Deadly Arrows (A Fay Cunningham Mystery-Book 2)

Chapter One

Something moved across my back.

Shoving the quilt off my head, I not only heard Kitty’s angry meow and hiss, but a persistent buzzing. When I reached for the alarm clock on the nightstand, my cherished calico sprang off the bed, obviously peeved. As my fingers fumbled for the off button, my eyes focused on the red glow of the numbers. It read a little after three in the morning. Then it dawned on me, the annoying buzz was coming from my front door.

Sliding out of bed, I shivered from the cold and shrugged into my furry robe and slid my feet into my slippers. I made my way out into the hallway and down the open staircase.

What sensible person calls at such an ungodly hour? It had to be Mitch.

I flipped on the porch light, but my fingers fumbled with the door lock.

Open the door, Fay. It’s cold out here.

When I swung the door open, Mitch, a gentleman when it suits him, took off his Stetson, exposing a mass of graying waves. However, the gentleman didn’t bother to wipe the snow from his cowboy boots before entering my house.

I followed him toward the kitchen, deciding which question to ask first. When he opened the upper cupboard door, where I keep the hard liquor, I gritted my teeth.

Don’t do it, Mitch.

An invisible line of tension stretched between us for a long minute. His fingers pressed into the cupboard door handle.

I’ll make coffee. I padded around him and my shoulder lightly brushed the arm of his sheepskin coat. Take a load off till it’s ready. While running water into the pot, I heard him scoot out a chair. As I turned around, he slumped in the seat. His hat fell from his fingers and landed on the floor under the table.

Our eyes met.

I want you to stay out of this, Fay.

I sat down at the table across from him. So you got my message?

Climbed back into my truck as soon as I heard it on the answerin’ machine. He stared into my eyes. Fay, I’m serious. I don’t have a problem with you checkin’ with the police on the progress of the case for your newspaper. But that’s as far as it’s gonna go.

Because I believed the man heartbroken by the news of his niece’s murder hours earlier, I nodded in agreement, closing my lips tightly so the words I wanted to say wouldn’t come barreling out.

I heard about Harry, he said. I’m guessin’ that’s why you’re home a week early from your trip to Arizona.

I nodded. Yes, I still can’t believe he’s gone. What was he thinking, shoveling snow on Christmas when his grandchildren were inside opening gifts?

So how was your trip? Your folks okay?

It took a moment to shift from thoughts of Harry and if I’d ever find another reporter as dedicated to the citizens of our small town in Pennsylvania.

Fine and fine, I said. I got up and poured the coffee while mixed emotions flooded through me.

I resented having to cut short my vacation with my daughter and parents. But it wasn’t fair to blame Harry for his massive heart attack. My anger came from Mitch not wanting my help solving his niece’s murder.

I should’ve expected as much from the man I’d known long before my husband decided to trade me in for someone younger, thinner, and blonde. Since my divorce, I’d seen Mitch, the fit-as-a-fiddle retired police chief almost daily. There are days I long for the overweight, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking alcoholic he once was. Some days we’re the best of friends. On others, we can be highly combative. We haven’t made it into the sack together, yet. At the moment, I doubt we ever will.

You know, I have as much right as you do to investigate Savannah’s murder, I said.

You think so, huh?

I do. Remember, you gave up that line of work.

Well think about this. No one’s callin’ it murder, but you.

I put two steaming mugs on the table and sat down, feeling stunned and embarrassed.

So you actually think someone mistook a woman for a deer?

Mitch shrugged.

So what was the guy’s excuse, buck fever?

His mouth widened with an amused smile. Fay, women hunt too.

I almost dropped my coffee cup. A woman shot Savannah?

We still don’t know who did the shootin’. Just that there were hunters in the woods around her place.

How do you know?

A few came forward after hearin’ the late breakin’ news.

He sipped at his coffee. I’d decided to let mine cool.

I just came from sittin’ in on the interviews. Of the four guys questioned, not one shot their bows all day. He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. So they say. But each one claims to have seen a lot of hunters. Not unheard of on the first day archery season reopens.

I finally took a swallow of my drink and stared at my cup for a moment.

So when did murder get ruled out?

Mitch avoided direct eye contact.

It’s not ruled out. It’s just premature to call it murder yet.

It’s still a tragedy. Savannah was so young. And what about her kids? Growing up without your mom has to be the hardest thing in the world.

We both know some people had good reason to want Savannah gone.

My voice left me for a moment.

Some people might want her to leave, to move away. But would anyone want her dead? I’m sorry, Mitch, I don’t understand that. What Savannah did does not justify murder.

To somebody it does.

