by Dan Padavona
Tenny swatted at a curious bee and gave his armpit a quick sniff. He didn’t stink too bad. Still, he felt self-conscious in the beautiful redhead’s presence.
“Hey, neighbor,” she said, crossing the lawn.
“We’re neighbors? Do I know you?”
“Do you want to know me?”
He grinned. “What do you think?”
She lowered her sunglasses and eyed him over the lenses.
“Slow down, big guy. Kim Harris,” she said, handing him the tray. “I bought the house at the end of the block.”
Tenny scratched his head. “The Myers house?”
The redhead hesitated. “Uh, yeah. The Myers house. Are you gonna tell me your name, or are you like a secret agent or something?”
“Wade Tenny, at your service,” he said, balancing the tray on his arm. The sweet scents beneath the foil made his mouth water. “Why am I holding this tray?”
“Because I brought you dessert, you big silly. Isn’t that what neighbors are supposed to do?”
“I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to bring you food, since you’re new and all.”
“Well, Wade.” She stuck her forefinger between her lips. Her tongue flicked out for a moment. “You didn’t show initiative, so I made the first move. Is that okay? Me making the first move?”
Tenny coughed. “It sure is. Kim, was it?”
“That’s right. It’s hot out here, Wade. Why don’t we go inside where it’s cool. That will give us privacy.”
Tenny’s heart pounded. Suddenly he was twenty-one again, on top of the world, every woman at his beck and call. She lifted a high-heeled foot off the driveway and scratched the back of her calf. He stared at her legs until she fixed him with an expectant glare.
“What?”
“You were about to invite me inside, yes?”
He bobbed his head and stumbled backward, almost dropping the tray. Tenny righted himself and stood aside for the redhead. As she bounced past, he muttered an expletive. This hot chick was throwing herself at him, and he kept screwing up. He took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. Her flowery perfume traveled back to him and buckled his knees.
Tenny held the door open. Kim stepped into the living room and peered around, as if she was a real estate agent assessing the interior. She waited for Tenny to shut the door.
“Mind if I drop these in the kitchen?” he asked.
“Not at all.” She trailed behind him with her hands clasped. “Just you here, Wade?”
“Yeah, I’m a bachelor.”
“Seriously? A cute guy like you hasn’t tied the knot? I don’t believe it.”
Tenny set the tray on the counter. “Still searching for the right woman, I guess.”
Kim placed one heel on a wooden chair and adjusted the strap around her ankle. She pushed her sunglasses over her hair. When she bent over, he saw down her shirt. She wore a cherry-red, lacy bra.
“What does the right woman look like, Wade?”
“Come again?”
“Is there a certain type you go for?”
He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
She slid into the chair and tossed her hair back. “Why don’t you join me and relax? You worked so hard outside. And you got some sun on that hot bod of yours.”
This wasn’t happening. Women flirted with him all the time—well, not as often as they had several years ago—but he failed to recall a woman this beautiful falling over him. It was enough to tickle his lizard brain and warn him something wasn’t right. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was this woman flat on her back in his bed, those fiery auburn curls spread across the pillow, her legs wrapped around his shoulders. It was going to happen. She sent hints every second.
“Wade?”
He flinched and realized he hadn’t moved. As he pulled out a chair, she tutted.
“Don’t you want to sample my dessert?”
His mouth hung open. “I sure do.”
She clapped her hands. “Yay. I made brownies. Be a gentleman and bring me one? I’m really hungry.”
His eyes never left Kim as he shuffled to the counter. After pulling two plates from the cupboard, he removed the foil and placed a brownie on each. At the table, he passed one dish to Kim and slid into the chair beside her.
She nudged him with her elbow. “I have to make a confession.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not much of a baker. This is my first attempt at brownies. I hope they came out okay. Try one and give me your honest opinion.”
“Yummy.” He raised the brownie in a toast. “Here’s to new neighbors and lasting friendships.”
