His conversation with Dottie wasn’t helping. The discovery of Savannah’s body was all she - and probably everyone else in town - could talk about. “The crime was most certainly committed by someone from out of town,” she said, clearly unable to fathom that a resident of Shadow Springs could be responsible.
Though he disagreed, Jason nodded. People didn’t want to believe they shared space with murderers, rapists, and thieves, but he knew that murder victims almost always knew their killers - and there was certainly no shortage of spurned lovers and jealous wives who had reason to want Savannah out of the picture.
“I just can’t see any other way around it.” Dottie crunched into her toast. “So many city folks come here for the carnival, just looking to prey on pretty young girls!”
At least she hadn’t called Savannah innocent. While having softened markedly toward the dead woman since the discovery of the body, Dottie - unlike the rest of the town - wasn’t the type to withdraw her opinion of a person just because they happened to be dead. Jason admired her consistency.
“You haven’t touched your toast, dear.”
Jason glanced at the plate. “Sorry. I’m just not hungry.”
Dottie frowned. “I would imagine you’re quite shaken up about all of this. We all are. You poor dear. You look like you need to get some sleep. I just hope they’re interrogating the man who told them where to look.”
Jason averted his eyes. As far as anyone knew, the police had received an anonymous tip that led them to Tabitha Cooper’s grave. No one knew it was Jason who’d given them the lead - except Coop - and he wondered how he was going to explain himself when the truth came out. And it would come out. This troubled him perhaps as much as everything else combined.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess somebody must have seen something.”
“Well, I for one-” Dottie’s cell phone jangled out a startling tune. “I’d better get that.” She pushed herself out of her chair and disappeared into the living room.
As Jason got up for more coffee, he heard bits and pieces of her end of the conversation. A gasp. “You’re kidding!” Another gasp. “I just can’t believe it.” Then, “This, on top of everything else. It’s just so hard to believe!” He paused and strained to hear, wondering if there was a new development in the case. He secretly hoped they’d made an arrest - anything to put him in the clear. But it was probably too soon for that … Unless someone confessed. He filled his cup and sat back down.
After a few more minutes, Dottie returned to the kitchen, her eyes wide and her face pale. “That was Ingrid Booth.”
Jason had no idea who Ingrid Booth was.
“Evie Sturgess died last night.”
Jason’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Dottie sat unsteadily in her chair, her eyes faraway.
“Evie Sturgess? What happened?”
Dottie nodded. “It looks like suicide. She took some pills and apparently, the amount in her system was five or six times the lethal limit.” She looked at him. “I can’t imagine she’d take that many unless she really meant it, can you?”
New guilt took big bites out of him. This is my fault. Savannah’s death was too much for Evie to take. What have I done?
“I can’t help thinking what this must be doing to Scott and Liam,” said Dottie. “As if they aren’t going through enough.” She looked angry for a moment, then softened. “And apparently, Flynn Garvey is having a very hard time as well.”
“A hard time? What do you mean?”
“Well, no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since the body was discovered.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s going to push him over the edge when he hears about Evie. He’s always been very close with the Sturgess family - especially Evie.”
Jason had to do something. It’s my fault this is happening. Brent was right: I never should have gotten involved.
As Jason’s thoughts spun, Dottie shook her head. “What on earth is happening in this town? Oh, poor, poor Evie.”
A plan forming, Jason stood. “Thank you for the toast and coffee, Dottie, but if you don’t mind, I should get going. I need to go see someone.” He couldn’t let the same thing happen to Flynn.
Dottie nodded distractedly. “Of course, dear. I need to call Melba and Lucille.” She pulled her phone out and was dialing her friends when Jason disappeared out the door.
It took several minutes for Flynn Garvey to answer his door, and when he finally did, Jason thought he’d gotten the wrong address. With an unshaven face, mussed hair, and bloodshot eyes, the man was hardly recognizable. He wore a ratty white t-shirt and baggy sweats.
“Jason?” he asked.
