Read Online Death Stalks Door County by Patricia Skalka - Free Book Online

driven by the First Deputy. Six more men followed in three additional vehicles, an excessive show of force in Cubiak’s opinion, but he said nothing. This was the sheriff ’s call, not his.
    As the convoy approached Kingo’s, Halverson ordered the men to cut their lights and pull off the road. “You sure you don’t want one of these?” he asked Cubiak, indicating the extra pistol tucked into his belt. “I could deputize you right here. Make it all legal-like.” Cubiak shook his head. He didn’t want to be armed and didn’t need Halverson’s permission to carry a weapon.
    â€œWhatever.” The sheriff directed the officers to silence their phones and motioned for them to move around to the back of the tavern.
    â€œThe bastards are all here,” Halverson said, peering through the supply room window into the saloon. “That’s him.” He pointed at a skinny, scar-faced man slouched against the bar. Lining the stools were Kingovich’s cousin and three buddies, all of them greasy and unsavory. Halverson didn’t know their names. Behind them, a sixth man aimed the eight ball at the right side pocket of a pristine, tournament-size pool table. He was short and squat and built like a wrestler. “Look at those scum,” Halverson whispered. “Filthy, no-good scum.”
    The sheriff was wired. He had been on the case since Johnson’s call the previous night. Beck had given him twenty-four hours to find the killer, and he told Cubiak that he intended to get the job done on time. That morning Halverson’s men had interviewed a half-dozen people who had placed Alice Jones in or around Kingo’s at 6 p.m. Tuesday, just hours before she was found murdered. The sheriff didn’t need to know any more than that.
    Leaving the other troopers to watch the bar, he led Cubiak and his First Deputy on a search of the remaining buildings. “We’ll find something,” he said.
    In the bedroom of Petey’s one-story frame house, the men discovered four small bags of cocaine and marijuana at the back of a sock drawer. The six cabins yielded only dust and stale air. The toolshed was empty except for a gas-powered lawn mower and a shelf lined with cardboard file boxes.
    The sheriff was jogging toward the small boathouse when his deputy popped out of the garage. “Jumpin’ jeepers Christ hey. Leo, over here,” he called out cheerfully and then led them inside. In a dark corner, the deputy pointed to a stack of discarded tires and behind it a bloody axe propped against the wall.
    Halverson and four of his men barged into Kingo’s. Cubiak trailed behind. Gagging on air heavy with the odors of sour beer and something coming from a backed-up toilet, he stayed near the door, determined to remain an observer.
    â€œFor shit.” At the bar, the cousin regarded the officers with their drawn weapons and raised his right hand in a five-finger salute. “For crying out fucking shit.”
    Petey Kingovich waved him quiet.
    â€œWho’s he?” Petey said, with a glance at Cubiak.
    â€œNone of your fucking business,” the sheriff said.
    The man at the pool table jeered as he flipped his cue and clutched it like a club, fat end up.
    The deputy moved into his face. “You got two options, buddy,” he said quietly. “Either you put that stick down or I’ll ram it up your ass so hard you’ll have a blue chalk mark on the inside of your fucking skull.”
    â€œDo it. Now,” Petey said.
    The stick thudded against the floor.
    They were all high and too stupid to be dangerous, thought Cubiak. Except Petey. It showed in his eyes. He was too smart to do something dumb like kill Alice and leave the murder weapon lying around but borderline crazy enough to commit murder and assume he could get away with the crime.
    Halverson signaled his men to spread out along the length of the room. While one of the detail droned