Chapter Three
I sat at the top of the stairs outside on the front porch and watched the two police cruisers pull up in front of the Boyers’ house. Only minutes ago, I’d raced out of the house and called the police faster than I’d ever done anything in my life.
Tommy Gallagher slammed the door of his cop car and strolled up the walkway. When he reached the base of the stairs he stopped with his hands on his hips and grinned up at me. “Hey, Shannon. Looking good.”
I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t still shaking. Tommy was the only guy I knew who would greet someone so cheerfully at a murder scene.
“Hi, Tommy.”
The man was always in a good mood. He has never been a raving genius, I thought sentimentally, but he is a good-hearted man. And still cute, too, with a ready smile, twinkling eyes, sun-bleached hair, and a rangy build. I was glad we’d managed to stay friends despite his really bad taste in wives.
He turned to watch his boss approach. “Have you met our new police chief?”
“Not officially,” I said. A new police chief was big news, so I’d certainly heard of him and seen him around town a few times. But up close, he was even more imposing than I’d thought before. He stood about six foot four, with dark blond hair brushed back from his forehead. His police-issue bomber jacket couldn’t disguise the fact that he had muscles on his muscles.
And he was, well, adorable. Honestly, the guy looked like the movie-star version of some Nordic god. He probably practiced making angry faces in the mirror, just so he’d be taken seriously.
“Chief,” Tommy said, “this is Shannon Hammer. She found the body. Shannon, say hello to Eric Jensen, chief of police.”
I was right. Nordic. So here I was, a girl named Hammer, staring at a guy who looked like Thor. Coincidence?
Why hasn’t Lizzie tried to set me up on a blind date with him? I wondered, and quickly shook the thought away. No more blind dates, remember? Besides, Chief Jensen might be married. Except I hadn’t heard about him moving here with a wife.
He stared back at me, unsmiling, his dark blue eyes studying me. It was the complete opposite of the cheery greeting I’d received from Tommy. “Ms. Hammer.”
I nodded. “Chief Jensen.”
“You Jack’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Nice guy,” he said with a somber nod. “I’ve run into him at the pub a few times.”
It was good to know he liked my father. So maybe he wouldn’t throw me into a dank, windowless dungeon, which was the vibe I was getting from him at the moment.
“You found the deceased,” he said.
Tripped over. Found. Same thing. “Yes. Down in the basement.”
Chief Jensen rested one hand casually on the butt of his gun and glanced around. “Is this your home?”
“No.” Because of his blunt questions, I was tempted to leave it at that, but I relented. “I’m renovating this house for the owners, Stan and Joyce Boyer. I’m a contractor. One of the neighbors reported hearing water running so I came out to investigate.”
He nodded slowly, glanced around the front yard, then back at me. “Please wait out here.” He started to walk up the stairs.
“Stop,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”
Yes, he was being uptight, but it sort of went with the territory, I guessed. I couldn’t let him break his neck, after all. “That plank you’re about to step on is rotten. You’ll fall through if you put too much pressure on it.”
He started to skip the step.
“Stay on the far left edge and you’ll be okay.”
He probably hated following my advice, but he wasn’t stupid. He took the step, then halted. “Now what?”
“The next one’s fine.”
He climbed another step and waited until I said, “That one’s good on the right side.”
Following my directions, he made it all the way to the top and then stood on the porch staring down at me. His lips twitched as he asked, “Any other hazards I should know about? Minefields? Falling ceilings?”
“Not right away. Go straight down the hall to the kitchen. It’s on your left. On the far side of the refrigerator is an interior door that leads to the basement. It’s unlocked, but here’s where it gets tricky. Watch your step going down, because there’s no light and the stairs are gone so you’ll have to negotiate a precarious ramp to get all the way down.”
He nodded, glanced around some more, and finally jerked his chin toward the front door. “Come on. Show me.”
“How can I resist such a kind invitation?” I muttered, and stood and brushed off my jeans.
Tommy chuckled and followed the two of us inside. We made it slowly down the ramp with only a few curse words muttered. I led the way across the cold room and stepped aside so the two cops could check out the body.
