The troubling death of m.., p.1
The Troubling Death of Maddy Benson, page 1
Contents
Cover
Also by Terry Shames
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for the Samuel Craddock mysteries
About the author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Acknowledgements
Also by Terry Shames
The Samuel Craddock mysteries
A KILLING AT COTTON HILL
THE LAST DEATH OF JACK HARBIN
DEAD BROKE IN JARRETT CREEK
A DEADLY AFFAIR AT BOBTAIL RIDGE
THE NECESSARY MURDER OF NONIE BLAKE
AN UNSETTLING CRIME FOR SAMUEL CRADDOCK
A RECKONING IN THE BACK COUNTRY
A RISKY UNDERTAKING FOR LORETTA SINGLETARY
MURDER AT THE JUBILEE RALLY *
GUILT STRIKES AT GRANGER’S STORE *
The Jessie Madison thrillers
PERILOUS WATERS *
* available from Severn House
THE TROUBLING DEATH OF MADDY BENSON
Terry Shames
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2024
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
This eBook edition first published in 2024 by Severn House Digital an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Terry Shames, 2024
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Terry Shames to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1182-8 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1183-5 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd., Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
Praise for the Samuel Craddock mysteries
“The best regional crime series around today”
Library Journal Starred Review of Guilt Strikes at Granger’s Store
“Readers of Shames’ earlier Craddock adventures … will expect, and get, shocking revelations”
Booklist on Guilt Strikes at Granger’s Store
“Long memories help solve a fascinating case in a small town with plenty of big problems”
Kirkus Reviews on Guilt Strikes at Granger’s Store
“Suggest for fans of mysteries featuring small-town police forces, including novels by Claire Booth, Steven F. Havill, and Tricia Fields”
Library Journal Starred Review of Murder at the Jubilee Rally
“Craddock’s understated first-person narration, the vivid secondary characters, and a nicely drawn small-town setting … Should win Shames new fans”
Publishers Weekly on Murder at the Jubilee Rally
“A neat character-intensive combo of clever police work and family angst”
Kirkus Reviews on Murder at the Jubilee Rally
About the author
Award-winning author Terry Shames is the author of ten previous Samuel Craddock mysteries. As well as winning the Macavity Award for Best First Novel, A Killing at Cotton Hill was also shortlisted for The Strand Critics Award. The Necessary Murder of Nonie Blake won the RT Critics Award for Best Mystery. Her books have also been shortlisted for Left Coast Crime Awards for Best Mystery.
Terry grew up in Texas, and her Samuel Craddock series is set in the fictitious town of Jarrett Creek, which is based on the fascinating people, landscape, and culture of the small town where her grandparents lived. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and was formerly on the board of Mystery Writers of America.
www.terryshames.com
One
Wednesday morning
Jarrett Creek is a small town, and I know most people who live here, or at least have heard of the ones I don’t know personally. So when a call comes in from a woman asking the police department to rescue someone I’ve never heard of, I’m puzzled.
‘What did you say her name was?’
The woman on the phone is agitated. Maybe angry. ‘Maddy Benson. She’s my sister.’
‘She lives here in Jarrett Creek?’
‘Of course she does. Otherwise, why would I call the police? Who am I speaking to?’
‘This is Samuel Craddock, Chief of Police.’ I already identified myself when I answered the phone, but she was too worked up to listen. ‘What does she need to be rescued from?’
‘I’m not sure. The call was so odd. It may be nothing. She tends to be dramatic.’ Pot, meet kettle.
‘Why don’t we start with you telling me who you are.’
She sighs as if I’m making her suffer. ‘Eileen Currey. Mrs Jack Currey, from San Antonio?’ Sounds like she thinks I should have heard of her.
‘Why did she call you?’
‘She didn’t call me; I called her because I hadn’t talked to her in a while. But when she answered her phone, she sounded – I don’t know – out of breath, so I asked her where she was. I thought maybe she was out on a walk. She told me she was on a road off the main highway. And then she said she couldn’t talk, she had to get away.’
‘Get away from what?’
‘I asked her, but she said never mind, she’d call me back.’
‘For the first time, she sounds more desperate than annoyed. I’m wondering if Maddy Benson has dementia and has wandered away from home.
‘Did she sound scared?’
