Cheep Shot Murder (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 11) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHEEP SHOT MURDER

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  Cheep Shot

  Murder

  A Pet Shop Cozy Mystery

  Book Eleven

  By

  Susie Gayle

  Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

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  CHEEP SHOT

  MURDER

  A Pet Shop Cozy Mystery Book Eleven

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  “Here you go, and thanks for shopping at the Pet Shop Stop.” I hand the young woman her bag and force a polite smile until she leaves. Owning and operating your own business is no small feat; owning and operating your own business while there’s a murderer on the loose and you’re ninety-nine percent sure you know who it is but you have no proof so the authorities won’t believe you… well, that’s a whole other ball game.

  Still, we’re trying. And by “we” I mean myself, my girlfriend Sarah, and her younger brother Dennis, the latter of whom has been uncharacteristically quiet these past couple of days—and reasonably so. Add to the mix that Sarah and I are in the process of closing on a house, and that she still has to tend to her duties as a Seaview Rock councilwoman, and you can see how life can get a bit hectic sometimes.

  Oh, right. I should probably circle back around to that whole “murderer on the loose” thing. Long story short, a tree farmer here in town wanted to sell his land to a huge megastore corporation, Sprawl-Mart, and then the very next day said farmer was found quite dead at our local watering hole. Despite a harsh warning from our police chief, I decided to investigate. (What’s the use of being an officially licensed private investigator in the state of Maine if I can’t, you know, investigate?) And what I discovered was more shocking than sticking a fork in a toaster.

  Like I said, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I know who did it—and that culprit is Seaview Rock’s very own mayor, David Sturgess. I’m reserving the other one percent for reasonable doubt and the very slim chance I’m wrong. Unfortunately, Mayor McMurderer has an alibi that no one seems to want to question. What’s worse is that it seems a few local business owners in town are also on his side; that is, the side that wants to keep Seaview Rock completely as-is.

  Some people just can’t handle change.

  “Will?” Dennis asks flatly, holding up a basket of bright green tennis balls.

  “Oh, uh, just put them on the shelf over there.”

  “Thanks.”

  Poor kid. Dennis is usually pretty chipper, but he’s been speaking monosyllabically for the past two days, ever since he was released from jail where he was being held on suspicion of murder (see: dead tree farmer). He’s not even wearing his trademark black skullcap, which I should be happy about because it’s always been a minor annoyance to me, but without it, he doesn’t quite look like Dennis.

  Dennis only works for me part-time; he also writes a fairly popular web comic called Bill Mulligan: Pet Shop Detective that’s loosely based on yours truly. The key difference is that Bill Mulligan gets to fight bad guys on rooftops and chase suspects down alleys and through seedy bars. The real-life Will Sullivan, meanwhile, takes a couple of ibuprofen because I gave myself a headache racking my brain, trying to conceive of some way to nail our dubious mayor for his crime.

  Anyhow, whoever murdered the tree farmer did it in such a way that it mimicked the latest issue of Bill Mulligan, which made Dennis a suspect, which led to his arrest. A lack of physical evidence later led to his release, but ever since then he’s been down in the dumps. Sarah and I have both tried to get him to talk about it, but he just shakes his head and insists he’s fine.

  If I had to guess, I’d say that it’s not the being arrested part that bothers him as much as it is someone using his creativity to commit a murder; turning something he loves into something so heinous. I really feel for him, but I’m pretty bad at communicating any sort of condolences with people. I relate way better to animals.

  “Dennis,” I suggest, “why don’t you go grab some lunch?”

  “Not hungry.” He continues to stack birdseed without turning.

  “Okay… then how about you run down to Better Latte Than Never and grab us a couple of coffees?”

  He pauses. “Sure.”

  “Take Spark with you. He could use some more leash training.”

  “Okay.” Dennis unties his green apron and retrieves the blue leash hanging from a hook behind the counter. “Come on, Spark.”

  The little beige puggle leaps up from his place on his doggie bed and bounds toward the door. We’ve only had him for a few weeks, after adopting him from our local animal shelter, but he’s a fast learner. It also helps having Rowdy around. Rowdy’s our other pup, a terrier mix and another former shelter dog that I’ve had for a couple of years now and, if I’m being honest, he’s smarter than most people. I think Ro’s been training Spark just as much as I have.

  Once the two of them are gone I glance around the empty store and sigh heavily. It’s never truly quiet in the Pet Shop Stop—there are always parakeets chirping or cats meowing or pups playing in their kennels, but I prefer it that way. Silence is overrated.

