Dead by Sunrise

by Richard Ryker

  They talked for a little while longer about home and school, and eventually he said goodnight. Brandon surveyed the kitchen and then the living room where the unpacked boxes stood stacked on top of each other. He’d have to get the house ready for her at some point. He still had time, though, and there was a murder to solve.

  Brandon woke up around five in the morning. It was Sunday, supposedly his day off. Hadn’t he dreamed of sleeping in on the weekends? No on-call work or cases to review, no witnesses to shake down. Yet his mind had kicked into gear well before dawn, scrutinizing evidence from his most recent homicide case.

  He boiled water and made himself a cup of instant coffee—the best he had until he bought a proper coffee maker. He’d left his espresso machine with Tori and had gotten used to getting coffee on the way to work. There was an espresso stand on the way into town, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation—no matter how friendly the barista.

  Brandon made his way to the backyard, where he sat in one of a pair of old, wooden lawn chairs. As he watched the sun peek over the Olympic Mountains, his thoughts turned to the future.

  Emma would be here in less than two weeks and he’d told himself he needed to get back into the habit of attending Sunday morning services. They’d gone as a family for years, up until the divorce. He didn’t want Emma to give up on church, and it wouldn’t do any good if Brandon didn’t follow his own advice.

  Maybe next week.

  Brandon tossed his coffee—it was bitter as hell—into a rose bush outside his back door.

  He showered, got dressed and headed down to the Forks Diner. He hadn’t eaten there since returning to town, but the café had a reputation as the best breakfast diner in the west side of the county.

  It was just after six, but the parking lot was already half full. Anyone who had spent any time in west Clallam County knew about the Forks Diner. Brandon parked on the street near the spray-painted vampire ankh. The blood red symbol reminded him he still needed to locate Vasile, the vampire coven leader.

  Inside the diner, there was a group of road construction contract workers at the bar, three or four guys and three women wearing safety vests. At least Brandon wasn’t the only one working on Sunday. The waitress refilling their coffees glanced up at Brandon as he walked in.

  “Well, look who’s all grown up,” she said.

  Brandon checked over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t talking to someone else. He’d been all grown up for a couple of decades now.

  “Brandon Mattson,” she said, setting the pot of coffee on the counter. The contract workers turned to get a look at Brandon.

  The woman was in her fifties. Her name tag read Tammy, and that’s when he remembered her. Tammy was the older sister of Brandon’s high school best friend.

  “How’s Mark?” Brandon asked.

  “Doing great. Married, couple of kids. He moved to Spokane a while back.”

  “Good to hear it,” Brandon said.

  “Hey everyone,” Tammy said, turning to anyone in the general area who might listen. “This here is our new Chief of Police, Brandon Mattson. So be on your best behavior.”

  A few people in nearby booths waved or smiled, welcoming him back to town. The group at the counter—most likely out-of-towners—generally ignored Tammy’s proclamation. One of the workers, however, locked eyes with Brandon.

  Brandon had half a mind to introduce himself to the man, just because he knew it was exactly what he didn’t want Brandon to do. The man snorted sarcastically and turned back to his friends, shaking his head.

  Some people didn’t like cops. Brandon got that. But it didn’t mean you had to act like an ass.

  “Come on, Brandon, I’ll get you a booth.”

  Tammy grabbed a menu and led him to the back of the restaurant where there were still open seats.

  Brandon was about to sit down when he noticed someone in the booth across the aisle staring at him.

  It was Misty.

  “Hey you,” she said. “You can sit over here if you want company.”

  Brandon shrugged. “Alright.”

  He sat down across from her and Tammy set the menu down.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Tammy left them and Brandon asked, “You already order?”

  “Just now. I’m in no hurry.”

  There was an awkward silence, the kind that props up between two people that have only had one conversation in the last twenty years.

  “How’s it feel being the big cheese in town?”

  “Ask me in a month,” he said.

  “Hard time getting settled in?”

  “I’ve got a mayor who doesn’t care about anything but some author coming to town—”

  “Those books bring in a lot of tourists,” Misty said.

  “Don’t tell me, you’re a fan?”

  She smirked. “I might have read them.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “You too?”

  “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone.”

  “Even my dad’s read them.”

  “Maybe you should give it a try.”

  “No thanks, teenage angst isn’t my thing. Even when it involves extraterrestrial beings.”

  “Not extraterrestrial. Undead.”

  “Whatever.”

  Tammy returned and took his order—a Denver Omelet.

  “You got any green Tabasco sauce?”

  “Sure thing, chief.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Tammy left, Misty said. “Speaking of teen angst, I hear you have a daughter.”

  “She’s fifteen. I guess I should be thankful there hasn’t been much drama with Emma. Not yet at least.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Your son?” Brandon said.

  “Micah is twenty-three. Sometimes he’s got his head on straight, other times—well, let’s just say I hope you don’t ever see him in your line of work.”

  “He’s had trouble with the law?”

  “Close to it, but I’ve been able to catch him a couple of breaks.”

