Trial by Twelve

by Heather Day Gilbert

  A wild-eyed Thor bursts from the door, loosely attached to the leash in Petey’s hand. The yipping dog makes a beeline for Detective Tucker’s leg and starts sniffing as if preparing to use the bathroom.

  Petey pulls at the leash. “Stop that! Sorry, Detective Tucker. He acted like he had to go.”

  Detective Tucker stands. “I won’t take up any more of your fine Sunday, Mrs. Spencer. But you’re going in to work tomorrow, correct?”

  I haven’t talked to Dani, but I figure I’m still on the roster. “I think so.”

  “Text me when you get there and when you leave. Just in case.”

  Just in case some killer gets to me before he can.

  19

  THINGS ARE ESCALATING so rapidly at work, I decided to go back to the college and see if I could teach again. I gave the dean a spiel about how living at the commune helped me refocus, recharge, renovate…whatever words I felt he wanted to hear. Sadly, my acting routine didn’t work on him and he told me in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome back on campus.

  But we should talk about you. You are in a new home now. Do they treat you well? Do they have children your age? Do you ever tell them about me? I do hope every family you’re with knows that your father loves you and will take you back when you turn sixteen. Not before then as I still need to save money and I want you old enough to enjoy traveling to West Virginia with me.

  Did I tell you I recently went there? It was beautiful, though the snowy roads were treacherous. I was able to hunt a bit and pack up my own venison before I left. I am looking forward to taking you there next year so we can hunt together.

  DANI STEPS OUT OF HER car when I arrive. She’s carrying an ivory satchel purse in one hand and a green smoothie in the other. She says hi but her eyes travel to my belt. Is she looking for my gun?

  “I’m carrying.” I hope that’s what she wanted to hear.

  She nods. “You a pretty good shot?”

  “I’m no Annie Oakley, but I can usually hit what I’m aiming at, yes. I practiced this weekend. What about you?”

  She looks startled. “Me?”

  “Well, I assume you shot guns as a Marine? They utilize weaponry there, do they not?”

  “Oh, that. Yes, I did. That was so long ago. I’ve followed a more peaceful path since then.”

  I can’t repress a smirk. “You did? I could swear that chokehold wasn’t too peaceful.”

  She coughs. “Again—sorry about that. I thought it was the greater good in that situation. Hey, have you checked the computers to see if they’re working now? I got the invoice from that guy. It’s astronomical!”

  “Yeah, I figured.” I wish I could fill Dani in on Byron’s kibitzing with a reporter. Which reminds me. “Did Detective Tucker tell you about Tawny Creeden?”

  “Yes. Good gracious. That poor woman. I mean, she wasn’t my favorite person, nosing around like that. I only wish Detective Tucker would tell me how they’re being killed. It should probably be in the paper that there’s a serial killer out there, don’t you think? So we know how to protect ourselves?”

  I keep forgetting Detective Tucker hasn’t told Dani that this killer is a bowhunter. He needs to. There’s no reason I can see to keep it under wraps, but he’ll have to be the one to tell her.

  “I agree. Women need to be prepared.”

  As we fall into our routines, I text Detective Tucker to let him know I’m at the spa. He texts back that he’s in his office today, compiling records on the dead women.

  Teeny arrives, his thinning hair more askew than usual. “Howdy. Dani here?”

  “She’s in the back, checking the chlorine in the pool. Though we won’t have any swimmers today, I imagine. You have some massages lined up?”

  “I do. Here’s the list of names.” He pulls a crumpled yellow paper from his pants pocket, which looks like it’s been splattered with pop and smeared with the artificial orange of a cheese puff.

  “Thanks.” I play a hunch. “Say, Teeny, you ever go hunting? My husband likes to hunt.”

  “Sure. Grew up hunting.”

  “Bow or rifle?”

  “I used to bowhunt a lot, but don’t have a good tree stand now I’m living at Momma’s. I have to go to my cousin’s to hunt. He bugs me and then we get into fights. So I don’t hunt anymore.”

  “Oh, okay. My husband uses a rifle.”

