Roxanne Rustand - Murder At Granite Falls

But if so, why hadn’t he—or she—signed it?

“What’s up?”

At the unexpected voice behind her, Carrie startled and spun around, a hand at her throat.

Marie grinned. “Sorry—I thought you heard me say hello from the doorway.”

“I didn’t. I was studying a picture left on my desk.” Carrie handed her the drawing. “Creepy, isn’t it?”

Marie gave it a superficial glance and rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

“I know. But this is more than that. Look at the faces, and amazing detail. There aren’t just X’s for the eyes of the dead. These people are hurting.”

“Yeah, well…you’re the art teacher. This was probably done by some kid who’s a little more advanced. So, would you like to meet for lunch this afternoon?”

Advanced in artistic skills, true…but also possibly troubled. Carrie dropped her gaze to the drawing once more. Just holding it gave her a sense of the child’s intense emotions. Please, God, don’t let this mean that this child is suffering through a bad situation.

She closed her eyes, visualizing each of the twelve students in her class. All of the boys wore T-shirts and shorts or faded jeans; most of the girls wore pretty summer tops. Had she seen any bruises? Unusual behavior? Nothing that she could recall.

“Uh…Carrie?”

“Sorry. Yes—lunch sounds wonderful.” She slid the drawing into the top drawer of her desk and dropped her purse into the bottom drawer. “Any place you choose.”

“Silver Bear Café, south edge of town. Best place in town, and the tourists haven’t found it yet. There’d be a half-hour wait at any of the touristy places. By the way,” she added with a lift of an eyebrow, “I hear you had some excitement on Monday night.”

Carrie’s heart sank. “News sure traveled fast.”

“Courtesy of my police scanner.” Marie chuckled. “Everyone has one around here—it’s faster than just heading down to the feed store or café to hear the latest news. Memorize all those official code numbers, and it’s a wealth of information.”

“Great. So now the whole county knows the new school-teacher makes unnecessary 911 calls, and is apparently afraid of the dark?”

“Just because there wasn’t a prowler still out there when Rick showed up doesn’t mean you didn’t have one.”

At the ruckus emanating from the riverbank, Logan set aside his camera, took a last disgusted look at the massive rip he’d just photographed as evidence for the insurance company—too straight and even to have been from natural causes—along the deflated, fifteen-foot side tube of one of the larger rubber rafts, and strolled over to check out the latest fishing disaster.

Sure enough, the Nelson twins were in the thick of things—teasing and chortling over the tangled lines of two younger boys. Another two ignored the others as they sat on the bank tossing rocks into the water.

“Dylan, Austin, lay off,” Logan said mildly as he took hold of the fistful of tightly knotted filament. It was too tangled to ever pull apart. He eyed the two younger boys, both with nearly white-blond hair, who had come out just a couple times with the older ones. “Looks like you tried to get this apart, and it just got worse. Right?”

The boys nodded.

“Some days are just like that. Let’s see. You are…Robbie and Danny?”

They both nodded.

“Fifth grade?” Logan guessed high, hoping to elicit a smile.

“Third.” Danny’s lower lip trembled. “Robbie’s in fourth.”

“Do your parents know you’re out here?”

“We rode our bikes,” Danny said evasively, dropping his gaze to the rocky ground.

“Mom has to work on Saturdays. She don’t care,” Robbie added with a defiant tilt to his chin. “Just so we get back for supper, is all.”

“I see.” Logan pulled a knife from the sheath at his belt and cut away the mass of fishing line, then reattached each hook and bobber. “There you go, boys. What did you say your last name was?”

“Jensen,” Danny piped up as he eagerly reached for his rod.

“Now he’s gonna tell, stupid,” Robbie hissed, elbowing his younger brother in the ribs. “See if we get to go fishing then.”

“I don’t care if you’re here, but your mom does need to know and give her permission. Okay? The river can be a dangerous place.”

“Nobody owns the river,” Robbie shot back. “We learned that in school.”

“You’re right,” Logan countered, hiding a smile at the boy’s spunk. “But the land is mine, and since I’m the responsible adult here, I just want you to be safe. And for your mom to say it’s okay.”

“But…but this is the best spot on the whole river. Clear back to town.”

“I know. It slows down along this stretch, and there are nice deep trout pools close to the bank. There’s a good one just a dozen yards down from the raft launching area.”

Robbie’s brow furrowed with intense concentration. “Can we come again if we bring a note?”

“That would be good, though I also need to tell her that I can’t be responsible for you. All of the other moms had to do the same thing—talk to me, and write a note, if their boys wanted to be here.”

Robbie and Danny looked at each other.

“Phone number?” Logan prodded gently. He punched the numbers into his cell phone as the older boy recited them, then hit Send.

It didn’t take long to discover why the boys both looked so crestfallen. After he explained the situation, there was a brief silence, then the decibel level of their mother’s voice rose with each word, until he had to hold the phone well away from his ear. She disconnected before he could say a single word in the boys’ defense.

“Sorry, guys. She says you can’t be riding your bikes down the highway, and you are not allowed near the river.” He smiled at them, trying to soften the news, though the quiet snickers of the Nelson twins from a few yards away didn’t help matters.

Danny’s eyes glistened with tears, but Robbie’s face reddened. “Never?”

“She says you can’t come here alone. But maybe when you’re older, okay?”

“Are we grounded?” Danny whispered, a tear trailing down his cheek.

For a lifetime and a half, if his mother’s voice was any clue.

Logan ruffled the boy’s hair, wishing he dared give him a hug. Knowing it would be improper and even dangerous to offer that comfort. “She didn’t tell me. She only said that she’d be here in fifteen minutes to take you both home. Do you have a dog?”

“Mom doesn’t like dogs. They’re messy,” Robbie muttered.

“Want to see mine?” Logan held two fingers to his mouth and sent off a piercing whistle. A few seconds later, Murphy appeared at the door of the boathouse, blinked at the sunshine, then ambled over to sit at Logan’s feet.

“He’s just a lazy ole dog,” Robbie said.

“You think? Take a look.” Logan silently signaled and Murphy rolled over. “Ask him a simple math question. Kindergarten level.”

A smile glimmered on Danny’s face. “One plus two?”

Murphy waved his tail furiously, and with each of his three deep barks, the child’s smile grew. “Wow.”

Even Robbie was showing more interest now. “What else can he do?”

“Do you have a good arm for throwing?”

“Yeah.”

Logan searched the ground, picked up an old yellow tennis ball and lobbed it into a high, long-distance arc. The old lab tore across parking lot and was there to catch it as it fell.

Now all the boys were watching. One of the Nelson twins tried to intercept the dog when it returned, but it neatly circumvented him and stopped at Logan’s feet. Logan handed the ball to Robbie. “Give it a try. And don’t worry about throwing as high as I did—grounders are good, too. He’ll do this until he gets too tired.”