Searching for Anna by Jenifer Carll-Tong (motivational books for students TXT) 📖

Will reigned in Tolly and dismounted. Three other constables were already there. Officer Thomas Rogers stood over an older woman seated on the back porch stairs, the other two, Frank Little and Jesse Moore, leaned on their saddles, talking with the store owner Jack Simmons.

"Is it teatime already, boys?" Will asked the two loafers, more than a little annoyed.

"No, sir," Frank said, he and the other constable straightening. "Just waiting for the mortician to show up."

Will nodded to Jack. "You found the body?"

"It's Jimmy Richardson." Jack nodded in the direction of the saltbox house. "I was delivering a crock his mother ordered from Marquette. Wanted to get it to her before I opened the store this morning. Found him just like this, laid out in the middle of the front yard. His poor mother."

"Is that her?" Will asked, motioning toward the woman being interviewed.

"Yeah," Jesse Moore answered. "Said she thought he was still in bed. By the looks of it, he's been here most of the night."

Will slowly circled the body. "Do we know what happened?"

"Likely an accident. There wasn't much of a moon last night. Maybe someone was coyote hunting and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Will walked around the body and crouched near his head. "Not likely. This was close range. Look at the entry wound."

Officer Moore knelt beside him as Will carefully turned the boy's head and pointed at the wound. "That wasn't caused by a shotgun."

"Yeah, you're right," Moore conceded. "That's a clean entry. Close range, I'd suspect."

Will looked back at the mother who at this point was wailing uncontrollably.

"But who'd want to kill Jimmy Richardson?" Little asked. "He's just a kid."

"He could be a little arrogant at times," Jack interjected. "But nothing more than what's typical for a kid of fourteen. I can't imagine anyone having cause to murder him."

Will removed his hat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, someone did, and it's our job to figure out who."

Thomas Rogers joined them near the body.

"She says Jimmy wasn't home when she went to bed. She didn't hear anything, but she admitted to taking some of her headache powder before turning in."

Will nodded. "Some of that stuff out there could put an elephant to sleep for the night. Did she say why her son was out after dark?"

"She wasn't certain, but she had suspicions that he had been going to Lambeckers at night."

"But we busted and dismantled that distillery weeks ago," Officer Little said.

Will stood. If Jim Richardson had made a habit of visiting the Lambecker place, he'd probably rubbed shoulders with a few unsavory characters. Even so, Will had to agree with the others - Jimmy was an agreeable kid. It seemed unlikely he had made too many enemies in life.

"Well, Lambecker's is the only lead we have. Little, you and Myers stay here until the coroner arrives. I'll pay a visit —"

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud gasp directly behind him halted him.

"DEAR JESUS."

Will turned quickly. "Phoebe!" He placed himself between her and the body, blocking her view. "You shouldn't be here."

Phoebe pulled back from him. "Why not?"

"This is a crime scene, closed to the public."

"Jack is here. He's not an officer."

"He's a witness."

"Is that the only reason you are allowing him to stay, but kicking me out?"

He could see the indignation rising in her eyes. She was right, of course. It hadn't bothered him that Jack was on scene and witnessing the gore. But Will wasn't in love with Jack.

He exhaled slowly and looked straight into her eyes, willing her to understand. "I don't want you seeing this. I'm just trying to protect you."

She blinked several times then said, "I never once asked for your protection."

Her words carried a weight that, although audible to all those standing nearby, was only understood by Phoebe and Will. She was angry about him attempting to dismiss her from the crime scene, yes, but it was more. But, like it or not, he was in charge here and she was going to have to understand that.

"You have to leave."

"You aren't the boss of me, Will Caffey."

He grabbed her elbow and roughly dragged her away from the scene.

"This is not up for negotiation. Go home."

"I am the pastor of this town, and that mother needs me."

"Phoebe," he said, lowering his voice. "I know you are angry with me, but you have to trust me in this. I know what is best. It's my job."

"What is your job?"

"To protect."

Her eyebrows knit over her dark eyes as she crossed her arms. "And my job includes compassion. As the pastor, I am to comfort the people of this town in their times of need." She shoved him out of her way and headed for the crying Mrs. Richardson. She called to him over her shoulder. "And you will refer to me as pastor in the presence of others, Officer Caffey."

The stubbornness and defiance that he had always loved about her now felt like a vise around his throbbing temples. Will yanked his hat off but resisted the urge to throw it to the ground. When he did, he saw something in the dirt.

"Rogers," he called and motioned for the constable. "Does the victim's mother own a car?"

Rogers looked around but shook his head. "Not that I can see. That barn's gotta horse, but no car. Why?"

"Because these tire tracks are fresh. Somebody drove a car up here very recently."

"And you think that somebody is our murderer?"

"It's all we've got. Double check with Mrs. Richardson about a car. If she has one, check the tires. One of the tires on whatever vehicle left these tracks is near bald." He untied Tolly's reins and mounted. "I'm going to follow these."

He looked up toward where Phoebe sat with her arm wrapped around the sobbing mother, feeling a strange mixture of adoration and anger towards the beautiful brunette. "Little, Moore," he hollered.

The two junior officers stepped toward him.

"Little, grab your horse and come with me. Moore, find something to cover the body with." He reined Tolly away from the house, then immediately circled back to Jesse Moore. "And make sure the pastor gets home safely once she's finished here," he said before turning again and heading in the direction of the tire tracks, Frank Little close on his heels.

Back home in Lansing, a set of tire tracks wouldn't have been evidence at all, what with all the vehicle traffic around town. But in the Upper Peninsula, cars weren't as common. And although the tracks turned out to be a wild goose chase, fading to nothing within a few hundred yards of the crime scene, Will still had a hunch that whoever killed Jimmy Richardson had driven away in a car with one bald tire.

"What now?" Frank Little asked, leaning forward in his saddle.

Will tipped his hat back and looked at the sun, now centered in the sky above them. "Well, I suppose it would be a good idea to canvas the area and gather a list of the townspeople who own a vehicle."

"So, we're headed back?"

"Not quite yet." Will stared for several moments at the pine shaded road off to their left. "I think first, we ought to pay Mr. Lambecker a visit."

"Lambecker?" Frank said incredulously. "You don't think they've set up another still, do ya?"

"One way to find out."

The rundown shack was still stark looking, with its gray, splintered wood siding hanging loosely on its rickety framework, the bones of which Will doubted had ever stood perpendicular to the ground. The fact that the building had ever withstood a Michigan winter was a shock. The sloping front porch was still home to three mismatched rocking chairs and two disgustingly dirty spittoons. The only difference from Will's first visit here was the missing copper kettle moonshine still the troopers had seized and destroyed.

Henry Lambecker stepped out of the shack, sliding his suspenders onto his shoulders as he did.

"Yer wastin' yer time, constable," he hollered toward Will. "You done took my livelihood. Nothin' left to confiscate."

"Good day to you, too, Henry. How's the job search going?" Will asked.

"Hmmph. Ain't no jobs to be had."

"That's not what I hear. Just the other