Free Crazytown (The Darren Lockhart Mysteries) by Jon Grilz Page A

grove of trees. It was a small, two-story house that looked to be in dire need of repair like most of the other houses in the area. The wood panel siding was flaking off like wet cardboard. A cracked walkway with tufts of grass growing through the seams led to the front door, a door that had become warped and required an added shove to open and a slam to shut. The inside was well kept, juxtaposing what the exterior seemed to suggest. It was obvious that the deputy was a man who wanted things in order.
    Two couches formed an L on the main floor, facing a small combo TV/VCR, an outdated relic that Lockhart didn’t even know was still in use. There was a small dining room containing a round table with four place settings. Stairs leading to the second floor ran across the sidewall. The air was clean and still despite the deputy being a smoker, and the slight scent of vanilla wafted around the men.
    “Lisa?” Deputy Lind called as he walked over to the stairway.
    “Yeah?” a feminine-sounding response came from upstairs. “Freddie, you’re home early. I thought…” her thought process stopped as her bare legs appeared from upstairs. She paused on the steps and looked at the three men. Lisa Weber was an incredibly attractive young woman. She was in her mid-twenties, wearing a beat-up pair of Daisy Dukes and a t-shirt with no bra; her brown nipples stood out against the white fabric. She had a towel half-wrapped around her head, drying her long, wet, blonde hair, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. She had large almond-shaped eyes just like her mother and brothers, and she stared down at the visitors with a questioning look on her face.
    “Jesus, Lis,” Deputy Lind scoffed, “put on some clothes.”
    “I wasn’t expecting company,” she huffed and disappeared back upstairs.
    “Sorry about that. She hasn’t been out of the house for a while,” The deputy said with a strange air of finality to his statement.
    There was something in his tone that rubbed Lockhart the wrong way. He wasn’t sure if it sounded more like he was stating absolute, unquestionable fact or more like an order that she had to abide by.
    After a few moments, Lisa returned wearing a University of Minnesota-Duluth sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “What’s going on?”
    “Lisa, this is Special Agent Darren Lockhart, with the FBI,” Freddie introduced, nodding over his shoulder without actually turning toward Lockhart.
    “FBI?” she asked.
    Lockhart stepped forward and shook her hand. She had a firm, sure grip and obviously carried herself with strength and confidence. He then explained the nature of his jurisdiction. “Well, the suit should have been a dead giveaway, I suppose, but you don’t look like you are with the FBI. Aren’t you all supposed to be super serious or really quirky, like all the ones on TV?”
    It always came back to television with people. “No, ma’am. Most of us are regular guys. Some can actually be down-right charming,” he said with a casual smile.
    Lisa smiled in return, and out of the corner of his eye, Lockhart could see the deputy shifting nervously from foot to foot.
    “So, you’re a special agent, huh? Does that mean you are better at catching killers than a regular agent, or…” She turned and looked at the Crayton police force. “Or local law enforcement?”
    “More experienced at these things, that’s all.” Lockhart had no need to rub in his familiarity with the case, or—more importantly—the local police’s lack of it. Deputy Lind was already on edge, and the chief seemed content to stand in the background.
    Lisa kept her eyes on Lind and Donaldson as she spoke. “Special Agent—” she started.
    “Please, call me Darren.” Lockhart felt no need for formality when it came to the siblings of victims.
    “Okay. Darren,” Lisa repeated and turned to look him in the eyes, “can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
    Lockhart hadn’t eaten since the overpriced snack pack