Dead Hot Shot (Loon Lake Fishing Mysteries) by Victoria Houston Page B

to be watching them. “One of the neighbors over there by the driveway said he heard something about half an hour ago. Thought it was a backfire. Obviously not.”
    “How fast can you get out to your place and back with those cameras?” said Lew.
    “Twenty, twenty-five minutes. I better bring lights, too. C’mon, Gina — let’s go. I’ll drop you by your place.”
    “What do you think, Chief?” said Gina. “Can I be of help here? I’m more than willing — ”
    A retching sound from the dark alley that ran along the south side of the barn caused them all to turn and peer into the shadows.
    Osborne could barely make out the figure of Frances Dark Sky, one arm against the building for support, vomiting.
    “Oh, the poor kid,” said Ray, his voice sounding as helpless as Osborne sensed they all felt. “That’s Frances — ”
    “Gina,” said Lew, “would you mind — see if you can help? See if one of the neighbors will let her sit down inside? I can’t allow the girls into Mildred’s house until we secure the crime scene.”
    Before she could finish, Gina had darted into the dark alley. She called out in a soft voice: “Frances? I’m Gina Palmer. I’m here with Chief Ferris and Dr. Osborne. Can I help you find somewhere to sit until you feel better? Okay?” But Frances shook her head and staggered further down the alley.
    “Stay with her,” said Lew.
    “I will. I can imagine how she’s feeling. I’ll stay close by until she’s ready,” said Gina. She watched Frances for a second then turned back towards the lighted parking lot. “Here,” she said, throwing her car keys at Ray, “you take my car.”
    Ray grabbed for the keys but missed. He bent to pick them up, then dropped to his knees. His voice changed. “Chief Ferris — come here. Walk carefully.” The sheriff’s deputy started over but Ray waved him back. The deputy stopped but said, “If you need cameras and lights, I can have some rushed over.”
    “If it’s okay with Chief Ferris, it’s okay with me,” said Ray, still poised over the keys. “Save us some time.”
    “Yes, by all means, whatever you guys can spare,” said Lew.
    “Chief, careful now — watch where you’re stepping,” said Ray as Lew approached. He pointed. Two brass casings from spent bullets lay on the ground. “Someone got sloppy with their ammunition — those are .223-caliber bullets. I’ve been seeing a lot of those around lately. They use ‘em with black rifles.”
    “I don’t like black rifles,” said Lew.
    “What are you two talking about?” asked Gina, listening but keeping an eye on Frances.
    “Black rifle’s a modified assault rifle that some hunters like for small game,” said Ray. “It’s got a scope that’s good at close range.”
    “Ah,” said Lew. She glanced around. “Whoever shot Mildred could have been waiting for her right here. Or — ” she looked skyward, “up in the barn maybe?”
    “Or dropped these as they ran down the alley towards the field back there,” said Ray.
    • • •
    Half an hour later, with Ray busy shooting the photos necessary before Mildred’s body could be moved, Osborne worked alongside Lew, taking notes as she questioned the neighbors living on both sides of the shop and who were now clustered nearby watching the proceedings. With the exception of the man who thought he’d heard a backfire, everyone else had been asleep or watching television and hadn’t heard anything remarkable.
    “My husband’s right. It’s those damn motorcycles,” chimed in the woman whose husband thought he had heard backfire. They lived on the other side of the Mildred’s shop and their fence ran along the shop’s parking area. “They pull into Mildred’s all times of day and right up to closing time, too. They make s-o-o much noise with backfires and those loud pipes — I make it a point not to pay attention. I’d be mad all the time if I did. Can’t tell you how many times I called city hall ‘bout it,