Fishing badge murder, p.1
Fishing Badge Murder, page 1
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FISHING BADGE MURDER
a Merry Wrath Mysteries Novella
by
LESLIE LANGTRY
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Copyright © 2018 by Leslie Langtry
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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"Do worms have girlfriends?" Inez stuck her tongue out as she tried to wrestle the wriggling bait onto a hook. I was fishing with my Girl Scout troop of eight-year-olds. So far no one had fallen into the river or gotten a fishhook stuck somewhere painful. No suspicious fires had broken out, and no dead bodies had floated by. I'd say it was going well.
"Of course not," Ava chided. "They have arranged marriages."
"Who arranges that?" one of the Hannahs asked. I say "one" because I had two Hannahs.
"How do you know about arranged marriages?" my co-leader, Kelly, asked.
Ava rolled her eyes at us. "Everyone knows that. It's when you hire a wedding planner and the bride turns into a monster known as a Bridezilla and starts smashing buildings."
"That's not what an arranged marriage is," Kelly said. Then, realizing she'd opened a door to endless questions that she probably didn't want to answer, she covered her mouth with her right hand.
"Do they turn green when they are monsters?" the other Hannah asked.
"Did they get bitten by a radioactive mosquito?" Lauren added.
Inez had a question. "What happens to the groom?"
Caterina answered, "She steps on him, silly!"
This was not a conversation I wanted to be having, because talking about marriage and earthworms could only lead to one thing—the question about where babies come from. That, to me, was far more terrifying than anything I'd experienced in my former career as a spy. And I'd faced down gorillas in Africa (I know, you think I meant guerillas—but no, I didn't), the Russian mafia in Kiev, and a howler monkey with an AR-15 in Guam.
Another reason the talk of weddings made me jumpy was that I was several months away from my own wedding, and the jitters were hitting hard. While I loved my fiancé, doubts were coming on like malaria in a third-world country.
Maybe turning into a giant Bridezilla wasn't a bad idea…
"You watch too many reality shows," Kelly grumbled at the girls. "There are no monsters squashing buildings or grooms." Kelly was a buzzkill.
Betty shook her head as she reeled in her empty fishhook for what had to be the tenth time in ten minutes. "Yes, there are. My mom says marriage is"—she cocked her head to one side as if struggling to get the words right—"a punishing hell-scape she couldn't get through without something called Xanax."
"What's Xanax?" one of the Kaitlyns asked. In addition to the Hannahs, I also had four Kaitlyns. And they all looked alike.
Kelly and I exchanged glances. Hers seemed to ask how do we steer the conversation back to earthworms? My glance asked can married earthworms get a prescription for Xanax?
"Hey! I got something!" Emily shrieked as she pointed to her bent fishing pole.
The girls all dropped their fishing poles and ran to circle the lucky kid. I managed to grab most of the rods before they fell into the river, but I missed four—which wasn't good since I'd borrowed the poles. Now I'd have to buy new ones and rough them up a little so they'd look like the ones the park had loaned us. I guess I could just admit what happened and hand the park rangers four new poles…but that seemed unduly incriminating and unnecessary.
Kelly stood behind Emily, quietly coaching her on what to do. The little girl concentrated, reeling in the line just as her leader told her. The others cheered and screamed, which probably frightened the rest of the fish away.
I wasn't surprised when Kelly suggested the fishing trip. When we were kids, the two of us used to go to a creek that ran just past the outskirts of town. My best friend had kept it up through the years—it was her Zen thing. I hadn't gone fishing in years. The last time was on the Volga when I was undercover in a small village in Russia. I'd caught a bastard fish (yes, it's a real thing) just as my situation erupted into a firefight with Chechen separatists.
My name is Merry Wrath, and I'm a former CIA agent turned unemployed Girl Scout leader in Who's There, Iowa. My name was originally Fionnaghuala Merrygold Czrygy before I was "accidentally" outed by the vice president (who wasn't fond of my senator dad). I took half of my middle name and my mother's maiden name and moved back to my hometown, hoping to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
I wasn't very good at it.
"Wow!" Emily squealed as a fish broke the surface, whipping back and forth at the end of her line.
It was our third catch of the day, resulting in two fish total. That's because two of the Kaitlyns claimed the second fish. Their hooks had gotten tangled just before the fish bit, so we didn't know exactly whose fish it was. They had to share, and the Gods of Girl Scouts must have been smiling upon us, because inexplicably, they both agreed.
"It's ginormous!" Hannah shouted.
"You should have it taxi-mermaid!" Lauren said.
Inez's right eyebrow shot up. "What's taxi-mermaid?"
Lauren sighed the sigh of a thousand martyrs and explained, "It's where a mermaid takes a taxi. But it's a bad taxi and takes her to the government. And they stuff her and use her as a throw pillow."
