Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) Read online

  BOOKS BY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  JERILYN DUFRESNE

  Who Killed My Boss? (Sam Darling mystery #1)

  Any Meat in That Soup? (Sam Darling mystery #2)

  Can You Picture This? (Sam Darling mystery #3)

  Will You Marry Me? (Sam Darling mystery #4)

  Where is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5)

  Coming soon

  Who’s The Rogue? (Sam Darling mystery #6)

  Triple Trouble (Box Set of Sam Darling mysteries 1-3)

  Triple Trouble Two (Box Set of Sam Darling mysteries 4-6)

  Praise for bestselling author

  JERILYN DUFRESNE

  Dufresne has created a charming, nosy, and slightly irreverent character in Samantha Darling, the heroine in Who Killed My Boss?, a fast-paced cozy that takes place in the small town of Quincy, Illinois.

  Beth Amos, author of the Mattie Winston Mystery series

  (as Annelise Ryan)

  The plot kept me guessing until nearly the end and I am looking forward to reading further adventures! Fun and entertaining read. Highly recommended…well done!

  Anne Kelleher, author of A Once and Future Love and

  The Ghost and Katie Coyle

  Dufresne shows her gift of storytelling as she moves the plot forward, introducing believable characters and a complicated plot. Recommended to everyone who enjoys a well-written, fun, cozy mystery!

  Kimberly Shursen, author of Itsy Bitsy Spider and Hush

  And from readers:

  …It’s like reading the old Nancy Drew books with others. Loved it very very much!

  …This book was very well written and I loved all the humor sprinkled throughout the story. Characters were loveable, not to mention the dog. Great ending.

  …Sam Darling is the kind of gal you wish you could know in real life. Funny, quirky, entertaining. And her “partner,” Clancy the dog, helped make this book just plain fun to read. When’s the next one?!

  About

  WHERE IS HENDERSON?

  Just as Samantha Darling is getting ready to marry her sweetheart George, a dead body falls off the train… and suddenly, the psychic sleuth and her canine companion are off to investigate another murder.

  Sam and her sidekick Clancy are at it again in the fifth book in Jerilyn Dufresne’s bestselling cozy mystery series. When Sam and her fiancé George dash away from their wedding shower to do some investigating in the small town from which the train took off, they meet a charismatic huckster selling medicinal water from “Happy Acres.” She’s the mastermind behind a pyramid scheme that has one and all paying top dollar for the magic elixir. Sam, with her nose for trouble, jumps in by snooping… or as she would say, helping… and quickly gets herself into some hot water of her own.

  With her psychic vibes, her trusty dog Clancy, and her beloved George—the real law enforcement professional—Sam tries to solve the murder and avoid becoming another victim.

  All she wants to do is survive long enough to finally say, “I do.”

  Where is Henderson?

  Book 5 in the Sam Darling mystery series

  Jerilyn Dufresne

  Dedication

  To my wonderful sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law. You loving my brothers and sisters has made me one happy woman. I love you.

  ONE

  “Where is Henderson, Kentucky?” I asked George after he told me where we were going.

  “Just south of Evansville, Indiana,” he answered. “Now if you really want to go with me, pack your bags.”

  “I heard that name recently, but I can’t remember when. Anyway, I have two questions. One, can Clancy go? And—”

  “Yeah. Clancy can come. I knew you two were a package deal when I proposed.”

  “And two, will I need any ‘good’ clothes? Or will my work clothes plus jeans be okay?”

  “Probably just work clothes.” Then a small amount of exasperation crept into George’s normally tolerant voice. “I don’t know, Sam.” I heard his sigh over the phone. “What do women think are good clothes versus regular clothes? Just bring what you think you would need if you were working as a therapist.”

  “Okay. Love you,” I said, then disconnected from the call.

  As I started trying to pack, all the while explaining things to my dog and confidante, Clancy, I realized that a lot had happened in the last two days.

  It started when the body fell off the train.

  TWO

  Two days ago I was happily planning my wedding. My daughter Sarah was going to be my maid of honor and my two sisters, Jen and Jill, and my brothers, Rob and Ed, were going to have special assignments at the ceremony. Jen and Jill would be readers at the Mass, and Ed and Rob would bring up the gifts at the Offertory. George’s best friend his whole life, Cal Wade, would be best man, and naturally my brother Pete the priest was going to preside over the nuptial Mass.

  Even though I didn’t really need anyone to “give me away” because I’d been on my own for a while, I did ask my son Adam to escort me down the aisle. There was no need for ushers since we’d decided that anyone could sit anywhere. Because I’d been married before, and gotten an annulment, this time I wanted a small and simple wedding. Knowing my family however, it was most likely going to turn into a circus. And that was fine with me. I was comfortable with chaos, but not boredom. Being the eldest of six kids, my life was often chaotic and seldom boring.

