Murder is Forever: Jake and Emma Mysteries, #6

By Linda Crowder

Accidental detectives Jake and Emma Rand are taking on not just one mystery, but two!

When one of Emma's clients is found dead, she is the only one who is convinced it must be murder. Jake is running for County Attorney and Detective Matt Joyner is too busy investigating the death of a young girl and fighting for his career with the Casper Police Department to worry about an obvious suicide, so Emma recruits her father to help her track down the truth.

World-renowned criminologist Grace Russell returns to San Francisco to see to the management of her brainchild, The Institute for Mental Wellness. She's entrusted it to a sharp manager who has achieved great financial success for the company, but has it come at too high a cost? When someone tries to kill Grace, Emma rushes out to be with her, but finds her friend and mentor unwelcoming and hostile to her attempts to uncover the identity of the attacker.

Secrets, lies and murder … It's just another day in the life for Casper, Wyoming's crime-fighting couple in this sixth book of The Jake and Emma Mystery series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 307 Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393924050

Linda Crowder

Linda Crowder is best known for her mysteries. The Jake and Emma Mystery series is set in Casper, Wyoming and features two accidental detectives. The Caribou King Mysteries, published by Cozy Cat Press, is set in the mythical cruise ship town of Coho Bay, Alaska. Linda lives in the shadow of Casper Mountain with her husband and an ever-changing number of dogs, cats and wandering bunnies.

Book preview

Chapter One

Y ou’ve solved another murder.

Emma Rand was pouring coffee, cell phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. Not today, Mom.

Are you feeling any better, dear? You’d be safer if you moved to Florida.

I’m fine. Emma had been attacked by a knife-wielding assailant protesting her husband Jake’s campaign for county attorney. It hadn’t been a serious injury, but it had put her in the hospital for a few days. The wound healed, but she hadn’t told anyone about the nerve damage, which the doctor warned might be as permanent a souvenir as the scar. Jake felt badly enough about the attack, and there wasn’t anything her mother could do except worry.

You sound pale.

Emma laughed as she walked to the living room. What does pale sound like? No, don’t try to explain. I called to see when you and Dad are coming to Casper.

You said we should wait until after the election. Her mother sniffed. We don’t want to be a burden.

Emma rolled her eyes, glad she hadn’t video-called. The primary’s over and everyone says that’s the only race that matters. Jake’s still campaigning, but I’m done, and since I don’t have any clients yet, I have nothing but time for you.

Then you should come to Florida. Think how lovely it would be on the beach when it’s twenty below in Wyoming.

That would be nice, admitted Emma, beating back an impulse to hop on a plane, but I can’t get away right now.

There was a short silence on the line. Is Dr. Russell still there?

Emma ignored the tinge of ice that had crept into her mother’s voice. Her mother had always been jealous of the eminent psychologist. She went to California to take care of some business with the Institute. She’ll be back in a month or two, but she’s subletting the place next door to Kristy. They’ll have the whole floor to themselves.

Isn’t that the apartment where a man was murdered?

You’re obsessed with murder this morning, Mom. Now that you mention it though, they’ve never been able to rent the place. Kristy says people move in, but they never stay. Maybe it’s haunted.

Don’t tease me, Emma. People don’t want to live where someone was murdered, that’s all. And neither would I. You should come to Florida.

Just let me know when you’ve made your reservations, and I’ll pick you and Dad up at the airport.

THE HOUSE WAS EMPTY, he was sure of it. There had been people there, but not for the past couple of weeks. They hadn’t lived there legally because there’d been no evidence of heat or electricity, but people did that sort of thing in this neighborhood. He hadn’t seen them go, but squatters were always one step ahead of getting caught. They would’ve been in such a rush when they left, they might have abandoned their possessions. It would probably be junk, but it would only take a moment to find out.

He didn’t sneak into the house because that would have aroused suspicion, assuming anyone was watching. The only thing he’d learned from his old man was to act like you owned a place and everyone would assume you did. He knocked but no one came to the door. He looked through the window and smiled to see furniture. If they’d left that behind, there was no telling what he might find. He headed around to the back.

The yard was small, nothing but dead weeds, dirt, and snow. There were footprints from the back door to the empty carport, but they were covered with snow, signaling no one had been there lately. He relaxed. Going into a house was always risky. Some guys carried a knife or a gun, but he never did. He didn’t want to shoot anybody, and having a gun tacked years onto your sentence if you got caught. He preferred stealth, and it had never let him down.

The handle on the back door turned easily, and until the smell hit him, he thought he was home free. When he was fifteen, Pops had sent him to check on Gran when she hadn’t shown up for Sunday dinner, and he would never get the smell of death out of his head. This was so much worse. Gran had been dead for two days, but whoever this was must’ve been gone a far sight longer than that.

He tripped over the step getting away, not stopping to shut the door. They could have left Fort Knox behind and it wouldn’t have been worth putting up with that smell to get it.

