Deadhead: Bedhead Book 3

by Kayt Miller

  “A loan?” He takes two steps closer. “Why would you need a loan?”

  “I wanted to buy a gaming computer.” And those things are like four grand, so it makes sense that I’d need a loan.

  “Why not go to Vista? We’ve been their customer for years.”

  “I wanted to do it on my own.” That’s a viable excuse, right?

  Two steps closer. We’re less than a foot apart now. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Ugh, his voice is starting to sound a little creepy.

  “Dad.” I sigh, then roll my eyes for effect. “I’m twenty-three years old. It’s time I—”

  “No!” he shouts so loudly I jump. “It’s not time. It’s not time for you to do a goddamn thing.”

  “Dad, I—” I don’t get any other words out.

  “Don’t.” He inches closer. “Whatever you’re up to, I’ll find out. The bank president of First National is a friend of mine.”

  I want to tell him good luck with that, but I choose to remain silent.

  “Does this have anything to do with your visitor this morning?”

  Okay. That’s too much. “What were you doing, hiding in the stairwell?” I laugh, but it comes out as more of a grunt. “He brought me back my plastic container. That’s it.”

  “And you invited him over for dinner.”

  And that’s enough of that. Now I step closer. We’re nose to nose. Well, his nose to my forehead. I look up into his eyes and say what I’ve needed to say for years. “I’m only going to say this once, Dad.” I grit my teeth. “If you don’t back the fuck off, I won’t finish your fucking book.”

  “And if you don’t finish my fucking book, I won’t give you your allowance.”

  I push up onto my tiptoes. “And if you don’t give me my allowance, I’ve got a friend of my own at the Ames Tribune.” That’s no lie. Well, we used to be friends in high school, until I practically became a recluse.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me.” Seriously. I want him to try me. I’ve been dying to go to the paper or to someone about him for years.

  He suddenly takes a step back. “Fine.” Running his hand through his perfectly coifed hair, he chuckles. “You surprise me, Daisy Fay.” He turns and walks to my patio door. The one I haven’t seen out of for years. The sunlight makes a big difference in this place. I no longer feel like I live in a cave.

  While I’m at it, I add, “Back off about my personal life.”

  So suddenly it startles me, Dad’s head whips back until his glaring eyes meet mine. “Do not test me on that. No visitors. No dates. And especially no cops.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because cops snoop.”

  “Nobody will find out about our deal unless I’m the one who shares it.”

  Dad’s voice is low and rumbly. “You’d better not.” He means “or else.”

  I shrug. “That’s up to you, old man.”

  I guess calling him “old man” is funny because he laughs as he walks past me, bumping me with his shoulder like some punk-ass. At my door, he looks back at me as he reaches for the knob. “I’m going to call my friend at that bank.”

  “Do whatever you need to do.” Because he won’t find out shit. The asshole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gage

  The ride to Stuart, Iowa, has ended up being a working drive. Finch is driving because the captain thought the experience would be good for the rookie. I guess he’s right. So while Finch drives, Trumbull has taken shotgun. That left me with the back seat. I was a little irritated by that at first, but I’ve used the extra space to spread out some of my notes and a copy of the file on Kara Becker’s murder.

  With everything in front of me and two other brains in the car, we’ve worked through some of the questions I’ve had rolling around in my head. Things like the surveillance video taken at Social Apartments. “It shows Tayler Sorenson arriving at the time she said and leaving approximately eighteen minutes later.”

  “Still time enough to kill Becker,” grumbles Dan.

  “Yeah, but there’s nothing odd about her demeanor as she leaves. If you’d just murdered someone, wouldn’t you behave differently?” I know I would. “Plus, there doesn’t appear to be any blood on her clothing, and she’s wearing the same thing she had on when she got there.”

  “But she’s wearing dark jeans and a dark shirt. Blood would have been hard to spot, especially since the video was grainy, at best.” Dan makes a good point.

  “Okay. But what about the garage entrance?” I ask, hoping one of them has some new information on that. At Social, there are parking spaces beneath the building that some residents choose to rent. The fees are added to the cost of the rent, so I’ve got a list of the residents who have a spot. Kara Becker had one, for example. Daisy is another. For those people, there’s a service elevator that takes them up from the underground parking to their floor. “Do we know when we’re going to get the elevator footage yet?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dan nodding. “Captain said we should get that today or tomorrow.”

  “Nothing from the parking garage itself?”

  “I checked with management, and they said that camera is out of order.” Finch is proving to be pretty good at this stuff.

  “Jesus,” I mutter. That’s dangerous. Assaults happen all the time in dark, dank places like that. I immediately think of Daisy. Not only that, I’m sure other women have spaces down there, and I’d bet they’re expecting it to be safe for them, but if the security camera doesn’t work, that’s dangerous.

  “Finch,” I snap.

  “Yeah?”

  “Call their management today and tell them if they don’t get that repaired this week, I’m calling Ames Inspection Division. Maybe a hefty fine is what they need to get that shit done.”

  “Yes, sir.” Surprisingly, Finch doesn’t sound like a smartass when he says that.

