[Shelby Alexander 01.0] Serenity, Page 3

  “Harper thinks so.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not sure what to think.”

  “That would be murder.”

  “If she didn’t fall in the woods and hit her own head on a rock or a tree stump. It could happen.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “No.”

  “Who would do such a thing? To Jenny, of all people. Poor woman.”

  “That’s why I was asking about anyone new at the Barn Door. Harper says there’s some new product in the area. High quality stuff.”

  “A new operation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What does that have to do with Jenny?”

  “The Ellises were using her to deliver.”

  “Oh, Shelby. They wouldn’t.”

  “They would and they were. Harper told me himself. And seemed proud of the ingenuity. Apparently, Sheriff Wilkes has been riding them pretty hard and this was their way of avoiding his prying eyes.”

  “Somebody knew about it.”

  “Yeah. Now it’s a matter of finding out who.”

  Carly sighed and poured a drink for herself. “I guess you’d have to ask Jenny.”

  6

  Shelby got back to his house at noon. He spent a few hours puttering around on various projects that somehow never got completed and then took a nap, an activity he was becoming disturbingly fond of. There was a time when he felt disdain for naps and all who took them. Now, however, the thought of an afternoon snooze filled him with contented anticipation.

  It was dark outside when he awoke and he spent several minutes thinking it was morning. It wasn’t until he got up to make his coffee and discovered the beans had not been ground—a nighttime ritual—that he realized it was evening. The realization heartened him. He’d always been a night owl and one thing the naps allowed him to do was stay up later. And now he had most of the evening ahead of him.

  He opened a can of beans, fried some bacon, and ate it all together in a bowl while sitting in front of the television watching some shit nature program on PBS. As he sat there in his boxers and t-shirt, he had a flash of insight into his own existence. He was almost sixty years old. He used to be an athlete with a toned, rock hard body. He was still in fair shape for his age, still somewhat muscled from his years of boxing and training, but he had a slight belly. Nothing that would be noticed under a jacket or a coat, but he could see it now as he sat in his leather recliner. It bulged beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He poked at it with an index finger.

  He felt the chill of Father Time’s breath on his neck. He shrugged away a creeping sense of melancholia and stood up to fetch another beer. A little extra weight was to be expected this time of year. People in the north always gained during the long winter months, with the exception of those few who truly enjoyed winter sports. Shelby had always considered these individuals insane and wondered if anyone actually liked skiing or if everyone felt it was something they were supposed to do if they lived where snow fell. The question came up whenever he voiced his distaste of winter: “If you hate snow so much, why live in a state that gets so much of it?” It was a good question but based on a false premise. It was not that he hated snow. He hated being active in it. It made his feet wet and the cold made his lungs burn. Other than that, he loved winter. The quiet solitude of a Michigan forest covered in white was a spiritual experience unmatched by anything nature had to offer. And there was something about the loneliness and despondency of winter that appealed to him. Perhaps Carly was right and he had a side to him much darker than he would ever admit. That was probably why he preferred Carly’s therapy to that of a professional, all costs aside: a professional might be able to figure him out. And that scared him more than anything. He was not at all sure he wanted to see that darkness.

  He opened the refrigerator and had bent down to grab a beer when something crashed through the kitchen window and smacked into the freezer door over his head. Instinctively, he dropped to the floor and began crawling on his stomach for the back door. Another bullet buried itself in the far wall. Shelby made it to the door and reached up far enough to yank his coat off the hook. He shoved boots onto his feet and then plunged into the cold darkness, flattening himself along the side of the house and straining his eyes to see into the darkness. A third shot struck the house a foot from where he stood. The shooter had eyes on him.

  Shelby plunged into the open, heading for the temporary safety of the barn. He wished he’d taken the time to grab his pistol, but it was in a locked drawer in his office. He had an old, broken down .22 hunting rifle in the barn, kept there for shooting rats and other varmints. He could use that if the bolt action wasn’t frozen. He’d be outgunned either way; he wasn’t sure what the shooter was using, but it definitely wasn’t a .22. But at least he could return fire, maybe scare off whoever was shooting at him.

  A bullet kicked up snow near his feet, but then he was out of sight at the barn and fumbling with the latch. It opened finally and he stumbled inside. He groped for the rifle and found it resting against a beam. He tried the bolt. It was stiff but moved. A mostly empty box of ammo sat on a shelf nearby: five rounds. Not much, but it would have to do. He loaded the rifle and jammed a shell home.

  Making as little noise as possible, he climbed the ladder to the loft and crept to the small window that overlooked his backyard. It was too dark to see much, although the light—the same light Jenny had died under—illuminated some of the yard. It didn’t touch the trees, and that was where the shooter was hiding. Shelby discovered this for sure when he saw a muzzle flash and another bullet thudded into the barn.

  He pried open the window, trying to work quietly but failing. He stuck the muzzle of the rifle out and squeezed off a shot in the direction where he’d seen the flash. He pulled the gun back inside and immediately rolled to one side. A good move, as a bullet whizzed through the open window where he’d knelt moments before. This time, he let out a cry as if he’d been hit and fell backward to simulate the sound of a falling body. It was an old trick, but one that might work if the attacker felt confident enough.

