by Dan Padavona
Interesting.
Since Scout lived next door to the sheriff, she’d be easy to find. Kaylee typed the address into her phone and brought up a map. Zooming in, she studied the girl’s house—the handicap accessible ramps in the front and back, the deck doors, the trees along the lake, where she could watch Scout without drawing attention.
Kaylee spent the morning browsing for clothes and reading books. Like clockwork, Wade Tenny scampered across the street at nine-thirty and returned to the office, palming a half-eaten cherry turnover. Red sauce drooled from his lip to his chin. She wanted to show her face again. Not yet. Even a fool like Tenny might become suspicious.
Five minutes before noon, Tenny hustled out of the firm with his head lowered, as though doing so hid him from the boss. He jumped into a shabby blue Jeep and motored out of the parking lot. The exhaust puffed black smoke.
Kaylee caught him at the red light. She idled beside him in the Alpha Romeo, the windows lowered, the sound system blasting some pop song an idiot like Tenny would enjoy. He glanced over, did a double take, and grinned. She fluffed her Uma Thurman wig in the mirror and smiled back at him.
Tenny mouthed, “You’re freaking hot.”
She licked her lips.
Lowering his own music, Tenny leaned through the window. “Give me your number.”
Kaylee donned her best dumb bimbo expression. “What?”
“Your phone number.”
“You want my phone number?”
There was a fanatical gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, give it to me.”
“My number is one.”
He scrunched his face. “One?”
“Yeah, one,” she said, raising her middle finger.
Before he reacted, she shot through the intersection. In the mirror, she watched him speeding to keep up. One kick of the gas pedal, and she’d leave him in the dust. Instead, she played with Tenny and let him close the distance.
He hadn’t changed one bit over the years. Tenny remained the arrogant jerk he’d been during school, stuck on himself. The slob should check his mirror sometime. He’d let himself go. Tenny only turned heads when he strolled into an all-you-can-eat buffet.
When he pulled even with the Alpha Romeo, his face was red. “Is that funny to you? You’re a fucking whore. Pull over, and I’ll show you how a real man can make you feel.”
“No thanks.”
“Bitch!”
“Oh, darling. You don’t know what a bitch I can be.”
“Stop the car and let’s see how tough you act.”
She displayed the same middle finger and sped off. His SUV became a pinprick before it disappeared from her mirror.
21
Chelsey hung up the phone and massaged the knot out of her shoulder after Rosemary Bourn called. The woman was angry because they hadn’t caught her cheating husband yet. According to Rosemary, Osmond never returned home until three in the morning last night. Chelsey didn’t tell Mrs. Bourn that LeVar followed Osmond to Level 13 before thugs chased him from the club. Though Chelsey suspected Osmond was up to no good, she couldn’t prove he’d cheated.
Feeling a migraine coming on, she massaged her temples. She should have heard from the realty company by now. Homes were selling by the second in Wolf Lake, sometimes at twenty percent above the asking price. It was a seller’s market, yet she hadn’t received a single offer for her house.
Paranoid the realty agency forgot to post her home on its website, Chelsey opened her web browser. A minute later, she found her listing.
“Ugh. Are you kidding?”
The pictures were dark and grainy, as though an amateur snapped the photographs. The colors seemed off, tinted blue and purple. She paged through the stack of business cards stuffed inside her wallet and found the agent’s number. The agent didn’t answer when she called. Chelsey landed in the woman’s voice mail.
“Hello, this is Chelsey Byrd calling. I’m staring at my listing online, and I think I understand why you haven’t sold my house yet. The pictures are so dark, you can barely see the house. They make the house appear twice as old as it is.” She bit back a curse when she realized the agency never posted photos of the sunroom or the remodeled kitchen. Chelsey left her phone number. “Call me as soon as possible. I’d like the pictures retaken.”
She wanted to threaten to choose another agent. But she kept the threat to herself for now. Great. Until the house sold, she’d pay taxes and utility costs on a home she no longer lived in.
