Read Online Skull Creek Stakeout (Caden Chronicles, The) by Eddie Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Eddie Jones
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MOUNTAINS:
Local law enforcement agents report that a man hiking near Big Sky Peak spotted a person dressed like a goat among a herd of sheep. “A couple of hunters heard what they thought was an animal in distress,” officer Barry Cade said. “But it turned out to be a man in a dress wearing goat horns.”
“Seriously? That’s news?” Meg asked.
“Over nine thousand eyeballs.” I tapped the eyeball icon at the bottom of the story. “Somebody found it interesting.”
I scrolled down to the next article.
It read:
FURRY SHOPLIFTER “BEARLY” ESCAPES — A three-hundred-pound black bear surprised shoppers at a Blacksburg, Virginia, convenience store this past weekend when the animal pushed open the automatic doors and ambled over to the snack rack. Security guards chased the bear from the store but not before the hungry female snagged a box of peanut brittle and a case of Moon Pies.
“I like Moon Pies.”
“Me too,” I replied, “but not enough to fight a bear for them. Ah, here’s one in my area of interest.”
GEORGIA FUNERAL HOME ADDS COFFEE BAR — Jenson Funeral Home began serving coffee to its mourners.
“When you’re standing in line and waiting to pay your respects, you have a lot of dead time on your hands,” funeral home owner Bill Jenson reported. “Adding a coffee bar makes sense. We’ve already seen an uptick in foot traffic and picked up several new clients.”
I checked the progress bar of the search results. It continued to creep along.
“This might take longer than I thought.” To Aunt Vivian I said, “Is there a particular time you need to be back to your facility?”
“I’m the one paying to stay at the center, child. I can come and go as I wish. Why?”
“I’d like to see the crime scene. Any chance you can run me up to the golf resort?”
“I’ll need a nap first. Not as young as I once was.”
“We have a spare bedroom,” Meg said. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Bless you.”
“How about you?” Meg said to me. “Do you need a nap too?”
“Look at you being sarcastic. No, I’ll go ask the police what they have to say about this case.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEAD COUNT, ONE MISSING
L ieutenant Ralph McAlhany worked out of an old gymnasium at the end of Main Street. I announced my arrival at the receptionist’s window and explained I was an investigative reporter covering the death of Barnabas Forester. She studied my business card and directed me toward a wooden bench that looked as if it had seen lots of use on a football field.
Fresh green paint coated cinder-block walls, and the entranceway had recently been carpeted and smelled of glue. The police station had the feel of one of the modular units at my school — refurbished and functional and out of place among the other office buildings on Main Street.
I hunched forward on the bench and clicked off the three things I needed for the story: a picture of the body, a list of people connected to Forester, and a look at the murder weapon. Knowing that Randolph Manor might have been connected to the vampire slaying game helped put things into perspective. If Forester were a recluse, like Raintree said, and involved in the game, then he’d need a front person for marketing, and who better than Raintree? The bookstore owner appeared business savvy. The challenge now was to track down a list of recent players and get a look at the murder weapon.
I’d been waiting maybe ten minutes when the receptionist tapped the window and pointed toward a female officer. I followed her through double doors and onto the basketball court, which was portioned off into a maze of cubicles. We made our way down a hallway and past an old equipment cage. The lieutenant’s office was in a locker room.
Lieutenant Ralph McAlhany was a broad-shouldered man with dark glossy hair, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. His brown shirt and slacks were pressed and creased and screamed professionalism. He waved me into the cage
Local law enforcement agents report that a man hiking near Big Sky Peak spotted a person dressed like a goat among a herd of sheep. “A couple of hunters heard what they thought was an animal in distress,” officer Barry Cade said. “But it turned out to be a man in a dress wearing goat horns.”
“Seriously? That’s news?” Meg asked.
“Over nine thousand eyeballs.” I tapped the eyeball icon at the bottom of the story. “Somebody found it interesting.”
I scrolled down to the next article.
It read:
FURRY SHOPLIFTER “BEARLY” ESCAPES — A three-hundred-pound black bear surprised shoppers at a Blacksburg, Virginia, convenience store this past weekend when the animal pushed open the automatic doors and ambled over to the snack rack. Security guards chased the bear from the store but not before the hungry female snagged a box of peanut brittle and a case of Moon Pies.
“I like Moon Pies.”
“Me too,” I replied, “but not enough to fight a bear for them. Ah, here’s one in my area of interest.”
GEORGIA FUNERAL HOME ADDS COFFEE BAR — Jenson Funeral Home began serving coffee to its mourners.
“When you’re standing in line and waiting to pay your respects, you have a lot of dead time on your hands,” funeral home owner Bill Jenson reported. “Adding a coffee bar makes sense. We’ve already seen an uptick in foot traffic and picked up several new clients.”
I checked the progress bar of the search results. It continued to creep along.
“This might take longer than I thought.” To Aunt Vivian I said, “Is there a particular time you need to be back to your facility?”
“I’m the one paying to stay at the center, child. I can come and go as I wish. Why?”
“I’d like to see the crime scene. Any chance you can run me up to the golf resort?”
“I’ll need a nap first. Not as young as I once was.”
“We have a spare bedroom,” Meg said. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Bless you.”
“How about you?” Meg said to me. “Do you need a nap too?”
“Look at you being sarcastic. No, I’ll go ask the police what they have to say about this case.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEAD COUNT, ONE MISSING
L ieutenant Ralph McAlhany worked out of an old gymnasium at the end of Main Street. I announced my arrival at the receptionist’s window and explained I was an investigative reporter covering the death of Barnabas Forester. She studied my business card and directed me toward a wooden bench that looked as if it had seen lots of use on a football field.
Fresh green paint coated cinder-block walls, and the entranceway had recently been carpeted and smelled of glue. The police station had the feel of one of the modular units at my school — refurbished and functional and out of place among the other office buildings on Main Street.
I hunched forward on the bench and clicked off the three things I needed for the story: a picture of the body, a list of people connected to Forester, and a look at the murder weapon. Knowing that Randolph Manor might have been connected to the vampire slaying game helped put things into perspective. If Forester were a recluse, like Raintree said, and involved in the game, then he’d need a front person for marketing, and who better than Raintree? The bookstore owner appeared business savvy. The challenge now was to track down a list of recent players and get a look at the murder weapon.
I’d been waiting maybe ten minutes when the receptionist tapped the window and pointed toward a female officer. I followed her through double doors and onto the basketball court, which was portioned off into a maze of cubicles. We made our way down a hallway and past an old equipment cage. The lieutenant’s office was in a locker room.
Lieutenant Ralph McAlhany was a broad-shouldered man with dark glossy hair, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. His brown shirt and slacks were pressed and creased and screamed professionalism. He waved me into the cage
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