Twelve #3
“And then there was the GoFundie dog killer,” I said and sighed.
Her story was one of the saddest. The GoFundie dog killer seemed bad on the surface—you raise money for a dog’s surgery but then put him down anyway.
But a second vet’s opinion told her the expensive care for her dog would likely have given him less than a 5 percent chance of living at all, and it would have been painful.
The woman happened to be the foster mom of two six-year-old sisters.
She opted to use the money to pay adoption fees and for a lawyer to navigate the adoption process.
So, she made the hard choice to use the money meant for her dog for her girls, who’d been in her care since they were toddlers.
The Canceled Killer murdered her before the adoption was finalized, and without her, the sisters were remanded back to the state, separated, and sent to two different homes on opposite sides of the city.
Jude glanced at me. “The whole point is that’s why we have a court of law where both sides present evidence, and not one angry jerk who gets to decide for everyone without even knowing all the facts.”
“I know,” I said. “Innocent until proven guilty… yeah, yeah.”
“And everybody makes mistakes. Aren’t we supposed to let people make amends? Like that influencer?”
“The one who mocked the Special Olympics athlete. Yeah.” She’d decided to make amends for her comments by pledging to sponsor ten participants who otherwise would not have had the funds to go.
She’d learned how harmful her jokes were and truly wanted to change.
She was killed the day after she made the announcement, but before she could donate.
Her assets were frozen in probate court, and the athletes never got the money.
“We all used to love a good redemption story. What happened to that?” Jude shook his head in disapproval as he stopped at a stop sign and literally sat there for the full three beats, despite the fact that no traffic was around and the streets were nearly deserted.
The Cider Crawl on the other side of downtown had drawn all the foot traffic and all the cars.
“That’s because no one wants an apology,” I pointed out. “They just want to blame someone and punish them.” I kind of understood it.
“It’s like we’re all squishing spiders before we stop and think, though,” Jude pointed out.
“Spiders are better than people,” I said, crossing my hands across my chest. “I’d save all the spiders, but people? I might have to think about it.”
“Come on,” Jude said and laughed a little. “This isn’t how the girl who took the time to write an actual spider eulogy feels. You have a softer heart than you want anybody to know about.”
I sighed. “Fine. Vigilantism is wrong, okay? Murder is never the answer.” I sounded like a petulant tween.
“Good. I’m glad we agree on that at least,” Jude said. “Maybe I can bring you around to not speeding eventually.”
I laughed at that. “Never. Some rules are made to be broken.” I glanced at the empty sidewalks of downtown Lake Sanguis and wondered how quickly news of the mayor’s murder would spread through the Cider Crawl.
People were probably talking about Stokes’s demise over steaming paper cups of cider right this second.
Tammy would be in her element, no doubt.
I winced when I thought of her telling everyone in hushed, dramatic tones how her husband was representing us for a—gulp—murder investigation.
She’d hit the gossip lottery, and it made me want to vomit.
Jude glanced in his rearview mirror.
“I need to get out of this town,” I said and sighed.
Jude shot me a sidelong glance. “Oscar said we couldn’t leave.”
“I know. I don’t mean right now. I mean soon. Permanently.” I rubbed my eyes, which stung with strain. “You’re lucky to have gotten that job with the Cheese Council. You should one hundred percent take it.”
Jude glanced at the mirrors again. “You should come with.”
“I doubt you’d want a murder suspect with you.”
“Murder… suspect?” Jude sounded confused. He adjusted his black-framed glasses, and then quickly put his hands back on the wheel at ten and two. “Why would anyone think that?”
“Oscar does,” I said. “You don’t, do you?” I dreaded the answer. I didn’t know what I’d do if both Oscar and Jude thought I could kill someone.
“Of course not,” Jude sputtered, indignant. He was so upset he temporarily lifted both hands off the steering wheel. “We found the body. You were with me all day, and I assume the mayor wasn’t alone all day. Other people had to be in the building before the Cider Crawl.”
Jude glanced in the rearview again and frowned. “Hey, buddy, give me some space.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Guy has been tailgating us almost since we left.” He shook his head in disappointment. “He’s on my bumper!”
“You are doing five miles below the speed limit,” I pointed out, as I swiveled to get a look at the car behind us.
With a shock, I realized it was the white Jeep Wagoneer.
I cursed. “That’s the Wagoneer that tried to run us over!”
“It is?” Jude peered at the rearview. “It is!” he exclaimed. “What do I do?” He sounded panicked.
“Hit the gas! We need to lose this guy. Or at least get a look at the driver.” Right now, he had on his brights, and there was no way to see who was driving.
“I don’t like speeding,” Jude said. “It’s against the law. And my fuel efficiency goes down.”
“Go faster!” I hit the dashboard. I watched the Wagoneer swing right and left, behind us, popping up in my side mirror. “He’s going to run us off the road.”
Jude gently sped up to one mile over the limit. “Why don’t we just call Oscar?”
I grabbed my cell, but it had died sometime during my time at the station.
“That’s why,” I said, holding up my phone so Jude could see it was dead.