Silent Fool: A Chief Mattson Mystery (Brandon Mattson Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  Brandon approached, keeping his distance. Tori stood at his side.

  “Come closer.” Phoenix wore a midnight black flowy dress with a moon and stars print. The crescent moons wore eerie smiles. Her wide sleeves flapped as she motioned to him.

  “I’m fine here,” he said.

  A year earlier, he’d had to interview Phoenix about a local vampire coven with potential links to the murder of a young woman out on Second Beach. That time, she’d made a prediction about Brandon’s family that had come true. Mere coincidence, in his opinion.

  “Please, won’t you sit down? Maybe your lady friend would like to know what the future holds?”

  “Wouldn’t we all?” Tori asked, sarcastically.

  “The cards will tell me,” Phoenix said.

  “Okay. Good seeing you, Phoenix,” Brandon said. He tugged on Tori’s hem. “We’ve got to get going.”

  “Wait!” Phoenix said, reaching out. “I sense love in your future!”

  Tori froze. “Me, or him?”

  “Both of you!”

  “That’s nice,” Brandon said.

  “Does he not believe in love?” Phoenix asked, eyeing Tori.

  Tori looked up at Brandon. “He does. Or at least he used to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well…”

  “I do believe in love, just not this nonsense.” He motioned to Phoenix.

  “I know,” Tori stammered. “Just…forget it.”

  Brandon scowled at Phoenix. She tilted her head back so that her long nose pointed up at him. “I have been right before, no?”

  “That was luck,” he said.

  Phoenix’s eyes fluttered, then closed. She inhaled deeply. Hand over her bosom, she proclaimed, “Chief Brandon Mattson. I see your future and there will be true love kindled again. Don’t let it go this time.”

  “Really?” Tori asked.

  “That’s enough,” Brandon exclaimed. “Goodbye, Phoenix.”

  But there was a slight waver in his voice. Did he actually believe her?

  “Suit yourself,” she replied. “But don’t blame me if you lose such a lovely woman…”

  What Phoenix didn’t know (or did she?) was that he’d already lost Tori. That was over a year ago. Plenty of time for both of them to get over the divorce.

  As they scampered away, Tori said, “I like her.”

  Brandon grunted. “Of course you do.”

  The weather was warm for June in Forks, and the clouds had parted that morning to reveal a cobalt blue sky. The sun, the atmosphere of the fair, and having Tori at his side—all of that somehow gave him a jolt of verve he hadn’t experienced in years.

  He wasn’t going to let Phoenix ruin that.

  They strolled past Weaponsmith’s Row, a section of the fair dedicated to purveyors of swords, daggers, chainmail, and other implements of war. Aside from the obvious wooden or plastic toys, most of the weapons for sale appeared dangerous enough to kill.

  A town full of wannabe warriors and deadly weapons within easy reach. One more thing to worry about. But he’d been assured the fair didn’t allow fairgoers to unsheathe their daggers or swords—the medieval equivalent of an open-carry prohibition.

  A familiar cackle rose from the end of the row of blacksmith shops.

  “Let’s see what it is,” Tori said.

  About two dozen spectators had gathered around Drool, the performer who had heckled Brandon earlier. A tent had been erected over a temporary stage.

  Tori checked the fair guide. “There’s nothing scheduled.”

  “And that one,” Drool exclaimed to the crowd. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?”

  They still couldn’t see who the jester was talking about. Drool continued, “I said yes, pretty, except for those teeth. I’ve seen less of an overbite on a chipmunk.”

  A few in the crowd reacted with muted laughter. Brandon never understood how others found humor in humiliating others.

  “That’s not funny,” a young man replied. The voice was familiar.

  As they neared the platform, Brandon recognized Zach’s tall, sizeable frame. Then, Brandon understood who Drool was targeting with his most recent onslaught of insults—it was Emma.

  Chapter 2

  Brandon charged through the crowd.

  The jester’s eyes widened at Brandon’s approach. He was holding court on a three-legged stool in the middle of a low wooden platform. The flicker of fear that crossed Drool’s face faded quickly. His lips drooped into an apathetic frown.

  “Look who’s here, ladies and gentlemen. It’s my panty-wearing friend,” Drool continued. “Is this your offspring?” He swept a hand at Emma.

  Emma’s eyes were red with angry tears.

  Brandon halted inches from the stage.

  “That is my daughter, yes. And now, I’d like you to apologize.”

  “Hah,” Drool exclaimed. His breath fumed with the stink of stale wine and cigarettes.

  Making fun of Brandon was one thing. And Emma might be a strong, independent young woman. But she was still his daughter.

  “Get up,” Brandon said.

  Drool bared his teeth in an arrogant sneer. “What are you going to do? Beat me up?”

  “We are going to have a conversation.”

  Drool looked past Brandon at the growing crowd. “I don’t talk to men in tights.”

  No one laughed.

  “I said, stand up.”

  The joker’s face hardened.

  Drool stood, shoving the stool back. “Okay, tough guy. You want to come here and ruin my act?” The jester had at least five inches on Brandon. Despite his beer gut, he looked like he could throw a punch.