Chelsey shoved her chair back and wandered from the office to the kitchen. The day grew late, judging by the mottled light spilling over the window. She grabbed a blueberry and ginger kombucha from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, and sipped. The bubbles tickled her nose and made her want to sneeze. As she stood at the counter, she couldn’t stop thinking about what happened at Level 13. Did the 315 Royals run the club, as LeVar theorized? If so, LeVar needed to stay away. It was too dangerous for a former member of a rival gang to walk into that club. But that didn’t explain how Osmond Bourn fit into the picture. The man was a middle-aged contractor. According to LeVar, Bourn had flirted with several call girls. Yet LeVar never observed Bourn paying for sex, and he’d climbed the stairs with another man and vanished on the VIP level.
Chelsey rinsed a dinner plate and realized she’d been at the office for eleven hours. Raven had spent the morning at the sheriff’s department, giving her side of the story after the Albert Slater incident. The abuser was still in jail. His wife, Janet, worried about Slater seeking revenge when he got out. Janet needed someone to talk to, a counselor who understood what she was going through.
That made Chelsey think of Georgia Sims at the battered women’s shelter. Perhaps she’d refer Janet to Georgia, if the woman accepted Chelsey’s call. Though Raven had prevented Albert Slater from hurting his wife further, Janet Slater didn’t trust private investigators or law enforcement.
After Raven left the sheriff’s office, she’d driven to Barton Falls to begin the new infidelity case. Chelsey hadn’t seen Raven since yesterday, and today was LeVar’s day off. That left her alone in the office again, a disturbing trend she’d brought upon herself by running her investigators ragged with too many cases.
Chelsey returned to her desk and sipped her drink. The office phone rang.
“Wolf Lake Consulting. This is Chelsey. How may I help you?”
Silence met her on the other end of the line. After repeating the greeting and receiving no reply, she hung up. Odd. That was the second time today someone phoned the office without speaking. Might be someone with a poor connection.
Or someone wanted to mess with her.
At the window, she slid the blinds aside and searched the sidewalk. The sun had dropped below the buildings, and darkness spread through the village. The shops closed, and people headed home. In a matter of minutes, the village of Wolf Lake had become a ghost town. Chelsey closed the blinds and edged away from the glass.
Back at her desk, Chelsey browsed the internet for security cameras. Georgia Sims needed something simple and nondescript. If some enemy from Georgia’s past was breaking into her house, the cameras would catch the perpetrator. She’d spoken to Darren Holt yesterday. Last year, the former Syracuse police officer installed cameras around the state park after a rash of break-ins at the campsite. Darren told Chelsey he had ideas for securing Georgia’s house, but he wasn’t answering his phone today. Cell coverage was spotty at Lucifer Falls, where Darren worked on the new trail. So far, Darren was the only person who knew about the firm’s financial difficulties. Chelsey made him promise he wouldn’t tell Raven until Chelsey found a solution.
Just then, the phone rang. Chelsey eyed it the way she might a rattlesnake curling on her desk. She took a hesitant step backward. The phone rang again, and she ground her teeth as she stared at the receiver. She snatched it up.
“Hello.”
“Chelsey? You sound like something is wrong.”
LeVar. Chelsey leaned against t
he desk and touched her forehead.
“Hey, LeVar. Everything is fine. Just going over the books before I close up shop for the night. I thought you were studying.”
“I finished early and wanted to check in.”
“Okay, it sounds like it’s my turn to ask if everything is all right.”
“It’s Raven. I hate going behind her back, but I’m uncomfortable with her convoluted plan to catch Osmond Bourn.”
“You mean flirting with Bourn and inviting the guy back to her motel room.”
“That’s the plan.”
Chelsey propped herself on the edge of her desk. “I thought you were on board with Raven’s idea.”
