Chapter 11
ELEVEN
GABE
Tuesday morning came too quickly, and Casey was once again up and getting ready to head out before Gabe had managed to find a matching pair of socks.
“How do you do that?” Gabe complained as he entered the kitchen.
“Do what? Get out of bed and get dressed in clothes like I have to be somewhere? Because I do.” Casey said, grinning as he filled his stainless go-cup with fresh coffee.
Gabe watched him tighten the lid and tip it sideways over the sink just to make sure it was tight and found himself smiling back.
“What?” Casey said when he caught Gabe’s grin.
“Just, you know, doing my job as your biggest fan.”
“Well, biggest fan, I have to get going.” Casey crossed to where Gabe was leaning a hip against the kitchen island and angled in to brush his lips across Gabe’s. “See you tonight. Please try not to find any bodies today.”
“Take the fun out of everything, why don’t you.”
“Come on, Bowie.”
“Ta-ta, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Gabe added a finger wave for good measure.
“Gabriel”—Casey paused at the kitchen archway, amusement sparking in his eyes—“there are still so many possibilities.”
“What can I say?” he replied, waggling his eyebrows.
Gabe followed Casey and Bowie to the front door and, after one last kiss for Casey and a pet for Bowie, shut it behind them. Today, he hoped, would be a No Dead Body Day.
In the kitchen, Gabe poured himself his own cup of coffee, then wandered back out into the living room to settle into one of the cushy armchairs.
After powering up his laptop, he proceeded to stare out the window for a few minutes.
Their view looked out on the front lawn and a smidge of Salish Sea; one of these days he would spot an orca whale, but it wasn’t going to be today.
“We’re so fucking lucky,” Gabe said to Keith, who appeared from wherever she’d chosen to sleep the night before.
Sometimes she slept with them, sometimes she disappeared to secret cat places in the house.
She leapt up, tucked in next to him, and activated her purr mechanism.
He ran his hand along her head and turned his attention to the screen.
Time for another search on Wilson. However, the internet didn’t provide much more than he already knew, even though the incident should have been top-of-the-fold news. Maybe the death of Roy Wilson was more of a good riddance. That was certainly how Mickie felt.
The Salish Reporter had the longest article: Local Pastor Found Dead. He scanned the piece, mumbling key bits aloud.
“Still no mention of a person of interest.” And they’d kept Gabe’s name out of the news, which was a lovely surprise.
The last thing he needed was a bunch of reporters hounding him.
Something was niggling at him, though, something that had occurred to him in the night, but he couldn’t pin it down. Shaking his head, Gabe kept reading.
“Divorced three times, now there’s a real shocker.”
The TCSO had publicly announced that the victim was Royal Bernard Wilson, head pastor for the Westfort Abundance of Light Church, but that there was no suspect in custody at this time.
The investigation was ongoing, and if anyone had information, they were asked to please come forward. Fairly standard.
The paper went on to say that the church had been in existence for more than twenty years and had a “solid congregation of over one thousand members.” It had a four-star rating on Church Finder, which Gabe found hilarious.
“In spite of some controversy, Pastor Wilson was well-liked. Which is doublespeak for Wilson fucked up at some point, Keith.” Maybe that’s why the church only had four stars.
Keith purred harder in agreement.
It seemed as if there were members—maybe ex-members—who hadn’t been enamored with Roy. Those were the people he wanted to talk to. No way would Eagan and her deputies have the time to ferret out every disgruntled churchgoer.
Clicking over to Facebook, Gabe quickly found the church’s page.
He scanned the comments there and wasn’t disappointed.
There were the obligatory sad emojis and crying-face ones, but a hefty number were the angry face, which could mean angry that Wilson had been murdered or angry with Wilson.
There were also a few commenting things like “Deserved it” and “Took long enough.”
Gabe jotted down those commenters’ names in his Notes app, even if the likelihood of BeautifulMoose2076 being listed in the local directory was less than zero. Closing his laptop, he set it on the side table and rose to his feet. Keith complained at his movement.
“Sorry, cat. Places to go, things to do.” He wanted to get started before Elton caught up with him.
Just as Gabe slid into the driver’s seat, his cell phone buzzed.
Pulling it out of his pocket, Gabe stared at Crotchety Old Fart—Elton’s choice—and almost remembered what it was that had occurred to him in the night.
