Nacho Usual Murder: Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries, Book 3 Read online

  She left the school feeling frustrated and defeated, and second-guessing herself more than ever. She knew she wasn’t a helicopter parent, hovering over her son at every moment. She and Will had worked very hard to raise an independent and capable young man, but the teacher’s words had stung, nonetheless. How could someone look at her son as being irresponsible? Tears filled her eyes and anger thrummed in her gut at the thought of it, but she’d wade through the bureaucratic formalities like a good citizen, in order to do what needed to be done.

  Shrugging her shoulders to ease some of the knots that were forming there, she took a breath and climbed into her SUV. She still had a job to do, despite this uncomfortable bump in the road.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  Rossalyn saw a patrol car in the parking lot when she pulled in, so she wasn’t surprised at all to see Morgan Tyler at the counter, scarfing down a bowl of ham and beans with melt-in-your-mouth buttered sweet corn bread.

  “I’m so sorry that I kept you waiting,” Rossie apologized, standing behind the counter in front of the handsome officer.

  “I’m glad you did. This food is just what I needed after my morning.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get finished up while I grab a cup of coffee, and then we can talk, if that’s all right with you?” she proposed.

  “Perfect,” he nodded, mouth full of cornbread. “Seriously, this stuff is amazing.”

  “Glad you like it,” Rossalyn grinned and headed to her office to drop off her purse.

  Her smile faded when she caught sight of the flowers that her stalker had sent, but remembering Tom’s wise words about not setting an unstable individual off, she took them out and set them by the register, where they would be seen. She’d brought both cards from her arrangements to give to Morgan, hoping they might help him in his investigation. While she hoped that someone just had a secret crush, the wording on the cards seemed somehow more sinister than that. Pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she once again moved in front of Morgan’s seat at the counter, where Garrett had already cleared his dishes.

  “Enjoy your lunch?”

  “To the last drop,” the officer raised his coffee mug and smiled. “Is there somewhere that we can talk with a bit of privacy?” he asked sobering.

  “Sure, we can go in my office. I’ll just let the guys know to keep an eye on things.”

  Rossie disappeared through the kitchen door and was back moments later, leading Morgan down the hall and directing him to a small leather club chair across the desk from her. The leather squeaked when he sat down, and she inadvertently giggled.

  “Sorry, I’ve had a weird morning and couple of days; I guess I’m easily entertained right now,” she blushed at her juvenile reaction.

  “No worries. It was funny,” he assured her. “And this leather is great, just like a baseball glove,” the officer observed, running a fingertip over the arm of the chair.

  “That’s what I liked about it, too. I picked up the pair at a second-hand store because they were so soft and comfy. So, I hate to ask, but… what was going on with Garrett this morning?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Morgan quirked a brow.

  “No, he didn’t have a chance. He arrived during the lunch rush, and then I had to leave to see Ryan’s teacher.” She grimaced at the memory.

  “Not a pleasant experience?” The cop missed nothing.

  “Definitely not, but about Garrett…” she prompted.

  “Right. Well, it wasn’t his fault that he was late. There was an incident at the boardinghouse.”

  “An incident?” Rossie’s concern was evident as she leaned forward, twining her fingers in front of her on the desk.

  “Yes. There was a body found at the boardinghouse. We detained everyone who lived there until we could question them. Garrett was clearly asleep when we knocked on his door, and we’re checking out his alibi, but that’s just routine. He’s not even close to being a suspect or person of interest,” Morgan explained.

  “Oh my, that’s awful. Who was it? Was there foul play involved?” Just the thought nauseated Rossie.

  “I’m afraid so. The coroner’s preliminary report suggests that the victim was drugged, then suffocated while he slept. He’s a local guy, Jesse Nickerson, who just got out of jail a few weeks ago.”

  “Do you have any leads on who might have done it? I mean, that’s really scary to think that there might be a killer in our little town,” Rossie was wide-eyed, and her thoughts naturally went to Ryan and his safety.

  “Not yet, but there were some clues that we’re checking into. I would imagine that this was a personal thing—homicides usually are—which would mean that average citizens who weren’t involved shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Morgan reassured her, noting her reaction.

  “That’s good,” she murmured. “I hope that Garrett will be okay.”

  “Well, he may not be staying at the boardinghouse for a bit, it’ll take a while for us to process the scene.”

  “Makes sense,” she blew out a breath. “Well, this news kind of makes my situation seem silly.”

  “Stalking isn’t something to take lightly. Why don’t you start at the beginning and go over what’s been happening,” Morgan went into professional mode, taking a small notepad out of his shirt pocket.

  Rossalyn handed over the cards, told him where she and Tom had separately seen the stalker in the bushes, and gave him the details on the encounters with the strange man at Hawg Heaven. When she gave him a physical description, he stopped for a moment, frowning, then pursed his lips and continued.

  “I’ll stop by the house, see what I can find underneath the bushes. Maybe whoever it was left some clues behind. I’ll also get in touch with the second florist and double-check with the first one,” Morgan said, flipping his notepad shut and standing to go. “If anything happens in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks, Morgan,” Rossie replied, shaking his hand.

