by T K Eldridge
“Emlen, call 911 and get the cops here,” he called back. “And do not come inside, it’s a crime scene.” He could hear her choked gasp and then the sound of her making the call as he crouched down beside Joel’s body. No pulse, not that he expected to find one. The chef’s knife from the block spilled over on the counter was firmly planted in Joel’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Joel,” he whispered. “We’ll find whoever did this. I promise.” Then he got to his feet and carefully checked the other rooms, not touching anything, before he made his way back outside to Emlen.
“He’s dead,” he said, voice cracking. “Someone trashed the place and stabbed him.”
“Oh, Cullen. I’m so sorry!” Emlen choked out and then turned to him, hugging him tight. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Whoever did this…it’s because of me. I know it.”
“We don’t know that,” Cullen said as he put an arm around her, patting her back lightly, the other hand still holding his gun. “It’s probable, but remember, Joel was a cop for nearly thirty-five years. He made a lot of enemies. It could have been any one of them.”
Pushing back, Emlen glared up at him. “Are you serious right now? What are the chances of that? He was living here, retired, for what, six years? And no one had bothered him - until we show up and stir up this fucking mess and now, he’s dead?” She pushed at his chest and whirled, arms wrapping around herself as she stomped over to the porch railing. “No wonder you’re not a cop anymore. Even I am not that clueless!”
Stiffening at the painful words she threw at him, Cullen hissed low and grabbed her arm. “Don’t say things about something you know nothing about, woman. I chose to stop being a cop and it’s none of your business why. Now get your ass back in the truck and head back to your place. You can’t be here when the cops come. Having you tied to this will blow any hope of keeping your identity under the radar.”
* * *
Emlen nearly slapped him when he grabbed her arm, but then she saw the pain in his face and heard the truth in his words. Instead of flailing him verbally, she jerked her arm out of his grip and stomped towards the truck. “Try and explain why I made the 911 call then, genius,” she yelled back as she got in and started the truck. She wasn’t gentle in her handling of it as she turned around and spit gravel on her way back down the road, not even bothering with adjusting the seat or putting on her belt until she got to the main road into town. Pulling the truck into Cullen’s drive, she got out, threw his keys into the mailbox on the fence post and jogged back to her house. The watch car was gone and Emlen didn’t even notice as she unlocked her door and stomped inside, slamming the door behind her. “OH, that infuriating, pig-headed asshole of a man!”
She kicked off her shoes hard enough to bounce one off the wall and stomped into the kitchen, proceeding to take out her frustration on the few dishes left in the sink from breakfast. Before she knew it, the dishes were done, the cabinets organized, and all of the counters and appliances wiped down. With a fresh pot of coffee brewed, she poured a cup and went out to the back deck, still pacing but a lot calmer than when she got home. Sure, she realized that she had reacted badly - poor Cullen just lost someone he considered family - but he also had treated her like a liability and an incompetent woman, and that was not the kind of treatment Emlen would ever accept from anyone, ever again. She’d let herself fall back into that kind of acceptance with Brad, and it infuriated her that she’d slid into it with him after working so hard to become strong and independent outside of her family’s connections. It was very likely, she thought to herself, that Cullen had just become the target of a mix of that residual anger, the fresh fear, and worry about the current situation. “I’m such a fucking mess,” she muttered and leaned against the railing to watch the waves and sip her coffee. She’d found that staring at the water did have some calming effect on her about three days after moving here, and Emlen could really use that calm right now.
A good ten minutes passed before Emlen realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. Another person had died because of her family’s messed up history. Joel had been kind and honest and had really tried to find the answers over the past twenty years. It wasn’t fair.
She dropped into one of the padded chairs and tucked her legs up, fingers still clutching the mug. It was something solid, warm and tangible - an anchor for the whirlwind of thoughts and fears that seemed to have caught her up in its onslaught and pulled her free of her moorings.