The woman is silent for a moment. ‘I believe she did, but maybe she was just out of breath.’
My deputy Maria Trevino has been listening. She was working on her computer, and she’s stopped and is looking my way, alert.
‘I’ll be glad to go out and check on her. Is her car broken down maybe?’
‘If it was, she didn’t mention it.’
‘Does she live near there?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the town.’
‘Do you have her address?’
She makes an exasperated sound. ‘Hold on a minute. Let me get my book. I don’t remember the address right off. She hasn’t lived there long.’ Which would explain why I don’t recognize the name.
She’s gone a minute, and while she’s gone, I tell Maria what the woman is phoning about. ‘You ever heard of anyone by that name?’
‘Maddy Benson, no. But Jack Currey in San Antonio? Sure, if it’s the same one.’
Before she can enlighten me, Eileen comes back on the line and gives me her sister’s address. It’s north of town in a section of new homes that have sprung up over the last few years. The thing is, if Maddy is actually where she told her sister she is, she’s several miles from home.
The only road in town that leads off Highway 36 is farm-to-market 1362. There are a few houses out there, but it’s mostly pastureland with big lots of twenty acres or more. So what was she doing there? And how are we going to find her?
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Not long. Fifteen, twenty minutes. Like I said, it’s probably nothing, but when she didn’t call back, I decided to phone again, and she didn’t answer.’
‘Does your sister live alone?’
‘N
‘Did you call them? Maybe she told them where she was going.’
‘That would make sense, wouldn’t it? But I doubt she did. They’re so wrapped up in their own lives that I don’t know how much they talk to her. I thought I’d get better results calling the police. Besides, they already think I’m a busybody.’
I ask her to describe her sister, although if she’s actually where Eileen Currey says she is, it’s pretty deserted. There likely won’t be more than one woman needing help along the road there.
‘Ma’am, one more question. Does your sister have any mental issues? Maybe dementia?’
‘Good Lord, no. She’s sharp as a peacock.’ A peacock?
I get off the phone and fill Maria in on the call. ‘Why don’t you come with me to pick her up? She might feel more comfortable with a woman in the car.’
We take the squad car instead of my pickup, which I usually drive. And we leave my dog Dusty at the station. He doesn’t like it, looking as always as if he is crushed at the idea of being left behind.
We step outside to find that a north wind has come through as predicted. It was nearly eighty degrees this morning and the temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees, the wind making it feel even colder. I retrieve my jacket from my pickup, and Maria gets one out of the trunk of her car.
We drive across Highway 36, over the railroad tracks, and out on to the farm-to-market road. The sky is gray and wintry, even though it’s only mid-October.
‘You said you know who Jack Currey is?’ I ask Maria. ‘Who is he? The woman acted as if I ought to recognize the name.’
‘If it’s the same one, he owns several car dealerships in San Antonio. He’s always advertising on local TV. Sort of an arrogant guy.’
We drive east, a couple of miles past the railroad tracks, and we only meet a couple of cars coming from the other direction. It’s a sparsely populated area, poor scrubland with just a scattering of post oak trees. Although people do raise cattle out here, the land can’t support many cows. There’s no sign of the woman.
‘What was she doing out here?’ Maria asks. ‘She could be anywhere.’
‘Maybe she’s off the road somewhere,’ I say. We turn around and go back the way we came, this time driving slowly and looking past the road on either side in case we missed her the first time.
When we are even with Tom Gainer’s property, I spy something that makes me slow down and pull on to the gravel verge leading up to his place. ‘Why is that gate open?’ I ask. ‘Gainer usually only comes on the weekends.’ The gate has Gainer’s name etched on to a wooden plaque, attached to it.
‘Maybe the wind blew it open,’ Maria says.
She’s right. The north wind is kicking up sand and dead brush. ‘Not if it was locked,’ I say, pointing to the heavy padlock hanging off the hinge of the gate.
‘We should go in and see if anyone’s around.’ She sounds uneasy.
‘It can’t hurt.’
We drive through the entrance and proceed slowly down the rutted road that leads to a clump of post oak trees in the distance. The only living things in sight are cactus, some low bushes, and a couple of listless cows who stare at us the way cows do when confronted with the unexpected. I’m getting uneasy, although I couldn’t say why exactly. It seems strange that the woman would be out here in the middle of nowhere.