  “Anytime.”

  ***

  Rossalyn glanced down at her phone, which had gone off at the apex of the dinner rush, and saw a text from Officer Morgan Tyler.

  I’ll be dropping by your house this evening to discuss your case. What time do you anticipate being home?

  Rossie frowned, thinking that his tone sounded a bit cold, formal, but she shook it off. It was so hard to tell with texts, she was probably just imagining things. She had wanted to spend time with Ryan this evening, but it looked like that would have to wait.

  I’m usually home between 7:30 and 8:00, she replied.

  See you then, was the brief reply.

  Hoping that he’d found something of interest, Rossalyn rushed Garrett and José through closing. José had been kind enough to offer Garrett a place to stay until he could get back into the boardinghouse, and Garrett had gratefully accepted. The guys left together after seeing her safely to her car, and she sped toward home, hoping to catch up with Ryan and explain, in a rather vague way, what had been happening, so that he wouldn’t be confused when a policeman came to their door.

  Much to Rossalyn’s surprise, when she came in the front door, she saw Ryan sitting with Tom Hundman, working on his ancient village model. The two were intent upon the project, the massive biker observing closely while her studious son wielded the hot glue gun like a pro.

  “Well, this looks like quite the production,” she observed, an unmistakable question in her voice.

  “Oh, hey, Mom. Yeah, Mr. Tom came over to borrow a cup of sugar, then lectured me for answering the door, so I asked him if he could help me figure out how to build a stream with actual water in it on my village model,” Ryan explained excitedly, intent upon his project, which measured roughly three feet by five feet and covered nearly the entire surface of the breakfast bar.

  “Sugar, huh? I didn’t realize you were a baker, Tom,” she teased, receiving a snort in response, as the biker hunched over the project. “Wow, that’s pretty impressive,” Rossie m
oved closer, fascinated as her son glued small rocks to form the banks which surrounded a stream made from half of a black plastic pipe.

  “Yeah, we found this in Mr. Tom’s garage. There was a bunch of other stuff in there, too, that he brought for me to use…like cool tools and stuff, and we picked up a bunch of sticks and pine needles and grass from the yard to use for building materials. See my huts? They’re over there by the stove.”

  “Very nice. Well, you just go ahead and keep working. There’s going to be a police officer coming over in just a little bit to talk to me, but you don’t need to worry about that.”

  For the first time, Ryan stopped gluing and looked up.

  “Police officer? Why? What’s going on?” he asked, more curious than concerned.

  “There have just been some strange things going on around the neighborhood, and there may have been someone sneaking around our bushes the other night. No biggie,” she downplayed the story, as Tom stared at her and stood up.

  “Gotta get going, kid. See ya ’round,” Tom announced, wasting no time in heading for the back door.

  “’Kay, thanks Mr. Tom,” Ryan smiled briefly before going back to his gluing.

  “Yes, thank you,” Rossalyn echoed, wondering at the strange look that Tom gave her on his way out.

  “He just looks scary, but he seems really nice,” the teenager observed.

  Rossalyn and Will had always tried to instill in their only child that people shouldn’t be judged, but accepted, as a general rule, and she was proud to see that their hard work had apparently paid off. Her heart swelled with pride, and she ruffled her son’s hair on her way to the fridge, impressed that he was doing so well at meticulously crafting his project.

  “Didn’t you eat?” he asked, when Rossie quickly threw together a ham and Swiss sandwich and started munching.

  “Nope, busy day. I didn’t have time,” she explained, pouring a glass of iced tea while she chewed.

  “Isn’t that kind of weird? I mean, you’re surrounded by food all day, and you didn’t even eat? If I worked there, I’d be eating all day, every day.”

  Rossalyn had to chuckle. Her teenage son did seem like a bottomless pit when it came to food.

  “It just works out that way sometimes,” she shrugged, talking with her mouth full in her haste to finish eating before Morgan arrived.

  “Maybe you’re working too hard,” Ryan suggested mildly.

  “Maybe you are,” she countered.

  The young man sighed. “Nah, I have to make up for my late paper.”

  Rossie thought about telling him what had transpired between her and Ms. Simpson, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, the doorbell rang.

  “That must be the policeman,” Ryan commented.

  “Yup. We’ll talk in the living room so that we don’t disturb you. You can just keep working on your project.”

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  Morgan’s face was grim when Rossalyn opened the door, and his manner seemed somehow… distant.

  “Hi. Come on in,” Rossie invited, leading the way to the living room.

  “The flowers in the kitchen, were they the ones that were sent by the stalker?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  “I’m just being honest here, I find it a bit odd that you have them on display. I would think that your first impulse would’ve been to toss them in the trash,” the officer’s eyes probed hers, suddenly making her feel a bit like she was under a microscope.

  “Actually, that was my first instinct.”

  “So, why did you change your mind?”

  Rossie relayed the conversation that she’d had with Tom regarding the flowers, and Morgan’s eyes tightened almost imperceptibly at the corners.