“Aw, Wade. That’s so sweet.”
He bit down and chewed. The brownie tasted too sweet, as though she’d overdid it with the sugar. And there was a strange aftertaste he couldn’t place. He swallowed the brownie, not wanting to ruin his chances with the goddess.
“They’re amazing,” he said between bites. “Really, really tasty.”
“You’re not just saying that because you don’t want to hurt my feelings?”
“Best brownies I’ve had this year.”
Which wasn’t a lie. These were the only brownies he’d eaten this year. Tenny wished for a jelly donut or pastry to wash the chemical tastes away. He kept smiling and chewing, and after he finished the brownie, he returned to the counter for a second.
“So what do you do for a living, Wade?”
“I’m a manager with an accounting firm in the city.”
A lie. He’d never sniff a managerial position.
“Is that what you always wanted to do? Accounting? I respect people who are good with numbers. Perhaps you can help me with my taxes next spring.”
“Be happy to.”
He popped the second brownie into his mouth and swallowed it whole. The quicker he finished the dessert, the sooner he’d forget how horrible they were. Then he’d talk her into the bedroom. And after they had mind-blowing sex, he’d toss the brownies in the garbage.
“Last year, I owed the state two-thousand dollars. I’m afraid I screwed up my withholdings. What do you think?”
When he joined her at the table, his head spun. Tenny rubbed his face. He’d probably gotten too much sun.
“Without access to your financial statements, I can’t say for sure. Bring me your return this week, and I’ll go over it with you.”
“That’s so kind of you.”
“What about you, Kim? What do you do for a living?” When she opened her mouth, he held up a finger. “No, let me guess. You’re a model.”
“I’m not a model, but you’re close.”
“Bet you’re on TV. An actress?”
“No, I’m a dancer.” She lifted a shapely leg. “See?”
Her words sounded muffled, as if pillows were clamped against his ears. But he hardly noticed. He focused on that beautiful bare leg. “You most certainly are a dancer. What made you stop by? Why choose me over the other neighbors?”
She crossed her leg over her knee and fiddled with the heel strap again. “You’re not stuffy like your neighbors. I saw you working in the yard without your shirt and figured, that’s my kind of guy. He’s not afraid to show skin.”
His arm twitched, a painful spasm that made him wince. He was vaguely aware that she hadn’t touched her brownie yet, and this set off another internal alarm.
“Kim, aren’t you going to eat?”
The room gyrated. He blinked.
“What’s that, hon? You don’t look so guh-guh-good.”
Her stutter jiggled something dangerous loose from his memory. There had been a girl at Treman Mills High with a nasty stutter. What was her name?
“The brownie. You haven’t—”
His legs locked in crippling cramps, as if he’d run a marathon.
“Maybe you should lie down. Let me help you.”
Her hand clamped around his wrist. Something deep inside Tenny told him to get the hell aw
ay from this woman. He stared up at Kim as she stood over his chair. Contempt swam in her eyes.
“What did you do to me?”
Another spasm burned through his abdominals. His face twisted, and he cried out in agony.
“It’s what you did to me, darling. You know how long I’ve waited for this moment, Wade?”
His mouth fell open as she yanked him out of the chair. Tenny was powerless, his limbs useless, his legs wooden oars, stiff and stricken with pain. He willed his muscles to relax, but they refused to obey. The muscles constricted until his lips trembled, the agony racing through his body. He fell and bashed his head against the kitchen floor.
Kim stood over him now, her legs straddling his chest. She placed one pointed heel on his sternum and leaned forward with her weight. The heel dug into the center of his chest, grinding, cracking the breastbone. His ribs wanted to fan out like butterfly wings and snap through his flesh. As he gasped, she reached up and removed the wig.
A jolt ran through his body. He knew this woman, but couldn’t place her face. The eyes seemed so familiar. They were ghosts from his past.