CHIEF WANTS TO SEE you.

Matt Joyner shifted in his seat and studied Captain Chris Danning. The man was in his fifties, creeping slowly toward the end of his career. Matt was in no hurry for his boss to go, even if he was hoping to move into his chair someday. He preferred heading up major crime investigations, not that there was much of that in Casper, and he was too young to ride a desk. He would do it eventually, but since he was only in his thirties, he could wait.

I already submitted my feedback. His partner had been killed in the line of duty several months ago, and Chief Hugh Rosen was taking his time hiring a replacement. There were some good men and women under consideration. He hoped the chief would choose someone based on the quality of their work instead of seniority, but he knew the man was under pressure from the union.

Our esteemed chief doesn’t share his thoughts with me.

You’re his second in command. Casper had two captains, and Danning was the junior, but the other had been out on medical leave for almost a year.

Danning snorted. What ought to be and what is are two different things. Doesn’t pay to worry about things you can’t control.

Says the man with the ulcer.

Go tell him whatever he wants to hear, then get back here. There’s been a rash of burglaries on the north side, and I’m picking up heat over it.

Matt scowled. There’s nothing to steal over there. What’d they get—a buck fifty?

Don’t be a snob. Besides, there’s some nice houses over there. The area’s undergoing a—what do you call it? —gentrification.

Well, look who’s been breaking out the dictionary. They fix up those places by the river and build eight-foot privacy fences, then complain about the riffraff who’ve lived in that neighborhood for generations. Where do they think those people are gonna go? There are hard-working, decent people on the north side, Cap. Landlords don’t fix up the places, but the rent goes up just the same.

Off your soapbox, Joyner. You let petty crimes go unpunished, whole neighborhoods disintegrate.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. None of the mansions have been hit, so you know it’s some druggie looking to fund his next hit. Quick check of the pawn shops and we’ll have his name, address, and phone number.

You got something better to do?

He didn’t, so he grumbled his way out of the office and up the stairs. February had been cold, and criminals seemed to be staying home like everyone else. A case like this should have been handled by the junior detective, but while it hurt his pride, he couldn’t argue with Danning.

The secretary buzzed him through, and the chief waived him into a chair. Matt, good to see you.

I was hoping you’d made your decision about the junior detective position.

One side of Rosen’s mouth turned down. Did I miss a sudden crime spree that warrants a second detective?

Matt thought better of mentioning the north-side burglaries. No sir.

I got a call from the head of the Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigations this morning. He asked me what I think of your work. It seems they’re considering you for an inspector position.

Matt shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his chair. I had nothing to do with that.

Rosen stared at him for a long moment. He got a recommendation from SCI Galanos. She thought they ought to recruit you. They don’t usually take men with an AdLeave on their record, and he wanted to know the backstory.

I would think he would already know since that was why Galanos was here. When his partner was killed, Rosen had not only removed Matt from the case, he’d put him on administrative leave until the DCI proved he was not involved. Rosen never missed a chance to make a show for the press, and there had certainly been a lot of press exposure during that case. With an AdLeave on his record, Matt would be ineligible for promotion within the department and no other agency would touch him. I assumed you dropped that from my record when she cleared me.

Rosen ignored him. Are you applying for jobs?

I haven’t applied for anything. He refrained from adding it was none of the man’s business if he were.

The college is going to need a new chief. Dirk Madison’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? Dirk, who’d been Wolfman to his friends for as long as Matt had known him, was leaving the college to go back to the FBI. Did you ask him to put a word in for you?

Is there some reason you think I ought to be looking for a new job? Matt forced his hands to relax their grip on the arms of his chair. There was a heavy silence between them.

That AdLeave stays on your record until I take it off.

I’m sure you didn’t mean that to sound like a threat.

Matt’s words hung in the air, but Rosen blinked first. Get back to work.

Matt dragged his feet while heading down to the second floor. Before he could meet with Danning, he needed time to calm his temper. He gripped the cold metal handrail, breathing deeply. He’d never sung Rosen’s praises, but he hadn’t joined in the trash talk that went on in the locker room. He slammed his hands on the rail, the flash of pain doing nothing to elevate his mood. He’d worked too hard to earn his way up the ladder. He wasn’t about to let some two-bit politician of a police chief derail him. He bypassed the door to the second floor and kept heading down. He would meet with the union representative before he worried about some junkie breaking into houses on the north side.

JAKE RAND SAT IN HIS office, staring out the window at the traffic creeping along through the snow. February was an ugly month. When he and Emma had been in a long-distance relationship, he’d gone to California three times before inviting her to visit him in Wyoming. He wasn’t going to ask her to give up her life in the Bay Area until the grass was green and the flowers blooming. He loved everything about winter in their home on Casper Mountain, but even he had to admit that the city was not as attractive now as it would be in springtime.