* * *
That’s how Cullen found her, sobbing in near silence, gaze on the cove and fingers clutched around a mug holding the dregs of cold coffee. He had shown up, angry, grief-stricken, and worried, and when she didn’t answer the knock on the door, he’d walked around the house and found her on the deck. Without a word, he walked up to her, tugged the mug from her fingers and scooped her up in his arms, turning to sit on the chaise with her in his lap. Silent still, he wrapped one arm around her, hand on her hip, the other stroking her hair as she buried her head against his shoulder. Holding her like this, the panic and fear he’d been dealing with soon faded into the more productive emotions of grief and anger. “I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m sorry,” he finally muttered into her hair.
“I get it,” Emlen whispered. “I was really angry and hurt at first, but I get it.” Fingers lifted to wipe at her cheeks, and she sniffed before looking up at him. “I’m so sorry about Joel.”
“Me too.” He sighed and looked down at her tear-stained face, her eyes looking bluer today due to the contacts she was wearing. “They’re calling it a ‘home invasion’ murder, but I learned a few things that I want to share with you and Connor later. I’m almost convinced this was tied to your mom’s murder case and those files.”
“Shit, I forgot about Connor.” Emlen squirmed out of his lap and rubbed her hands through her hair. “Crap. I need to clean up and get the potatoes going and…”
Cullen reached out to catch one of her hands and tug her closer. “Easy, Emlen. He’s going to pick up some sides and I have the steaks already. Just go grab your shoes and whatever, lock up and we’ll go to my place.”
A faint smile and she leaned over to give him a brief kiss. “All right. I’ve got dessert in the fridge. I can bring that. Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”
Cullen watched her grab the mug and head inside, the heel of his hand rubbing at his chest. That woman was getting to him in ways that he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The rush of pleasure he felt when he saw her coming towards him. The fear and panic he’d felt more than once, thinking she was in danger. The heat that flooded him whenever she kissed him. There had been hints of one or the other of those emotions with other women he had dated, but never all of them, and never to the degree he was feeling them now. And there it was again, that pleasure and anticipation at the first sight of her walking towards him, face washed, hair freshly braided and changed into jeans instead of the shorts. She was beautiful, brilliant and she was going to be his. Holding out his hand to take the container from her, he asked, “You lock everything up?”
“Yep, all locked up and my new laptop and a few things are locked in the back of my Rover, just in case.” Emlen tucked the keys into a front pocket, the phone into a back one and she looped an arm through Cullen’s. “Don’t tip that, it’s blueberry cobbler,” she chided as he almost bobbled the container at the feel of her pressing close. “So, tell me about Connor. He’s a Mass State police officer now? Trooper or…?”
“He was a trooper, now he’s a detective. He’s really good at the job and he loves it. I’d been working with Dad in his contractor business when Connor started talking about going to the academy. He and I both got undergrad degrees in Criminal Justice. I had considered going on to law school, but that was about the time Dad started really needing help with the business. His arthritis was making it hard to function in the cold weather and it started impacting his work. Connor had just graduated and applied to the academy - a
nd talked me into dropping an application too. I did, because I really wanted to be a cop, but I also had to do what I could for Dad. When he saw we both wanted it, he chose to retire to Florida with Mom and settle for doing cabinetry and woodworking in his little shop down there. Best thing they could’ve done was move into the warmer weather.”
They stepped up onto Cullen’s deck and Emlen set the dessert container down on the table before turning to look up at him. “It’s getting late. Want me to get the dishes and stuff together while you get the grill started?” She bit her lip for a moment and opened her mouth as if to say more but closed it, pressing her lips together in a line. He’d fully expected her to dig and he was sort of ready to share the story with her, but the reprieve was welcome. “Sure, go grab the stuff and I’ll get this lit and warming. Oh, and can you get the stock pot and half-fill it with water? Connor’s bringing corn on the cob and we can quick boil it.”
