The Perfect Mistress

by Blake Pierce

  Soon they were on the other side of the mountain. The trees were suddenly taller and greener. Snow began to appear out of nowhere, first in small patches and then everywhere, covering the hills in a white blanket that came right up to the edge of the recently plowed, two-lane road. It was amazing to think that less than three hours earlier, they’d been in sight of the ocean and now they were in what could be easily misidentified as the Rocky Mountains.

  After another fifteen minutes of endless, twisty ascent, they saw a cabin, then a Christian-themed lodge, then more cabins. And after one last long, slow curve they passed a sign that noted the population of Wildpines as 2,477, and all at once they were in the town. They pulled off Highway 243 onto Central Circle Drive and were suddenly in what appeared to be the main square.

  “This place is cute,” Hannah said, expressing how they all felt.

  The entire area was a collection of homey, log cabin-style storefronts. They’d barely gone a block before passing two cafes, a coffeehouse, an artisanal soap store, a glass-blown art gallery and a one-screen movie theater that was apparently only open Friday through Sunday. A banner tied to two telephone poles above the main road announced that the Pines JazzFest was only twelve weeks away.

  “I want to drive around more but I guess we should go to the substation,” Jessie said. “Undersheriff McClane said he’d meet us any time after 2 p.m. and it’s almost three now.”

  “I think that’s the best call,” Ryan agreed. “He can give us the case details along with the keys to the cabin. Then we can drop off our stuff and start doing interviews.”

  “Maybe you could let me off here in the main square,” Hannah suggested. “There’s no reason for me to be in that meeting, right? And while you’re talking to the sheriff, I could walk around a little bit, get a feel for the place. Maybe I could even find a good spot for dinner.”

  Jessie couldn’t think of a reason to object. Once again she remembered that one of the reasons they’d come here was so that they could actually move about without the constant fear that they might encounter the Night Hunter at any moment. Getting out and about would actually be good for her sister.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Enjoy yourself but please stay aware. All those maneuvers we made coming out here give me confidence that we weren’t followed. But if you see anyone suspicious, let us know. Otherwise, we’ll call when the meeting’s over. Sound good?”

  Hannah nodded as she got out and gave the broadest, most genuine smile Jessie had seen from her in days. She closed the door and headed straight for the coffeehouse, as Jessie had silently predicted she would.

  Jessie gulped hard, trying to swallow the rising desire to call Hannah back. This was the first time her sister would be truly alone in well over a week and the realization was more stressful than she’d expected. Next to her, Ryan gently put his hand on her forearm.

  “She’ll be okay,” he whispered, reading her mind. She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Once they saw her safely enter the place, Ryan pulled back out onto the road and drove the additional two hundred yards to the Wildpines substation, which, unlike most of the other structures on the street, was made primarily of concrete. The building was square and squat, designed for utility more than aesthetics.

  Jessie’s phone buzzed and she looked down. Reading the message, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What is it?” Ryan asked.

  “It’s a text from Marshal Sam Mason. He says now that we’re securely in town, he’s pulling the tail that followed us here.”

  “Wow,” Ryan marveled, shaking his head. “Those guys are impressive. I never saw anything suspicious the whole drive out here.”

  “Me either,” Jessie said. “Either we’re getting sloppy or they’re just that good.”

  “I choose to believe it’s the latter.”

  Jessie did too, because if the marshals could track them without their knowledge, someone else might be able to as well. And that person’s intentions might not be so pure. She tried not to linger on that possibility. Worrying wouldn’t do any good. Besides, the people inside the tiny police station she was staring at needed her help. She had two murders to solve.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The wind was biting.

  As soon as they got out of the car, Jessie zipped up her coat. She glanced at her phone and saw that the temperature was thirty-six degrees. They hurried up the steps and into the station. When Ryan opened the door for her, Jessie was hit with a blast of warm air. Just as quickly as she’d put on her jacket, she peeled it off.

  Looking around, she saw that there wasn’t much to the place. A tiny waiting area with two chairs was separated from the rest of the place by a Formica countertop. A woman in her sixties with coke bottle glasses sat behind it on a high swivel chair. She was on the phone and barely glanced up as they entered.

  Behind her at one of the two desks in the station, a heavyset, straw-haired deputy in his late twenties was also on the phone, desperately scribbling down notes as he listened intently to the person on the other end of the line. At the rear of the station was a second deputy with his back to them. He was talking to a man seated on metal bench in the substation’s solitary cell. The man on the bench looked like he was still hung over from whatever adventure he’d had the previous night.

  Jessie recognized the fourth person in the station from the photo Captain Decker had shown them. Sitting in a chair along the side wall, reading the paper with his feet propped up on a coffee table, was Undersheriff Richard McClane. Though she gathered he was about was the same age as Decker, he didn’t look nearly as worn down as his friend.

  His thick hair was still as much pepper as salt and his weathered skin looked more sun than work-wrinkled. His cheeks were ruddy and his forearms, visible because of his rolled up sleeves, seemed like they were used to chopping wood. He was a healthy looking guy. Maybe that’s what bailing on city life for the mountains could do. He looked up at them and smiled.

