Dairyland Murders Book 3: Cop Incognito

By Chris Seaton

The Hunt Is On...Somewhere out in the western prairie, Evan Wyatt is in pursuit. By catching a calculating killer, he hopes to right a terrible wrong, restore his good name, and clear his conscience. Unfortunately, his obsession blinds his normally vigilant nature and puts him in the path of a different hunter.Meanwhile, Bernice Hordstrom is at home on the family farm in Northwest Wisconsin, stewing in the bitter brew that is her broken heart. But the doldrums of winter are coming, and that bug up her butt is getting a lot harder to sit on. It’s not like her to just let things be. Bernice doesn’t wait. Bernice acts.Whatever it takes and whomever she has to sucker into going with her, Bernice is out to find Evan and get to the bottom of things. With the help of a useful but dangerous private investigator, Bernice embarks on her fool-hearty expedition, but will she find him in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Seaton
• Release date: Dec 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310003660

Chris Seaton

An introvert by nature, Chris Seaton has spent her life blending into the background and absorbing the personalities of everyone around her like a Scandinavian sponge cake. In her mystery/romance series, Chris tries to capture the brutal beauty of the Upper Midwest. She sees it in the people that dwell there in their steadfast resilience. It's home.

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Cop

Incognito

Dairyland Murders Book 3

by Chris Seaton Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy and find other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Acknowledgments and Dedications

Thank you to Pauline, Carla, Brenda, Maralyn, and Elaine for their editing efforts. I dedicate this book and series to all the strong, opinionated, and funny women I've had the privilege to know

(and all the handsome oblivious men they inevitably put up with)

Please Note

All the characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual person or persons is completely coincidental. Furthermore, all representations of government officials and offices are fabricated by the author and bear no resemblance whatsoever to actual public employees, their duties, or their places of employment. No offense or malice of any kind was intended in regards to said persons.

Also, the author is well aware that a female Marine was not allowed to attend Scout Sniper School at the time that the story in this book takes place. However, every active Marine, regardless of gender, is expected to attend marksman training annually. Every Marine is a rifleman first, so the character portrayed in this story would be reasonably qualified in her technical actions in the author's opinion.

Prologue

The temperature barely broke sixty degrees Fahrenheit. There was nary a beach nor ocean in sight. Nonetheless, it was still a beautiful wedding at Lollygagger's Acres. A lovely spot in the west pasture was chosen specifically for its towering red oaks and sugar maples with just enough birch and sumac on the edges to create the perfect balance of brilliant autumn color.

It was as though God and nature rolled out the crunchy brown carpet. The movable sculpture of leaves rolled and ebbed with the breeze around the random folding chairs and people's feet. Cameron Sparks called in a few favors and managed to land a trio of musicians. With guitar, fiddle, and accordion in hand they played his bride down the cow path aisle.

Feeling a bit too old and foolish for a traditional wedding party, Darlene Glenwood chose to march that last twenty feet alone before meeting her man up at the grass-covered altar. Her niece, Bernice Hordstrom, sat in the front row with her neighbor, Marsha Lutz, and Marsha's grandsons, Kevin and Michael. Happily, Bernice took it all in.

Bernice thought Darlene made such a pretty bride. Her sandy blonde hair was twisted into a Grecian up-do with her naturally curly waves cascading down her back. After Grandpa Glenwood had died, Darlene was the only one left in the family with naturally wavy hair, and Bernice was more than a bit jealous. Darlene's tea length dress was the color of pale gold, and she chose to top it off with a bright cranberry lace shawl. It was bold and brash, just like the woman who wore it, specifically to match her casually arranged bouquet of black-eyed susans, mums, and coneflowers.

While Darlene's guests pretty much looked all the same, Cameron's guests were the living embodiments of Twin Cities diversity. His mother and sisters sat proudly in the front row. Their husbands were just behind them, attempting to herd a dozen or so children into something resembling order. Mixed in the rest of the crowd was a hodgepodge of various faces Bernice recognized from her old life as a TV reporter for a local Minneapolis news station. That's how Cameron, a veteran camera man, had come into Bernice's life and eventually into Darlene's. A few of her old cohorts sent covert glances in Bernice’s direction. Considering the way she had left town, she couldn't really blame them. Bernice ignored them anyway.

The service was traditionally Lutheran and therefore short and sweet. The bride and groom were unusually demure during their recitation of the vows. Their eyes were glassy with emotion.

Bernice's eyes welled up too, but she wasn't sure if it was all just for them. Not that she was never given the opportunity to experience this rite of passage first hand. If she had just been shallow enough to overlook the fact that her TV anchor fiancé had forfeited someone's very life for the sake of his own ambition, Bernice would be married by now, maybe with her own rug-rat running around. Alas, that was not the case.

