Crime Scene Cover-Up

by Julie Miller

  “Sounds like she’s been missing for some time if that wasn’t taken care of.” Mark released her long enough to pull out his phone. “I’ll call my brother Pike at KCPD, see if she was reported missing. I’ll have him check to see that your old boyfriend—What was his name?”

  “Preston Worth.”

  “I want to make sure he’s still in Montana and nowhere near you.”

  Amy hugged her arms around her waist and listened in while Mark made the call. Pike promised answers by morning, if not sooner. By the time he hung up, Amy was perched on the railing beside him. “I doubt if Derek ever met Lissette. You might convince me he had a motive to kill Jocelyn, but he’d have no reason to go after Lissette.”

  “Unless tonight was a diversion, meant to cover up his original crime and make KCPD think they have a serial killer on their hands.”

  “That’s an unsettling thought. Poor Lissette.” She shrugged. “But Derek was at the same reception I was all evening.”

  “Did you have eyes on him all night?”

  “Well, no. I saw him before the dinner, but I didn’t really talk to him until after the speeches. He was outside when I was ready to leave. I stayed longer to try to sober him up.”

  “How long does it take to get here from Williams U and back? Forty minutes? An hour if there’s traffic?” He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together again. “You need to share that possibility with Detective Beck, too.”

  “He would have had to have been acting drunk to pull that off.” He saw the exact moment in her upturned expression when she realized that Roland could pull off something like that. Uncomfortable with the possibility of a friend’s betrayal or his touch, Amy hopped down and started to pace. “His emotions were way over-the-top tonight. I thought it was grief.”

  “He could have been responsible even if he didn’t leave your party.” Her face was alternately dappled by bright light and shadows as she moved across the porch, making it difficult to tell if she was angry or afraid. “Fires can be set by a delayed ignition, too. You said he’s a science guy, right? Anyone with basic chemistry or electrical experience could rig something like that.”

  She stopped in front of him with a mix of emotions crossing her face. Mostly anger, he’d say. “Are you trying to reassure me or scare me to death?”

  “I’m being real with you. I don’t want you to ever think that I’m not telling you the truth.”

  “I appreciate that.” She tapped her fist against his thigh, then drummed it faster and faster until she threw her arms out in a burst of frustration. “Who is setting these fires? Is Derek covering up his crimes? Did Jocelyn and Lissette stumble across someone like O’Brien burning down buildings on our property, and this guy is silencing his witnesses?” Her temper ebbed, and the gruesomeness of what she was thinking seeped into her voice. Her fingers remained on his thigh, squeezing, kneading, clinging to him even if she didn’t fully realize it. “Or are they the crime, and the fires are the cover-up? Is any woman in this part of the city safe? Are Gran and I safe?”

  “Exactly.” Mark covered her hand with his to still the pulsing movement and pulled her to him again. “I need to know why someone is trying to burn you out of house and home.” He hunched his shoulders slightly, so he could look straight into those beautiful green-gold eyes. “And why I shouldn’t be afraid that you’re next on this guy’s list.”

  Chapter Ten

  Amy pushed her face mask up on top of her welding helmet and stood back to admire her work. Instead of celebrating that she was nearing completion on her latest metals project, she frowned. “Needs more color.”

  This garden alien was supposed to be a fun piece, a cartoonish figure meant to add height to her client’s backyard garden. But instead of building a whimsical sculpture that reflected the young family’s playful style, she’d ended up with a stark, metallic Doctor Who villain that looked like it had just rolled off an industrialized war machine assembly line.

  She shook her head at the copper robot. “That’ll scare the kids.”

  Heck. It scared her. Setting her helmet aside and hanging her welding torch over its hook, she glanced around her studio. For a piece this size, she needed something bigger than the broken bits of glass and rocks on her shelves. The purple crystal geode sitting on her workbench would work for the creature’s nose. But she wanted a pair of colored glass bottles to add as drop earrings, or maybe she could find some old fencing to extend as antennae on top of the figure. Some colorful beer and pop bottle caps could be grouped together to make eyes and blushing cheeks.

  Now that the creative juices had kicked in, Amy was thinking more positively. She pulled up the sleeve of her blue coveralls past the deep purple bruises that had worried Mark so last night and checked her watch. Sleep had been elusive after Mark and his crew from Firehouse 13 had driven away, taking all their lights and activity and reassuring company with them. After checking in on Gran and Mr. Sanders, Amy had settled in upstairs to wrestle with nightmares about crashing down stairwells and being swallowed up by flames. And then her waking mind had raced with memories and future possibilities, both good and bad, as she sorted out her unexpected feelings for Mark. Once she’d decided how easy and risky it would be to not only depend on him, but to fall in love with him, she’d gotten up early to lose herself in her art studio.

  But she lacked the materials her imagination wanted her to use, and with her 9:00 a.m. appointment with Detectives Beck and Carson at Fourth Precinct headquarters, the clock was ticking. She should set the sculpture aside, put away her gear and take a quick walk to clear her head before Mark came by the house to pick her up.