  The door swings open and Axel walks in, carrying a jaw-dropping bouquet of sunflowers, dahlias, and full pink roses. Teeny gapes as Axel carries it over to my desk. I feel like a shrimp in the middle of the Clash of the Titans. Teeny is wider than Axel, but Axel is a hair taller. I don’t know why I tend to picture Axel in fight situations, but I do.

  “What’s this?” I ask as Teeny continues to size up the German giant.

  “It is an apology bouquet for your owner because I entered without permission. Courtesy of Fabled Flowers. Should she want flowers provided on a regular basis, she can call our shop for details.”

  That’s how to win friends and influence people, right there. I touch the lavish, vibrant blooms, wondering if we have a vase in the back. I’m guessing Axel also dropped by to scope out the situation at the spa today.

  He turns to Teeny. “You are an employee?”

  Teeny looks affronted. “Yeah, I work here.”

  Neither says a word. Axel’s powerful jaw flexes. Teeny sniffs. I stand to get a vase.

  Teeny breaks first. “I’ll get on back there.” He trudges toward his massage room.

  Axel gives me a look. I shrug, reading his thoughts. I don’t know if Teeny locked us in the sauna, but it’s a possibility.

  Abruptly, Axel strides out the front door. I watch him get in his car, then I head for the kitchen. Raiding the cabinets, I finally turn up a coffee mug stout enough to support the bouquet’s sturdy stems.

  Once I situate both the flowers and myself at the front desk, I check out the computer. It seems to run fine, but it did that before. What if Byron installed some kind of hacking tracker? We’d never know.

  Dani comes out, her sleeves slightly wet from messing with the pool. “I have a henna job and two aromatherapy facials scheduled for this afternoon. I’ll plug the names into the computer now.”

  She notices the bouquet. “Let me guess. From that German florist.”

  “Yes. He wanted to apologize for coming into your spa and he wanted to show you a sample of his flowers.”

  “I must say I’m more impressed than I thought I would be. This caliber bouquet could hold its own in a Manhattan spa. Is he taken?”

  I glance at her, thinking she’s joking. But the hopeful glint in her level gaze tells me she’s serious. I can’t really picture the two of them together, but what do I know?

  “I don’t think so. Did you…want me to give him your number or something?”

  “I’ll contact him sometime. Actually, once this killer is caught, I was thinking of having a fancy reception at the spa. Celebrate the return of the hairstylists, all that. He could do the flowers for it.”

  “Great idea.” I don’t give voice to my thoughts. If the killer isn’t caught soon, the Crystal Mountain Spa will be relegated to one of those West Virginia ghost-hunter lists. Dani will have to kiss her business goodbye.

  WHEN CHARLOTTE ARRIVES, bearing homemade split pea soup and bread for me, I recognize the poorly-hidden look of despair on her face. She’s been cooking up a storm to escape The Haven.

  “Miranda okay?” I ask.

  Her smile wavers and crumples. “She’s not good. Caught some kind of bug and the coughing wracks her entire body.”

  I picture Miranda, sitting like a queen, white hair perfectly coiffed, hosting a catered dinner at her dining room table for Paul Campbell and me. How could that have been less than two years ago?

  “I’ll come visit her tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sounds good.” She sniffs the roses. “Gorgeous. I have a delicate pink vase I glazed that these would look great in.”

  “Feel free to
bring it by for display and throw in some of your business cards too, potter-girl. The flowers are from Axel.”

  “How do I always miss seeing him? He’s very mysterious.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? This soup is making my mouth water. Want to eat outside?”

  As we knock stray leaves off the patio table, it dawns on me that we can’t eat out here, so close to the ferny woods. We’re easy targets if a crazed bowhunter wants to take a shot from some hidden lair.

  I pick up the thermos of soup. “We actually need to eat inside. I forgot.”

  Charlotte’s gaze follows mine to the woods. “Oh, right. Killer on the loose and all that. No problem.”

  In a flash of déjà vu, Teeny comes out, looking like he plans to join us. Thankfully, Dani is close behind him, toting her earth-friendly paper bag lunch. “Lunchtime? Hi, Charlotte.”

  “We were going back inside to be safe,” I say.

