Last Straw (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 7) Read online

  He just shrugged and fired up the bulky piece of equipment parked in front of him. I continued working on the driveway, methodically clearing my little patch as Gunnar made his way toward me with the blower. Thirty minutes later, the driveway was cleared, along with the sidewalk to the back door and the walkway leading to the front of the house.

  “Thank you,” I said to Gunnar as soon as he turned off the machinery.

  He’d removed his hat a while ago, and his hair was plastered to his head, coated with blowing snow, and probably a little bit of sweat, too. I knew that underneath my jacket, my shirt was sticking to my skin, and I could feel the sheen of sweat on my forehead.

  “Happy to help,” Gunnar said.

  The funny thing was, I knew he was. Despite how our last conversation had ended, and despite everything he was going through, he was here.

  I stuck my shovel next to Luke’s abandoned one. I knew I should walk them to the front of the house, stick them on the porch where I’d decided to keep them for easy access during the winter months, but I was too tired. And I really wanted a shower.

  “I should probably head inside,” I said to Gunnar. “Get cleaned up.”

  He nodded. “Can I ask you something, Rainy?”

  I hesitated. It felt like a loaded question, and one that I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. “Sure.”

  “The stuff that’s happening with the sheriff. You think I should be worried?”

  At least he wasn’t asking about our presence in each other’s lives. I pressed my lips together. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned against the snow blower handle. “I mean, do you think I should be worried? Does the sheriff have enough to charge me?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  He frowned. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I’m not an investigator,” I began, but he held up a hand to stop me.

  “Please. You know more about the law and conducting an investigation than the sheriff does. Everyone in this town knows that.”

  “Okay, but the problem is, I don’t know how the sheriff will conduct the rest of his investigation. We’ve seen how he’s operated before. Accuse first, ask questions later, if he asks questions at all.”

  Gunnar’s frown deepened. “So you think I’m in trouble.”

  I took a deep breath. “Look, drugs were found in your barn. It’s your word alone that they don’t belong to you. If the sheriff wanted to conduct a thorough investigation, he’d be asking you questions, dusting for prints, looking for signs of someone else being in the building. He might ask about your bank accounts, look into any financial windfalls, interview friends about your spending habits. I’m just not sure he’s going to do all that.”

  His gloved hand gripped the handle of the snow blower. “I don’t want to go to jail,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to, either.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Will you help me?”

  I gave a helpless shrug. “I honestly don’t know how.”

  “Please, Rainy.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I was at a loss for ways to help him.

  “Help me clear my name,” Gunnar said. His hazel eyes locked on mine, and I saw the desperation in them. “Just…help me.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I had decided to try to help Gunnar, but he was helping me first.

  By offering me a hot cup of coffee.

  We were sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, cupping our mugs and sipping our hot beverages to warm up.

  All of the warmth I’d felt while shoveling had disappeared about halfway from my driveway to Gunnar’s. The temperature hadn’t changed and the cloud cover hadn’t thickened, but the lack of physical exertion coupled with the sweat sticking to my skin worked to chill me to the bone. I was a shivering mess by the time we reached his front door.

  “Better?” he asked, after I’d downed the better part of my cup of coffee.

  I nodded. My insides had indeed managed to warm up.

  “So what do you think?” Gunnar asked.

  He’d stripped out of his shoveling clothes—the gloves, the plaid jacket—and was down to a navy blue thermal and pair of jeans. His hair had dried into a slightly disheveled mess, and his cheeks were still rosy, either from exertion or the cold. I tried not to look at him because I knew my eyes would linger longer than they needed to.

  “About the coffee?” I held up my mug. “It’s great.”

  He shook his head. “No, about what I should do.”

  Beyond getting a lawyer, I didn’t really know, especially if it seemed inevitable that the sheriff was planning to bring him up on charges. And from the conversation at Sheriff Lewis’s office, that seemed like the most likely scenario. Gunnar was home, uncharged, because the sheriff had agreed to delay any action because of the holidays. But after the Christmas holiday? I was pretty sure all bets were off.

  The only thing we could really do was try to prove the drugs weren’t his. But I wasn’t sure how.

  “I guess we should start by going over what we know,” I finally said.

  Gunnar nodded. He stood up and walked over to the sink. He opened a drawer next to it and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He set these down in front of me and repositioned himself on the high-backed chair he’d just vacated.

  I picked up the pen and scrawled some notes on the paper. “Drugs were found in your barn. You didn’t put them there.” I was writing as I said this.

  I glanced at Gunnar. A small wooden bowl filled with small chocolates wrapped in silver foil sat in the center of the island. He grabbed one, unwrapped it, and popped the chocolate in his mouth.

  I waited until he was finished chewing before asking, “Is there anything else? Anything that might offer some clues as to who the drugs belong to?”

  He picked up his coffee. “Not a clue. Someone who thought they could get away with hiding it in my barn, I guess.”