  Between pulling Mark into the house to kiss the stuffing out of him and sitting out on the porch and kissing him good-night, something had changed in Amy. Her resolve had shifted. She’d admitted her fears and shortcomings. She’d surrendered some of her independence and strength by needing Mark so desperately last night. She’d made herself vulnerable by sharing her past mistakes. But maybe she’d gained something, as well. She was strong enough to admit that she was out of her league with murderers and arsonists, that she stood a better chance of finding justice for Jocelyn and possibly saving other lives if she accepted Mark’s help.

  And, perhaps more important, she’d discovered that her heart had healed enough to let someone new into her life.

  She was strong enough to risk falling in love again.

  As Amy slipped off her coveralls and buttoned a cotton blouse over her tank top and jeans, she replayed how last night had ended.

  * * *

  “I’LL GO WITH you to see Detective Beck in the morning,” Mark offered. His tone was casual, like he was making plans to meet a friend for coffee. But his calloused fingertips, tickling the skin at her waist and back beneath the hem of her top, told a different story. They clenched and released, as though reluctant to let her go. As though Mark didn’t want to let her out of his sight, not even for a moment.

  “That isn’t necessary,” she assured him. She knew the way to the precinct. She’d call a friend to come stay with Gran, or maybe see if Gerald had plans for the day. If their neighbor was good to her grandmother, then Amy could put up with his grumpy personality.

  “Not negotiable, Red. Unless I’m out on a call, I’ll be here to pick you up. And if I’m still out with my crew, I’ll send one of my brothers. You’re not doing any more of this on your own.”

  “Do you know how much I’m bristling at you giving me orders like that?”

  His hands tightened on her hips, pulled her closer. “Do you know how much I need you to be safe? How much it kills me to know that you don’t feel safe in your own home? On your own land?”

  Amy reached up to stroke her fingertips across the taut angles of his cheek and jaw. She brushed her fingers across his stubbled skin, once, twice, again, until she felt the tension in his expression ease.

 
And then he palmed the back of her head and covered her mouth with his. Her lips parted on a soft gasp of pleasure and he thrust his tongue inside, staking a claim she willingly surrendered. Amy circled her arms around his neck and pulled her body flush against his hardness and heat. A fire ignited inside her, heavy and molten, shooting sparks to the tips of her breasts where they rubbed against his chest and pooling between her thighs as she felt his response swelling against her belly.

  Whistles and catcalls from the bottom of the hill, and the blast of one loud engine horn startled Amy from the madness that had consumed her.

  “Mark.” She flattened her hands on his broad shoulders and pushed some space between them. “We have an audience.”

  Even through the murky light seeping through the porch scaffolding, she could see the blush on his cheekbones. Amy had no doubt her face was just as red. Instead of moving apart, he turned his hands to squeeze her bottom and pulled her in to reclaim her lips. “They’re jealous.”

  But despite the wanton urge to crawl right onto his lap, Amy pushed back, not wanting to give his coworkers any reason to make more noise that might wake her grandmother or Mr. Sanders. “Won’t they give you grief for this public display of affection? Especially when you’re supposed to be working right now?”

  “Kiss me like that again and I won’t care how much they tease me.”

  She laughed and slipped her fingers between their mouths when he tried to kiss her again. “I’m just looking out for your best interests, Fire Man. You’d better get back to work.”

  He pressed a ticklish kiss to her palm and eased his grip on her backside. “I’d better.”

  Amy moved away, surprised at how cool the air felt on her skin after being pressed so close to him. She handed him his coat and helmet. “Be safe. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mark stood and set his helmet on top of his beautiful, mussed hair. “It’s a date.”

  Amy followed him to the edge of the porch, hugging one of the posts as he jogged down the steps. “Driving me to the police station is not a date.”

  He faced her but continued backing his way down the hill to rejoin his crew. “If I bring you coffee or buy you lunch, it will be.”

  “Taylor!” the fire captain in the white helmet yelled. “Get your butt down here. I need a report.”

  “On my way, Cap!” he shouted over his shoulder. But he pointed to her. “You’re going to go out with me yet.”

  “Taylor!”

  “You’d better go.”

  “You’re not alone, Red. Remember that.” With that promise, Mark turned and jogged down the hill to speak to his captain. His brother Matt joined them. A minute later, their father, Gideon Taylor, climbed out of his KCFD SUV and strode over to the group.

  * * *

  NO. WITH A family like that, Mark probably had no real idea of what it meant to be truly alone.

  Alone was when the man you loved made no apologies for sleeping with other women, telling her she wasn’t enough to make him happy.

  Alone was when standing up for yourself was rewarded with a punch in the face and a shove down the stairs.

  Alone was testifying against the bastard who’d beaten you and then tried to cover up his crime with blackmail that had silenced other victims.

  Alone was knowing your best friend was missing and if you gave up the search, no one would find her.

  Alone was protecting the woman who’d raised her from greedy contractors and dangerous fires and a sick threat that seemed to be closing in around her beloved home because there was no one else to do it.

  How could she make Mark Taylor understand that she’d forgotten how to be part of a couple? How to trust implicitly that backup would be there when she needed it? How patient could he be with her while she relearned how to love? How much trouble was he willing to endure being involved with her?

