by Lisa Harris
Twelve feet in front of her, sprawled on the floor beside the granite bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, lay a man clad in khakis and a light-green, long-sleeved button-down shirt. He was unnaturally still, his right arm stretched out as if reaching for something. The other arm was buried beneath his torso. His head, turned in Quinn’s direction, revealed glassy light-brown eyes that stared at the wall with no hint of life in them whatsoever.
For a few heartbeats, Quinn seized, her brain working to catch up with the reality in front of her. All warmth drained from her body, replaced by a horrifying chill reaching into every cell. A piercing scream erupted from her lips and she spun, running for the door.
Chapter Four
Quinn tore from the back of her house, flinging the door open wildly. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she ran past her pickup, clipping it with her right side, ripping the takeout container from her hands so that tacos, rice and beans spilled out, splattering on the driveway. She charged straight for the back door of Number Three—the lavender house to the left—crossing the short twenty-five-foot distance in seconds. She banged violently on its white back door—identical to hers—her fists soon stinging from the force of her pounding. When five seconds passed and no one answered, Quinn violently punched the doorbell in rapid succession.
Still nothing. Her eyes shot to her own back door, expecting—what? The man to walk out?
Those eyes…those vacant brown eyes. The man was gone. Dead.
So what was she watching her door for?
His killer.
Another spasm of fear gripped Quinn as she continued banging and squinted through the textured glass panes in the top of the door. There were lights on in the house, but no sign of movement. Abandoning the attempt, she raced toward Number Two, where she knew Mrs. Garber was home. At the door, she lifted her hand to pound again—when mental lightning struck. Feeling sick for not thinking of it sooner, she grabbed her cell from her pocket and entered 9-1-1 with the thumb of one hand while alternately pounding on the door and jabbing the bell with her other hand.
Light and shadow shifted across the panes in the top of the door. At the same time Quinn pressed the phone’s dial icon, the door swung open revealing a confused Mrs. Garber, her eyebrows pressing high into her wrinkled forehead as the 9-1-1 operator answered.
The lights from three Wilson County Sheriff’s Department cruisers flashed red and blue against the homes in Bello Breakers, like bizarre disco projections on the pastel structures, creating a dizzying rainbow effect. They had arrived nearly simultaneously, parking behind Number Four’s driveway, blocking in Quinn’s pickup. Quinn and the Garbers stepped out from the safety of Number Two to watch from their portico as the deputies exited their vehicles, weapons drawn, and entered Number Four. By this time the residents of Numbers One and Five had also stepped out to see what was happening. Number Three was still AWOL.
The deputies were only inside Quinn’s house for a few minutes before one emerged from the back door, standing tall in his dark-grey uniform with a Wilson County gold-embroidered emblem affixed high on both sleeves. Dread pricked Quinn’s gut as she recognized him immediately. Shane Cody was a fellow graduate of Wilson County High School, someone she hadn’t seen in more than ten years, and as far as she knew, still couldn’t stand the sight of her. On top of everything else, this was the last thing she needed.
“Quinn? Quinn Bello?” he shouted in her direction, angling his head.
“Yeah,” she answered, hearing the note of trepidation in her voice. Another deputy exited her house, walked behind Shane and made his way to the center of the roundabout, scanning and turning as he went, his weapon still at the ready.
Shane crooked a finger, motioning at her. “Come on over, Quinn,” he called out.
“You sure? Whoever did that to him isn’t still in there?”
He nodded. “The house is clear. We’re still checking outside, but I need you to come in with me, please. Okay?”
Quinn started toward him, the Garbers following closely behind, when Shane threw up a hand. “Just Ms. Bello, please, folks,” he cautioned, and they stopped where they stood as Quinn went on alone.
As she drew closer, she got a better look at her old classmate. Other than some crinkling around his eyes and skin weathered from many summer tans, Shane Cody looked just as Quinn remembered—blue eyes, curly blonde hair and freckles across the bridge of his nose. She also thought she could see the disdain she remembered simmering behind his stare.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, angry with herself that she had forgotten he was a sheriff’s deputy. Her mother had mentioned it once in passing, but tonight she had been so freaked out, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might show up. So now, as if this event wasn’t horrible enough, he was here, and this whole thing had become even more surreal.
“We’ve cleared the house.” He nodded toward the other deputy, now working his way toward Number Five. “We’re checking paths between the houses and the beach, but there’s no sign of an intruder.”
“And the man on the floor? Who is he?”
He tilted his head toward the house. “Let’s go inside. Have a chat.”
As an attorney, Quinn had been around law enforcement personnel enough to know that they saw disturbing situations on a regular basis, numbing them to the point that they could take something like finding a corpse on the floor in stride. However, something about Shane’s unruffled demeanor was so completely unaffected—even more so than she would have expected—that it concerned her. From his reaction, you would have thought she reported someone rolled her house, not that she came home to find a dead man on her floor.
