s cell door.

“Are you okay, Lawrence?”

“Can you let me out?” Lawrence said. “Please?”

“Not just yet. Soon.”

“I’m cold. My feet are going numb.”

She remembered he was just wearing flip-flops.

“I’ll see about getting you some socks and shoes.”

“What happened? Are you hurt? There was a lot of commotion but nobody would tell me what’s going on.”

Helen pictured the dead man at the top of the stairs, the contents of his skull dripping down the wall. She didn’t have the energy to explain.

“It’s a long story. For now, sit tight, okay?”

She was heading for the door to return to the Trading Post when it suddenly banged open. Teddy entered, supporting Jesse Patterson with a hand around the old man’s waist.

“Put him in there,” Helen said. Together, they escorted Jesse into Rita’s cell, laid him on the mattress. Jesse groaned.

“How are you doing, Mr. Patterson?” she said. He was a mess. Bruised, battered, bloody. A ragged cut in his eyebrow, swollen lips, a nasty hematoma bulging from his forehead.

“Tip-top!” Jesse snapped. “Aside from the fact that a crazy man just tried to beat me to death.”

“Where’s Mrs. Patterson?” Helen asked.

“Still upstairs at the Trading Post,” Teddy said. “She’s okay. My dad’s there now. Said to bring Mr. P over here, see what I can do for him.”

“You shouldn’t have moved him,” Helen said.

“My dad wanted to clear the scene,” Teddy said.

“I’m fine,” Jesse said. “I just need some aspirin. And a drink. Scotch would be good. And a little grass might help with the pain.”

Helen looked quizzically at Teddy, but he was busy poking through the contents of the kit. Its assortment of Band-Aids and gauze seemed inadequate for the damage to Jesse’s face.

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