“I was until last night. Something about Bourn doesn’t add up. Even if Level 13 isn’t Royals territory, a middle-aged guy shouldn’t hang out there, let alone disappear on the VIP level. The line to get inside stretched around the corner, and Bourn bypassed everyone and strolled by the bouncer like they knew each other. What’s up with that?”
“That is curious. Could be Bourn fixed the bouncer’s house. And you’re certain the girls he chatted with are prostitutes?”
“I’m positive.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t mean Bourn knows they’re prostitutes. Maybe the club pays them to hang around and entertain the guests.”
“Entertain. Yeah, right.”
“You know what I mean. Besides, Bourn never took a girl upstairs.”
“True.”
Chelsey’s eyes traveled to the window. A shadow moved across the blinds. She almost dropped the phone.
“Chelsey, you still there?”
“There’s someone outside the house.”
“What? Are you sure?”
Chelsey slid the drawer open and removed her gun.
“And I’m getting strange calls.”
“You want me to contact Thomas?”
Chelsey padded to the window and peeked through the blinds. The faceless night pressed against the pane. How had it gotten dark so fast?
“He’s busy with the Tina Garraway murder. Hey, LeVar, I hate to ask, but—”
“You don’t need to ask. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“Not a problem. Stay on the line, Chelsey. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”
“Until I arrive, stay away from the windows and keep the door locked. I’ll drive you back to the A-frame and hang out until Thomas returns.”
“What about my car?”
“Don’t forget I work tomorrow morning at eight. We’ll carpool in the Chrysler. But I choose the tunes.”
“Deal.”
Chelsey’s heart raced until the Chrysler Limited’s headlights flashed over the converted house. As she hurried to the car, she stared into the shadows. Some might say she was being overly cautious. But she’d developed a sixth sense for danger as an investigator, and her instincts told her someone had watched her all evening.
And the stalker was still out there.
22
With Darren seated beside her in the car, Chelsey’s nerves calmed. The noonday sun splattered heat across the blacktop and made last night’s string of creepy phone calls seem like a forgotten nightmare. She checked her GPS and confirmed they’d taken the correct turn. They found Georgia Sims’s house in a development a mile from downtown Treman Mills. The modest single-story craftsman sat off the road, with a mailbox along the curb. The lawn was recently mowed, and dandelions sprouted throughout the yard, their yellow flowers like miniature reflections of the sun.
“I can work with this,” Darren said, rubbing his chin as he stared at the house. He snapped a picture with his phone.
“You miss this kind of work, don’t you?”
Darren grinned. “Sometimes. Then I come to my senses. Do I miss being part of a team and helping people solve problems? Definitely. But the long shifts, the constant pressure of the job.” Darren waved a hand. “No, I don’t miss those at all. Pop the trunk. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
Georgia Sims emerged on the stoop as Chelsey and Darren grabbed the boxes from the back of the Honda Civic. Sims pulled her dyed hair off her forehead with a green headband. She wore flip-flops and shorts. Her left hand clutched two gardening gloves.
Chelsey followed the sidewalk to the stoop. “Ms. Sims, this is Darren Holt, the man I told you about.”
Georgia stuffed the gloves into her pocket and shook Darren’s hand. “Thank you for coming out.”
“Darren worked for the Syracuse Police Department before he took the ranger’s job at Wolf Lake State Park. He knows more than I do about security and camera systems, so I brought him along to check the house.”
Georgia invited them inside. As she propped the door open, Georgia rubbed her arm and glanced around the living room with wariness. An empty fish tank stood beside the couch. Georgia had removed the fish, but the tank was still full of water and various plastic decorations—a fake palm tree submerged at the bottom, colorful flowers, a rock tunnel for the fish to swim through.
“This is the fish tank, I take it,” Darren said.
Georgia bobbed her head. “I returned from work around one in the morning, and all my fish were dead, most floating belly-up on top of the water.”
“Did the police look at the tank?”
“The Treman Mills PD officer searched the interior. But he didn’t seem to care about the fish. He thought I’d overfed them or screwed up the water temperature.”