* * *
Emlen nodded and went to get her share of the tasks done while Cullen managed his. She really loved his house and the way he’d mixed old and new to make it efficient and comfortable, yet rich with heritage. Filling the stock pot with water, she watched him get the grill set up and lit, admiring the fit of his jeans as he bent to adjust something. He really was not her usual man type, but she was realizing that her ‘usual’ was not as adept at stirring her as Cullen was. Then again, her ‘usual’ type was really good at making her hate men. Lifting the pot, she headed for the door, using her backside to push it open before stepping out and nearly colliding with Connor as he jogged up on the deck. “Woah!” she gasped as he grabbed the pot in a reflexive move to keep it from falling. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking.”
Connor’s eyes widened as he looked at Emlen and he shook his head. “No, my fault. Wow, I can’t believe you’re really here.” He grinned, but the smile wasn’t very bright or enthusiastic. “Let me get that,” he said as he took the pot and turned to hand it to Cullen. “All yours, big brother.”
“Gee, thanks,” Cullen smirked at his sibling before setting it on the flame and then eyeing Connor’s empty hands. “Where’s the stuff?”
A thumb jabbed back over his shoulder. “In the SUV. I was coming to get help to unload.”
Emlen started walking towards the driveway. “Well, let’s go get it. I’m starving.” she called to them as she moved away.
Connor put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder and leaned in, voice low. “Damn, but she looks a lot like her mother.”
“Yeah, wait until you see some of the photos she found.” Cull replied and nudged Connor with his shoulder. “Come on, I don’t like her being out of sight for too long.”
Chapter Twelve
Food was cooking, chips, pickles, and other nibbles were set out on the table. The three sat with beers in hand, snacking while they waited for the steaks and corn to be done.
“So, before we talk about Joel, I wanted to share what I learned from the database,” Connor started, setting his beer down and pulling a thumb drive out of his pocket. “This has some of the data that seemed most relevant on it, but before I hand it over, you need to promise that you will never say where it came from or how you got it.”
“Agreed. Journalistic protection of sources is still mostly supported by the courts - and if they really push, I’ll just tell them I found it on the beach.” Emlen smiled and reached for the drive. “So, what is your analysis of the data?”
Cullen rose to turn the steaks and glanced back at his brother. “I told her you were good at the detective stuff, so don’t make a liar out of me,” he teased and tended the grill while Connor spoke.
“There were only seven or eight tattoos in the database that were similar to the one in your photo, but none of those were identical. Yet, they used the same coloring and stylized line work, so they are highly likely to be from the same artist - a guy who runs a studio over on Comm Ave named Iggy Zapata. I figure we could take a run up there with the photo and see if you can get him to spill. Granted, it’s been about twenty years, but Iggy is still sharp as a tack and while his boys do most of the work, he still does pieces now and then.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the name, but yes, let’s go see if he remembers anything helpful,” Emlen said, sipping at her beer. “I’m sorry that stirring all this up got your Uncle Joel killed, guys. I can’t help but feel responsible for all of this.”
“Wait, Emlen. This is not on you,” Cullen told her, taking the steaks from the grill and putting the plate on the table, then getting the corn before sitting down. He started serving up the food while talking. “I said I wanted to share this with you both, and it sucks saying it at all, so I’d rather just say it once. While I waited for the locals and CSI to show up at Joel’s, I checked out his hidey holes and found a few things that made their way into my pockets.” He pulled out one of those purse-sized photo albums, a worn envelope, and a couple of keys on a two-inch plastic lobster key ring. Setting the keys on the table, he passed the envelope to Connor and the photo album to Emlen. “From what I have put together so far, Joel had been working the case off and on since it happened. He’d take a break for a few months, then dive back in.”
Connor opened the envelope and found what appeared to be pages referring to financial records of more than one or two people of interest. “Uncle Joel always did say to ‘follow the money’ - looks like he was doing just that.”
“And it looks like he was friendly with my grandfather,” Emlen whispered, turning the book to show them a photo of Joel and her Grandpa Brewster on Joel’s fishing boat. “There are a few of them together here, and one of Joel in a tux at some event with my grandparents on either side of him.” She slid the book back over to Cullen and Connor, then started to calmly, carefully cut her steak and begin to eat.