  “I don’t give a damn about your act,” Brandon said. “You will not, under any circumstances, talk to my daughter like that.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  Brandon knew better than to respond to schoolyard taunts. He was the chief of police. Threatening another person in front of this many people, even an ass like Drool, could lose him his job.

  But still…

  Brandon climbed onto the platform. He was inches from Drool and had to crane his neck up at the fool. He whispered. “Take a swing, big guy, and you’ll find out.”

  Drool blinked.

  “Come on,” Brandon said, quiet enough, he hoped, that none of the gawkers would hear him.

  Drool’s menacing grin faded. “Just get out of here, I’m trying to make a living.”

  “Apologize,” Brandon said.

  “Why are you bothering me?”

  “Because I don’t like people that pick on other people.”

  Brandon stepped back. Loud enough for the crowd to hear, he said, “Now, I’d like you to apologize to my daughter.”

  Drool’s nostrils flared.

  “Fine.” He glared at Emma. “I am sorry, young lady. I should not have said what I said. You have a beautiful smile.”

  Emma wiped her eyes.

  Zach replied, “That’s right, she does!” He released Emma’s hand and leaped onto the stage. He poked a finger at Drool’s chest. “You’re lucky the chief of police is here. Otherwise, I’d kick your—”

  “Hold on,” Brandon said, hedging himself between Zach and Drool.

  Drool pursed his lips. “Get this kid off my stage.”

  “I’ll take you any day,” Zach exclaimed. Brandon turned the youngster on his heels and guided him away.

  “You’ve made your point,” Brandon said.

  Emma smiled at Zach. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

  Tori rubbed his shoulder. “Thanks, Zach.”

  Brandon’s jaw dropped. What exactly had Zach done?

  “Wait a minute,” Drool said. “Did that kid say you’re the chief of police?” Drool plopped onto his stool. “I’ve got to get out of this crap hole of a town.”

  “If you need a ride, let me know.” Brandon winked at him. “And uh, Mr. Drool, or whatever the hell your name is, public
intoxication is still a crime here in Forks. Even for fools like you.”

  That evening, Brandon and Tori had dinner with Emma before Zach picked her up. Brandon had hoped to give Emma a ride down to Aberdeen, where she was to stay for the evening before heading off to camp. Emma had wanted Zach to drive the two-hour trip, and Tori had convinced Brandon to let it happen. But not before he had given Zach his usual spiel about boundaries, prompting Emma to exclaim, “Dad, we know. You can trust me, okay?”

  He did trust her. It was Zach he was worried about. He didn’t want to think about the sort of trouble two teens—one 17, the other almost 17—could get into over a hundred-plus mile stretch of highway.

  Brandon packed Emma’s sleeping bag and two suitcases into Zach’s truck.

  Tori and Brandon loitered on the front lawn of the home Brandon had rented for the past year. Emma hugged each of them then skipped away to Zach’s truck. She opened the passenger door, then paused. “Aren’t you leaving, too, Mom?”

  “I will. Don’t worry about me.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at her parents. “You guys are acting weird.”

  “Nobody is acting weird,” Tori said.

  Emma frowned. “I’ll call you guys when I get there. And Dad, don’t forget to feed Caesar.”

  Caesar was the gray and black kitten they’d adopted nine months earlier. Brandon had only agreed to take in the abandoned pet under duress when Emma had guilted him into it.

  “Love you,” Brandon said, waving at her.

  Zach’s truck growled to life as he fired up the engine. A puff of oil smoke drifted across the lawn. They waited for Zach to pull away, just to make sure he made it down the block.

  Brandon resisted the urge to have an officer follow Emma and Zach until they made it out of the county. What if they broke down in the middle of nowhere? There wasn’t cellphone coverage…

  “Come on,” Tori said, reading his expression. “They’ll be fine.”

  Back in the house, Brandon said, “She seems worried about us.”

  A smile touched Tori’s lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

  Sure, Brandon hadn’t been himself since Tori’s visit to Forks. He’d even felt a tinge of youthfulness each time their eyes met.

  But Tori was his ex-wife. Their relationship had ended almost two years earlier. Things that were over were meant to stay that way.

  Still…

  “It doesn’t help that you can’t keep your hands off me,” Brandon teased her.

  “And I haven’t seen you flirt like that since the first time we met.”

  Brandon smiled.

  It had been almost two decades since they’d first met in a crowded conference room at the King County courthouse. Brandon had been a rookie patrol officer. Tori was twenty—already a college senior and intern preparing to start law school. By the time she’d finished her Juris Doctorate, they were married with a one-year-old.

  “It’s a long drive back to Seattle,” he said. Depending on traffic, the trip could take four hours.

  She nodded with a tilt of her head. “True.”

  “You want to get dinner?”

  “Wouldn’t that keep me out even longer?”

  “It’ll be quick,” he said.

  “Like fast-food quick?”

  “I’m not that cheap.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, they were on Brandon’s couch, a near-empty bottle of merlot at their feet. Caesar sprawled in Brandon’s recliner. Occasionally the kitten would open one eye, considering Tori curiously, but the novelty wore off, and soon he was snoozing.