You know what? That kind of made sense. The other girls all nodded knowingly.
"Your name—" Emily looked earnestly at the gaping fish "—is King Doodoobuttface."
The girls applauded as Kelly took the fish and unhooked it from the line. We took pictures of Emily, beaming at her foot-long catfish, then watched as she threw the fish back into the water. From the beginning, the girls had made it clear they didn't want to kill any fish. They just wanted to catch them, christen the fish, and toss them back.
The girls cheered and then demanded juice boxes. As they sat on the shore with their snack, I wondered how I was going to tell them that four of them no longer had poles to fish with.
Craaaaack! The sound came from the woods behind us.
"What was that?" Ava was on her feet and headed toward the trees.
Eleven little girls followed suit before I cut them off. "Hold on. You don't go running toward a strange noise!"
It was a valuable lesson for them to learn now, since I learned it on my first field assignment when I heard something weird at an embassy ball in Spain and walked into a room with several men, dressed as unicorns, having a Jell-O fight. I always knocked after that. Always.
"A branch must've broken off a tree." Kelly frowned and didn't at all sound convinced.
It was time to go. "I'll check it out. You guys gather up the equipment and head to the vans. I'll meet you there."
It didn't sound like a broken branch to me. It sounded like the crack of a rifle. And that meant hunters. Hunters who were too close to my kids.
My co-leader agreed and started hurrying the girls along.
"Keep to the river until you get close enough to the vans," I whispered. "Hunters." I thought I'd said quietly enough so the girls wouldn't hear.
I was wrong.
A cry went up among my scouts. "Hunters?"
"Let's kick their butts!" Betty smacked her fist against her palm.
"They're going to kill Bambi!" Ava wailed.
I held up my hands. "No! It's too dangerous. I'll take care of it. Go back to the vans."
I waited until they were out of sight before plunging into the woods. It wasn't hunting season, and this was a public park. I was going to give these idiots a piece of my mind. Unarmed. Oh wait. I had a swiss army knife.
I'd had worse odds. Once, in Bolivia, I faced five armed gunmen and managed to take out three of them before they realized I was armed only with a bottle opener. That did not end well for everyone involved.
A flash of camo caught my eye about fifty yards ahead, and I started shouting.
"Hey! You can't hunt here! There are kids all over the place!"
Another crack, only this time, the bullet whizzed past my left ear. I dropped to the ground, waiting to see what happened next. The quiet was unnerving. Then I heard footsteps running away and got to my feet. He was heading in the opposite direction of the vans, so I followed, keeping close to the trees and trying to make as little noise as possible.
I only caught brief glimpses as I chased the guy whose butt I was now going to kick. I was right about the camouflag
He was moving faster, crashing through the foliage, not caring if he made any noise. I picked up my pace but struggled to keep up. Most people can't run in hunting gear, carrying a rifle and ammo. This guy, however, was racing through the dense trees like Tarzan. I couldn't keep up.
After a few minutes, I slowed down and stopped. Bent over and gasping, a variety of thoughts ran through my mind. Who was this guy, and why was he hunting here? What was he hunting? And why hadn't I taken up jogging like I said I was going to do?
The hunter was gone. There was nothing to do but turn back and meet up with the girls. Tracking his footfall through the woods was fairly easy. He'd gone off trail and flattened a path as he ran, breaking twigs and marking mud. This guy really didn't want to get caught.
At some point, I'd come across what he'd been shooting at. If he'd been successful. Whatever it was, I'd lug it to the parking lot and let the rangers know. No way this guy was going to keep his prize.
I found the first spent shell casing not far from where I'd shouted at him. Whoa. This was a .308. Pulling a barrette from my dark blonde and unruly hair, I inserted it into the hollow end and studied it. You could use a .308 for hunting—but only if you were hunting something huge, like elk or Godzilla. And neither of those was native to the area. Whatever he killed would have a huge hole blown through it.
Now I was mad. This guy was using a very dangerous, military-grade rifle to hunt in a public area. I wasn't a hunter, but growing up in rural Iowa you know a bit about the seasons and the game. Working as a spy, however, gave me a lot of access to different kinds of firepower.
Then again, maybe this guy wasn't hunting game. I suppressed a shudder. I'd had too much experience in my life to be naïve about this. Well, there was only one way to find out which it was.
Dropping the cartridge into my pocket, I used a large stick to dig an X deep into the earth. As I continued, I dragged the stick behind me to make a direct trail to where I thought the other shot might have been fired.
It didn't take me long to find it. The casing lay in a patch of poison ivy. The good news was there wasn't any sign of blood. The guy couldn't have snatched up what he'd killed and run with it. Mostly because if it had been a bird, it would've disintegrated from the shot. If it was a deer, there'd be a carcass or, at the very least, blood.
He'd missed.