  “Thanks.” I pick up the photocopied journal that Dan created. “Becker seems to have quite a few comments about the guys she sleeps with in here.”

  “She has a rating system,” Dan explains.

  I read about another guy we should check out. “Evan Parker got a C+.”

  “Hey. That’s as good as an A. Every other guy seems to score a D or lower in that book.”

  “That’s rough,” Finch grumbles.

  Dan looks out his window. “And really shitty. To judge a guy like that.”

  “Guys do that kind of shit all the time,” Finch adds. “The dudes in my frat had contests.”

  “You were in a frat?” That says a lot about this guy. Frat guys are a pain in the ass.

  He nods. “For a year, but then I quit. Guys were pricks.”

  Alrighty then. I guess I was wrong about Finch. Again.

  I leaf through the pages once more.

  “So, she used initials here for some of the people. DF, which I’m going to assume is Dylan Forrester again.”

  “She didn’t have much good to say about him. She gave him a D-minus in the sack. And as we read from her social media post, the guy was quick.” Dan chuckles. “Poor girl.”

  “And then there’s Bryant Falco.”

  “He’s mentioned several times, along with Quinn Maxwell.” Dan reaches back and takes the packet from my hand. “Here. Let me find it.”

  “With Quinn?” I pick up my phone. “Hang on.” Without a thought, I type out a message to Quinn.

  Me: Do you know someone named Bryant Falco?

  Seconds later, I get a response.

  Quinn: He was a guy I used to like. A friend. Why?

  Me: Did he know Kara Becker?

  Quinn: Yes. They dated for a while.

  Me: You have his number?

  Quinn: Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve used it, but I’ll send you what I’ve got. You don’t think Bryant killed her, do you?

  Me: Just part of the investigation. His name came up. We need to check out every avenue.

 
Quinn: I get it.

  A moment later, I receive his number.

  Me: Thanks.

  Quinn: Anytime.

  Pulling out my notebook, I flip the pages back until I’ve got my notes from my conversation with the women from Beedle Drive. Thumbing through, I get to the part where they reference a guy who Kara dated. The one who was a friend of Quinn’s. Susanna called him “Bradley,” and Robbi thought it was “Braxton.” I’d bet my badge they meant Bryant Falco.

  Jotting down his name and number in my notebook, I tell the guys, “Got his number. Finch. Call him. We definitely need to bring him in for a chat.”

  “I’ll get him in there.” Finch sounds confident, which is good. We need confidence right now because the more we work, the more suspects we seem to be gathering.

  Reading through Kara’s journal again, I tell them, “She gave Falco an F.”

  Poor bastard.

  Reading on, I see two initials I’ve seen before. Starting over, I run through the first page to my current spot for something that indicates who it is. “Who’s DG?”

  Dan turns to look at me. “That, I couldn’t figure out. The initials were mentioned several times starting last year—October or November, I think—but no clues as to who he or she is.”

  I flip through several more journal pages. “Those letters are in here a number of times. Let’s keep an eye out for them as we search her room.”

  “Agreed.” Finch says from the driver’s seat.

  “So, what else are we looking for today?” asks Finch.

  That’s a good question. “I’d say anything that relates to her life in Ames.”

  “Are we talking to the father today?”

  Dan takes this one. “Captain said kid gloves around the dad. We can ask, and if he wants to answer questions, he can.”

  So that’s what we’ll do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daisy

  As soon as my dad is gone, I take a moment to gather myself. No matter how cool and collected I seemed, inside I was shaking like a leaf. Based on the things he ransacked from my files and drawers, I can see he didn’t find anything that would indicate I was up to no good. And I am up to no good—as far as my father’s concerned. No, I keep anything that would incriminate myself in another location. One he doesn’t have access to, and he never will. It’s taken me six years to put my plan into action, and this is it. As soon as that damn book is done, so am I.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gage

  “Well, how’d you fellas do?” Captain Billings asks us as soon as we walk back into the police station.

  “We didn’t find much,” mumbles Dan. “And her father knew less about his kid than we do.”

  “Now that’s not fair.” I glare at Dan. Then, looking over at the captain, I say, “He’s still really shaken by her death.”

  “I can see that.” The captain has three kids himself. Hell, even if Kara had been my child, I’d feel the same as Becker, and that’s knowing the kind of person she was. She was still his only child. Well, I guess there was another one, but she died very young.

  Setting a file box down on my desk, I explain, “We were given permission to bring back her school papers, notebooks, and anything from her life in Ames that we thought could give us some clues as to what she was up to. Finch inventoried everything, and we had Mr. Becker sign off on it.”

  “Excellent.” He beams at Finch like a proud father. I’d like to snicker, but that’s unprofessional. I’ll wait until I get home.

  The three of us make a couple trips down to the car to bring up the items we took from Kara’s bedroom. It’s doubtful we’ll find anything worthwhile in this mess, but we’ve got to try.

  “I guess we’re gonna be spending the next few days in the office,” I say glumly. I hate the desk part of this job. I’d prefer to be moving. But this is as much a part of an investigation as anything.