Then a memory tore through the pain and gave him a moment of clarity. He pictured an obese girl staggering through a crowd of teenagers, with her hands clutched against a bloody nose. Tina Garraway laughed behind the girl. What was the fat girl’s name? Kelsey?
No, Kendra.
“I know you,” he uttered through gritted teeth. “What’s happening to me?”
She smiled and moved the pointed toe of her heel against his throat.
“You consumed strychnine, Wade. It’s a common pesticide, and it leads to agonizing death. The spasms you’re feeling are merely tremors before the earthquake hits. Soon, you’ll lose control of your body. The pain will be excruciating.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.” She checked her watch and sighed. “Hurry and die, will you? I have work to do.”
His back muscles tightened into taut cords. It seemed his body was tearing down the center.
“I’m sorry, Kendra. For the way.” He wheezed. “For the way I made fun of you. Please believe me.”
“Oh, honey. Harding and Tina were sorry, too. But that wasn’t good enough.”
When the truth hit him that she’d murdered his friends, he opened his mouth to scream. Nothing emerged. The woman gave him a knowing smile and walked to the counter, where she wrapped up the brownies. She stopped in the entryway and glanced over her shoulder.
“It was nice knowing you, Wade. Well, not really. But at least it’s finally over.”
28
Thomas scrolled through digital photographs from the Harding Little investigation. Sitting on the back deck, he had a picturesque view of the lake. But he didn’t see the water, only the footprints leading toward the cliff edge on his iPad.
He swiped to a picture of Little beside the stream. His bones were shattered from the fall. The man’s head twisted skyward while his body lay stomach-down. Thomas remembered staring up at the cliffs and experiencing vertigo, wondering how the jogger could have run off the edge.
The deck door slid open, and Jack padded outside beside Chelsey. Thomas set the tablet down and kissed her.
“You’re home early,” he said, stroking the hair out of her eyes.
“I’m meeting with my realty agent.”
“Oh? What’s going on?”
He didn’t want to admit Darren had told him about the firm’s financial crisis.
“My house still hasn’t sold. The agent royally screwed up the photographs.”
“That should be an easy fix.”
“I hope so,” she said, falling into the chair beside his. “At this point, I’m paying for taxes and utilities on a house I don’t even live in.” She eyed him. “Aren’t you supposed to be off today?”
He gave her a sheepish grin and pulled the tablet onto his lap. “I’m going over the Harding Little investigation again.”
“I thought that was an open and shut case. He fell into the gorge, right?”
“That’s what I thought. Now I’m not so sure. Look at the footprints. They lead to the cliff and stop four feet short of the edge.”
“Suicide?” Chelsey studied the picture as she anchored her hair behind her ear. “It appears he jumped.”
“Why not walk to the edge and jump if you intend to commit suicide?”
“Maybe he couldn’t stomach standing on the edge, so he got a running start.”
Thomas snapped his fingers and pointed at Chelsey. “He was definitely running. I measured the distance between the strides, and the average worked out to two-and-a-half feet. But there’s no way Little ran over the edge by accident. Like I said, four feet to the edge. Unless his legs suddenly grew, I have to believe Little jumped, or someone pushed him off the cliff. This whole time, I assumed he was exercising by himself above the gorge.”
“What if he wasn’t jogging? What if he was running from someone?”
“The idea occurred to me.”
“Except you only found one set of footprints.”
“Little’s footprints didn’t appear until he neared the cliffs. If somebody was up there with him, it’s possible the killer threw Little over the side and swept away the prints. It wouldn’t take long.”
“Sounds like you’ve narrowed it down to suicide or homicide.”
“This wasn’t an accident.”
Thomas shut down the iPad. He loved solving mysteries with Chelsey and wanted to spend the afternoon with her. But she kept checking her phone with worry in her eyes. He needed to come up with a plan to save Wolf Lake Consulting before Chelsey abandoned her livelihood and Raven and LeVar lost their jobs. And he had to drive to the cliffs in case he’d missed something important during the investigation. Perhaps he could trick Chelsey into discussing the tax issues by bringing up the assessment on the A-frame.