“Any idea what these keys are?” Connor asked his brother.
“One is clearly a safe deposit box, but I’m not sure what the other is. It looks old.” Cullen replied, handing the keys over. He started to drop them, Connor grabbed for them, and the plastic lobster broke in half, revealing a USB drive. “Well, maybe the answers are closer than we thought?” he said as Connor stared at the keys and the drive in his hand.
“Where’s your laptop?” Connor asked.
“After food, guys,” Emlen replied. “And before you plug that in, make sure you turn off the Wi-Fi, so no one has access to what you’re looking at.”
Both men looked at her in surprise, then Cullen grinned. “See? I told you she was a smart one.”
“You’d make a good detective,” Connor added, tucking the keys into his shirt pocket before digging into the food.
“Between the lessons I got from my bodyguards, the training I did to be an investigative reporter, supplemented with pieces from a couple of cop friends, I have a nice mix of disciplines to pull from.”
“I’ve also told her we’re going to hit the range this week,” Cullen added. “She already knows how to shoot, but it’s been a couple of months, right?”
“Yeah,” Emlen replied. “Almost four months now. I started going again after I got rid of Brad, but before moving here, I had about a month of travel to finish up my last assignment.”
“Let me know when you guys are going. I can always use more range time,” Connor said, “And we can see who the better shot is.” His gaze darted to his brother and he nudged him with an elbow. “You haven’t beat me in almost two years. I know you’ve been practicing more, so let’s see if it’s helped?”
Cullen took a slow sip of his beer and eyed his brother. “You volunteering to bring the targets?”
“You betcha.” Connor laughed as Emlen looked confused.
“What am I missing?”
“We liked to bring…uh…interesting targets. Like small watermelons, water bottles, creative paper targets and so on, Connor answered her.
“Creative paper targets?” Emlen asked.
“Uh huh. Zombies or werewolves or vampires or robots…things like
that. Makes it more fun,” Cullen told her, taking another bite of food.
“I was always told that using human-shaped targets was a reminder of what we’d most likely be shooting at if we were ever in a situation, so it was a good idea to stay with the norm.” Emlen leaned back, taking a sip of her beer and watched their expressions.
Connor spoke first. “That’s true, but there are plenty of incidents where what you need to shoot is an elbow or a shoulder, when a perp is hiding behind something.”
“Or someone,” Cullen added, voice quiet. “That’s when it helps to have had practice shooting at other things. It helps your eye and mind train on seeing the potential target over the object as a whole. Just consider it thinking outside the box’.”
Connor smiled as he took a sip of his beer adding, “Besides, it’s fun to watch the little watermelons blow up.” Connor was doing what he could to lighten the mood before Cullen dropped fully into ‘that’ place. He hadn’t had those dark moments as often the past couple of years, but it still could happen, and Connor was on reflex mode to keep it from happening in front of Emlen. It was pretty clear to him that his brother’s improved mood, demeanor, whatever you want to call it, had gone up by an order of magnitude since Emlen had come back into town. His ‘white knight’ complex would suffer if he ‘went dark’ in front of her. So… Connor to the rescue.
“You guys ever see the musical Into The Woods? There’s a line where the witch goes “Boom…squiiiish!” and it replays in my head when I get to shoot something that goes boom.” Emlen chuckled. “One of the guards, Rory, he had been with me when I saw the musical and then about a month later, was on duty when I was at the range. We were shooting at water balloons and I kept going ‘boom…squish’ and he got laughing so hard, he dropped the water balloon he was tying off and it started a water balloon fight among the four of us.” Emlen was grinning, eyes shining bright as she told the story. “One of my better memories.” She toyed with the beer bottle in front of her and glanced up at the two men. “So, when we shoot watermelons, I get to yell ‘boom…squish!’, agreed?” Both Cullen and Connor were laughing as she lifted her beer bottle to toast them as they nodded in agreement.