  “Detective Hosea and Ms. Barnes, I presume?” he asked, using the fake identities they’d been assigned as he stood up to greet them. He was taller than Jessie had realized, with just the beginnings of a belly, which he didn’t try to hide.

  “That’s right,” Ryan said. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “You can call me Rich,” he said, waving away the formalities.

  “Should we join you back there, Rich?” Jessie asked.

  “Actually, why don’t we head out back behind the station?” McClane suggested. “This place gets toasty when it gets more than a half dozen people inside.”

  He raised the lift-up countertop, stepped through, and led them out the front door, then back down the steps and around the side of the building to his vehicle in the back.

  “Trip go okay?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” Ryan replied. “The traffic opened up after about Redlands.”

  “It could have been worse,” McClane said. “Sometimes it’s bumper to bumper out past Palm Springs. Is the girl okay—Heidi, right?”

  “Sure,” Jessie said, sticking to the façade, despite how weird it felt. “We dropped her off in the main square to look around. She wasn’t all that interested in this.”

  “Understood. I have a fifteen-year-old granddaughter. If it’s not on Tik Tok, it doesn’t exist for her. You want to talk in the car or outside?”

  “Maybe we start outside until I can’t handle the cold anymore?” Jessie offered.

  “Sounds good,” McClane said, looking impervious to the weather, “So Roy filled me in on the basics of your situation. He said the fewer details I know, the better off I am and I tend to agree. As far as I’m concerned, you’re regular LAPD detective types who are helping out because of the unusual nature of this case.”

  “We’re happy to stick with that story too,” Ryan said.

  “Good. For now, I’ve managed to conceal your involvement from my boss, the County Sheriff. He wouldn’t like having LAPD here.
Besides, his interest will only complicate matters. But I have to admit that two murders in such a small community, especially within days of each other, both using the same method, well that’s pretty rare. At some point, he’s going to find out. Once he does, he’ll get antsy and want to defend his turf. I’d say you’ve got about forty-eight hours before he pulls rank. When that happens, you may need to step back if you want to keep that low profile. You’ll still have access to my cabin of course, but you may have to take a backseat to detectives from the County. I assume you don’t want too many people asking personal questions about you, and these County guys are liable to.”

  “Seems reasonable,” Jessie said. “I say the fewer questions, the better.”

  “That’s been our policy as well,” Rich told them. “In fact, while it might seem a little unconventional to city cops like yourselves, we’ve done our best to keep the particulars of these cases under wraps for now. We don’t want a panic.”

  “How have you managed that with two murders?” Ryan asked, incredulous.

  Rich smiled ruefully.

  “It’s not as difficult as you might think. Hardly anyone knows about the second case yet since her body was just discovered this morning. And while people know about the first victim’s death, we agreed with her husband that getting into the gory details doesn’t serve anyone at this time. Most folks still assume she died of natural causes and we haven’t seen the need to correct the record just yet.”

  While she understood Ryan’s shock, Jessie didn’t have a problem with the decision. The fewer people who knew the truth, the bigger advantage she had as an investigator. In a town this small, once word got out, it would be hard to conduct interviews. Beyond that, more attention on the victims meant more attention on her and Ryan, which put their identities at risk of discovery.

  “So how do you want to start?” she asked, choosing to move on.

  “I figured we’d dive right into the cases to maximize time, if that’s okay,” McClane suggested, pointing for them to hop in the car. “I’ll give you keys to the cabin and you can check it out later.”

  “Sounds good,” Ryan said as he opened the front seat for Jessie.

  “Okay then,” Rich replied, before adding, “and if you find that the cabin doesn’t work for you, just let me know. I won’t be offended. There are other options. I’m friends with a couple that rents out cottages, Leanne and Paul Tobias. They might have a few left. And there’s always Riggs Mountain Resort off 243. It’s not as fancy as the name sounds, more of a motel really. But because they’re off the beaten track, they don’t get a ton of traffic. You might even have the place to yourself. I’m sure Stanley and Charlotte would cut you a deal just to get the business.”

  “I’m confident your place will work fine,” Jessie assured him, not adding that she didn’t want to involve any more people in their personal circumstance than necessary. She changed subjects. “So Decker only gave us the basics. Can you fill us in on the situation?”

  They all got in the car and closed the doors before McClane answered.

  “Sure. Our two victims are Clarice Kimble and Sarah Ripley. Clarice is a long-time local; grew up here, moved away briefly before returning for the last decade; married, no kids. She ran an aromatherapy shop and was vice-president of the local chamber of commerce. She was killed on Sunday night outside her house. She was stabbed three times in the upper torso and neck. Her husband found her soon afterward.”

  “And the other victim?” Ryan asked.

  “Sarah Ripley. We’ll be going to her place first. She’s not a local but a frequent visitor. She and her husband live in Los Angeles but they own a place up on Rockview Drive. My understanding is that the husband doesn’t come up often but that Sarah was here pretty regularly. She was supposedly on the verge of opening a second location of a store she has back in L.A. She was killed last night. I can fill you in on what else I know when we get up there. It’s only a five minute drive from here.”