  How much was this going to hurt if she listened to her heart and Mark wound up getting injured because of her? How much was this going to hurt if he wised up and decided that a relationship with Crazy Amy Hall wasn’t worth the risk?

  Because she was tired of feeling alone. Of fighting alone.

  She was ready to risk her heart on Mark Taylor. But was he ready to risk his heart on her?

  With that philosophical debate weighing heavily on her heart and mind, Amy grabbed her backpack, where she carried Jocelyn’s laptop, and fastened the padlock on the art studio door behind her.

  Since she had time, she detoured through the surviving part of the old stables, finding a wooden tray of old skeleton keys and lock plates in the tack room that might work for her sculpture’s earrings. There was no electricity in the damaged building, but with the morning sun shining through the collapsed roof and broken windows, she didn’t need man-made light. Her exploration uncovered a rusted metal trowel that could be polished up and used as the creature’s antenna if she could find another similar old tool somewhere on the property. Perhaps she could remove the peeling paint from the handle and repaint it a bright, vibrant color. She dusted off the items as best she could, then unzipped the front compartment on her backpack and tucked them inside. Joy bubbled up at her discovered treasures, and the idea for a humorous, more child-friendly garden alien became a finished piece in her mind.

  But the image died, and the joy quickly dissipated as she turned and faced the back end of the stables. Still marked off by crisscrossing yellow tape, the charred timbers and chunks of roof piled inside and atop the old horse stalls were a stark reminder of the downward spiral her life had taken after Preston. Curious to know if she could truly put her past behind her, she walked closer, reaching over the restrictive tape to shove aside a broken door and pick up the burned frame of one of her canvases. The ruined pinewood crumbled into dust the moment she lifted it off the ground. She’d set all of her paintings she’d done under Preston’s tutelage aflame that cathartic night when the first fire had gotten out of hand and she’d been forced to call 9-1-1. She’d burned the portrait Preston had painted of her. Even though the image had once made her feel beautiful, the way he’d treated her had not.

  Amy shoved the old door back into the debris and brushed off her hands. Nope. Not even one flicker of regret or sorrow for the destroyed life she’d left behind. She’d proved herself stronger than her past. Tipping her chin up, she marched out of the stable, pausing at the spigot on the back of the house to wash her hands.

  She was ready for her future. Ready to solve a murder. Ready to love again. She wound her fist around the knotted heart pendant hanging from her neck and smiled. She only hoped Mark Taylor was ready for her.

  Amy had every intention of going back inside to wait for Mark, but when she rounded the house and saw the blackened walls and broken windows of the rental property that had burned last night, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. She paused at the railing leading up the steps and waited to see if what she’d seen had simply been a trick of the morning sunlight and her own movement.

  There. Amy’s grip tightened around the straps of her backpack. There was a light on inside the abandoned house. A house that had no electricity. Not since KCFD had shut off both the electrical and propane feeds last night.

  Since there was no vehicle parked on the concrete pad in front of the house, Amy scanned both sides of the lake, looking for some clue as to what was going on. A looter? Curiosity-seeker? A light blazed through the windows of Gerald Sanders’s living room, indicating he’d returned home and was reading his newspaper over coffee and breakfast. On the far side of the lake, she spotted Dale O’Brien’s work truck in front of his office trailer. But there were no other vehicles there. No men reporting for work yet. Had O’Brien come in early? Or stayed the night? And why? Straightening up the mess of paperwork created by Lissette’s absence? Or something more sinister? The man always seemed to show up when she least wanted to see him.

  The light in the
burned house flickered, drawing Amy’s attention again. But it disappeared almost as quickly as she’d seen it. When it reappeared a few seconds later, passing by the shattered front window, curiosity and a familiar sense of anger and violation moved Amy’s feet. Why the hell was the Hall farm such a target for criminals?

  Someone was in that house, moving through it with a flashlight. She headed straight down the hill and crossed the asphalt. Her heart beat faster as she realized whoever was in there was looking for something. An intruder searching for treasures like she’d just found in the wreckage of the stables? An arsonist revisiting the scene of his crime, either reliving the adrenaline rush of his handiwork or retrieving something he’d inadvertently left behind?

  The yellow warning tape crossing the front door and broken window hadn’t stopped the trespasser from entering.

  It wouldn’t stop her, either. Amy pulled her cell phone from the side pocket of her backpack and pressed 9-1-1, holding her thumb above the Send key as she pushed open the front door. She couldn’t go far before a collapsed wall and the skeletons of charred furniture forced her to step into what used to be the living room. “Hello?” she called out to the intruder. “You shouldn’t be here. Both for legal reasons and your own safety.” She heard the screech of something heavy moving across the floor from the back of the house, followed by the scuffling of footsteps. “I have the police on speed dial. I’m calling them right now if you don’t leave.”

  “Don’t do that. Please.” The next thing she knew, a bright light was shining in her face, blinding her. “You shouldn’t be here, Miss Amy.”

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding when she recognized Richie Sterling’s voice. “Richie?”

  When he saw her holding her hand in front of her face, he lowered the beam of his flashlight. “Sorry about that.”