“I, uh …” Suddenly, Jason wasn’t sure what to say. He’d come here under the pressure of his own guilt, hoping to offer Flynn some comfort, but now that he was here, the whole thing seemed stupid.
Flynn stared, brows drawn, the sideshow smile nowhere to be found. Silence hung between them, growing thicker, larger, longer, until it became a chasm that was unbearable.
Jason cleared his throat. “I just wanted to stop by and, uh, see you.” He tried to smile. It felt cold on his face.
Flynn blinked at him. “Oh … I, um … well, I’m … Would you like to come in?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
“Of course not.” Flynn pulled the door open and stepped aside, allowing Jason entrance.
The living room was littered with papers, empty beer cans, and dirty dishes. The smell of tobacco was thick, and this came as a surprise - he wouldn’t have pegged Flynn as a smoker. Under the smell of cigarettes was the faint odor of spoiled food.
His eyes downcast, Flynn gestured at a beige armchair.
Jason sat, watching as the man slumped toward the sofa, looking markedly smaller than he had the other day. It was as if he’d not only lost pounds from his frame but inches off his height.
Flynn slouched onto the sofa, staring at something beyond Jason. “I hope you don’t mind the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
This close, Jason noted that the roots of his hair were solid black throughout - Flynn’s prematurely-graying hair was a dye-job. Maybe it helped with sales - perhaps clients liked older realtors, ones who looked like they had some experience.
Flynn reached for an opened pack of Marlboros on the cluttered coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”
“It’s your house.”
Flynn lit up, handling the cigarette with the ease of an experienced smoker. Jason’s observations were confirmed when Flynn blew out a cloud, held the cigarette out, and said, “I quit, you know. Almost ten years ago. And then …” He let the sentence hang. He took a few more drags, tapped the ash into a plastic ashtray, and said, “What are you doing here, Jason?” There was no defense in his tone, only curiosity.
Jason shifted. “I, uh … I just heard about Evie and … I wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
Flynn’s bloodshot eyes locked on Jason. “She was like a mother to me. More than a mother, really. My family has been friends with the Sturgesses for generations.” He paused, drawing on the cigarette. “I suppose that’s why Savannah agreed to marry me. It was kind of … expected of her, I guess.”
Jason didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure she loved you.”
Flynn barked a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Obviously.” He pulled on the cigarette then crushed it out, half-finished. “I don’t have any illusions about what kind of woman Savannah was. I never did.” His voice turned icy. “I know everyone in town was looking at me, wondering how I didn’t know … but I knew. Hell, she fucked me when she was thirteen.”
Jason eyes went wide. Thirteen? That would put Flynn at about twenty-five at the time. Why is he telling me this?
But Flynn seemed not to care and continued. “She fucked anyone with a dick. And probably a few without.” He looked at Jason. “And if you think I’m the only man in town who fucked her when she was jailbait, you’re wrong. If even one of us went down for it, then ha
lf the men in this town would join them on the sex-offender list.”
Jason cleared his throat, stunned.
Flynn sighed. “I guess a part of me thought she’d stop once we were engaged. But she didn’t.” He shrugged. “I loved her anyway. It was enough for me that she’d come home to me at night, you know?”
Jason didn’t know - he’d never understood how a man could tolerate an unfaithful lover - but he nodded anyway.
“The people in the town … they don’t understand her like I did. They don’t know her … history.”
“Her history?”
Flynn gave Jason a tight smile. “It wasn’t her fault. The way she was … how else was she supposed to turn out?”
“I’m afraid I’m not following, Flynn.”
The man watched him. “I guess it’s not going to do any harm to tell you now that she’s gone.”
Jason was lost. “I don’t understand.”
“When she was a little girl - and a young teen - Savannah was raped. It went on for years.” He hesitated. “Her uncle, one of Scott’s brothers, and his son Parker. Old Dad thought it would be a good idea to show his son how it was done, I guess. And he used Savannah as a teaching aid.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He certainly did not. Jason leaned forward. “But they were cousins …”
Flynn nodded. “From the time Savannah was seven years old, clear until she was about fifteen, she was forced into sex with her uncle and cousin.”
