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  MOVING TARGETS

  The Sixth Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  "With Moving Targets, Warren Easley delivers another humdinger of a tale featuring the City of Roses. But there's so much more to like about this story than just its evocative Portland setting. Cal Claxton is a guy worth rooting for, and the gang who aid him in solving the complex and dangerous mystery involved are a fun bunch to follow. If you're not familiar with these gems out of Oregon, now's the perfect time to give Warren Easely and Cal Claxton a try. You won't be disappointed."

  —William Kent Krueger, award-winning, bestselling author

  of Ordinary Grace and the Cork O'Connor series

  “Easley continues in every installment of this series to get a better handle on his characters and the vital balance between principal and supporting plots.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Intelligent dialogue, evocative descriptions of the Oregon landscape, and sly pokes at the current cultural climate make this a winner.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  blood for wine

  The Fifth Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  A Nero Wolfe Award Finalist for 2018

  “I’ve been a fan of Warren Easley’s Cal Claxton series since I read his first book, and they’ve gotten better with age, like the fine wine at the center of this complex novel of suspense. If you enjoy wine and a really good mystery, Blood for Wine is a must read.”

  —Phillip Margolin, New York Times bestselling author

  “Warren C. Easley blends my favorite subjects—wine, food, a really cool dog and, of course, murder—into a tasty thriller set in Oregon wine country. With more twists and turns than a rain-swept coastal road, Blood for Wine is the fifth in this series with a tantalizing backlist just waiting for me to get my hands on. It promises to be a mystery maven’s haven.”

  —Roz Shea, Bookreporter.com

  “In Easley’s fine fifth mystery featuring Portland, Ore., lawyer Cal Claxton, Cal is shocked to learn that vintner Jim Kavanaugh, a friend and neighbor, is the prime (and only) suspect in the brutal murder of Jim’s estranged wife, Lori.... As Cal delves into Jim and Lori’s troubled marriage, he stumbles onto other community secrets—including a blackmail scheme—all tied to the area’s booming wine business. Meanwhile, senseless acts of violence that hit too close to home upend Cal’s personal life—but only serve to strengthen his resolve. Oenophiles and aspiring vintners will enjoy the wine lore in this well-wrought tale of love and betrayal.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  not dead enough

  The Fourth Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  “Masterfully crafted, this tale of greed, deception and revenge has an added benefit—the stunningly beautiful descriptions of the lush landscapes of Oregon’s Columbia River country. Easley’s characters bring enough complex complications to keep you reading long after regular bedtime.”

  —Anne Hillerman, New York Times bestselling author

  “The narrative spends much time absorbing sights and smells of the glorious outdoors and detailing the political fights they engender.... fans of Tony Hillerman and C. J. Box won’t mind...Advise readers not to jump to that last page. Easley deserves his surprises.”

  —Booklist

  “With a very likable sleuth, Not Dead Enough is sure to appeal not only to mystery lovers, but also to those interested in Native American history, Oregonian culture and environmental issues like salmon migration. Although Not Dead Enough is the fourth in the series, it can easily read as a standalone, allowing fans of Tony Hillerman or Dana Stabenow to dive right into Cal Claxton’s life.”

  —Shelf Awareness

  never look down

  The Third Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  “Never Look Down is an impeccably crafted novel that hits every note. Memorable characters, a unique plot, and a wonderful sense of place. By all means, get this book and settle in for a great read.”

  —Philip Donlay

  “Easley exquisitely captures Portland’s flavor, and his portrayal of street life is spot-on. Readers of John Hart and Kate Wilhelm will delight in trying a new author.”

  —Library Journal

  “From four stories up the side of a building, a young graffiti artist, ‘a runaway teenager,’ witnesses a murder, and then finds herself in the killer’s sights. Oregon attorney Cal Claxton teams up with the young artist to identify the killer and uncover a smuggling racket, along the way working with Portland’s homeless and helping members of the Cuban-American community whose lives were affected by the murder. The Portland cityscape is as much a character as are the colorful graffiti artist and the lawyer who walks Portland’s streets with his dog, Archie.”