  George had proposed just three months ago at the Grand Rock Quarry near Crackertown, Missouri, at the end of a surprising and strange murder investigation. We didn’t want to have a drawn-out engagement because, at 44, we weren’t kids any more. And we’d known each other since kindergarten. Plus, I was eager to get things legalized. Living “in sin” wasn’t exactly shocking any more, but I was looking forward to having our relationship sanctioned by the church.

  George and I were enjoying the morning’s first cup of coffee when his phone broke the companionable silence.

  “Lansing.” George always answered that way, whether it was work-related or not.

  He paused for only a moment. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

  “No, George,” I practically whined, but not quite. “Please don’t let them spoil our weekend.”

  “Can’t help it, sweetheart,” he said as he stood up. He petted Clancy on the head as he moved away from the table. “Duty calls.”

  He moved toward his bedroom and I spoke to his back. “Is it a murder? Can I help?” I don’t know what it is, but I’ve had a nose for murder ever since my boss was killed a year ago. I accepted the fact that I was curious, and I also acknowledged that I was powerless over the hold curiosity had on me.

  “Don’t know what it is, Sam. I just know a body fell off a train. That’s it. So I have to go deal with it.”

  My love is the Chief of Detectives in Quincy, Illinois where we both grew up and to which I recently returned. I pictured myself as Watson to his Sherlock, but I doubted he saw things the same way. What I was positive he didn’t accept was that sometimes I was Sherlock and he was Watson.

  “Well, can I go?” I was relentless.

  “If you really want to. It’s likely to be boring. And you hate boring.”

  “Yeah, but I love solving crimes. And remember I was a deputy just a few months ago.”

  He smiled as he walked into his bedroom.

  We’d been friends forever and called it love by the time we got to high school. A petty emotional response on my part broke us up on prom night. I moved away for almost 25 years, and when I returned we rekindled the love we’d had when we were young. Now we were pretty inseparable, and moved back and forth between his home in
a blue-collar neighborhood and the carriage house in the ritzy section of town where I lived. I rented said carriage house from the owners of the mansion that sat in front of it.

  As he finished getting ready, his good sense once again trumped my impulsivity. “I said you can go, but I think I should remind you that you were only a deputy temporarily… and out of dire necessity.” He expertly maneuvered his tie into a half Windsor, and said, “Besides, that was only good in Crackertown, Missouri and wouldn’t apply here.”

  Thinking I would look more like a detective, I moved away from my usual winter weekend attire of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and quickly put on a pair of khakis and a button down shirt. I added a colorful vest to the ensemble and thought I looked every inch a cop.

  A few minutes later I kissed Clancy good-bye and put on my winter coat. “You have to stay here, girl. It’s too cold to keep you in the car, and I don’t know if the murder site will be safe for you.”

  “We don’t know that it’s murder, Sam. We just know it’s a body.”

  When George was out of earshot I whispered to Clancy, “I’ll tell you everything when I get home. I’m so excited!”

  Clancy appreciated my excitement. Our psychic connection was pretty steady most of the time, but when I get overly excited I have a hard time reading her. I needed to use the same techniques to stay calm that I taught my clients—controlled breathing and sometimes “thought stopping.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat of George’s unmarked police car, and thought about how lucky I was. Not only was I engaged to my George, I loved both of my jobs. I was both a mental health therapist and George’s associate. At least I was called that on the last case I helped solve. A police associate. I’d always been thought of as nosy, but it was so cool to use that curiosity to help solve crimes. Casual observers might think I just got in the way, but the cops knew I was a big help—at least I hoped they did.

  I have the ability to discern which people are evil. Well, sometimes I get evil mixed up with weird. But being able to tell which people are evil or weird is a skill not many people have. In the world of the police I was becoming a valuable commodity, and I loved it.

  George’s words interrupted my reverie. “Now remember—you’re coming with me as an observer. If you get some vibes, you can tell me about them later. I really don’t want you asking questions or interfering with the investigation in any way.”

  Yeah, yeah, I thought. But what I said was, “Of course, honey. You’re the boss.”

  “That’s what you always say,” he replied.

  “Well, you said what you always say too.”

  “There’s an old saying that goes, ‘If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you always got.’ So just think about that.”

  I couldn’t help myself, “I guess that means I will ‘interfere’ as you call it, and I will solve the case.”

  George pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into Park. “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t know how many times I can go through you getting shot in the butt, choked in the hospital, or having a gun pointed at your face. I love you and I want you to be safe.”

  I took his hands. “I understand. I don’t want you to have to go through that either. It’s no fun for me to be scared for my life. But the last time you were the one who got hurt. Remember? And I chased the bad guy.”

  “That was mere coincidence, and don’t change the subject,” he said, smiling at last. “The subject is now, and you not interfering. Do you promise?”

  “Yes,” I said, and I didn’t have my fingers crossed. I was back on my ADHD medication, and my impulsivity and inattention had improved. They weren’t gone, but were definitely better. I felt more in control of myself than I had in recent years, and hoped George would notice my better behavior. “I’m going to observe, and if I get any vibes I’ll let you know afterward, not during, but afterward.” I repeated his words as an errant child might. It would be easy to be upset with George, but I wasn’t. First of all, he was right. Secondly, he looked so handsome that it would be hard to stay mad.

