Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [49]
“Where you goin’?” Muskrat asked.
“To hit the campaign trail.”
ELEVEN
Five of the guys on the list in Rocky’s group lived around Flat Bluffs, ten miles up the road from Clementine’s. Few locals kept their address and phone numbers unlisted, so matching names with addresses was easy.
Rocky Blount lived in a 1970s split level next to the lone ball field in Flat Bluffs. One big Dodge Cummins diesel was parked on the concrete slab next to a Dodge minivan.
I smoothed my hair and climbed out of my truck, practicing my campaign spiel. Then I knocked on the door.
“Mercy?” Rocky squinted at me. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Campaigning. I’m running as the replacement candidate for Bill O’Neil for Eagle River County sheriff.”
His bushy black eyebrows lifted. “You don’t say.”
“So I thought I’d come by and see if I can count on your support.”
“I thought maybe you’d come by to apologize.”
“Yeah, things did get a little out of hand that night, but you weren’t exactly blameless, Rocky. You punched me in the head.”
“It happens. But you can be damn sure I ain’t gonna tear it up when you’re on shift, again. Man, you’ve got a mean jab.”
“Don’t know if I oughta take that as a compliment.” I acted hesitant, hoping it’d convince him to talk. “You know I found Jason Hawley later that night, right? It freaked me the hell out.” I paused again, glancing around. “I’ve gotta ask. Were you freaked out that only a few hours after your tussle with him he wound up dead?”
Rocky nodded. “Guy was an asshole. But killed like that? Just ain’t right.”
“I don’t suppose you paid attention to who he talked to in the back room before the fight?”
“Nah. I was pretty drunk, which is probably why I opened my mouth. And started swinging. Roger drove us home, maybe ten minutes after the fight. But Mike might remember.” Rocky realized I’d led him away from my supposed campaign visit. His gaze turned sharp. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Between us? I’m doing a little investigating on my own on this case. I wanna prove I have the chops, know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.”
“Whoever did this needs to be behind bars. I’ll be damn tough on crime if I’m elected.” Oh gag.
“You’ve got my vote.”
I thrust out my hand. “Thanks, Rocky. I appreciate it. If you remember anything else from that night, call me.”
To keep up the campaigning pretense, I walked to his neighbor’s house. The little white-haired lady next door was mean as an old mule. She told me to leave men’s work to men and slammed the door in my face. I took the high road and didn’t kick over her stupid garden gnome.
I visited the last two houses on the block, to lukewarm responses. Next time, I was bringing candy.
But I wasn’t disheartened enough to skip Mike Aker’s house. By the time I’d reached the end of his long driveway, he stood on the front steps.
I climbed out and smiled at him. “Mike.”
“Mercy. Already hitting the campaign trail?”
“Yep. I have to make up some serious ground. I assume Sheriff Dawson has been out here?”
“Not as far as I know.”
There was my opening. “See, that’s why I’m making the effort to reach out to all voters, not just the ones within the city limits. Anyway, during my stop in Flat Bluffs, I ended up talking to Rocky about the night Jason Hawley died. Rocky said Jason was in the back room before the fight went down. Did you see who he was talking to?”
Mike scratched his chin. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I did see him talking to George Johnson and a couple of them construction guys. They didn’t look none too happy with him.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. But George would tell ya. He didn’t like that oil guy neither.”
The screen door opened. A stout woman half Mike’s age emerged. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
I offered my hand. “Mercy Gunderson.”
“Nonie Jo Aker, Mike’s wife.”
She’d emphasized wife, as if I’d been planning to steal her man right off her front porch steps. Right. I’d easily kicked Mike’s ass, so his attractiveness dropped to the near zero range