Chapter 41
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Radioville, AK
The taste of death hit Sam Worlson before he even reached the small house.
He left the front door open, popped a stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum into his mouth, and held his handkerchief over his nose.
He chewed the gum into a tight ball and swished it back and forth, letting the bright mint flavor mix with his saliva and light up the middle of his tongue as he studied the room.
Sam’s father had been the sheriff in Lawton, Oklahoma, for over thirty years.
He himself worked as a deputy for a stint before moving to Alaska to look for gold.
Sam knew how to read a room and piece together the potential plausible scenarios.
Your average person would see this and think it was an accident—that Joe Baxter had fallen from a chair and brought the storage shelves down on top of himself in the process, but Sam was smarter than that.
Sam Worlson knew a crime scene when he saw one.
Joe’d been a drunk, and most folks would easily accept that he’d gotten sloshed, fallen while getting something off a shelf, and got his head bashed in the process.
But Sam noticed a couple extra things the average person might miss.
First, Joe lived here alone, never had visitors as far as Sam knew, yet there were two whiskey glasses on the table—one of them still full.
The chair from the empty-glass side of the table was the one smashed on the floor, so Mr. Full Glass was likely here when Joe fell.
The blood on the floor was dried, but it looked like someone must have smeared the edge around some when it was wet.
There was also something else…vomit. Several feet from the body. Someone had vomited, and it wasn’t Joe.
Mr. Full Glass was sloppy, and that turned this from the scene of an accident into the scene of a crime.
Sam knew another thing as well. He knew Joe was supposed to meet with their mysterious third partner to collect their money. That meant we had motive. Someone else had been here, lots of money was at stake, and Joe was dead. The timing of all that was just a little too convenient.
Sam pushed the ball of gum into one cheek, checked all the cupboards, lifted the mattress, pulled out all the drawers and looked under and behind them. No sign of any money.
This was a crime scene all right, and Sam knew that he was also part of the crime. Not directly. He hadn’t killed Joe himself, of course. But whoever had done this—and he was pretty sure he knew vaguely who that person was—whoever had done this to Joe had all the money.
Joe’s money and my money.
Sam figured the only thing keeping him from ending up like Joe was the fact that Mr. Full Glass didn’t know who Sam was.
Sam didn’t know exactly who he was, either.
He knew Mr. Full Glass was a fancy dresser who carried an alligator briefcase, because Joe had let that slip in one of their meetings.
That would make him stand out in Alaska. Not a lot of alligator in these parts.
At the same time, Sam needed this not to be a crime scene.
He didn’t need law enforcement poking around looking for something that might get him in trouble.
Losing the money was bad, but going to jail would be a lot worse.
And letting Mr. Full Glass know who he was or that someone was on to him could be bad news as well.
Certainly hadn’t worked out well for Joe.
Sam emptied the full glass in the basin, wiped it with his handkerchief, and stuck it in his pocket.
He moved the second chair from the table to a place across the room.
For an extra touch, he dropped Joe’s empty whiskey glass on the floor near Joe’s head.
It shattered. He dampened a towel and cleaned up the vomit and the edges of the dried blood pool as well as he could.
He didn’t want signs that anyone had been here except Joe.
Sam closed the cracked window. He looked around for any other places small animals might wriggle in. He didn’t want any critters coming in and having a feast on Joe’s body.
It was hard to look at his friend like this.
Joe had been a good guy at heart, and didn’t deserve what someone had done to him here.
Sure, he was committing a crime, but a lot of people were doing desperate things to survive the tough times—including Sam.
He spit his gum into his hand and whispered a short prayer for his friend.
It might be a long time before anyone discovered the body. Sam had been careful that nobody knew he was coming today. He had felt something was wrong when Joe didn’t show up at the mine for a couple days, and he’d come out here to be sure Joe wasn’t planning to double-cross him.
He hadn’t expected to find a crime scene.
Maybe he’d point out to the other guys at the mine that Joe hadn’t been around lately. Somebody else might come and find him, then. He’d need to be casual about it—not seem too interested or worried.
Sam also needed to go to Sitka and find Mr. Full Glass—and his money.
He walked to the front door and tossed his gum into the bushes nearby, then stood in the doorway and looked around the room one last time.
Looked like an accident.