Before he spoke, Chelsey’s phone buzzed with a new message. She read the text with a furrowed brow, then stuffed the phone into her pocket.
“That’s my agent. I’m meeting her at the house in twenty minutes.”
“Want me to drive over with you?”
“You have work to do, Thomas. Let me deal with this.”
He rose with Chelsey and gave her a hug. “I realize you’re going through a difficult time. But it will work out. The house will sell.”
She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s a timing issue. There’s just so much going on at the office, and I can’t deal with this right now.”
“You’ll be home for dinner?”
“Not until after seven. Don’t wait for me. I’ll eat when I get home.”
They kissed again. Then Chelsey exited through the sliding glass door, with Jack following her inside. Thomas slumped into the chair and glanced at the water. Beside the shoreline, the guest house door opened. LeVar wheeled Scout up the concrete pathway to the porch. Thomas wanted to discuss what happened last night. It sickened him that Treman Mills PD had profiled LeVar. He was proud of the teenager for keeping his cool.
“Shep Dawg, I got big news. Scout just broke your cases wide open.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “The Georgia Sims break-in?”
“No, the Tina Garraway and Harding Little investigations.” He pushed Scout’s wheelchair up the ramp. The girl wore an embarrassed, uncertain expression. “Tell Thomas what you found.”
Scout curled her hair around her finger. “I recalled what Agent Bell told me about escalation. You’ve had two unexplained deaths in less than a week, and each appeared to be an accident.”
“Go on,” Thomas said.
“You already proved someone murdered Tina Garraway. If Harding Little didn’t fall off the cliff on his own, that means our unsub is escalating.”
“Are the cases related?”
“I figured the victims might share a common background. Well, they do.”
Scout handed her laptop to Thomas. The web browser d
isplayed four pictures. Though Harding Little and Tina Garraway were eleven years younger, he recognized the victims in each photograph. In one picture, Garraway wore a pink, frilly dress, while Little donned a tuxedo. The high school prom. The other three photographs were candids.
“They knew each other?”
“Harding Little and Tina Garraway graduated from the same class at Treman Mills High School. The pictures prove they were friends.”
Thomas squinted at the photographs. “The deaths might be a coincidence.”
“Possibly,” Scout says. “But then I found this picture.”
She pulled up an image of five girls in prom dresses in mock party poses, one girl with two fingers raised in a peace-out sign. Thomas recognized Tina Garraway in the middle. But who was the girl beside her?
“Shep,” LeVar said, patting a proud hand on Scout’s shoulder. “That’s Georgia Sims.”
29
The wind kicked up when Georgia Sims drove into the parking lot at Ascend, the shelter for abused women. She ducked and covered her eyes as a gust flung dust across the pavement.
Inside, she checked in with the security guard and crossed the lobby. Soft green colors covered the walls. Combined with the neutral tones of the furniture and decor, the paint lent a sense of calm to the interior. She pushed through the double doors and entered the living quarters. Each residence had three rooms—a general living area with a bed, a kitchenette, and a full bath. Some rooms included two beds for women with children.
As Georgia did every day after she arrived for work, she knocked on the doors and asked the women about their days. Most of the doors stood open. When Eleanor welcomed Georgia into her apartment, Georgia peeked her head through the entryway and found the woman at the kitchen table, wrapping a present. A bandanna pulled sandy hair off Eleanor’s tall forehead. She had a long face and a sharp nose, pale skin like January snow. Eleanor had a way of flinching at shadows, as if she expected a fist to swing at her.
“Looks like you’re busy. What are you working on?”
Eleanor taped a bow onto the gift. “We’re celebrating Shana’s birthday tonight, and it’s going to be spectacular. Jolene and I planned everything, from the balloons to the dessert. We bought a chocolate and peanut butter cake.”