  I thought about this. There was some truth to that statement, either someone who knew Gunnar’s movements and who knew he wouldn’t be spending much time out there because of the change in seasons, or someone who wasn’t from around here and thought a barn on an old country property would be a good place to temporarily stash their supply.

  But something else was on my mind, something that we had to consider as a possibility.

  What if someone had put the drugs there on purpose? The sheriff had said he’d gotten a tip about the drugs and Gunnar’s property. What if the person who had called was the one who’d put the drugs there in the first place? And the reason they’d called was so that Gunnar would take the fall for it?

  “Do you have any enemies?”

  He stared at me. “What?”

  “Enemies,” I repeated. “Someone who would want to hurt you.”

  He cast his eyes downward for a minute and my stomach dropped. “I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”

  We both knew this was a lie. He was thinking about me.

  I pushed that thought aside. There was one thing I knew to be an absolute truth: I did not plant marijuana bricks in Gunnar’s barn.

  “Anyone?” I pressed. “Old friends? Maybe someone you worked for or with in the past?”

  Gunnar unwrapped another chocolate. “Not that I can think of.” He was quiet for a minute, letting the chocolate dissolve in his mouth before swallowing it. “I’ve never had a complaint about the work I do, and I think I get along with everyone in town. Me and Lucy, we had our issues with the divorce, but we’re still friendly.”

  The fact that she was currently staying in his house certainly seemed to indicate that.

  As a newcomer, I was at a disadvantage in our brainstorming session. I didn’t know Gunnar’s history. I didn’t know about any bar fights or misunderstandings or jilted lovers from twenty years ago. I wasn’t convinced that someone like that would have gone through the trouble of planting evidence on Gunnar’s property, but I also wasn’t ready to dismiss the idea in its en
tirety.

  “Actually,” Gunnar said, stroking his chin. “There might be someone who isn’t all too happy with me these days.”

  My expression turned hopeful. I positioned the pen over the pad of paper, ready to jot down a name and take notes. “Yeah? Who?”

  His gaze turned fully to me. “Declan Murphy.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Declan?”

  There was no point in trying to hide my surprise. In fact, he could have said Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny and my level of shock would have been the same.

  Gunnar nodded and reached for another chocolate and I had the sudden urge to do the same.

  “Why would you think Declan is an enemy?”

  “Enemy might be too strong of a word,” Gunnar admitted. “Let’s just say I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  My chuckle was one of surprise. “Declan likes everyone. I can attest to that.”

  He really did. Declan might get exasperated with people, and he might not agree with their decisions or their actions, but he had always been polite to people, and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. I thought about Tracy and the St. Simon’s benefit debacle. She had stolen from the church and tried to frame Declan, and he’d never spoken an unkind word about her. In fact, he’d tried to take the blame himself, until Mabel stepped in and righted things.

  “Perhaps,” Gunnar said. “And there is definitely someone he likes more than everyone else.” He waited, and then added, “You.”

  I was glad I was holding my coffee, and hoped it hid the look of astonishment I was sure was on my face. I took a quick sip, trying not to choke on the liquid as it went down my throat.

  “Declan likes everyone,” I repeated, weakly.

  “He also really likes you,” Gunnar countered. “Anyone with eyes can see it.”

  I didn’t want to go into whether or not Declan liked me. I had solid evidence—solid, physical evidence—that he did. But this was something I was intent on keeping to myself.

  “So what if he does?” I asked. “And I’m not saying you’re right, but what does that matter? How does that make him your enemy?”

  Gunnar shook his head, a sardonic smile on his face. “For someone who finds clues and solves mysteries in her free time, you really can’t see the writing on the wall?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Declan has been jealous of our relationship since day one,” Gunnar said. “Framing me would get me out of the way, wouldn’t it? If he thought we were still together, I mean.”

  I swallowed. Gunnar was wrong about Declan and his potential motivation, but I didn’t know how to tell him this. He was wrong because Declan already had me. Gunnar just didn’t know that. And I felt uncomfortable telling him. It wasn’t just because my private life was my own, and that I didn’t feel as though I had to answer to or explain myself to anyone. It was also because it was just…awkward. The very thing Gunnar had raised suspicions about—Declan’s feelings for me—had materialized. It had been on a different timeline, and I had been the one to initiate the turn in my relationship with Declan, but it would still validate the thoughts he’d had.

  “I don’t think Declan would do something like that,” I said.

  “Of course you don’t.” Gunnar snorted. “He can do no wrong.”

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  Jill wandered into the kitchen then, and I closed my mouth. Her complexion had improved since the last time I’d seen her, the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks gone. A look of surprise crossed her face.

  “Rainy. What are you doing here?” There was no smile, no warmth in her greeting. In fact, she looked downright suspicious of me.

  “Your dad invited me over for coffee. He helped shovel the driveway and now we’re discussing his…his case.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  I frowned. Just yesterday, she had been begging me to help her dad. She’d come over sobbing. Why was she suddenly questioning me?