It had been important. The damn thing buzzed again, scaring the whiff of a thought away.
COF: Stop by my place. We can take my truck into Westfort. Knute got back to me.
G: Be there soon.
Gabe was so not letting the old man tag along.
COF: Knute won’t talk to you without me.
Almost as if Elton could read his mind from afar.
G: Fine. On my way but I’m driving.
By the time Gabe parked, the old man was already coming down the stairs.
“Good morning, Cinderfella. We’re taking your carriage today?” He held out his hand.
Elton snorted but tossed him the keys.
“Knute thinks he might have some information for us. Stuff not in the news.”
“What kind of information?”
“He’s an ex-cop. I imagine he knows more than the Salish Reporter.”
“What did you tell him?” Gabe asked.
“He knows you found the body. I told him that. Don’t worry, he can keep his mouth shut if that’s what you’re worried about,” Elton said, opening his door.
“At least one awkward conversation is out of the way. As an icebreaker, I’m not sure finding a body holds up well.” He chuckled, thinking back to his earlier conversation with Casey.
Gabe got behind the truck’s wheel and took a deep breath. It was going to be a minute before Elton had climbed in and was seat-belted up, which gave Gabe time to think about their upcoming meeting. But they were just talking to an old friend of Elton’s, so what could go wrong?
Chance, why do you let yourself string together those words?
Knute Bakke’s home address turned out not to be far from Gabe’s good friend and distant cousin Randy “Stinky Socks” Witherspoon’s home.
Mind, Randy had a different address for the time being since he was cooling his heels behind the razor wire and chain-link of a state facility at present and for the near future.
“Nice place,” Gabe said, peering over the hood of the truck toward the modest wood-framed house set back from the street.
In true Pacific Northwest fashion, the front lawn was lumpy and looked like moles or crows or both had been at the turf, but colorful spring petunias and whatnots filled hanging baskets and window boxes. A few suspicious-looking and strategically placed garden gnomes were on guard.
“I think it was originally Knute’s father’s. He moved in after the divorce and his father passed.”
“The Divorce? Is that with a capital D?”
“Absolutely. Best not to bring it up.”
Gabe said, “He’s not much younger than you. How long has it been?” Not that couples couldn’t get divorced in their seventies and eighties. After all, his newfound aunt had divorced in her seventies and only regretted not doing it sooner.
Elton looked thoughtful while he pushed the door open. “Coming up on thirty years, I’d say.”
“He never remarried?”
“Nope,” Elton confirmed. “He says that, looking back, he never should’ve gotten married in the first place.”
Mysterious.
“I think a lot of folks can relate. You never married.” Gabe was out of the truck, waiting on the sidewalk for his friend.
“Eh.” Elton slowly slid down to the pavement. “Neither of them were on their best behavior at the time. Sherry left, then Knute’s father passed, and that was that. I’ve heard that being married to a cop is hard, and Knute always took his duties seriously.”
“Makes sense.” After all, Gabe had no burning desire to get married. He and Ranger Man were living together and in it for the long haul, and that was more than enough for both of them.
As they moved up the walkway toward the house, Gabe matched Elton’s slower pace. There was no point in him arriving at the door first.
“Top of the morning to you,” a booming voice called through the screen door.
Gabe smiled and nodded. Elton called back, “Good morning to you too, Knute.”
Elton sounded pleased, so maybe they’d worked out whatever snit had blown up between them.
“Get yourselves inside. There’s a reasonably fresh pot of coffee and Shannon brought over some current scones last night.”
“Shannon is Knute’s granddaughter,” Elton told Gabe.
Stepping aside so they could pass through, Knute said, “Just keep going into the kitchen through that doorway there. I’ll pour up some java, and we can take it outside. The patio is topnotch right now.”
Knute Bakke was tall and thin, a bit stooped, and had a mop of gray hair that reminded Gabe of Einstein. Most likely, he hunched out of habit due to his height; Gabe imagined that he’d knocked his head plenty of times. Elton got a pat on the back as he passed Knute.
“Outside works,” Elton said. Looking over his shoulder, he continued, “Gabe, Knute isn’t just a retired cop. He’s also the current president of the Westfort Garden Society.”
Gabe shot Elton a sideways glance and a smirk. Noted: He wouldn’t say anything disparaging about the WGS while they were here.