Jason recalled the look on Savannah’s face that night as she left the bar with the older man - the sadness that had seemed to surround her. He remembered how mechanical she’d become as she was trying to seduce him in the massage studio. It all began to make terrible, despicable, repugnant sense.
“When Scott found out, he disowned his brother and his nephew. They both spent some time behind bars and since getting out, neither have had anything to do with Scott or his family.”
“Do you think they might have had something to do with Savannah’s death?”
Flynn shook his head. “It’s not possible, and believe me, I’ve looked into it. The trouble is that Scott’s brother is dying in the hospital, hooked up to life support, and his son, Parker, has an airtight alibi. The sheriff already checked.” The hardness in Flynn’s voice intensified. “It wasn’t either of them, but whoever did this … I’ll kill him.” His conviction was chilling. “They found skin under her fingernails, did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t know.”
Flynn nodded. “And as soon as the DNA results come back … I’ll know who it was.”
Jason wished he hadn’t come. He’d expected the man to be devastated and had hoped to offer him a shoulder to cry on before he went the way of Evie Sturgess - but this angry, bitter side of him was unsettling. Jason found himself wondering if Flynn really could kill someone. It occurred to him that probably no one had more reason to want her dead than this guy. The humiliation must have been unbearable. Still, Jason didn’t think so. His money was on the sheriff, Marshall Redding.
Several photo albums lay across the top of the coffee table, offering an opportunity for more pleasant topics. “I haven’t seen one of those in a while.” Jason nodded at them. “Most people just have files in their computers now.”
“I guess I’m old-fashioned.” A sad desperation filled Flynn’s eyes as he asked, “Would you like to see?”
“I’d love to.” Jason moved to the couch next to Flynn, immediately regretting it. It had been a while since the man had showered and his breath reeked like something long dead in a dark cellar.
Flynn began thumbing through the pages and Jason saw Savannah smiling in Hawaii. Savannah smiling in cut-offs and sunglasses at the zoo. Savannah smiling in front of a Christmas tree. It was an entire album of Savannah smiling. “This was when we went to Disneyland last summer.” Flynn pointed and turned the page. “This was at the restaurant, right after I proposed.” He flipped another page. This one showed Savannah with her arm around her mother’s waist. And that was when a sob hitched in Flynn’s throat. “And now Evie …” He set the album down and covered his face. “I’m sorry.”
Awkwardly, Jason put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s all right. I know this has been a lot to deal with.”
And then Flynn dissolved into sobs, falling against Jason’s chest. “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I loved Evie. I loved her so much.”
Jason was momentarily stunned as he realized Flynn’s grief for Evie surmounted the loss of Savannah. As hot tears dampened his shirt and Flynn shook with sobs, it became obvious the man’s relationship with his soon-to-be mother-in-law was a romantic one - and Jason wondered if Savannah had known about them. Or Scott. He recalled the daggers Liam had given Flynn that night at the carnival. He must have known about Flynn’s affair with his mother … which surely means Scott and Savannah knew too, right? Most likely yes - but none of this explained why Savannah had been killed.
Jason, shocked, sickened, and more confused than ever, continued consoling the weeping man, while wondering how to get out of there as quickly and politely as possible. He wanted a long, hot shower to wash off all the dirt he’d just unwillingly dug up.
“Hold them up so I can see, Daddy!”
Jason held his hand up and wiggled his fingers. Each of his nails was painted a spunky shade of hot pink.
Amber giggled. “You’re pretty, Daddy!”
Jason smiled. “And I owe it all to you. You did a great job, sweetie.”
“Uh-huh. And I didn’t even spill or get any on your hands, either!”
It wasn’t entirely true - nail polish was dripping down several of his fingers, but he wouldn’t comment on that.