‘Hold it. Oh dear.’ Maria’s voice drops to a whisper.
I look at where she’s pointing. Thirty yards to our right, I see someone lying on the ground. We’re both out of the car and running in seconds. Maria gets there first, of course, being younger and more spry. She crouches down next to the body – a middle-aged woman, sprawled out on her stomach, dressed in tan slacks and a sleeveless white blouse. I’m hoping she’s just passed out from dehydration or exhaustion, but when I step closer, I see that’s not the case. There’s a bullet hole square in the middle of the woman’s back. A green backpack was slung over one shoulder, and it’s lying half under her.
Maria whips a pair of gloves out of her pocket, puts them on, and feels for a pulse. She shakes her head. ‘Still warm. Can’t have been dead long.’ She shivers.
I hunker down next to the body. This didn’t happen long ago, so where did the shooter go? Did we meet him on the road? Is he still around here somewhere? Are we in danger?
Maria stands up and looks around in every direction. When I get up, the wind almost takes my hat off.
Maria nods toward the only place where someone, or a car, could be hidden – the clump of trees a quarter of a mile away.
I happen to know that Gainer has a snug two-room cabin there among the trees. ‘I’m going to check it out,’ I say. ‘You go ahead and put in a call to Hedges.’
Alvin Hedges is the county sheriff in Bobtail. He’ll either come out himself or call the Texas Department of Public Safety, who will send out a team of highway patrol officers to assess the scene along with an ambulance and the medical examiner.
Maria squints up at me, her face stony. ‘Be careful. Could be somebody holed up there.’
I nod. Back in the squad car, I drive slowly toward the stand of trees, which are shivering in the wind. I’m on alert, wondering if at any second somebody will take a shot at my car. But nothing happens, and when I get there, I find the place deserted. There’s no sign of a car or any human. I get out and check the cabin. It’s locked up tight. I peer in the windows and can see that no one is inside. At the front of the house, Gainer maintains a tank that he stocks with fish. I walk over to it, keeping my eyes out for footprints, but the bank around the water is undisturbed.
I head back to where I left Maria and find her prowling around the area several yards away.
‘I was looking for shotgun shells or footprints.’ She’s gloomy. She’s never a ray of sunshine, but she is more serious than usual. Nobody likes finding a dead body.
‘No luck?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. Not even sure how far away the bullet came from.’
I look toward the road. ‘From what she said to her sister, it sounds like someone was after her,’ I say. ‘She said she had to get away.’
‘So why was she out here in the open if she was trying to get away?’ Maria asks.
‘Good question.’ We walk back to the body.
‘Hold up,’ Maria says. ‘She doesn’t have a purse with her, but she must have had a cell phone since she answered her sister’s call. It must be in the backpack.’
‘Or in a pocket,’ I say. We can’t move the body to look. That will have to wait until the medical examiner gets here.
‘I’m curious how she got here,’ I say. And why here? I try to put myself in the place of a woman running from someone. Did she know Gainer’s cabin was here? Did she run here to try to get help? ‘I’m going back up to the cabin to look more closely.’ Maybe find tire tracks, although they probably won’t show up unless there’s a patch of clay that would hold an impression.
Sure enough, there’s no sign of car tracks, but when I go around the back of the cabin, I see that the weeds have been disturbed. And there, lying among the weeds, is a cell phone. I put on a glove and pick it up and stow it in an evidence bag.
Two
It has gotten colder in the short time we’ve been here, and since it might take a while for the ambulance and Department of Public Safety crew to get here, I retrieve my rain gear from the car and send Maria back to headquarters. She can pick me up when I turn over the crime scene to the patrol officers.
I stand out by the open gate to wait for them and think back to exactly what Maddy Benson’s sister said, that Maddy lived with her son and his wife. I wonder if they even know she’s gone. I need to notify them, and I should call Eileen Currey to tell her we found Maddy. I’d rather tell her in person, but that won’t work. I don’t have the manpower to send anyone to San Antonio.
Two highway patrol officers arrive first. I recognize one of them, Arnold Mosier, an affable guy in his thirties. The other one is even younger. They seem to get younger every year. We shake hands, and I climb into their car to drive to the body. When we arrive, they put on booties and gloves to examine the scene.