  “Did you ever think that perhaps Hundman had sent them, and maybe that’s why he didn’t want you to throw them away?”

  Rossalyn shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, it crossed my mind before I talked with him about it, but he clearly wasn’t the one who sent them. He just didn’t want me to potentially provoke the stalker by throwing them out.”

  “Mmhmm…” Morgan muttered, sounding not at all convinced. “When did Hundman tell you about what he saw?”

  “Yesterday, after work.”

  “And you told him about what had happened with the gentleman at Hawg Heaven?”

  “Yes, I told you that already. So what happened when you came over here? Did you find anything?”

  “Yeah, I did, actually. There were fingerprints on one of your windowsills that fit the posture of someone who was leaning on the sill, trying to see inside. Did Mr. Hundman happen to give you a description of the person that he saw in the bushes?”

  Rossalyn shuddered, thinking that Ryan had been downstairs alone and defenseless while she was in the tub. “No, he said that it was too dark to see anything. By the time he went looking for him in the neighborhood on his motorcycle, the stalker had vanished. Were you able to figure out who they belonged to?”

  “Yes, we traced the prints and matched them with some that were in our database. So Hundman went out into the neighborhood looking for the stalker?”

  “That’s what he said,” Rossie nodded.

  “Do you know what time he returned?”

  “No idea. So who did the fingerprints belong to?” she prodded impatiently. “Was in anyone I know?”

  “You tell me. Do you recognize this man?” Morgan showed her a mug shot on his phone.

  Rossalyn’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the man who had been at Hawg Heaven before and after hours.

  “That’s him,” she nodded. “That’s the guy who came by early and late,” she whispered. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Jesse Nickerson,” the officer replied, awaiting her reaction.

  Rossie gasped. “The guy who was murdered at the boardinghouse was my stalker?”

  “Seems that way,” Morgan eyed her in a way that made her uncomfortable.

  She started to tremble. “There was a criminal stalking me?” she murmured in disbelief, feeling sick to her stomach. “And then he was killed. What did he do to make someone want to kill him?” she wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know… stalking maybe?” he proposed quietly, arching an eyebrow.

  Rossalyn stared at him open-mouthed. “Officer Tyler,” she growled, her lips a thin line. “Are you even coming close to suggesting that I killed someone? I’d expect that kind of crap from Sheriff Willis, but I thought you were better than that.”

  Morgan sighed.

  “I’m following up on all leads. Could’ve been you, could’ve been someone who was trying to protect you…” he let the sentence hang, and she blinked at him until cold realization dawned.

  “Tom?” she whispered, her blood turning to ice in her veins.

  “The only other footprints that we found near the bushes, besides Jesse’s, belonged to a female shoe, size seven, which I’m guessing is you, and a motorcycle boot, size fourteen, which is not exactly what you’d call a common size.”

  “Well, of course our footprints were back there, we went to check out the area after we saw the stalker.”

  “Together?”

  “No, I went by myself, and I can only assume that Tom might have gone back there after that.”

  “Or he might have taken out the stalker right then.”

  “But then why would he go to the trouble of coming over the next day to tell me about it?”

  “Cover story maybe. Making his alibi look better, who knows?” the officer shrugged.

  “Does he have an alibi?”

  “Don’t know. I’m headed over there next.”

  “What should I do?” Rossalyn was at a loss, thinking that someone who might be a killer had just spent the afternoon with her son.

  “Well, with your stalker dead, I wouldn’t think you’d have much to worry about anymore. Just go about your business, and I’ll be back in touch as we continue to inv
estigate.”

  Gone was his easygoing, cheerful demeanor. Officer Morgan Tyler was now looking at her with suspicion, and something else… disappointment? Rossie walked him to the door and shut it quietly behind him.

  “Hey, Mom, what did Officer Tyler say? Did he catch whoever they were looking for?” Ryan asked, when Rossalyn returned to the kitchen, suddenly wishing that she hadn’t wolfed down her sandwich.

  “I don’t think he’ll be bothering anyone now,” she reassured her son absently patting him on the shoulder, while he worked on his project.

  Despite a churning stomach, and shaking hands, Rossalyn kept Ryan company while he glued and shaped and molded and stacked, glad for the simple joy of being together. When the glue gun was finally unplugged, doors were locked, and she laid her head on the pillow at last, sleep came instantly and hard.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  “Ms. Bouchard,” Officer Morgan Tyler was trying his best to be patient with the irascible little woman in front of him, who reeked of stale cigarette smoke. The dark, puffy circles under her eyes suggested that she hadn’t slept in a week. “I know you’ve run the boardinghouse for years, and I know you’ve had a few minor incidents with your tenants every now and again, but this is serious. A man died under your roof, and I need you to cooperate with the investigation.”

  “I told you, I don’t know nothin’ ’bout nothin’,” she rasped, leaning back in her chair and picking at a hangnail. “Y’all have been takin’ yer time, traipsin’ around my place like you own the dang house. I can’t help it if your men can’t find their nose with both hands,” she grimaced.

  Taking a deep breath, Morgan tried again.