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A tiny sausage dog flies my way like a banshee bullet, but I can hardly look up to say hello.
“I’ll have you know I chased that cat right off the grounds,” he says rather proud of his endeavor.
“That’s nice,” I say, quickly researching whether or not you can change the barrel on a Glock. I remember Noah saying that Lou’s gun was a Glock 31.
“He said something about heading to Starry Falls for the night,” Weenie goes on. “He mentioned they have an entire manor of cats that would welcome him with open arms.”
“I’m familiar with it.” I quickly brush Starry Falls out of my mind because according to an entire litany of articles—yes, you can switch out the barrel of a Glock 31. If you switch out the barrel with that of a Glock 22, then yes, in fact, you can shoot a 40-caliber projectile!
I look in the direction of the entry to the B&B as if I were seeing the man who just shot up to the top of my suspect list glaring at me, and my blood runs cold.
“Come on, Weenie,” I pant. “We have a killer to catch.”
We head outside in haste, and the sweet scent of my mother’s night blooming jasmine greets us.
Weenie and I step onto the wraparound porch, and there’s not a single soul in sight, living or dead.
It’s completely void of life out here, save for an owl cooing in one of the evergreens that surrounds this place.
A plume of smoke curls from the left as if pointing me in the right direction, so we turn the corner, only to find Lou Norris with his elbows on the railing as he looks out at the dark abyss in front of him.
“Lottie?” He straightens when he sees me. “You coming out to enjoy some fresh air?” He stomps out his cigarette against the wrought iron in front of him before flicking it into the woods.
“Wow,” I muse. “That could start a fire.”
Weenie barks. “He’s clearly irresponsible. That equates to dangerous. Why don’t we go back inside where it’s nice and safe? I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
I shake my head.
Indeed I’m infuriated at how irresponsible he was just now, and so close to my mother’s inn. He could turn her whole world upside-down if this place burned down and he’s smugly indifferent about it, too.
“Nah.” Lou shakes his head out at the darkness. “I stomped it out pretty good. That won’t start a fire. Believe me, I know what it takes.”
“I’m sure you do,” I say, taking a few careful steps in his direction. “You are a firefighter. Forest says you’re very clever.”
“Did he?” He glances toward the building.
“You shouldn’t have said that, Lottie,” Weenie growls at the man while speaking. “He’s looking as if he’s questioning your presence here.”
“Then I’d better get to the point,” I whisper. “Lou”—I clear my throat—“the night of Bella Hall’s murder, you were winded even before you and the rest of the crew took off to put out that fire. Why is that?”
“I—” He inches back to get a better look at me. “I don’t know. I had probably just come from the restroom.”
Weenie barks. “Or was it the alley?”
My thought exactly.
“Lou, when I saw you at the sheriff’s station a few days later, you said you were an expert on guns. Forest affirmed the same thing.”
“Forest speaks very highly of me.” His brows furrow as if trying to figure out if this is going to be a problem for him.
It already is.
“You suggested that someone within Bella’s writing group may have owned a gun,” I say. “You certainly led me straight to an interesting group of women. You were right, of course. Crane Mitchel owns a gun.”
He nods. “That’s right. And I bet forensics will confirm it fires the same bullet that killed both of those women.”
“That might be so, but Crane says her gun hasn’t been fired in months. I’m guessing they’ll know that, too.”