  “Before we head up there, I was wondering what resources we’re working with here?” Ryan wanted to know.

  “In terms of forensics, mostly what you’re used to. Both bodies were taken to the coroner down in Perris. It’s about an hour west of here but it’s the closest option. As far as human resources, the substation has one residential deputy. That’s Garrett Hicks. You saw him talking down the drunk in the cell. He’s young but he’s smart; grew up in this community, knows most folks and has an unassuming manner. He’ll be an asset. I’m going to call him out now,” he said before speaking into the radio. “Garrett, can you join us out back? We’re going up to the Ripley place.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the immediate reply.

  “Normally, we assign a daily second deputy to the town on a rotating basis,” McClane continued. “Because of the murders, the second deputy is on semi-permanent status of late. Today it’s Pete Traven. He lives just down the mountain in Hemet but knows the area well. He’ll handle the non-murder calls for the day. Otherwise, I can be here in an hour if you get in a real jam, but I’m hoping to avoid that. The more I come up here, the more attention it attracts.”

  “We’ll try to keep you out of it as much as possible,” Ryan said.

  Deputy Garrett Hicks walked out the back door. Jessie hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier when he was talking to the drunk in the cell. But now she saw that he was a human oak tree. He was easily six foot five and 220 pounds, with broad shoulders and thighs as thick as Jessie’s waist. His black hair was crew cut short, and his face was warm and open. She doubted he was more than a couple of years out of high school.

  “By the way,” McClane added, “Garrett doesn’t know anything about who you really are or your personal circumstance. He just knows you’re here to help solve these murders and that he’s not to get too curious about you. Except for case details, you can count on him to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.”

  Deputy Hicks got in the backseat next to Ryan and the conversation stopped.

  “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Rusty was threatening to puke on the floor instead of in the toilet until I told him he’d have to clean it up.”

  “Not a problem,” Rich said, “Garrett, this is Randy Hosea and Jennifer Barnes. They do detective work for LAPD. You’ll be assisting them with anything they need.”

  “Nice to meet you, Deputy,” Ryan said, shaking his hand.

  “You all as well,” he replied. “But please call me Garrett. Not even Rich here calls me deputy.”

  “Okay then, Garrett, I’m Jennifer,” Jessie said, the name sounding weird coming out of her mouth. “Rich tells us you know the folks around here pretty well.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Garrett replied. “Born and raised here. Whatever you need to know about folks, I’m your guy.”

  Despite how old it made her feel, Jessie didn’t insist he not call her “ma’am.” She was more likely to respond to that than her fake name.

  “Well, where do you recommend we go first, Garrett?” she asked.

  He thought for a second before responding.

  “Well, if Rich agrees, I think our first stop should be the Ripley place. It’s the most recent crime scene and, since the weather hasn’t changed much since the murder last night, there could still be some physical evidence you might find that we missed.”

  “I think that’s a wise choice,” Rich agreed.

  “Sounds good,” Jessie added, impressed with Garrett’s humility.

  “Just one thing to keep in mind,” he added as they pulled out. “The scene out there is pretty brutal. Even without the body, there’s blood everywhere. You should prepare yourselves.”

  Jessie nodded. Ryan did the same. Neither of them mentioned that they’d seen and experienced horrors he couldn’t possibly imagine. Jessie touched her collarbone, where she still bore the neck-to-shoulder scar from the torture her own father had inflicted on her when she was six, just before he gutted her mother right in front of her.

  Garrett did
n’t need to know about that. He still had a belief that the world was more good than bad. It wasn’t her place to tell him otherwise. He’d find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It took a while before Hannah finally allowed herself to relax.

  She’d spent the entire last week essentially locked up. Admittedly, it was in a large ranch house in the San Fernando Valley. But that didn’t change the fact that she was never even allowed use of the large pool in the back yard. She had to be indoors at all times, away from windows, and with the exception of the bathroom and her bedroom, always with at least one agent in close proximity. Adjusting to actually being alone and free to move about was taking some time.

  After ordering a macchiato and settling into a worn, leather easy chair in the corner of the coffeehouse called Elevated Grounds, she watched the comings and goings of the customers, at first with a cautious eye, but then more out of curiosity. It took a few minutes for the small bell that rang every time the door opened not to make her inhale quickly in apprehension. But after a while, she settled in. In fact, the people-watching was so good that she barely looked at her phone.

  It was one of the more eclectic groups of people she’d encountered in some time, and she lived on the outskirts of Hollywood, where eclectic was the norm. On the patio just outside where she sat, an older, hippie-ish woman with long, braided hair of at least three colors was talking to two bikers in leather jackets with chains on their belts.

  In the corner of the coffeehouse, a skinny, nervous-looking guy in his late teens with unkempt hair unpacked his cello for an imminent set. As he did, he talked to a female barista who looked like a model who had just left a photo shoot advertising some coffee product. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, and though the cellist was well aware of it, she seemed breezily oblivious to the impact she was having on him.