I left the cartridge where it was (because I'm very allergic to poison ivy) and continued to drag the stick behind me as I headed toward the vehicles. And that's when I saw it.
There was a flash of red that shouldn't have been there. It was between where I now stood and where I had stood on the banks of the river. My blood ran cold. This idiot could've hit one of us when we were fishing.
Very slowly, I crept toward the bit of red. As I got closer, I could see it was fabric of some sort. As I got closer, I realized it was a coat. As I stood over it, I saw the body that was wearing the coat.
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"Dammit, Merry!" my fiancé, Detective Rex Ferguson, swore as he stood with me and the sheriff, staring down at the body of a middle-aged man wearing a red coat. "How did this happen?"
I shook my head. "I had nothing to do with this. We were fishing." I waved the permit in front of him. "We were totally legal and legit."
Sheriff Ed Carnack, a tall, heavyset man in his sixties, slapped Rex on the back. "She didn't do anything wrong, Rex. Cut her some slack."
I liked him immediately.
My fiancé shook his head and walked back to join the deputies at the site where the gun had been fired.
"Thank you," I said.
He laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry. He'll get over it. He's just worried about you."
That's what Rex always said. But I was pretty sure that some of that anger was because just being around me made for a lot of paperwork at the station. I was kind of a murder magnet.
"I've been wanting to meet you for a long time," the sheriff said. "You're a legend in this neck of the woods."
For a moment, I thought my heart had stopped. This guy knew about me? No one was supposed to know about me. I'd changed my name and appearance when I'd moved back here, so I could start fresh. Now the sheriff of this small county knew I was a former spy?
"The Girl Scout leader who always seems to find dead bodies," he continued. "You have a problem being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
I relaxed a little.
"Local law enforcement has nicknamed you Wrath of the Girl Scouts."
I couldn't help but laugh. "I like it!"
"So, who is this guy?" The sheriff pointed to the deceased who was facedown in the mud.
"I can't tell by the way he's laid out, but he doesn't seem familiar. He may not be from around here."
"You're right." A short young man in an expensive black suit flashed a badge as he walked up to us. He had a smartassed look about him that made me grind my teeth.
"And you are?" Sheriff Carnack asked.
"Jones. I'm with the government. We will take over from here." The suit narrowed his eyes at me.
"Which branch of the government?" Carnack growled, a departure from the nice guy who gave me an awesome nickname.
"The FBI." The arrogant jerk gave him a look that dared him to push it.
"I'll need to see that badge again, son." The sheriff held out his right hand.
Jones looked startled. He hadn't expected anything from what he probably thought of as a small-time sheriff in the middle of nowhere.
"You heard him," I snapped in my stern leader voice. "He has a right to see it."
With a rather unnecessary eyeroll, the guy handed over his badge. It said FBI, and the ID said he was Special Agent M. Jones. I didn't study it like Carnack did. I studied Jones. Dark hair a smidge too long, layered with a mist of expensive aftershave. This guy was fresh off the Farm. And I wasn't talking about one in Iowa.
Dr. Soo Jin Body arrived, dressed in jeans and a YALE sweatshirt, carrying a bag. She was the county coroner and medical examiner rolled into one. A former rival who was now a tentative friend, she was so pretty it almost hurt to look at her.
"Doctor," Jones said as she knelt beside the body. "Your services are no longer needed. We've got this."
Soo Jin narrowed her eyes. I'd never seen her do anything but smile. "Are you a qualified medical examiner?"
Even angry, she was gorgeous, and Jones didn't know what to do.
"Um, no…but we have people."
She stood up, and he turned a deep scarlet. "Are they here?"
"Well…no." He swallowed hard.
"Then leave me alone. This is my job, and I'm doing it." She once again knelt beside the dead man.
Jones looked like he was going to explode. Something about him had made the sheriff, me, and Soo Jin dislike him from the start. And Soo Jin liked everyone. This was the very first time I'd ever seen her like this. I wanted to run out and buy a set of best friend necklaces and present one to Dr. Body. Kelly probably wouldn't mind.
"I suggest you let her work," I said quietly.
"Look, ladies…" he blustered.
"Knock it off, Junior G-man," I snapped, folding my arms over my chest.
Jones ran off, probably to "tell" on me. But with his disappearance I looked at this corpse with a little more interest.
Because Jones was not FBI. He was definitely CIA. Which meant that our body wasn't the victim of a hunting accident.
"Gunshot to the back." Soo Jin stood up. "Looks like a huge caliber. Took out the spinal column. I'll know more when I get him back to the morgue."
Two young men I'd never seen before started packing up the body. I tried to get a glimpse of the dead man's face, but Dr. Body was blocking me, and I didn't want to appear obvious.
"My new assistants," Soo Jin said. "Merry, meet Mike and Ike."