Chapter Two

Night turned into day and Mitch headed for home to tend to his livestock.

Speaking of four legged creatures, one was weaving in and around my legs. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go out into the biting cold to tend to my animal. I pulled a can of cat food from the cupboard and fed Kitty her breakfast. Though, I’d have preferred the smell of grain over the fishy odor suddenly drifting around my kitchen.

Normally, I’d have lingered in the kitchen sipping coffee while Kitty ate, but this morning I didn’t have time. I promised to meet Mitch for breakfast at the local gossip corner in one hour. It would take me at least that long to shower, dress, and get on the road.

Throwing the towel over my shoulder to dry my back, an image of Mitch with his fingers on the door handle of my liquor cupboard flashed in my mind. I occasionally have a glass of brandy or wine at the close of a difficult day, but it’s not something my body and mind craves. Which makes it impossible for me to fully understand what it’s like for Mitch, an alcoholic, sober for a couple of years now.

I’m not sure if his retirement from the local police force or the decision to then become an organic farmer made him put down the booze. What mattered now was that the stressors of Savannah’s death didn’t make him pick up again.

Mitchell Malone needed my help. And he was going to get it whether he wanted it or not.

I sat on the edge of my bed pulling gray wool slacks over knee socks and slightly flabby thighs, when my thoughts went back to the conversation Mitch and I had earlier.

Just because I believed it wrong for someone to want Savannah dead for what she’d done, didn’t mean everyone else felt the same way. After all, someone did shoot an arrow into the young woman’s heart as she reached into her mailbox.

If a hunter actually had gotten Savannah confused for a deer, it would not make dealing with the tragedy any easier for the family. But it would keep the events of the past year out of the public eye. Provided some heartless reporter working for my newspaper’s competitor across the river didn’t try to rise to fame by making an issue out of the subject.

Chapter Three

The tires on my car crunched over hardened slush when I turned into the L-shaped parking lot outside the restaurant.

I didn’t see Mitch’s pint-sized pickup parked in the nearly full lot. Maybe he ditched me to get a head start on the investigation of Savannah’s death. He’d tried that once before when we’d worked another deadly crime together. Surely he’d learned from that mistake.

The inside of the car had just reached a comfortable temperature when I shut the engine off.

I turned up the collar on my wool coat and worked my legs out from under the steering wheel. The soles of my boots landed on bumpy ice.

I had learned through the years that I’m prone to stupid accidents. So I made sure I had a firm grip on the door with one hand and the car frame with the other before I attempted to stand.

I inched my way across the ice, leaning on my car then the one parked next to it for support. When I reached for the door handle to the restaurant, my feet started to go out from under me.

A pair of hands dove underneath my arms. The familiar scent of cologne swirled under my nose before I got a look at who saved me.

I have you, Mitch said, while the soles of my boots continued to slide.

Mitch steadied me long enough to get the door open, and pulled me inside.

I think I’d kiss you if we didn’t have an audience, I whispered, seeing the regular cronies sitting along the counter gawking at us.

Mitch blushed. I’ll settle for you springin’ for breakfast.

He headed for the end booth the regulars always leave vacant for us and I followed, my stomach growling at the smell of food. Then I caught the intoxicating sweet scent of cherry pipe tobacco. But the stale smell of cigarette smoke spoiled it.

Willie, the waitress who opens the restaurant six mornings a week, followed me with a pot of fresh brewed coffee and two mugs.

Sent Joey to find us some more rock salt before someone takes a nasty fall out there. Can’t be too careful the way everyone’s sue happy these days, she added, pouring our coffee.

I’m gonna have some bacon and eggs today, Willie, Mitch said. Over easy with the eggs.

Willie glanced at me puzzled as if I should know why Mitch ordered something other than oatmeal.

I better stick to my cream of wheat, I said, even though my mouth watered for a strip of bacon dripping with fat.

My willpower had been tested on several occasions these past months since I committed myself to losing the forty pounds I gained after I quit smoking. But taking off the weight took longer than I’d planned. Then again, there were occasions, especially in the beginning, when I gave in to cravings, such as the one I was experiencing now.

Once Willie zipped off in the direction of the kitchen, I turned my attention to Mitch, who seemed to be daydreaming.

Everything okay?

Mitch cleared his throat, glanced at me, and took a sip of his coffee.

Just like you, I’m not gonna get involved in this investigation, Fay. What you said last night is true. It’s not my job anymore.

Losing Savannah has given you a jolt.

I tried talkin’ some sense into that woman months ago. Maybe if she’d have listened, she’d still be alive.

"Maybe. But that doesn’t change the