  Teeny maneuvers his large frame into a smaller chair, balancing a smelly burrito on a paper towel on his knee. “No one will kill us when we’re all out here.”

  I’m not so confident about safety in numbers with a bowhunter, but I might get some information from this captive audience. Sadly, all I know about the killer is a big fat “not much.” The fact that those first victims were from California niggles at me, because I know Dani used to live there. But the first victim was in the 1980s and she would have been young.

  “Teeny and I were talking about hunting this morning,” I say.

  Charlotte tilts her face toward me, recognizing my probing tone.

  “Did you ever go hunting, Dani? Back in your Marine days, I mean.”

  Teeny jerks his head up, half-chewed burrito in his gaping mouth. “You were a Marine?”

  Dani crosses her legs, her ivory suede heels creating a lean line with her pale blue pants. “As I said, those times are behind me.”

  I smile. “Sorry. Just trying to get to know each other. I’m an only child and so is Charlotte. What about you all?”

  “Me too,” Teeny says around a mouthful. Charlotte turns her head, unwilling to face the grossness.

  “I have a couple sisters,” Dani says. “They’re in Oregon.”

  The patio door opens and we all jump, since we’re not expecting any clients. Byron walks out in all his mismatched, nerd-chic glory. Charlotte arches an eyebrow. I’m not sure if she’s thinking This guy is hot or Pull your gun now, Tess.

  He runs his eyes appreciatively over all the women and ignores Teeny. “I’m looking for Danielle Gibson?”

  Dani stands. “Yes?”

  My hand drops to the Glock.

  He strides toward her. “Just came to settle the score.”

  20

  I‘VE BEEN LONELY, ALMOST missing the bustle and racket of the commune. Or perhaps I miss you. I know it’s not your mother I’m missing. Although I am sorry no one has heard from her.

  I went on a date with a woman from work. I’m embracing my freedom, but it only seemed to make me feel more hollow. Today’s women are so forward. Even as she plastered her sticky bright peach lips on my cheek, I pushed her away. I am not looking for that; it insults my intelligence. I believe I’m pining for conversation, such as the one I had with Sea. In those precious moments, she looked to me as the teacher I am. I don’t know why she turned on me with such heartlessness, but who knows, maybe she was stoned at the time she made the accusation.

  I should probably follow up with her and get to the bottom of her false complaint. Perhaps I will.

  TEENY JUMPS UP, DROPPING the remainder of his burrito. He moves in front of Dani, glaring murderously at Byron. “What do you want?”

  Byron looks confused. “Just like I said—settling up debt. I need payment on your computer repair job so I can get a new hard drive for my laptop. It’s on sale this week.”

  Dani pats Teeny’s shoulder. He slowly walks back to his chair, leaving the offensive burrito in a splat on the patio tile. As Dani leads Byron inside, I try to figure out why she would agree to pay him on such short notice.

  Charlotte stands and stretches, ignoring Teeny’s appreciative stare. I know she’s relieved things didn’t deteriorate into a shootout at the Crystal Mountain Spa. “I gotta run, Tess. Stop in tomorrow to see Mom, okay? Maybe around four?”

  She whisks past Teeny. He sighs as she closes the door. “Could you give me her phone number?”

  I laugh. “Not a chance.”

  AS THE AFTERNOON SLOWLY ticks by, I’m haunted by images of Melody and Tawny. I can picture them alive and healthy at the spa, and I can just as easily picture them bleeding to death with an arrow through the heart. I wish I knew what I was looking for, what kind of behavior would give this hunter away. I’ve watched several Lifetime movies about serial killers, but that hardly makes me an expert.

  Teeny leaves around three, and Dani starts closing up at four. We walk together to the parking lot.

  “See you tomorrow, Tess. That was weird that Byron came by, but I paid him off since he was so anxious to buy a new hard drive. I can tell our computers are running better.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” I don’t voice my opinion that they’ve hardly changed. “See you later.”

  With her usual flourish, Dani guns it down the drive. I text Detective Tucker that I’m leaving, then roll down my window to air out the car before I turn on the air conditioning.