“Stevie Rose says you’re supposed to go up and down, not back and forth, and I did, and she was right!”
The stairs groaned as Brent made his way down them. “That stuff stinks,” he said, passing them on his way to the kitchen. Eating was one of the only reasons he left his room lately and, truth be told, Jason was fine with that. Brent’s attitude was worse than ever; the level of teen angst since Liam had withdrawn was unbearable and, selfishly, Jason was glad Evie Sturgess had offed herself now rather than later. This way, they’d get all the family grieving done at once and Brent and Liam could resume their friendship. Am I really that cold? Apparently, he was.
“Let me do your other hand now, Daddy.” Amber knee-walked to the other side of his chair and as she began painting, Jason pondered the Evie-Flynn-Savannah love triangle. How could a mother sleep with her daughter’s boyfriend? It was a sickening thought.
But though he’d turned it over and over in his mind, he still couldn’t see how any of that tied into Savannah’s death. No, her murder. There was no doubt it was murder. Her skull had been bashed, she’d been beaten, and as Flynn had said, there was skin under her nails - signs of a struggle. Jason thought of Fred De La Paz. He’d gotten the impression Fred had been with Savannah, too. But then everyone had, even Coop.
What if it was Coop? This new thought hit him hard. Could it have been him? Jason thought of Coop’s grandmother, Tabitha Cooper. Is that what she was trying to tell me? That it was her grandson who murdered Savannah? He tried to envision it, and couldn’t. He couldn’t see anyone killing Savannah except Marshall Redding … and even that was iffy.
What about Hallie? She’d said Savannah was the reason her engagement had ended. Wasn’t that a motive? But it seemed preposterous. Why? Because she’s a woman? Women kill, too. But Hallie? No. Savannah’s killer was most likely one of her lovers. And God knew, Savannah had a lot of lovers. And I was almost one of them.
“Hold still, Daddy.”
Jason realized he’d been fidgeting. The thought of Hallie as a murder suspect was pretty unsettling. “Sorry.”
“And you have to promise not to wash it off until tomorrow, okay?”
“I won’t wash it off until tomorrow, I promise.” He loo
ked down at his fingernails and frowned, wondering how long until Amber started wanting to put makeup on him, too. He hoped that would never happen. The fingernail-painting was bad enough; it was a real pain to remove. But, he reasoned, he was both Mom and Dad now, and this was just part of the deal.
Brent returned, sandwich in hand. “Seriously. Open a window or something.”
Neither Jason nor Amber acknowledged him as he rolled his eyes, stomping back to his room.
Jason was far away, wondering how he was going to explain how he’d known where to find the body. He was terrified of not being believed and falling under suspicion. No doubt, that ship has already sailed. How could they not think I had something to do with it? But there was no sense worrying about that now. There’s nothing to do but wait … for the police to come and arrest me for murder …
In Jason’s dreams, blue-tipped fingernails dragged down a broad, well-tanned, muscular back. The skin peeled away, collecting under the nails and leaving long bloody lines. The man, whoever he was, tensed and groaned. Like a camera zooming out, the shot widened and Jason locked eyes with Savannah Sturgess. She watched him from over the man’s flexing, heaving shoulders. “Take your cock out, Mr. Crandall.”
Jason stepped back and heard a twig snap underfoot.
Then Savannah’s head rocked to the side and a slash appeared in her hairline. Blood gushed, running down her face.
She smiled. “Take your-” Her words broke off as if amputated by a blade as the side of her head caved in completely, the sickening sound of splintering bone echoing from all around.
When Jason woke up and opened his eyes, he thought he could still hear it, but no - it was the creak of the stairs. He sat up, the bed sheets tangled around his waist. “What do you want from me?” he whispered. The only answer was silence - and the groan of the stairs. “Tell me what you want.” He’d hoped the night terrors would stop once the body was found, but it was clear that Savannah wasn’t finished with him yet. Why? Tell me why?
The wind tapped vine leaves at the window, sounding like brittle fingertips seeking entry.
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