  —Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine

  “The killer, who leaves a bloody trail in his wake, and Cal race to find her, but Kelly avoids them both, not knowing whom she can trust. When Cal and Kelly do connect, they make a formidable and unlikely team as they try to find justice for the killer’s victims. Cal’s name is on the title page, but plucky and resourceful Kelly steals this tense adventure.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  dead float

  The Second Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  “A fast-paced, tightly woven who-dunnit that kept me guessing to the end. Easley’s vivid landscapes and well-drawn characters evoke comparisons to James Lee Burke, and Cal Claxton is as determined and resourceful as Burke’s Dave Robicheaux.”

  —Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author

  “Dead Float starts with a man’s throat cut ear to ear and Claxton’s fishing knife found nearby, and gathers momentum like the midnight freight trains nearby. As a Deschutes [River] aficionado myself, I’ll never listen to those lonesome whistles again without thinking of this story, and thanking the stars it was only fiction.”

  —Keith McCafferty, bestselling author of the Sean Stranahan thrillers

  “When someone tries to drown Cal, he uses his fishing skills to good advantage. What a showdown finish! Easley’s folksy style belies an intense drama revolving around corporate greed and espionage. The second outing for this action-packed Oregon-based series succeeds in quickly bringing readers up to speed. Pairs nicely with other boomer thrillers such as those by H. Terrell Griffin and also with fly-fishing mysteries by Keith McCafferty and Victoria Houston.”

  —Library Journal

  matters of doubt

  The First Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  “Warren Easley has created a character you can root for—a man who has experienced loss but still believes in a better future, a lawyer who vigorously pursues justice for the most vulnerable clients. Matters of Doubt proves that legal thrillers can indeed be thrilling.”

  —Alafair Burke, New York Times bestselling author

  “A fast, fun read with a fascinating defendant and our hero, Cal Claxton, a small town lawyer who risks his life to solve a big time cold case.”

  —Philip Margolin, New York Times bestselling author

  “Easley brings alive the world of street kids and the alternative social groups they form…”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Moving Targets

  A Cal Claxton Oregon Mystery

  Warren C. Easley

  Poisoned Pen Press

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Warren C. Easley

  First Edition 2018

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018935812

  ISBN: 9781464211300 Hardcover

  ISBN: 9781464210150 Trade Paperback

  ISBN: 9781464210167 Ebook

  All rights reserved. No p
art of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Poisoned Pen Press

  4014 N. Goldwater Blvd., #201

  Scottsdale, AZ 85251

  www.poisonedpenpress.com

  [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Moving Targets

  Dedication

  Epigraphs

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Epilogue

  More from this Author

  Contact Us

  Dedication

  For educators everywhere, especially the ones who influenced me:

  Marion A. Porter

  Gilbert Morales

  Carroll Dirkes

  Leo Eves

  Bob Musick

  James F. Hornig

  Sunney I. Chan

  Theodore Von Laue

  David A. Shirley

  Norman Edelstein

  William Weltner, Jr.

  Epigraphs

  “No, all we need to do is buy up the ground from under their feet—and evict them. We’re buying up the planet, Bishop, fair and square. We’re turning it into the most exclusive gated community in history…”

  —David Marusek, Mind Over Ship

  “Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation.”

  —Victor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, I owe much to many for all manner of assistance during this project. First and foremost, Marge Easley, my wife, my muse, my “in-house” editor, kept me on track and daughter Kate provided sage advice on a central, young adult character. Thanks always to the brilliant crew at Poisoned Pen Press, especially editors Barbara Peters and Annette Rogers, who provided invaluable suggestions and insights. A group of talented Portland writers—Lisa Alber, Debby Dodds, Alison Jakel, Janice Maxon, and LeeAnn McLennan—critiqued this manuscript and let me hang out with them, too. Thanks again, guys! I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Shawn Easley, who advised me on several civil aviation issues that arose in this book. If any inaccuracies crept in, it’s on me not him. In a similar vein, barrister and former Navy fighter pilot John advised me on the legal scrapes Cal got himself into this time around, which were legion and gnarly. Thanks, John!

  Finally, and significantly, I took inspiration for this book from courageous people everywhere who are standing up to greed, hatred, and racism.

  Chapter One

  I’ve got one rule in the morning—drink two double cappuccinos before I do anything else. I occasionally make exceptions, however, for fly fishing or a pre-breakfast run with my dog. On the morning this case began, one look out the window signaled a run was in order. I was in Portland and the early spring day broke clear and bright. As I put on my jogging shoes, Archie spun in circles and barked in high-pitched, crazed excitement. I leashed him up and we headed out, working our way over to Burnside from Couch, then down the steep steps at the bridge and across to Tom McCall Park.