Springtime. The election would be over in March, and he would know whether he would still be staring out this window or looking out on the city from the county attorney’s office. He’d gone into the race almost reluctantly, after being convinced to run by his now-campaign chairman, Ronald Kenworthy. He was not the most ambitious of men, being content to represent juvenile offenders and victims of child abuse or neglect. He’d never dreamed of running for office, but the public had lost confidence in the CA’s office and he wanted to restore it.

He and Emma had both suspended their practices during the primary, putting a significant strain on their personal finances. With the primary behind them, Emma had begun to resuscitate hers, though she wasn’t having much luck. He tried to keep her from worrying, distracting her from focusing on the shrinking balance in their retirement fund. They were only in their forties. There would be plenty of time to regain the ground they’d lost, but it pained him to see the worry in his wife’s eyes every month when she sat down to pay bills.

Before she’d left for California, Grace had taken him to lunch and asked pointed questions about his and Emma’s finances. He cringed to think of the look of compassion in the old woman’s face. She’d offered to help, and he’d declined, as he’d done each of the other times she’d offered, but it grew more difficult each time. He was glad he would soon be able to get back to earning a living.

The alarm went off on his cell phone, reminding him of the campaign committee meeting Ron had called. He canceled the alarm and took a last look out the window. The plows were keeping up with the snow, which fell with as little enthusiasm as he was feeling. He felt as though it had been snowing without stop for at least a week. It seemed what it lacked in intensity, the storm was making up for in tenacity.

Chapter Two

Grace stood on her balcony, looking at the boats in the marina. Beyond it lay the Bay, though she couldn’t see it through the fog. Alcatraz existed only in her imagination this morning, and the tips of the towers merely hinted at the presence of the Golden Gate Bridge below. She listened to the foghorn and the muffled sound of traffic and took a satisfied breath of the damp, slightly salty air.

She knew her penthouse was worth a small fortune, but she had no intention of selling. She’d bought it not because the district was trendy but because it was close to the Institute for Mental Wellness, her brainchild. Its mission was broad, and her international reputation as a criminologist had enabled it to function profitably as a private company. Afraid it would become increasingly less viable, she had determined to move it from a profit to a nonprofit entity, enabling it to seek public support.

In her mid-seventies, retirement had barely slowed her pace. She’d traveled the globe to consult with police departments on the most difficult cases. She’d written fifteen books on criminology, most used as textbooks, though two had enjoyed commercial success. Work had been her life until breast cancer had abruptly intervened. People she’d considered friends had faded into the fog, and there had been no more lunches at the best restaurants or invitations to opening night at the opera. When she could no longer work, she seemed no longer to have value.

Wyoming had been a tonic, physically but also spiritually. She’d discovered true friendship there and had taken a hands-on role in solving crime that had been much more satisfying than consulting from arm’s length. For years she’d read reports, examined evidence, and pointed police in the right direction before jetting off to consult on the next case or speak at the next international conference. She’d been on speed dial to Scotland Yard, but it hadn’t thrilled her as much as being part of the radically nontraditional team of friends and investigators she’d found in Casper. She’d never felt more alive than when she had been on the trail of a killer, her friends by her side.

Only a year before, cancer had overwhelmed her, and she’d resigned herself to the fact that she was going to die. Then Emma had called, and her easygoing companionship had changed everything for Grace. As Emma’s friends welcomed her into their circle, they reawakened her mind and rekindled her desire to embrace the time she had left. She might not beat the cancer, but she was no longer willing to sit around waiting for death to claim her. If the grim reaper wanted her, he’d have to track her down.

She pushed away from the railing, breaking the spell of the fog, and headed inside. There was work to be done before she could go back to Wyoming. She grabbed her cell phone and placed a call. Cassandra, she said when the receptionist put her through, do you have those figures ready for me? Excellent. I’m on my way.

THIS POLL IS A DISASTER. Ron Kenworthy was red in the face as he slapped a copy of the morning paper onto the table.

If it’s accurate, said Stewart, a teacher who was volunteering on Jake’s campaign committee. Meetings were scheduled during his free period to enable him to attend, but he was constantly checking his watch. You can never tell with polls.

What are you worried about? asked Ryan, who had taken time away from his print shop to come but seemed to continually text his assistant. Jake’s projected to win by twenty points.

That’s too close for comfort, snapped Kenworthy. No candidate from the other party has ever drawn this close of the vote in a partisan race. Women vote for women.

I must be in the wrong meeting, said Bea, Ron’s wife, who was every ounce his equal and never allowed her husband to forget it.

Kenworthy waved her off. I’m talking about the gender gap. Call me sexist, but when all else is equal, women vote for women.

What do you propose we do? Jake rubbed the spot below his chin where he’d nicked his face shaving. There was something about politics that brought out the ugly in people. He’d been hoping to relax after the frenetic pace of the primary.

She’s spending fifteen hours a week speaking at community gatherings. You need to do twenty.

When is she working? asked Bea.

Some people don’t have to work, said Jake. He envied Amanda being able to