  Shelby waited a few moments before moving slowly back to the window, taking care to stay out of the light. Minutes passed. Then he thought he saw movement in the trees. A figure detached from the shadows and came into the yellow circle of light. Shelby raised the rifle and aimed.

  He called out, “Put your hands up!”

  The figure started and turned to run. Shelby pulled the trigger—and missed. The figure disappeared into the trees. A minute later, Shelby heard the roar of an engine and the spinning of tires. And then everything was quiet.

  7

  Shelby waited until dawn to check out the area, but there wasn’t much to see. The shooter had picked up his shells and parked his vehicle on the road, leaving no tire tracks. The only thing that stood out was an irregularity in the boot tracks. There were a couple of clear ones made when the shooter was slowly approaching the barn, before Shelby shot him. It was a diagonal line across the width of the boot sole, almost like a knife cut or a split in the rubber. Shelby made a note of it. It clearly wasn’t part of the design, so if he ever saw that track again, chances were good he’d found his man.

  After a breakfast of leftover beans and bacon and a strong cup of coffee, Shelby got in his Jeep and drove to the Ellis place. He wanted to find out if Harper had known about Jenny’s head wound. And part of him wondered if an Ellis was responsible for almost killing him last night. As if confirming his suspicions, Shelby was met with the sound of gunfire as he stepped from the Jeep.

  Harper walked out to meet him.

  “Bad time?” Shelby asked. “It sounds like a battle is underway.”

  “Target practice.”

  “Getting ready for the tax man?”

  “Go ahead and laugh, Alexander, but that Wilkes has got us in his sights.”

  “You wouldn’t shoot it out with the sheriff, would you, Harper?”

  “He’s j
ust a man. We got our rights.”

  “That’s a good way to get SWAT on your ass.”

  “Thanks for the concern. What the hell do you want?”

  “It’s about Jenny.”

  At this, Harper turned and let out the loudest yell Shelby had ever heard.

  “Cease fire! Stop the shootin, you assholes!”

  The gunfire abruptly stopped, leaving eerie silence.

  “You were sayin?”

  “Jenny. I went to the sheriff’s office yesterday.”

  “You meet Wilkes?”

  “He was out. Making his rounds, his receptionist said.”

  “Yeah. Those rounds brought him around our place.”

  “Is that what brought on basic training?”

  “He threatened us, Shelby. He’s a cold one. If he comes for us, we’ll fight back. We already lost Scott. We’re not gonna lose another Ellis to this crusader. What you find out about Jenny?”

  “Did you know she had sustained a head wound?”

  “Head wound. No. Nobody said anything like that to me. That about proves she was murdered, don’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. Head wounds can be accidental.”

  “You know, Shelby, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were takin the sheriff’s side in all this.”

  “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. That’s all. I know how you Ellis folks get. You go in with guns blazing and this new sheriff is liable to shoot back. Or get someone to do the shooting for him.”

  “We’ll take all comers.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool, Harper. You can’t take on the law this way. You’d be wiped out in an hour, if they got a mind to. Ever hear of Waco? You start anything that resembles a militia up here and you’ll get more trouble than you’re even worth.”

  “And I suppose if it was your sister who’d been murdered, you’d let it slide?”

  “No. I’d look into it, like you are. That’s one reason I’m helping you.”

  “And the ten grand.”

  “And the ten grand. But don’t forget I’m sticking my neck out for you and your family. Which is not something I ever saw myself doing.”

  “It’s not unappreciated. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one thing. Someone took a shot at me last night.”

  “At your place?”

  “At my place.”

  “Busy over your way, ain’t it?”

  “Too busy. You know anything about it?”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re insinuating.”

  “Don’t get your dick in a knot. You can’t blame me for asking, especially considering what I drove up to.”

  “I gave you ten grand. Why would I want you dead?”

  “Maybe not you in particular.” Shelby inclined his head toward the house. “But there are a damn lot of you.”

  “It wasn’t any of us.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because,” Harper said, “if it had been, you’d be dead.”

  8

  Shelby groaned and rolled away from Carly, his breath coming in great gasps as he descended from climax. He lay there and wanted a cigarette, even though he’d quit over twenty years ago.

  “You too, huh?” Carly said.

  “What?”

  “A smoke. I can always tell. You get this wistful look and your lips pucker, like you’re taking a big draw.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “No, I don’t like smoking alone. Especially if I know the other person is an ex.”

  “I don’t mind, really. I love the smell of it.”

  “So you’re okay with secondhand smoke?”

  “Only because it’s guilt free.”

  “I’m okay. I need to cut back anyway.” Carly pulled the sheets up around her waist. She reached over and ran her hand through the hair on Shelby’s chest. There was a lot of grey, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Are you going to tell Wilkes about the shooting?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Stevens?”

  “I doubt it. Stevens is too good of a cop. He’d act on it or tell Wilkes or be a damn nuisance.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing for now. What can I do?”