  Brandon poured another half glass and offered it to Tori. Dinner at the local Mexican restaurant had taken longer than they expected, thanks to the second round of drinks they’d both ordered and an expanding conversation that began with memories of Emma’s childhood but soon turned to the early years of their marriage. At some point in the evening, they’d decided to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home.

  “I can’t drive like this,” Tori said, her eyes fuzzy from her second glass of Merlot.

  “I couldn’t let that happen,” Brandon said. “I’d have to arrest you on the spot.”

  “You’re worse off than me,” she said, taking a long drink. She handed him the glass.

  “I’m just getting started,” he said.

  “Same old Brandon.”

  “What?”

  “Trying to prove yourself. In everything.”

  He fought back the urge to defend himself. “Not everything,” he said. He drained the glass and set it on the floor.

  She rested a hand on his knee. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

  Brandon nudged the wine bottle away with his foot.

  “Now what?” she asked, searching his face. Her gaze lingered on his lips.

  A dozen replies came to him but he was smart enough to know that anything he said would risk losing the moment.

  “Well…”

  “How about I get the bed and you get the couch,” she said, patting his thigh.

  “Right.”

  Chapter 3

  Brandon blinked at the sliver of morning sun that seemed to be targeting his tired eyes. His work cell was ringing. Instinctively, he reached for the nightstand.

  He wasn’t in bed. He was on the couch.

  Brandon rummaged around on the floor and found the phone. It was Isabel Jackson.

  Jackson was his lead officer and sometimes detective. A first-generation Cuban-American, she had moved from Florida to Oregon for college and worked her way up to detective in the Portland PD before taking time off to stay home and focus on her two children. Not long after she and her husband had landed in Forks, Brandon had brought her on full time.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “You sleeping in?”

  He searched his memory—what day of the week was it? It was too early for that kind of math.

  “It’s my day off,” he said, hoping he was right.

  “Well, vacation’s over, boss. We’ve got a situation out here at the Renaissance fair.”

  “Isn’t it too soon for trouble? The fair’s pub doesn’t open until ten.”

  “It is ten o’clock,” she replied.

  He checked the time. How had he slept so long? Then, he recalled he’d been up past two.

  Brandon sat up, gathering steam. “Jackson, get to the point.”

  “There’s been a murder.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Okay. You have my attention now.”

  “Remember that guy who was mocking you on stage yesterday?”

  “You saw that?” he asked.

  “I was patrolling the fair. Not bad, by the way,” she said.

  “My acting?”

  “It was okay,” she said. “Except the part where you let Emma’s boyfriend jab you. You’ve got to keep your guard up—”

  “Remind me again why you woke me up,” Brandon said.

  “The performer, Drool,” she said. “His boss found him dead about a half an hour ago.”

  “You said there was a murder. Dead and murdered aren’t the same thing,” he reminded her.

  “Really?” Jackson said. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. I’ll let you see for yourself why this is obviously a murder.”

  “I’ll be down,” he said, hanging up.

  Tori appeared in the hallway wearing one of his work shirts and a too-large pair of shorts.

  “I’m too hippy for Emma’s clothes,” she said. “Too small for yours. Except I do like this shirt.”

  “You bought it for me,” he said.

  “I know.” She plopped down onto the couch, next to him. “What’s going on?”

  “That clown from the fair. Apparently, he’s dead.”

  “The one who made fun of Emma?”

  “Same one.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He was murdered. That’s about all I kn
ow.”

  “Well it makes sense,” she said, frowning. “I mean, think about how he treated Emma. Our baby isn’t the only person he’s hurt.”

  “I have to treat it just like any other case,” Brandon reminded her. “Even if he was an ass.”

  He swept the blanket aside and ran a hand over his face. He stood, considering Tori. “I had a great time last night, by the way.”

  “I had a little too much vino,” she said.

  “Same here. If you’re not feeling up to driving back yet, you can stay here as long as you want. No hurry.”

  She stared back at him.

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “I mean, I know you’re busy.”

  She smiled. “Maybe I’ll stick around.”

  “You don’t have work?”

  “Remember, I took the week off. I was supposed to head down to Moclips for some alone time on the beach. But since I’m here…” She paused. “I mean, if it’s going to be awkward—”

  “Not at all.”

  Despite the invitation, Brandon wasn’t sure how he felt about Tori staying. Was he lonely? Sure. And Tori had been his best friend for longer than anyone he’d known. The truth was, had things gone the way he’d wanted the night before…

  Now that he was sober he realized that would have been a bad idea.

  “You’re sure?” she asked.

  He held her hand. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll do something fun tonight.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  Tori stood and pulled him to his feet. She patted him on the rear. “Get to work, Chief Mattson.”

  The property hosting the Forks Renaissance Fair was about 15 minutes outside Forks proper. Thanks to an agreement between the Clallam County Sheriff’s Department and the City of Forks, Brandon’s department had jurisdiction over the westernmost reaches of the county. It was a cost-cutting tactic on the county’s part that had been implemented just before Brandon’s arrival as the chief of police a year earlier. Expanding the scope of the department wasn’t a problem for Brandon—he’d earned his experience at Seattle PD—where a precinct covered more lives than the entire population of Forks.