Tommy homed in with his flashlight. “Hey, isn’t that Jerry Saxton?”
“Yes, it is,” I said.
Tommy grinned at me. “Heard about your big fight on the beach the other night.” With a nod of approval, he added, “Heard you got him good. That’s my girl.”
The chief glanced over his shoulder. “Got him good?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, with a little too much enthusiasm. “She kicked him in the family jewels and threatened to . . .”
My eyes goggled and Tommy’s voice faded as he realized what he was saying. He inched away from me, knowing he was in big trouble.
Jensen gazed steadily at me. “Threatened to . . . what?”
“Nothing, Chief,” Tommy said quickly.
The chief’s gaze didn’t waver from mine. “I’ve heard some of this story. So, you knew the deceased.”
“No,” I protested. “Well, not exactly. We went out on one date. That was enough. And, yes, I kicked him, but not in the . . . oh, never mind.” I’d already realized that nobody wanted to hear the true story of what had happened that night on the beach.
He studied me in the glare of the flashlight for a long moment. “But you did threaten to kill him.”
“Yes, because he attacked me viciously,” I countered, hating the defensiveness in my voice. “It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t kill him.” Under my breath I added, “But I don’t blame whoever did.”
He glanced down at the body, then back at me. “You think he deserved to die?”
“I think he was a violent misogynist. It was only a matter of time.” I moved toward the ramp. “I’ll wait outside, if you don’t mind.”
? ? ?
I went back to the front porch and sat on the steps, trying to calculate my chances of staying out of jail. They weren’t good, for at least three reasons. First, not only had I kicked Jerry the other night after he’d assaulted me, but I had threatened to kill him, as well. Loudly. In front of witnesses. On the upside, though, those same witnesses had seen him attack me first.
Second, I was the lucky one who had found his dead body. A coincidence, yes. Absolutely. But what were the odds of convincing Thor of that?
Let’s be logical, I thought. If I’d killed Jerry Saxton, why would I be dumb enough to report the body and then stick around until the police arrived?
Excellent point, I said to myself. The police couldn’t possibly accuse me of murder if they were being sensible about it.
On the other hand, they might come up with any number of contradictory scenarios. Maybe I had lured Jerry to the basement of this old house, tempting him with promises of an assignation. I’d been lying in wait, and when he arrived, I snuck up behind him, and coshed him over the head.
I definitely would’ve had to sneak up on Jerry, because there was no way he’d have let me get close to him again. But Chief Jensen didn’t know that.
A third glaring mark against me was that I was the general contractor for the Boyers’ rehab. I had complete access to this house. I had a reason to be here, but what was Jerry’s excuse? Did he know the Boyers?
I heard footsteps and shifted around. Chief Jensen was backlit by the entry light shining through the open doorway. Those are some big shoulders, I thought. Then I noticed he was holding a heavy pipe wrench in one gloved hand.
“Is this yours, Ms. Hammer?”
I jumped up and stared at the wrench. It was pink. My dad had bought me a complete set of sturdy pink tools when I took over the company from him. That wrench was part of the set. I finally met Jensen’s calm gaze. “What are you doing with that?”
“Found it at the bottom of the sump basin, under a few feet of really foul water. It was wrapped in this towel.” He held up a soggy, dirty, disgusting towel. “That’s what was clogging the drain.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. “Is the wrench . . . Is that the murder weapon?”
“Is it yours?”
My stomach lurched. I was biting my lip so hard, I could taste blood. “I think so.”
“Did you notice it was missing?”
“No. I leave a tool chest here, so I don’t know if it was missing or not. I . . . I like to keep some of my tools on-site when I’m working on a long-term job. It’s just easier, you know? I have so many tools and some are pink and some aren’t, but . . .” I was babbling, so I shut up.
“I’m going to need you to come down to the police station right now.”
It was hard to breathe. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet,” he said, sounding reasonable. “We just need to ask you some questions.”
That wasn’t good. I’d seen enough TV crime shows to know that much. I nodded dumbly. “I think I’ll call my dad.”