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

the Miranda litany, Petey glanced at the roach in the ashtray. “That the problem, Sheriff ?” Petey had both hands on the bar. He knew the routine well.
    Halverson ignored him.
    â€œFor chrissake,” the cousin bellowed.
    â€œShut up,” Petey said. His eyes flicked to Cubiak then pinned on Halverson.
    â€œThere’s more just like us waiting outside,” the sheriff said quietly. “Only they got even bigger guns. So I suggest you come with us nice and easy. Just ease out from behind the bar nice and slow.”
    â€œNot ’til I know why. I gotta right to ask why.”
    â€œWhy?” Halverson mocked him. “Maybe because you’re the scum of the earth and we’re having a litter drive. Murder, that’s why.”
    The room hushed suddenly. A dark shadow played across Petey’s face. “Whose?”
    â€œAlice Jones.”
    â€œAlice! You ain’t gonna pin that one on me.” Petey spoke with casual disdain.
    The sheriff opened his jacket and pointed to the search warrant in the inside breast pocket. “We got a bloody axe in the trunk of my car that says we are,” he said evenly.
    The men at the bar looked at Petey. “Don’t worry,” he said.
    Cubiak watched Halverson test the weight of the gun in his hand. The sheriff had seen the girl. Cubiak knew what he was thinking. Knew how much he wanted to blow the place apart. How he’d like it if Petey or one of the others made a quick move and he and his men could open up on them.
    â€œLet’s go.” The sheriff waved Petey forward.
    A heavy mist had risen from Kangaroo Lake and rolled out over the resort, obscuring trees and buildings alike. A mixed chorus of frogs and crickets sang in the soup, and then fell silent as the men filed past to the cruisers along the road. Cubiak shared the back seat with Petey.
    â€œGot a cigarette?” the prisoner said.
    â€œNope.”
    Up front, Halverson was busy with self-congratulations. Cubiak knew the sheriff was waiting for acknowledgment and praise from him, the former big city cop, but he refused to play the hypocrite. To him, Petey’s arrest wasn’t noteworthy, merely convenient.
    Cubiak lowered his window, hoping to catch strains of the animal concert. But he could hear nothing over the harsh screech of sirens wailing through the fog.

THURSDAY
    A lice Jones was buried quickly and with little fanfare. Funeral services were held in a modest, cement-block evangelical church, a few blocks from the shipyards. The walls and ceiling of the claustrophobic sanctuary were desperate for a fresh coat of paint. And despite the best efforts of two tall radiators that hissed quietly in the background, an aura of dampness and mildew permeated the air.
    The prompt arrest of Petey Kingovich sent a tangible ripple of relief through Door County. People rationalized that Alice—cheap, tawdry Alice—had contributed to her own doom. They regretted that her death had been so gruesome but assured themselves that they—being so unlike her—were immune to such horror. Barely recovered from the deaths of Wisby and Macklin and now both wary of negative publicity and shamed by the brutal killing, the locals were eager to put this tragedy behind them.
    Even the minister talked euphemistically of Alice’s passing, as if her death had been little more than an unanticipated tumble through a doorway. The victim’s beleaguered parents, faced with the daunting task of rearing five younger children, fumbled through the service dazed and resigned, uncomfortable in the new attire purchased for the day. Besides the siblings, who cried throughout the brief ceremony, there were few mourners, only a handful, scattered amidst the scratched wooden pews: several disheveled young men, in worn denim jackets, clustered together, sharing a mutual hangover; two old-biddy neighbors, smug and disapproving, whispered conspiratorially across from them. To