  Brandon didn’t like the sound of that. By the time a young man was in his twenties, he ought to be past the stage of needing his mom to bail him out of trouble. And how exactly was Misty catching him a break? Did she know someone on the force? Or the courts?

  It wasn’t his business.

  They made small talk while Misty finished her eggs and toast. Brandon’s omelet arrived and Tammy refilled his coffee. Misty talked while Brandon ate.

  She motioned to Brandon’s ring finger. “Sorry to hear about your divorce.”

  Brandon finished his omelet, chasing the last mouthful with a gulp of hot coffee.

  “No secrets in this town,” he said.

  “You know better than that. Besides, a handsome man comes into town, of course the ladies are gonna want to know if he’s eligible.”

  Brandon wiped his mouth, trying to think of a good response. What was Misty getting at?

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Misty turned the conversation to town gossip as she recited the fates of every friend or enemy they’d both had at Forks High School. Eventually, she got around to talking about her work. She’d recently been promoted to supervisor at a company providing in-home caregiving. That made sense. Misty had always been the type that gravitated toward people in need.

  Maybe that was why she’d left Brandon—unlike the father of Misty’s child, Brandon wasn’t a needy, teat-sucking loser.

  “I’ve applied for a manager position,” she said. “Down in Aberdeen.”

  “You’ll have to move.”

  She wrapped her hands around her mug of coffee. “If I get the job. I mean, I’d need a reason to stay here, otherwise…”

  Brandon realized Misty was staring at him.

  “So, are you?” she asked.

  “Am I what?”

  “Eligible? Back on the market.”

  “Uh, I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well, don’t keep the l
adies in suspense too long.”

  It was one of those moments between a man and a woman where the man isn’t quite sure what the woman means. Was she directing her comments at him for her own sake, or was she really concerned about the welfare of the town’s single women?

  “Right now, I’m focused on work, and my daughter. She’ll be moving here soon.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said.

  “Unless you don’t want me too.”

  “No, not at all,” he said.

  She smiled, touched his hand. “Good. We are neighbors, after all.”

  “Well look here. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  Officer Nolan stood a little too close to their table, thumbs hooked into the front of his duty belt.

  Misty pulled her hand back. “We go way back. High school.”

  “Isn’t that nice,” Nolan said with a smirk.

  Something about the tone in Nolan’s voice made Brandon want to knock him on his ass.

  Nolan squeezed in next to Misty. She didn’t budge.

  “You two know each other?” Brandon asked, his eyes resting on Misty.

  “We’re together,” Nolan said.

  Misty glanced away, her gaze landing outside the window.

  “Isn’t that right, honey?” Nolan said, resting his arm on her shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  Brandon studied the check. Tammy had put both orders on the same ticket. He slid out of the booth and picked up the bill. “Nice talking to you again, Misty.”

  “Wait,” Misty said, eyeing the bill. “You don’t have to pay for mine.”

  “No worries,” Brandon said. “I’ll get it. For old time’s sake.”

  He gave Nolan a wink before heading to the counter to pay the bill.

  Chapter 11

  Brandon spent the next hour catching up on emails, most of them reminders from human resources. Do this, don’t do that. Sign here, and here, and…

  It was a wonder they didn’t ask you to swear on a Bible that you’d read all five hundred pages of the personnel manual and promise under penalty of hellfire that you—and your employees—would abide by every rule.

  It wasn’t the Sunday morning he’d hoped for, but the idea was to get his mind off his interaction with Misty.

  Was she really with Nolan? That made things easier—or at least it should. If she was dating someone else, that ought to keep her from getting the wrong idea about her relationship with Brandon. Except she’d been pretty forward at the diner—until Nolan showed up.

  Maybe he’d been reading too much into her actions.

  Brandon turned his attention to his email. Half the officers, including himself, were already behind on their annual trainings. How could he be late when he’d just started?

  Sue, the department’s secretary sent him a handful of applications she’d received from HR. Will was retiring soon, and they’d have to replace him. He flipped through the names but didn’t recognize any. One person who hadn’t applied was Isabel Jackson, the reserve deputy who’d proved to be a good cop, and investigator.

  A calendar reminder popped up on his screen. He had an appointment with the mayor in ten minutes. Who schedules meetings on Sunday?

  He clicked on the invitation and noted that the meeting had been sent to him just twenty minutes earlier. Brandon was tempted to hit the decline button. He had work to do, and whatever the mayor wanted to talk about wasn’t as important as the homicide investigation.

  He closed the screen, neither accepting nor declining the meeting. Not wanting to ruffle too many feathers this early in this stint as police chief, he’d give her five minutes of his time.

  “Chief Mattson. Glad you could make it,” the mayor said as he entered her office.

  She stood and Olivia followed her lead. A man Brandon didn’t recognize sat at the table.

  “I don’t have much time,” Brandon said. “On such short notice.”

  “Understood.”

  “Working on the homicide case, chief?” the man asked him.

  Brandon’s eyes shifted from the man to the mayor. One day was the longest she could keep quiet about the investigation?