  I look at the clock. “It’s getting late.” Plus, I’m fucking starving. “Why don’t we get a fresh start in the morning?”

  “I agree,” says Finch. “I need to eat and get home to my girl.”

  Dan’s face says everything. He doesn’t have a girl to get home to. Not anymore. “I’m gonna order in some food and get started. You two head home. I need some alone time. Spending eight fucking hours with you two in one day is more than I can take.”

  I don’t think he really feels that way. I suspect it’s his way of letting us get out of here. But he’s right. I’ve had enough male bonding to last me a while. “I’ll be here first thing to pick up where you left off.”

  “Sounds good.”

  On the way out, Finch catches up to me. “I think he just doesn’t want to go home.”

  I nod. What else can I say to that? “See you at seven?” I ask with an arched brow.

  “Sure. I’ll be here,” he practically chirps.

  I’m a little surprised by how eager he sounds.

  You know, I think I may have been wrong about Lance Finch.

  At home, I shower and change into a pair of sweats and a tee. My food should be delivered any minute, and I can’t wait. My stomach has been growling for a couple of hours now. Tonight, I opted for some pizza from Great Plains Sauce and Dough Company. I asked for extra honey for my whole wheat crust. Just the thought of it makes my stomach growl in anticipation.

  Pulling out my one and only TV tray, I grab a beer and settle onto my sofa. My cat, Pepper Anderson, takes the opportunity to jump up for a little scratch behind her ear. She loves when I do that. Leaning back, I sip my beer and pet the cat. She must like it because she crawls onto my lap, curls up into a ball, and begins purring. No doubt she’s as tired as I am with my new schedule. We had sort of an ideal thing going since we’re both essentially nocturnal, but now that I’m working days, things are a little screwed up. I know I’m exhausted, so maybe she is too.

  “You miss me today, Pep?” Of course she doesn’t respond. I sigh and close my eyes. I’m home, I’m comfortable, and my stomach is about to be filled to the brim with pizza. What’s better than that?

  When the doorbell rings, I practically launch off the couch, startling the cat and causing her to jump off my lap and skitter out of the room. Food! As soon as I open the door, I can already smell the scent of sauce and cheese. Since I paid online, I take the pizza and hand the delivery guy a few bucks. “Thanks.”

  “No problem-o, dude.”

  Shutting the door, I don’t bother with plates or napkins or silverware. “It’s just me and you,” I say to the pizza box. Placing it on the tray, I pop open the box. Just as I’m reaching for my first slice, my phone rings.

  “No,” I whine.

  I make eye contact with what would have been my first slice, then glance at the phone. I see the name and forget the pizza.

  “Daisy. What’s wrong?”

  Yes, I’ve added her to my contacts.

  “Oh, um.” She sounds hesitant. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but…,”

  “But what? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Well, no.”

  Jesus. I need her to spit it out. “Are you in danger?”

  “Well, no. I don’t think so.”

  I’m this close to pulling my hair out. “Tell me what you need.” Now, please.

  “It’s just… I remembered something.”

  “Remembered something?”

  “About that night.”

  The night Kara was murdered. “Okay. What’d you remember.”

  “Well, it was earlier, you know, when I went to put my clothes in the wash.”

  There’s a long pause. “Uh-huh.”

  “I was searching for coins because those machines eat money.”

  I remain silent.

  “Anyway, when I was heading down, I saw Kara. She must’ve just been getting home.”

  “What time was this?”

  “I’d say around eight or so.”

  “And was there something significant about seeing Kara?”


  “Well, no.” She hesitates. “Well, sort of. She was all dressed up, you know, like she was going to a job interview or something.”

  Interesting. Where would she have been going at that time dressed up?

  “That’s not it, though. It was the thing she was holding.”

  “Which was?”

  “A big pink envelope.”

  “Pink?”

  “Yeah, like hot pink… magenta.”

  I do my best to remember the list of items we took from her apartment. No pink envelope that I recall.

  “And you said big? Like nine by twelve?”

  “Yeah, like one of those bigger ones that holds a full sheet of paper.”

  “Okay. That’s good information.”

  “It is?” She sounds sincerely surprised.

  “It is. I’ll check tomorrow to see if we recovered a large pink envelope. You may have cracked this case wide open.” I chuckle.

  “Oh.” Silence, then, “You’re teasing me.” Her voice changes in that instant to something that sounds distinctly hurt.

  “No. I mean it. It’s a line from every old cop show ever made. I’ve always wanted to say it.” But now I don’t plan to say it ever again.

  “Oh.” She sounds unsure. “Okay. Well, thanks. Good night.”

  “Wait,” I say too loudly. “I really mean it. That’s very helpful, and it could be a key to all of this.”

  “Really?”

  “Really… Daisy.” I almost called her sweetheart. Thank god I didn’t. That’d be very inappropriate. “Any and all information you can give me, us, will be helpful.”

  She sighs and I hold my breath, waiting for her words. “No. I get it. I’m glad I could help.”

  Several seconds tick by before she says, “Well, I’d better go.”

  “Listen… I just got a pizza delivered.” Oh shit. What am I doing?

  “Crap. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say anything? I just—”