Redneck's Revenge (The Isabel Long Mystery Series Book 2) by Joan Livingston

Author:Joan Livingston [Livingston, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime
Publisher: Crooked Cat Books
Published: 2018-09-25T22:00:00+00:00

Stopping at Rough Waters

I head east to Caulfield, so I can show Annette the photo on my phone. It’s the sort of thing I’d want to do in person. Yes, this is the long way home, but it’ll also give me a view of the town from another direction.

Crap, it starts snowing as the car begins to climb in elevation, and it’s small flakes, too. Ma, the weather watcher in our household, didn’t warn me. Then again, maybe she thought I was coming straight home from my meeting with Sean Mooney. Or maybe this storm just sneaked in. Sometimes the weather can fool all of the experts. It happens on occasion. I just keep hitting the wipers.

When I pull into Rough Waters Junkyard, I’m relieved the dogs are in their pen although I’ve smartened up and brought a box of dog biscuits. It was my mother’s idea, of course. I throw a couple of Milk-Bones over their fence before I head to the garage.

Once inside, I call for Annette, who slides on a dolly from beneath an El Camino, one of those half-cars, half-trucks that’s totally a Mrs. Redneck vehicle. She waves a wrench.

“Hey, there, what brings you here?”

“I got something I want you to see.” Annette is on her feet and wiping her hands on a rag as I work the phone. “Here you go.”

Her head is down then up.

“That’s blood. Where’s that from?”

“Your junkyard.”

“Huh?”

“I just met with the reporter who covered your father’s death. When people were too busy to talk with him, he wandered around the yard and found some blood at the scene. It’s not a lot, but it sure looks like blood. You can see boot prints near it.”

“Shit, why didn’t I see that?”

“Sean, that’s the reporter’s name, said you were upset. Everybody else was too busy to pay attention to him, well except for Chief Dutton, but she was only an officer then. When she finally got around to looking, that spot was a muddy mess. Besides, by then people had made up their mind about how your father died.”

Her head rocks as she agrees with me.

“You’re right about that.”

“Where do you think the blood came from?” I ask.

“Damned if I know.”

“What’s curious is that it’s not near the fire. He even drew me a little map. Wanna see where it was?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Annette grabs a jacket from a hook near the door and curses when we go outside.

“Snow again? Jesus.”

We go to the spot Sean marked on his map. It’s between the two rows of snowbound junkers to the right toward the end facing the road. I point downward.

“I’m guessing it was here.”

Annette studies the map.

“Yeah, you’re right. I can’t believe I missed it.”

“Everybody but Sean did.” I nod. “If my mother were here, she would offer two theories. One would be the blood belonged to your father before he went inside his house, or it came from somebody else. Maybe your father’s dog attacked whoever was in the junkyard and drew blood. You did find the dog dead later.

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