  The funny thing about all this, even if no one is laughing, is that things are going to change whether you like it or not. Take me, for instance: just a small handful of years ago I was married and owned a house and was happy. Then suddenly I wasn’t anymore. Now I have Sarah, and the pet shop is doing great, and we’re buying a place together. Even now, she’s at our little rented house on Saltwater Drive, packing up the nonessentials while Dennis and I mind the store.

  I’ve learned the hard way that things change, and if you don’t adapt—roll with the punches, go with the flow, whatever you want to call it—you stagnate. You get left behind. You wither. App
arently there are people in this town that think they can resist it and come out the other side okay. But like a rock in a stream, they can resist all they want and the only thing that’s going to happen is everything around them will erode and get swept away.

  And now I guess you’re all caught up with what’s going on in my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  * * *

  Bill Mulligan might get to carry a revolver and drink bourbon and do cool noir stuff, but Will Sullivan has one thing that good ol’ Bill doesn’t: several good friends that have his back.

  And also a secret knock.

  That night, after closing the shop, I head over to the Runside with Spark and Rowdy in tow. The Runside Bar & Grill is Seaview Rock’s oldest establishment. It was originally barely more than a shack that served drinks to fishermen back when the town wasn’t even a town. Now it’s the best place around to get a steak or some fresh seafood and some home-brewed Whale of an Ale.

  Rather, it’s usually the best place around to get those things. But currently, it’s closed.

  I park in the rear and walk around to the front entrance. I look left and right and, seeing no one, I initiate the secret knock—two light raps in quick succession three times. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

  A moment later the door opens and Sarah peers out. “Will, the door is unlocked.”

  “But we agreed on the secret knock.”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, you came up with the secret knock. No one else is doing that.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.” The pups and I follow her inside to find everyone else already there. Holly, the tall, sable-haired owner of the Runside, stands at her usual place behind the bar. Mr. Casey, the elderly proprietor of Sockets & Sprockets, sits on a stool opposite her. Together, the three of them—Sarah, Holly, and Mr. Casey—comprise the Seaview Rock town council, the politically benevolent yin to the mayor’s seemingly shady yang.

  Also present is Sammy Barstow, my best friend and barber of going on two decades. And to my mild dismay, beside him is Karen Bear, my ex-wife and now-friend. Karen and I got past all the ugliness between us, but lately she and Sammy have been spending a lot of time together. I’d really like to believe them when they say they’re just friends, but seeing them in proximity of each other as often as I have makes me think it might be more.

  I know, I know, it’s not my place to get between anyone. Still, it’s a little weird and I don’t care to be reminded of it, especially considering the nature of our secretive meeting.

  “Hi everyone,” I greet as I let Spark off the leash. The two pups immediately meander towards the empty tables, hoping some earlier diners might have dropped some morsels.

  Holly slides a pint glass across the bar toward me. “Hey, Will. How’s Dennis doing?”

  I shrug a little. “He’s… okay. How about you? Closing down early for our little gatherings can’t be great for business.”

  She smiles with one side of her mouth. “There are more important things than money.”

  “Right,” Sarah interjects, “which brings us to why we’re here tonight. As we all know, Seaview Rock is divided.” She positions herself behind the row of stools as she addresses us. I can’t help but think how remarkable the change is between when we first met and now; once upon a time, Sarah was a somewhat reserved volunteer at the animal shelter and a part-time Pet Shop Stop employee. Now she’s a co-owner, a councilwoman, and a natural leader.

  “Those of us here represent one side,” she continues. “And on this side, we want what’s best for us and for the town, even if that means progressive action.” We all know exactly what she’s referring to; Seaview Rock has remained veritably unchanged since the mid-nineteenth century. The homes are mostly colonial style, the businesses are all mom-and-pop, and anything even remotely contemporary is met with disdain and usually squashed quickly, like a roach under a boot.

  “The other side,” she says, “seems to encompass those that are resistant to some of the changes that we want to bring about. The problem, of course, is that we don’t know who’s who. We know the mayor is involved. We know that a few business owners are on his side, including Sylvia Garner, who runs Better Latte Than Never, and Joe Miller.”

  “And don’t forget the Blumbergs,” I chime in. The Blumbergs are a couple of somewhat creepy old folks who are retired, but used to own a clothing store in the same storefront that currently houses the Pet Shop Stop. (I’m also pretty sure they laced cupcakes with rat poison and sent them to Sarah about a month ago.)