  A flash of white glints in the woods. I look closer, but can’t make out what it is. Then I hear a faint engine rev and it moves deeper into the trees. It’s a vehicle of some kind. Could that be Byron’s van?

  I pray first, then quietly leave the safety of my SUV. As I walk toward the woods, I pull my Glock. Plunging into the ferny green cover, I quickly spot the wider path. The woods are like a second skin to me, a place I slip into comfortably like a baby moving in the womb. It shouldn’t be hard for me to hide and stalk this vehicle.

  The tire tracks are still evident and I follow them for about twenty minutes, but the vehicle got a head start and I can barely catch a glimpse of it. I finally come to a break in the treeline, where I see the truck stop in the distance. There are no cars in sight.

  My gut feeling tells me that Melody was killed somewhere between the truck stop and the Crystal Mountain Spa. Possibly Tawny was killed in this area too.

  I hike back into the woods, watching for any signs of movement. The day has turned hot and muggy, pushing ninety degrees. I’m thankful Mira Brooke can spend the days up at Roger and Nikki Jo’s, in their air-conditioned house. We only have fans in our cottage, but on days like this when the air is dead, it gets oppressive fast.

  Even the leaf-carpeted forest floor seems to emanate heat beneath me, scalding under the unrelenting gaze of the sun. The welcome rustle of running creek water wafts my way. I turn into the brush to check it out, keeping my eyes open for anything unusual.

  It’s a good-sized creek, with a few tiny minnows dancing just under the surface. There’s a deep green area that was probably used as a swimming hole years ago. I wonder who owns this land? I could probably ask Thomas.

  I’m looking for anything out of place, anything human in this natural landscape. But nothing catches my eye…until something catches my nose.

  The stench of rotting flesh bulldozes my senses. I point the Glock and follow the smell, hoping it doesn’t belong to a victim. Just over a rocky incline, I see the source and exhale. Just a dead deer. But as I get closer, I realize it’s not some random deer. This deer has been gutted for venison…and it’s not hunting season. Someone’s poaching in these woods.

  Either there are a lot of lawbreakers around, or this poacher is one and the same as the killer. It seems like someone needs to keep a close eye on this forest, but that’s not my job. I’ll call Detective Tucker when I get back.

  Something catches my eye—an abnormal structure under a swath of ferns. I move closer and pull the green tendrils aside. Two thin, short logs are tied together with twine to form a rough cross. The anchor
log is firmly lodged in the ground. Someone deliberately placed this here, maybe years ago. A gravestone? A memorial? A whim? Rock slabs jut from the ground in this area, so it’s not the most effective burial spot. But I make a note of the location to tell Detective Tucker.

  The woods seem empty today, devoid of anything living except me. I know this is an illusion, that animals are camped out where I can’t see them. I’m quite sure no humans are hiding here, or I’d sense it. The heavy silence comforts me as I make my way back, relaxing my hold on the gun.

  But as the spa comes into view, I tighten my grip, pulling the Glock closer with both hands. Detective Tucker’s Hummer sits parked next to my SUV, and he lounges against it. At least he gives the appearance of lounging. As I get closer, I see he’s holding his archaic cell phone in one hand and a large .45 in the other. He’s not messing around.

  “Mrs. Spencer. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Where were you? Your car’s sitting here and you’re not in the spa—”

  “I’m sorry, the wireless signal was out of range. I followed a car that was in the woods…I thought it might be Byron.” I try to channel a look of childlike innocence.

  His eyes flash. He’s obviously not affected by my spiel. “The woods? I want you to stay out of there. I’m keeping an eye on it. And I plan to check into Byron’s history as soon as I can.” He pockets his cell phone and sheathes his gun, but the tension doesn’t leave his voice. “Mrs. Spencer, I came here to tell you something. You might want to sit down.”

  Nothing good has ever followed those words. I open my SUV door and sit in the driver’s seat. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Your friend, Charlotte Michaels, went missing outside The Haven today. The receptionist saw her leave, but her car is still parked in the lot.”

  A guttural scream works its way up my throat. Starting as a growl, it ends in a fierce battle cry I can’t repress. Detective Tucker doesn’t step closer, doesn’t try to intervene or comfort me.