Darren hovered over the tank with a cardboard box tucked between his arm and side. “You haven’t changed the water since?”
“No.”
“Do you have a container I could borrow? I’d like a water sample.”
“Will a mason jar work?”
“That’s perfect.”
Georgia rummaged through the cupboards and returned with a mason jar. Darren scooped the water into the jar, careful not to touch the water and taint the sample. He screwed the lid tight and pocketed the evidence.
“You think the stalker did something to the water?”
“It’s possible. I have friends at the forensics lab. Let me make a few calls.” Darren placed his hands on his hips and ran his eyes over the downstairs. “Did the policeman find an entry point, like a screen off its tracks or a broken window?”
“Nothing.”
“The intruder might have picked the lock.” Darren strode to the entryway and stared toward the kitchen. “If we mount a camera on the ceiling and angle it toward the living room, we can monitor the entryway, the living room, and the front of the kitchen.”
“I’m okay with that.”
Darren pointed at the light fixture above the door. “My suggestion is we mount the camera on the other side of the fixture. That way the light doesn’t block the view. Also, the fixture will conceal the camera.”
Georgia fidgeted with her hands.
Chelsey edged a step closer to the woman, sensing Georgia’s anxiety. “Where else, Darren?”
“Do you mind if we look in the bedroom?”
Georgia removed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her nose.
“That’s fine.”
The woman led Chelsey and Darren down a hallway, past a study and a bathroom. She pushed the door open, and Darren stepped inside the bedroom. Chelsey handed him the second box.
Darren eyed the dresser. “So this person went through your clothes?”
Georgia’s voice cracked. “Half my clothes were strewn across the bed and carpet. Two of the drawers were open. I wouldn’t leave them that way.”
A bookcase stood on the far wall. Literary classics took up the top shelf. On the middle shelf, Georgia Sims had arranged snow globes.
“The second camera is smaller. If we place it between the snow globes, it will cover the window, doorway, and dresser. Either way, if anyone enters your room, we’ll see. And you won’t have a camera staring at you when you’re in bed, trying to sleep.”
“The cameras run on battery power. That means you’ll need to charge them now and then. But don’t worry. They’re motion activated and won’t start recording until someone enters the room. On a full charge, these cameras will record for four hours, which is far more recording time than you need.”
Chelsey peeked inside the closet. Dresses dangled from hangers, and a spiderweb stretched over the corner. “Are two cameras enough, Darren?”
Darren stepped into the hallway, studied the layout of the house, and shook his head. “She could use additional cameras. One on the back door, another in the kitchen. No matter how many cameras we place, there will always be blind spots. But we want to cover as much ground as possible. In addition, I suggest a home security system. The best systems are pricey, but worth every penny. That way, you get twenty-four-hour monitoring and camera views of the front and back yards. I can mount additional cameras, but you’re better off with an integrated system.”
Georgia promised to call a security firm before she left for work.
After they toured the house, Darren installed the cameras. Chelsey turned to Georgia in the doorway. “Are the police still driving past your house?”
“Not that I’m aware. They came by two or three times, then stopped.”
Chelsey checked her schedule on her phone. “I’ll have one of my investigators, LeVar, scout your neighborhood. He drives a black Chrysler Limited. Don’t let the dreadlocks and tattoos frighten you. He’s a teddy bear, not to mention a tremendous investigator. I’ll leave you with his number, in case you have trouble reaching me.”
Georgia cupped her elbows with her hands and thanked them for coming.
On the way back to Wolf Lake, Darren fiddled with the air conditioner, as if marking time. “So, Chelsey. Tell me about the firm’s financial situation.”
Driving with one hand, Chelsey tapped her nails against the steering wheel. “I’ll survive.”
“How bad is it?”
Chelsey blew out a breath. She didn’t know how much she should divulge. If Darren told Raven, the news would only upset Raven.