Shane held the back door open, allowing her to pass. She only had to go a few feet into the entryway to know exactly what he wanted to chat about and why he was so impassive.
The spot on the floor where the corpse had lain just fifteen minutes earlier was empty.
Deputy Cody sat beside Quinn on the creamy velvet couch in her living room. He was rigid and all business, while in contrast, she had shrunk into the pillows, a cotton knit throw gathered around her as she clutched a bottle of water. He had been thoughtful enough to retrieve it from the fridge for her, and the icy cold was like an anchor.
“Describe it again,” he said, leaning forward, his arms propped on his knees.
“I’ve told you everything, Shane,” Quinn said, unable to keep the note of exasperation out of her voice. “Twice.” She knew he was just trying to get the story straight, but repeating it wasn’t going to change anything. “I don’t want to go through it again. I want to know where the body went.”
“I know, Quinn. And I don’t have an answer for you. At least not one you’re going to want to hear.”
Her skin tingled in warning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He rolled his lips inward before speaking, then released them. “Have you considered—I mean, given that there just isn’t any sign of a corpse—that maybe you didn’t see exactly what you thought you saw?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, pivoting toward him, her back straightening. “There was a dead guy on my floor, Shane. Not much room for misinterpretation.”
“Well, except, there is no dead guy on your floor.”
She sucked in a breath. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Quinn, we’ve checked your entire house several times. No one is here who shouldn’t be—living or dead. I’m suggesting that maybe—just humor me—maybe it wasn’t a dead person on your floor. I’m not saying someone wasn’t here, I’m just saying that maybe they just got up and walked away.”
Quinn ran a hand over her face. She should have expected this. Of course, they wouldn’t believe her. Of course, he wouldn’t believe her. “Shane, please. I know dead when I see it.”
“But there’s no one here, Quinn—”
“So you’re saying he, what…broke in, then somehow knocked himself out cold, then woke up whi
le I ran off for help and just waltzed out of here?”
Shane sighed and his arm twitched, as if he was going to reach out, possibly touch her arm in a gesture of understanding. Maybe that was something he did with other victims he interviewed. But whatever his initial instinct, his arm stilled, remaining where it was. And that was fine with her. She wouldn’t have wanted him to do it anyway. When it came to her, the gesture would have been forced and fake and, therefore, completely pointless.
“Quinn, I’m not trying to be difficult. Honestly. I’m just trying to make sense of what you’re telling me, given that there isn’t a body here.”
He really did sound like he meant it. And, if she looked at it from his perspective, she could see where he was coming from.
But if I were anyone else, would he be so reluctant to take my story at face value?
She stared at him, trying to figure out how to get through to him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to. She also couldn’t help but think of all the things she should be saying to Shane Cody now that she was seeing him for the first time after so long. But she said none of them, and in fact, they both seemed to be pretending they didn’t need saying. Because at this moment, he was Deputy Shane Cody, random responder to a call about a murdered person who had vanished into thin air, not Shane Cody, former friend of Quinn Bello and close cousin of Annie Cody.
He sniffed, interrupting her thoughts. “Has anything been taken?”
Had anything been taken? She cast around, but nothing jumped out at her. “I’ve barely been home. I don’t know. I’ll have to look.”
“Okay, so do that. Look things over, see if anything’s missing and let us know. Because right now, my best guess is this was a robbery gone bad, probably involving two people who got into it and you just stumbled onto the aftermath.”
“Do most robbers wear green button-downs and khakis?” She knew it was a valid point. That wasn’t exactly the uniform of your standard house burglar. He had to know it too.
Even so, he eyed her warily, a hint of irritation in the gesture, and pinched his lips together again before speaking. “Just check for anything that’s missing, okay?”
Her insides prickled, as she realized he was dismissing the clothing issue. Her annoyance must have shown on her face, because Shane fidgeted, shifting his weight. “Look, Quinn, I hear you. I do. But whatever happened, I don’t think someone died here tonight.”
The prickling grew sharper, her indignance mounting. She knew what she had seen. The fact that the body wasn’t there didn’t change that. “What if someone carted him off? What if there were two people and whoever did that to him was still here when I got home, then dragged him off when I left?”
“Someone would have noticed a person carrying off a body. They would have reported it.”
“Who? We’re pretty isolated right here. He could have just slipped down the walkway or even over the dunes. Maybe there’s tracks—”
“We’ll check, Quinn. I promise. But footprints in the sand aren’t going to tell us anything. They could’ve been put there at any time. I’m sorry, but without more to go on, I think we have to label this a break-in.”
She sighed and looked beyond him, out through the glass porch doors. The beach was pitch-black now. There was hardly any moon, just a sliver, the thinnest of C’s. She could hear the roar of the ocean, but couldn’t see the water at all. The darkness only made her feel more lost. Nothing was making sense.
“Are you going to be all right by yourself here tonight? Can we call someone for you?” Her eyes flicked back to him. So that was it. He wasn’t going to believe her. She sighed and the fight went out of her. Faced with these circumstances and her history—their history—she might have drawn the same conclusions he was.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ve got an alarm system.”