  “Right,” Sarah agrees, “which brings us to the real crux of the matter. Will has reason to believe that Mayor Sturgess is the one that murdered Logan Morse. Unfortunately, we have no evidence, and the police are not investigating him.”

  Sammy raises his hand politely.

  Sarah rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a classroom, Sam, you don’t have to raise your hand.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that the cops are in on this too?” he asks.

  “No way,” I cut in. “I’ve known Patty for years. We all have. I refuse to believe she could be involved.” Patty Mayhew is our chief of police, and while she’s capable of being a great friend, she’s also made it clear that she’s a cop first, always. “Moreover, I don’t think the people on the mayor’s side of things have any idea what he’s done or that he was the one to do it. All they know is that someone killed Logan, and it was a convenient way out of their problem.”

  “Ha!” Mr. Casey says harshly. “Convenient, yeah. What are they, a bunch of ostriches with their heads in the sand? They’d have to be pretty stupid to believe that it wasn’t one of their clique who did this.”

  “Ignorance is bliss,” Holly mutters. “Will, didn’t you tell us that Sylvia was hiding out in her house when Logan was killed?”

  “That’s right, and she told everyone she was out of town. They knew something was going to happen; they didn’t want to be around when it did.”

  Sammy raises his hand again. Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose. “Sammy, just say whatever’s on your mind.”

  “Okay. Why not us? We’re all business owners in town. How do they form this sort of alliance and choose who gets in on it?”

  “The mayor,” I answer simply. “None of us advocated for him, much less voted for him. The people on his side are his constituency.”

  “And Seaview Rock has no term limit on mayor,” Sarah adds. “He could stay in office until the day he dies if he continues to get reelected.”

  “So it’s about control then,” Mr. Casey grunts. “He wants to stay mayor, so to do that, he’s going to do what he thinks he must to keep his people happy. And for them, that means keeping things the way they are.”

  Holly sighs. “So what can we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again?”

  “Well…” Sarah says slowly. “I think we would have to find a way to prove that the mayor killed Logan Morse. The others can’t deny what’s happening around them if Sturgess is convicted of murder.”

  “Easier said than done,” I murmur. “I’ve been over it a thousand times in my head. There’s no proof, and he has an alibi.”

  “What’s his alibi?” Karen asks suddenly.

  “His secretary claims that the mayor was in his office at town hall in the time frame that Morse was murdered,” Sarah explains. “I mean, obviously he’s lying to cover for the mayor, but—”

  “Well, there’s your way in,” Karen says simply.

  “What? Somehow get him to admit he was lying?” Sarah asks.

  “Exactly.” Karen pounds one tiny fist against her flat palm. Karen is a small woman—five-foot-three in heels—but she’s fierce, and has a brash manner about her that some people find off-putting. I can’t imagine why.

  “No, Karen, we’re not resorting to violence,” Sarah insists. “That’s what we’re trying to solve.”

  “Wait a sec,” I cut in. “She might be onto something.” Sarah glances at me incredulously.
“No, I don’t mean beat the guy up,” I assure her. “But maybe put the squeeze on him a little. Let him know that we know what happened and that he was lying—maybe even pretend that we have some sort of evidence. How willing could he be to go to jail for Sturgess?”

  Mr. Casey shakes his head. “He’s already in it. No way he’ll backpedal now.”

  “I have another idea,” Sarah tells us. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot these last couple of days. What if we try to push something big through the town council? It would have to be something we know they’ll be against; it could be leasing public land to a fast-food chain or hiring some postmodern architect to renovate town hall. They’ll try something; they’ve already come so close to messing up. This time, we’ll be ready for them and catch them in the act.”

  “No way,” I say immediately. “You’re talking about putting yourself in immediate danger.” After all, we are talking about people that sent Sarah poisoned cupcakes and another that murdered a man just for the threat of selling his land to a corporation.

  “I like it,” Mr. Casey says.

  “Hush,” I scold him.

  “I agree with Will,” Karen pipes up. “It’s a dumb plan. You’d be painting a target on your own back.”

  “Thank you, Karen,” I tell her. To Sarah, I say, “Just give me a day or so to talk to the secretary. They’re the ones acting out of desperation; our moves need to be calculated. We need to think this through. We may only get one chance, and I’d prefer it be one that doesn’t, you know, get any of us killed.”

  “Or even hurt,” Holly adds.

  Sarah’s nostrils flare a little, but she relents. “Fine. I’ll give you one day.”

  CHAPTER 3

  * * *

  The ride home is mostly silent. Sarah stares out the passenger-side window of my SUV while the two pups lie in the back seat across a blanket.