  “They could come back.”

  “Maybe.”

  “They might get you next time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Damn it, Shelby! Be more concerned about this!”

  “Why should I? What good would that do? Not only do I not know who shot at me, I don’t even know why.”

  “Likely because of Jenny.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Jenny ended up on your place. Died there.”

  “And?”

  “Suppose all the time you were trying to help Jenny, they were watching you from the woods.”

  “Now you’re trying to creep me out.”

  “No! Listen! It all makes sense. They wouldn’t want to make it obvious she’d been murdered, so a rap on the head is about all they could do. And they wouldn’t want to let her wander off on her own, because she might find help before it was too late. They probably saw her stumble onto your place, saw you take her inside, and figured either she told you something or you were her destination.”

  “If she told me something, they’d want me to keep my mouth shut. And if she came to my place on purpose, killing me would be another step in their plan to ruin the Ellises’ distribution system.”

  “Yes!” Carly laughed in glee and clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. Shelby noticed it made her tits bounce. “Oh, I am good at this.”

  “Solving crimes in the nude,” Shelby said. “That’s a twist. Now you have to tell me who this mysterious ‘they’ is.”

  Carly slipped out of bed and headed for the shower. “I can’t do all the work,” she said airily. “You’re the one getting paid. Now go earn it.” She turned and looked at him through her eyelashes before rubbing one hand seductively over her breasts and then slamming the bathroom door behind her.

  “That was really mean,” Shelby called out. “How do you expect me to solve shit with that image stuck in my head?”

  But Carly didn’t answer and instead turned her shower radio to full volume. Soon she would begin singing along, so Shelby took his cue, dressed, and went out for coffee.

  “I hear there’s a…thaw coming,” a voice said.

  Shelby looked up from his coffee. “Good morning, Evans. That’s good news.”

  “It’s only the…first one. We’ll have more…winter yet.”

  “That’s usually how it goes. Still, it’d be nice to have a break in this cold weather.”

  “That it would,” Evans said.

  Norman Evans was a thin, wispy man with a bald head and large, plastic-frame glasses. He was a nervous individual who spoke in a high, halting voice that never failed to creep Shelby out. He stood at Shelby’s table, twitching, alive with nervous energy.

  “You want to sit down?” Shelby said.

  “Oh, sure…Mr. Alexander. Sure.”

  “You can call me Shelby, Evans. I can’t be that much older than you.”

  “No, sir, it’s…if you don’t mind, Mr. Alexander.”

  “Suit yourself.” Shelby took a drink of coffee. “What can I do for you? It’s not like you to stop by for a social chat.”

  “No, sir. I…guess it isn’t. I was wondering…if I might impose for a…favor?”

  Shelby wanted to say, You and everyone else, but feared such a caustic remark would make a man as edgy as Evans run for the hills.

  “A favor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shelby waited, but Evans just sat there, being twitchy.

  “Well?” Shelby prompted.

  “Oh, sorry. Right. I…have a tree sap collection station out of town a ways. Not too far from…your place, matter of fact.”

  “Is that so? You make syrup, do you?”

  “It’s a…hobby.”

  “I wasn’t makin
g fun of you, Evans. I think that’s very interesting. What do you need from me?”

  “Well, I hate to mention it, but…the way to the station goes right past the Ellis place. They…don’t like me much and I thought…since you’re on good terms with them, maybe you could come along and…make sure nothing…happens.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m on good terms with the Ellises,” Shelby said. “They’ve learned to leave me alone, that’s all.”

  “All the same, I’d…appreciate it.”

  “When do you need to go?”

  “Today would be…good for me.”

  “Okay, then. Let me finish my coffee. If it’s out by my place, then you won’t mind me making a stop first, would you?”

  “It’s your…car.”

  9

  Shelby stopped the Jeep on the road that ran along the edge of his property. He got out and looked back at Evans.

  “You want to come along?”

  Evans shook his head. “No, thank you. I’d…rather wait.”

  “You’ll get cold sitting here. Moving around will keep you warmed up. Come on. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

  Evans moved to unbuckle his seatbelt.

  “All right. I’ll…come along.”

  They walked to the fence and clambered over. The snow seemed a little heavier. Maybe it was warming up after all.

  “When did you say the thaw was coming?” Shelby asked.

  “I don’t…know. Soon. Maybe tonight or…tomorrow.” Evans’ breath was already coming heavy.

  “You need a break?” Shelby asked.

  The other man shook his head but did not speak, either from lack of necessity or lack of air. Shelby wondered if perhaps the man’s halting speech pattern might be a result of some sort of lung issue. Asthma, perhaps.

  Shelby at last found what he was looking for: two sets of tracks in the snow. One small and narrow, the other larger. A male and a female. Jenny’s tracks? He bent down and inspected the larger of the tracks. In the print, he saw the same diagonal crack in the sole he’d found near his house. Unless the tracks had been made on different days, it appeared the shooter had followed Jenny, sometimes stepping directly in her tracks. Carly’s hypothesis seemed to be holding.