“Doesn’t do you any good if you don’t use it.”
He was right. She hadn’t set it before leaving. She hadn’t set the thing in probably a month. “Well, I’ll start,” she said. It was just a pain to deal with, especially when so often she was just running out for a second, like whenever she headed down to Pepe’s. But now she would have to change that.
He stood, but she didn’t move. “I’ll let you know if we find anything else,” he told her, holding out a business card. “We’ll need an inventory of anything taken. You can just email it to me if you want.”
His “if you want” sounded less than enthusiastic.
Quinn took the card and nodded weakly. “Sure.”
Shane clasped his hands in front of him and suddenly seemed less official, his posture curving a bit as he rocked from foot to foot. “I, uh, heard you were back.”
Oh. So we’re going to do this now.
“Little over five months,” she replied. She had returned to Seaglass Cove in December for the holidays and while waiting for the resolution of the mess in Tampa.
“No, I meant, back from rehab.”
His words pierced her. Leave it to him to not only bring up that she had left town for a month in January for rehab, but to use it like a weapon to chip away at her.
What were you expecting from him, Quinn? Grace?
“Oh, that,” she offered, trying to inject a note of indifference into her tone. “Well, in that case, it’d be three months now.”
“Sorry,” he said, but the pointedness of his gaze suggested that he wasn’t sorry at all. “I just…know that the transition can be hard. I hope you’re doing okay. That it’s still…going well.”
Ah, there it is, Quinn thought, finally making the connection. He wants to be sure there isn’t another explanation for why I saw a body on the floor that isn’t there.
She inhaled deeply and forced a smile. “It’s going great, actually,” she said, and she meant it. Because it was.
“Good. That’s really good,” he replied. But his eyes were just slits as his head cocked to one side, starkly appraising her, and she knew that no matter what came out of his mouth, he wasn’t automatically taking her answer for the truth.
“Thanks, Shane.” Thanks for making me feel even worse.
“I was surprised to hear you were taking over the realty business for your dad—I mean, you being an attorney and everything. Surprising career change.”
Does he really not know what happened in Tampa? Is that possible, given the rumor mill in this town? Or did he ask because he does know and wants to push me, wants to hear me say the words?
Either way, she wasn’t going there.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” she said, rising to match him, hoping that this would be enough to get him out the door.
But instead he just stood there, eyeing her as if trying to unscramble a code, and her heart began thumping harder. Is he waiting for me to ask? Waiting for me to broach the subject hanging in the air between us?
If so, he was wasting his time. She had no desire to bring up the past, and especially not that. Because while asking would have been polite—would have shown she still felt responsible and appropriately remorseful—it would have driven her to even lower depths. So considering that he already thought so little of her, she figured a bit of impoliteness wouldn’t make much difference and kept her mouth shut.
After a few more seconds of awkward silence, he reminded her once more to make a list of anything that was missing, and then finally, thankfully, left. She immediately locked up behind him, then—even though the deputies already had—checked the windows and doors to make sure they were locked too as she heard the patrol cars start up, then pull away.
For the next twenty minutes she paced through every room, looking for anything that might be missing. But as far as she could tell everything was in its place. The obvious items—her laptop, checkbooks, even the cash she kept in the desk drawer in her office—were all present and accounted for. She headed upstairs to the third floor, which consisted of two spartan guest rooms, a bathroom and a sitting room, all of which appeared untouched. Finally she headed back down
to the second floor which held the master suite—her bedroom—and two other bedrooms that shared a Jack-and-Jill bath. Everything was exactly as it should be. Even her jewelry box was intact, an undisturbed, fine layer of dust on top.
This was no robbery, she thought as she closed the jewelry box. But doubt quickly surfaced. Or could Shane be right? Was it a robbery, but something went wrong before they could take anything?
She collapsed onto her king-sized bed, frazzled, frustrated, and a little bit scared. Lying there, trying to process it all, the exhaustion she had been fighting for the last couple of hours overtook her. With her clothes still on she crawled beneath the waffle-weave blanket and crisp white duvet, her stomach grumbling noisily, reminding her that she had never eaten. She ignored it. At this point, she was too tired to do anything but sleep.
But it was a long time before she drifted off. Every time Quinn closed her eyes, the image of the corpse’s light-brown ones staring blankly out at the world flickered on the back of her lids, like an old-fashioned, silent horror movie. She could almost hear the whirring and clicking of an ancient projector as the scene played on and on, scored by the incessant questions hammering her brain.
Why my house?
Was I targeted or was it random?
Who was he? And who killed him?
How did they get in and how did the killer leave?
And is he coming back?
Heat simmered on her skin, her frustration mounting as it all rattled around her head. Because no matter how impossible it seemed and no matter what Shane Cody said, she knew to her core that two hours ago a very, very dead man had lain on her floor—a man who had broken in for reasons unknown—then vanished without a trace.