What bugged Bernice more was the fact that her real plus-one was conspicuously absent and she was forced to bear the brunt of public scrutiny alone. The ex-Special Agent in Charge from the Madison office of the Wisconsin Department of Criminal Investigation had been gone for days now with no word, no explanation. Bernice knew he had left her for another woman and she was not happy about it.

So at the reception when the inevitable question, Are you seeing anyone? rolled around, Bernice simply said no and denied Evan's existence in her life. Remembering the familiar wad of obscene cash he had left with his painful goodbye letter, she had to sigh in resignation. At least the asshole left her a nice tip.

Chapter 1

One month later...

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked his reflection in the mirror because honestly, he didn't really know anymore.

He acknowledged that he still bore a slight resemblance to the man he had been a month ago. Under the bleached hair his face hadn't really changed. If you disregarded the unusual amount of stubble, the tight-jawed countenance was still there, that mask of inscrutability that kept others from his thoughts.

His body was still the same, maybe a bit leaner. The act of eating had lost its pleasure, so he simply did it less often. As a result his t-shirt was hanging on his frame a little more than he was used to. T-shirts were a new thing too. Normally he wore wife beater tank-tops, but now he needed sleeves to hide the bullet hole scar in his shoulder. No point inviting curiosity for no reason.

He had to admit, his eyes were the real shocker. Thanks to advancements in optometry, he was able to make that old song by Crystal Gale come to life. His brown eyes were indeed made blue, alarmingly so, but all this change to his appearance was just the beginning of his transformation.

He was tracking a ruthless killer, a woman who was opportunistic, smart, and elusive. In order to catch her, he had to turn into a bad man. He had to become a callous merciless snake-in-the-grass bastard. He had to use every trick in the book to finally take the bitch down and bring her killing spree to an overdue end.

As Evan Wyatt looked past his own reflection and watched the pretty brunette undress on the bed, a stab of regret sliced through his abdomen. It reminded him to do a gut-check and assess his actions. That the sacrifice he was choosing to make in his own life, namely losing Bernice, was still for the greater good. However, his brain knew the truth, so it echoed again like a mocking whisper, "Who the fuck are you?"

Daryl, Baby? the now naked woman beckoned from under the bed covers. You 'bout done with those drinks yet? You don't want my buzz to wear off, do ya?

Evan picked up the two motel drinking glasses half full of cheep whiskey and whispered to his own reflection the painful answer. You're a liar.

He worked up his signature smirk as he turned with the drinks and sauntered toward the bed. Wouldn't dream of it, Sweetheart.

So I did some checking, and I can get you guys a seven night package including airfare from the Cities to Barcelona for under seventeen hundred bucks. Bernice Hordstrom was too busy working like a mad woman at her laptop to bother to gauge her aunt's reaction. Thing is these discounts go quick, so you gotta decide in the next day or so. When Bernice finally noticed the silence in response to her work, she looked up and smiled hopefully. The beaches there should be gorgeous.

Barcelona? Darlene questioned with skepticism. Ain't that in Spain? Darlene was already walking into the living room to retrieve the outdated atlas. It resided with the rest of the heavy set of encyclopedias that Grandma Glenwood had been suckered into buying by the nice young man in the ill-fitting suit decades earlier.

What's wrong with Spain? Bernice asked after her She tried to keep her tone light, but her patience was unraveling. After a solid month of searching and hunting, leaving countless emails for various lodgings from all over the world, she still couldn't get her Aunt Darlene and new Uncle Cameron to zero in on a single destination.

As if to prove her point, Darlene plunked down the atlas on the chrome kitchen table next to Bernice's laptop. The old atlas was accompanied by the smell of moldy paper and age, appropriate traits that so evidently separated it from the humming hub of technology it was replaced with.

Darlene poked at the map on the opened page. Is that it right there? she asked somewhat irritated, 'cause that don't look like it's anywhere near the ocean.

Bernice sighed, It's on a sea not an ocean, she admitted, but it's warm and colorful and would give you a wonderful time.

So would a kiddy pool; don't make it an ocean, Darlene replied. She turned her attention to the stew bubbling on the stove so she missed Bernice's disgusted look. Besides, Darlene continued as she stirred, they don't speak English in Spain, do they? Is it really that damn hard to find a beach on an actual ocean where the folks speak the same language I do?

Bernice had to physically bite her tongue to keep, "How about the Jersey shore? from sarcastically escaping her mouth. She took a cleansing breath through her nose instead and steadily reminded her, I already mentioned Australia, and you vetoed it."

Darlene turned and remarked indignantly, Six of the world's deadliest snakes live in Australia. This is supposed to be a honeymoon not a suicide mission.