  “I’m helping your dad,” I told her.

  She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. She filled a glass that was already sitting on the cupboard. “But the sheriff let you go,” she said, speaking to her dad. “Called off the investigation.”

  “He didn’t call it off,” Gunnar told her. “He just put it off.”

  Jill leaned against the counter. The fuzzy red lounge pants she was wearing matched the slippers on her feet. “So what does that even mean?”

  “It means that we celebrate Christmas and then he comes back and we pick up where we left off.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Gunnar stared at his mug. “With me being taken in to the sheriff’s office.” He paused. “And probably being arrested and going to jail.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Jill’s hand shook as she brought the glass of juice to her lips. Her eyes were bright with tears.

  “Unless we find something that points to someone else being in that barn, there isn’t anyone else to blame but me,” Gunnar said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jill freeze. I turned fully toward her, my senses on alert.

  “Jill?” My voice was sharp, even to my own ears. “Do you know something?”

  She paled and managed a subtle nod.

  My pulse quickened. “What is it?”

  With her free hand, she dug into the pocket of her lounge pants. She was holding something, but it was small, and I couldn’t tell what it was.

  “I found something in the barn.”

  She crossed the kitchen so she was standing in front of us. She opened her palm and dropped the contents on to the island counter.

  It was a guitar pick.

  A Nirvana guitar pick.

  The same kind Luke used.

  NINETEEN

  “Where did you find this?”

  “In the barn,” Jill repeated. She had finished her juice and the glass was now on the counter, right next to the guitar pick she had just plunked down.

  I stared at the pick. My pulse was racing now.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Right inside the barn,” she said. She tucked a tangled lock of hair behind her ears. “I went in there after Dad left with the sheriff yesterday. I…I don’t know why. I was just really upset.”

  I nodded. I remembered just how hysterical she had been.

  “Anyway, I didn’t stay in there long. And as I was leaving, I saw something on the floor.” She motioned to the counter. “That.”

  “Can you show me exactly where you found it?” I asked.

  “Why? Do you think this proves someone else put the drugs there?” she asked hopefully.

  “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t want to admit it did, because the only thing I could think of was Luke. He played guitar, and he used that same style of pick. It was circumstantial evidence, at best, but it still was making my heart jackhammer in my chest.

  “Well, what’s the point in showing you if you don’t think it will help?” Jill pouted.

  “I didn’t say it wouldn’t help,” I said. “I said I didn’t know.”

  Gunnar pushed off of his chair. “Let’s go take a look,” he said, making the decision for her.

  Jill groused a little, but she grabbed the pick and shoved it back in her pocket. She kicked off her slippers and slid her feet into a pair of snow boots sitting by the kitchen door. Gunnar and I both grabbed our jackets and together we trooped out to the barn.

  “It was right there,” Jill said, as soon as we reached the entrance.

  The red barn doors were slid partially open, and the sweet smell of timothy hay tickled my nose. Gunnar’s chickens clucked a good morning from their coop—his was attached to the barn and they had an indoor house and an outdoor run—and his old orange barn cat sidled up to us for pets. It was a bucolic scene, but I ignored all of it. I had one thing on my mind: figuring out how a guitar pick that loo
ked suspiciously like the ones Luke used had ended up in Gunnar’s barn.

  “So inside the barn, or out?”

  “Well, we’re in the barn, aren’t we?” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “No.” She looked down at the dirt floor. “But I didn’t really look.”

  I scanned the barn. Gunnar’s was much more full than mine. Farm equipment, gardening supplies, a built-in workbench with an assortment of tools mounted on pegboards above it. His barn was a place constantly in use.

  I turned my attention to him. “Can you show me where you found the drugs?”

  He nodded. “Right over there,” he said, pointing to the far left corner. There was a metal shelving unit stacked with empty planters, bags of birdseed, and small, handheld gardening tools.

  I walked over to the unit and peeked into one of the pots. “Which one?”

  Gunnar joined me. He grabbed a large, round terracotta planter. “This one.”

  It was empty now, of course. I peered into the other containers, careful not to touch them. “And the sheriff hasn’t dusted for prints, correct?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Gunnar said.

  “I would recommend not touching anything in here until he either gets someone in here to dust or we arrange for someone to come in and do that.”

  “Dust for prints? Why would I bring someone in?”

  “To prove someone else was in the barn,” I said. “If there are other prints in here, especially prints that don’t belong to immediate family, it proves there is a possibility that the drugs don’t belong to you. That someone planted them.”

  My thoughts immediately returned to Luke, and I said a silent prayer that his prints would not show up. On anything.

  I spent the next ten minutes looking through the rest of the contents of the barn, using only my eyes to look for clues. Gunnar followed me around, providing a higher viewing vantage point as we examined potential evidence. If we found something, we’d need to leave it where it was and call the sheriff…or figure out our own way to safely store it and have it tested. Jill leaned against the barn door, shivering and looking as though it was the last place in the world she wanted to be.