  “This is Ted Nixon. He’s a writer for the local newspaper,” the mayor said.

  “It’s a weekly, more frequent when needed.” Ted said. He remained seated. “I cover the area for the Port Angeles Times too.”

  “Okay,” Brandon said.

  “And before we get any further,” the mayor said, “I’m not the one who spilled the beans.”

  “Then who did?” Brandon asked. His gaze fell involuntarily on Olivia.

  “Private sources,” Ted said. The reporter was a few years younger than Brandon. He had sandy blonde hair thinning on top. His balding hairline was accentuated by the bright red clerk’s cap he wore, the kind with the tinted visor.

  “You want a comment? Here it is: no comment.”

  “That’s not why we’re here,” Olivia said, casting Ted a warning, like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “Today is about Tiffany Quick’s visit and the Moonbeam Festival. It’s less than two weeks away.”

  “Then why the reporter?” Brandon asked.

  “Ted is our partner in promoting the visit,” Sara said.

  “Look. As Mr. Nixon here mentioned, I have an investigation to run.”

  Ted chimed in, “Word on the street is that there’s a darker connection—especially with the recent appearance of vampire symbols.”

  “You know of more than one?” Brandon asked.

  “Not yet,” Ted said.

  “Good. And I already said I’m not commenting on the case.”

  “Ted, let’s focus here,” Olivia said. She moved over to Ted, resting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Chief Mattson,” Ted said. “Just so you know how things work around here. I am used to a certain level of access to the inner workings of our local government. That includes public safety.”

  “And just so you know, Ted, I’ll give you a statement regarding the case when I am ready.”

  “Okay, again, not why we’re here,” Olivia said, her voice rising an octave.

  “Send me a report on any plans and I’ll review with my officers for any public safety concerns,” Brandon said.

  Brandon moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” Olivia said. She looked to the mayor. “What about the uniforms?”

  “Uniforms?” Brandon said.

  “Maybe later, Olivia—”

  “It will only take a minute,” Olivia said. She reached over the table and rustled through a pile of papers until she found the one she was searching for. Brandon glanced longingly at the door.

  Olivia glided over to Brandon.

  “Here it is,” she said, handing him a colored pencil sketch of a silver police badge. The words Forks and WA were emblazoned across the top and bottom. Vampire fangs formed the centerpiece of the badge, the words Vamp Patrol emblazoned below the upper teeth.

  “What is this?”

  “Special edition badges. For Tiffany Quick’s visit,” Olivia said.

  “No way in hell,” Brandon said.

  Ted chuckled. Brandon narrowed his eyes at the reporter. What was so funny?

  “We would only want your officers to wear them for one weekend,” Olivia said. “Then we’d auction them off—”

  “Not happening,” Brandon said. “Look, miss…tourism czar or whatever you are. I’m sure you’re a great PR person. But PR has nothing to do with being a police officer—”

  “It does have to do with being a police chief,” Ted chimed in.

  Brandon stared Ted down for several seconds until he glanced away. The last thing Brandon wanted was to get on the wrong side of the local press, but his officers were not going to wear toy badges.

  “Fine,” Olivia said, her lips pouting. “But I did have an idea for a purple sash…”

  He’d had enough.

  Brandon was halfway across the p
arking lot when the mayor caught up to him.

  “Brandon.”

  “Mayor?”

  “She means well,” Mayor Kim said.

  “Possibly, but that’s irrelevant. We don’t need a fashion designer—”

  “I’ll talk to her,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “Before you leave…any news about the girl?”

  The mayor had denied being the one who’d leaked the information to the press. If it wasn’t her, then who?

  “We’re following all leads, waiting for more information from the coroner,” he said.

  “How’s her family doing?”

  “Her mom was devastated. I need to follow up with her, learn what I can about the girl.”

  She nodded, a look of concern on her face. “I do care about the community.”

  “Not just tourism?”

  “Tourism helps everyone in Forks,” she said. “Including your department.”

  “Taxes, I know,” Brandon said.

  She sighed. “The truth? Yes, we’re worried about the effect this will have on the festival. A quick resolution lessens the likelihood that Tiffany Quick cancels.”

  Brandon’s private phone buzzed. It was Tori.

  He let it go to voicemail.

  “This author,” Brandon said. “You think she’ll stay away because of one murder?” he asked.

  “This is more than a visit. She’s considering writing a sequel to her series. If we can convince her to make Forks the backdrop of her new series too—”

  “My goal is to make sure we have a quick—and accurate—resolution, Mayor Kim.”

  “You know what’s funny?” the mayor asked.

  “What’s that?” Brandon said, glancing over his shoulder, toward the police department. He had a list of things to do today, and none of them were getting done.

  “Olivia thinks the recent events—”

  “A young girl’s death,” he reminded her.

  “Will somehow positively affect tourism. Especially the vampire angle.”

  Was she seriously suggesting the town make money off of Lauren Sandoval’s murder?

  “I mean,” the mayor continued, “I don’t agree with her. It’s a horrible thought—”

  “Good morning, mayor,” he said, and left her staring after him.