  It only took a few minutes for us to get from George’s house to 36th Street between Wismann Road and Koch’s Lane. When we arrived, the roads had been blocked off. I didn’t see a body at the intersection where the train tracks were, but noticed a flurry of activity a little to the west. There was a person-sized white plastic lump off to the side of the tracks that might have been the body.

  As George parked his nondescript cop car and we walked toward the other people, I pondered the fact that just two minutes outside of town, it seemed as though we were in the country. If we continued straight, country continued with us, but if we turned left on either Wismann or Koch’s Lane, we’d be right back in the city in several blocks.

  I dutifully followed a few steps behind George. As he spoke, it became clear that out of the four people there, two were uniformed cops, one was a railroad employee, and the fourth was a witness.

  The one woman, dressed in a full-length down coat and a knit hat that tied under her chin, seemed agitated. “I just happened to look this way when I was at the stop sign, and I saw a body fall off the train,” she said.

  “Did someone push it?” George asked.

  “I couldn’t tell if it… the body… was pushed out or just fell. I do know the body—he—didn’t jump. He kind of rolled off, so I didn’t think it was his idea.”

  “What happened then?” George asked.

  “I parked real quick and called 911 while I ran down here to see if he was okay. He was dead when I got here. I didn’t touch him though. I just waited for the police to arrive.”

  George got a description of the boxcar from the woman, thanked her, then turned to the railroad guy who said, “We got an emergency call from your 911 center and stopped the train as soon as we could. We were already going pretty slowly because of going through town. It’s about a mile or so down the track.” Another question from George elicited, “Nah, we’re just a freight train, bound from Chicago to St. Louis. Nobody on board but a few crew.”

  George walked to the body and pulled the white tarp back, revealing a man lying on his side with one arm under him and the other splayed out in front. He looked pale, even gray, and he had what looked like gravel embedded in his face and arm. That’s all I saw with a cursory glance. I was sure George saw more.

  George spoke to the cops for a few minutes and found out they hadn’t touched the body except to determine that it was dead. They released the ambulance that had accompanied them, because they knew there would be an investigation, and they put the white plastic covering over the deceased.

  George nodded, then instructed the cops to wait for the coroner to arrive. “Conrad’s been ice fishing and it will take him a little while to get here. I’m going to look at the train. It’s freezing out here, so the body will be fine until Conrad arrives,” he said, indicating the body with his head.

  He turned back to the witness. “We’re going to need to talk to you more, but not immediately. Please leave your name and contact information with one of the officers and we’ll call you later today. Thanks for your help.”

  He didn’t explain my presence. He didn’t have to. I’d been involved in four different homicide situations and at this point, it almost seemed like the city should pay me. People were certainly starting to recognize me. Sometimes the recognition felt good—as in, “Sam solved the case.” Other times, not so much—as in, “We didn’t have murders till she moved back to town.”

  As if I personally brought murder with me from Chicago!

  As we walked back to the car, George talked to the coroner, Conrad, on the phone. Conrad Waterkotte had been another classmate of ours. In school it seemed he was president of every club and organization at St. Francis High. When he was elected coroner of Adams County, it gave him yet another reason to strut. A little self-important, he certainly was, but he did a good job as coroner and he’d probably keep getting re-elected until he chose to
step down. In fact, we were lucky to have a coroner who was an MD. The previous coroner wasn’t. It was pretty common in smaller communities to have non-medical people function in that capacity, and contract a doctor to perform autopsies. Lucky for us, Conrad had tons of money and didn’t need to earn much. And in spite of everything, George and I really liked him.

  I heard George say, “Yeah, I’ll meet you back at the morgue. Make sure the techs do a thorough canvassing of the area where the body is. And I didn’t check his pockets for ID. Wanted to wait until the area was checked first.” A pause. “Yeah.” He looked at me and I got suspicious. “Yeah. She promised.” Pause. “Okay.” Then he put his phone in the pocket of his coat.

  I hadn’t noticed the cold before, but as he talked his breath came out in visible puffs. I pulled my coat tighter around my body. “I know Conrad asked whether I was here or not, and he warned you that I better behave.”

  “If you know all that,” he said with a smile, “there’s no real reason for us ever to have a conversation.”

  He opened my car door for me. “Smart Alec,” I said, and couldn’t help but smile back. “Did you notice the guy didn’t have a coat on? Jeans, sweatshirt that said ‘Henderson County Colonels,’ and no coat. That has to mean something.”

  “Maybe we’ll find his coat in the boxcar.” George was practical.

  “And maybe he’s an alien and they didn’t do their research correctly, so he didn’t know he was going to require a coat.”

  George’s eyebrows raised, “And by alien I assume you mean from another planet.”