Seriously Darlene, we get over two hundred channels with the satellite dish, Bernice complained. Maybe consider more cooking shows and less 'deadly animal' documentaries.

Darlene brandished her wooden spoon and pointed it at Bernice like it was her staff of wisdom. This world is not a safe place, Bernice. Hiding your head in the sand won't change that fact.

You already turned down Florida and California. Bernice referred to her sheet of dutifully listed destinations that had been summarily crossed off.

Drugs and gangs? No thank you.

Maybe a few less crime shows too, Bernice muttered before pointing out, and Hawaii would have fit your request perfectly.

We've been over this already, Darlene sighed in resignation. Cameron went to Hawaii...on his last honeymoon. That's just too weird.

I still think you should reconsider the Virgin Islands, Bernice brought up again.

Darlene watched her re-enter the rejected location back into her search engine. No, Darlene nipped it in the bud. It's still too close to hurricane season.

The clicking instantly stopped. Bernice removed her fingers from the laptop. Idly she pondered the vintage mottled pattern on the kitchen table as she tried to stave off the bad mood that sat waiting in the back of her head. Darlene, you guys already gave up eloping like you planned.

We wanted you to be there, Darlene protested. Considering how things panned out with Evan, did you really think we were just gonna run off and leave you alone?

The comment was meant to be a reminder of good will, but it still felt like a sting to Bernice's ears. She closed her eyes and bore it in silence for a moment. And while I appreciate that, I don't want my...situation to keep you two from having a decent honeymoon. She gave Darlene an imploring look. That's why I've been busting my ass trying to help you guys out.

So you say, Darlene mumbled, suddenly engrossed in the atlas. She picked it up and abruptly left the room.

The mumble wasn't lost on Bernice. What? she asked, her pitch rising as she stood. She followed her aunt into the living room. The atlas had been put away. Darlene was looking out the window. She was quiet and reflective. The unusual behavior made Bernice testy. Do you not want my help? 'Cause it ain't like I don't got nothin' better to do with my time.

Darlene produced a sigh before declaring, If only that were really true.

Bernice gasped, her mouth actually gaping in indignation. It provided the perfect excuse to let the hovering bad mood swoop in and fill her brain with a list of vicious comebacks. She was not given the chance to use any of them.

Bernice, you always do this, Darlene admonished with surprising tenderness in her voice. Whenever you are hurt, instead of dealing with it, you fixate on something completely different and bury yourself in some pet project. Last time it was the farm. Now, it's my honeymoon.

The accusation, no matter how tender the delivery, still felt like a mental slap to the face. Bernice's jaw clamped shut, her lips pursed into an ugly line. Fine, she hissed. Find your own damn honeymoon then.

Darlene's shoulders slumped in defeat as she watched Bernice stomp out of the room. Bernice, she implored plaintively after her.

It was met by the abrupt slamming of the front door.

"Good God, it's been a long ass day. That's what Roger Bellamy reflected on as he wound up the driveway to the lonesome little trailer that he had inherited from his old man. Not long back he had considered putting in a foundation and building a real house. His daughter Brooke would have none of it. It wouldn't be home," she had stated plainly, and that was the end of the subject. He knew she was right. Despite its dilapidated state, it had been their home for almost two decades. The feelings of comfort and nostalgia could never be reabsorbed into new studs and windows. That's why he found himself smiling when the old metal box came into view.

That smile turned into a scowl. The pitch black night made the meager light coming from the windows look like a hundred watt bulb. Roger scowled because he hadn't left any lights on. Someone was in his house.

He immediately killed the engine. Digging out the long camouflaged bag from behind his seat, Roger carefully extracted his hunting rifle. Armed and alert, he made the 100 yard walk to the trailer on foot. The frozen ground of November crunched beneath him as he took a chilly breath and instinctively smelled the hint of approaching snow in the air.

God damn meth-heads, Roger muttered bitterly. He couldn't imagine anyone else bothering to ransack a beat up old trailer. Its shabbiness was usually its best defense, but with desperate drug addicts any place was fair game. He gripped the gun barrel with purpose and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

He was on the verge of calling the sheriff when he noticed a weird dark mass sitting not far from his home. He squinted his eyes to better make it out. The boxy shape of the pickup was familiar enough to make him put his phone away and add a lighter touch to his grip on the gun. Well, fuck me, he mumbled to himself in consternation. What's she doin' here?

The lit candles and solitary glass of cognac residing on the counter gave him a decent clue. He followed the other source of light down the long hall of dark paneling to his bedroom.

Roger wanted to be happy to find Bernice sitting in his bed wearing nothing but a smile as she sipped demurely from her own glass and and wiggled her toes at him. She was the one woman he actually missed when his bed was empty. Unfortunately he knew, no matter how willing she might appear, her heart still belonged to someone else. Being sloppy seconds didn't sit well with him.