  Not that many spring days break clear in Portland, so half the city, it seemed, was out that morning. Walkers, runners, bikers, ’boarders, and even a couple of Segway riders vied for right-of-way on the broad promenade running along the west side of the rain-swollen Willamette River. I was hoping my favorite, the kilted, unicycling bagpiper, would be out, but I didn’t see him. The cherry trees edging the walkway were in full bloom, and out on the water, slanting sunlight silhouetted the low profiles of multi-oared sculls. It was spring in Portland, there was light, and like a living organism, the city surged with newfound energy.

  Archie and I wove our way north and crossed the river at the Steel Bridge, then headed south on the Eastbank Esplanade, a series of floating sections, ramps, and concrete paths that hugged the Willamette and afforded an unobstructed view of Portland’s skyline across the river. That morning the U.S. Bancorp Tower—known to locals as the Big Pink—glowed rosily in the sunlight, and ten blocks south, the Art Deco KOIN Center looked like a Jules Verne rocket ship poised to blast off. Arch and I crossed back over on the Hawthorne Bridge, and by the time we got back to my Portland office I was breathing pretty hard. I stood at the front door fumbling for the keys in my sweats when I heard someone clear her throat behind me.

  “Excuse me, but could you tell me where Caffeine Central is?”

  I turned to face a twentysomething Hispanic woman. She was small in stature, a couple of inches more than five feet, and wore boots, scruffy jeans, and a tee-shirt that had Hands Off My Hood emblazoned across the front. “This is it,” I said, pointing upward. “The sign’s a little faded.”

  “Oh,” she said, glancing up, “I didn’t see it. Are you Cal Claxton?”

  I offered my hand and smiled. “In the flesh. Uh, this is my office. The place used to be a coffee shop called Caffeine Central before a Starbucks moved in up the street and squeezed it out of business. I’ve been meaning to replace that sign.” What I didn’t say was that that had been my intention for the decade I’d been running this part-time, pro-bono law practice in Portland.

  She grasped my hand with surprising firmness. “I’m Angela Wingate.” She had a lovely, heart-shaped face dominated by brown eyes that mirrored the color of her short hair. “I’ve come to talk to you, Mr. Claxton.”

  I glanced at my watch. “We don’t open for another thirty minutes. If you’d like to wait, I’ll be back down as soon as I shower and change.” Drops of sweat dripped from my eyebrows as if to emphasize the point. She nodded, and I added, “Archie, here, will keep you company. You want some coffee? I’m making some.”

  She declined the coffee and followed me through the small waiting room into my office. Archie sidled up next to her with his stump of a tail twitching. “An Aussie,” she said. “Love his markings. He’s very handsome.”

  “Careful,” I said over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs up to my studio apartment, “it’ll go straight to his head.”

  Twenty-five minutes later I joined Angela, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Archie left her side, took his favorite spot in the corner, and lay wi
th his white paws extended and his ears up, as if he, too, were curious about our first visitor of the day.

  Before I could say anything, she pointed to a small sign hanging behind my desk that read:

  Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.

  —Arthur Ashe

  “I like that.” She showed a wisp of a smile.

  I nodded. “Me, too. So, Angela, what can I do for you?”

  She shifted in her seat, squeezed one hand with the other, and teared up. “Oh, shit. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

  I got up and handed her a tissue. “Hey, crying’s allowed in here. What’s the problem? Take your time.”

  She dabbed her eyes, blew her nose, and sat up a little straighter. “It’s my mom. She was killed five weeks ago. Hit-and-run. Right up in the posh-ass hills of West Portland.” She shot me an angry look. “Someone’s Mercedes is probably in the shop right now, having the bumper fixed and the blood cleaned off.”

  I winced, as much at her cynical response as at her loss. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I think I read about it. Was your mom Margaret Wingate?” The story had hit the front pages since Margaret Wingate was well-known in Portland’s charity circles.

  She nodded, and her eyes filled again. “She and I, we’d just made peace, you know, as mother and daughter.” She managed a half-smile. “My teenage years, well, I was a selfish little bitch with a rotten attitude. Drove my parents crazy. Chuck, he was my dad, finally disowned me, but Mom always kept in touch, even when she was angry and freaked out by my behavior.” Her look turned wistful. “She never gave up on me.”