You got new sheets, Bernice observed matter-of-factly. Feels like a high thread count.

Appreciate it if you wouldn't spill the booze on them, Roger requested. He took note of the lack of liquid left in her glass. See you had to get loosened up before I got here.

Bernice's seductive facade failed her for a moment. She replaced it with a humoring smile and carefully rose from the bed. I just figured I'd toast the deer hunting opener with you. Leaving her drink on the night stand, she unabashedly took the rifle from his grasp and sauntered down the hall. She smiled, knowing full well that Roger was an ass man.

He did enjoy the view, but his facial expression failed to register the pleasure. You could have toasted with me down at the Den with your clothes on. Roger was referring to the bar he had inherited along with the trailer from his old man.

Bernice unloaded the rifle and hung it up in the gun cabinet, closing the glass door. Giving him a sidelong glance, she remarked, Now where's the fun in that?

Roger observed the voluptuous nude Bernice standing in front of an arsenal of weapons and couldn't decide which was more dangerous. He lowered his head and chuckled. Bernice, if I didn't already know first hand, I'd swear you had a huge pair swinging betwixt your thighs.

Her bare feet made her extra sneaky. He was unprepared when she suddenly rubbed up against him. Her voice dropped in pitch and volume. It has been a while. Maybe you should do a new inspection. Bernice softly worked her lips along the column of his throat and used her tongue to suck in the skin around his Adam's apple.

It got her what she wanted at least for the moment. Roger gave in with a groan and took possession of her mouth. They both sighed at the pleasant familiarity of the kiss, the tastes and textures they knew so well. Bernice opened her mouth to deepen the kiss and moved a hand down between them. She stroked the soft quilted flannel on his chest, tracing her finger around the button on his fly and finally palming the bulge forming in his jeans.

Roger reacted by pinning her to the wall. The old paneling protested to the added weight with a feeble grunt but remained intact. He bent one of her thighs up, gripping her butt while he grabbed a handful of hair and forced her head back to kiss his way down her throat.

The paneling felt cool against Bernice's skin. Awkwardly stuck, she found herself humping her own hand. She had to admit it was kind of exciting. She fumbled around with her other hand to start unbuttoning Roger's jacket.

Stroking the skin on the back of her thigh, Roger cursed Satan as a miserable bastard for offering up such a sweet temptation. She was so soft and silky. She smelled so good, the way he remembered. She was eroding away at his resolve like a forbidden craving. Bernice was already working her free hand through his layers of shirts and stroking his chest hair. He could swear she was almost purring. "God, it would be so easy...too easy. Roger looked down. Bernice's eyes were closed. For some reason that bothered him. So, you stayin' the night?" he asked.

Mmmm, Bernice answered vaguely. She was too busy enjoying the long-missed weight of a man against her to bother to articulate. Her trapped hand had never given her this kind of sensation by itself. She sneaked up her pinky to stroke his fly with her knuckle.

"Jesus, this isn't fair, his conflicted brain complained. I'll take that as a 'yes', Roger deduced huskily. Then what?"

Well, that depends on how well you cook breakfast, Bernice whispered, moving toward his lips. She encountered empty space instead. It caused her to finally open her eyes. She didn't like the wary look of assessment she received in return.

Then what? Roger repeated. He stopped moving.

Bernice blinked rapidly a couple of times in an attempt to gain coherence. Um, I don't know.

Roger's face grew dark with frustration. Wrong answer, he replied and immediately released her.

Bernice clumsily caught herself against the wall, squelching a yelp in the process as a dry splinter of paneling poked her bare ass. Her face flushed with disappointment at his rejection. I...I don't understand.

He scoffed at her, shaking his head. Oh, I think you understand all too well, Bernice. That's why you're here, but it won't do any good. You can't fuck him out of your head. He'll still be there. Knowing how Bernice's hurt expressions always made him feel like an asshole, he turned away and looked into the kitchen. Believe me, I know of what I speak.

The wall grunted again when Bernice left it to stomp back to the bedroom. Roger cursed to himself and followed her.

He hated seeing angry women thrusting their clothes back on in his bedroom. It never bode well for him. You want to talk about it? he asked.

I didn't come here to talk, Bernice spat out, twisting her bra painfully around her torso and forcing her arms through the straps. Pants already on, she shoved her bare feet into her lined boots.

You ask me, maybe talking is what you really need.

What I really needed, Bernice hissed, pulling the huge worn sweatshirt over her head, was a comforting body to remind me that I still have a soul.

Really? Roger teased skeptically. Is that what you were diggin' for in my pants? Your soul?

She shot him the meanest look she could muster before