Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  “I freaked, and all I could think about were the murders that already happened, so I figured I’d stage the scene to make it look like Casey had been murdered by the same guy.” He wiped snot and slobber off his face with the back of his arm. “I…I had to stab her to make it look right and then I went to the Dollar Store and bought one of those dream things and then I took her to the alley.” He lowered his head into his hands and continued to cry.

  Amberly tried to work up a little bit of sympathy for him, but it wasn’t there. He should have dialed 911 the moment she’d hit the floor and had been unconscious. Terry Banks wasn’t a doctor—he had no way of knowing if paramedics might have been able to save Casey. He was just a stupid kid who had taken a bad situation and made it far worse.

  Cole placed the kid under arrest, and Deputy Black led him out of the room. Amberly smiled at Cole as the two of them were left alone in the room.

  “You handled him like an expert interrogator. You know just when to push and just when to pull back.” She knew her admiration was in her tone of voice and he deserved it.

  She was surprised when his cheeks took on a dusky shade of embarrassment. “The kid was ready to confess to whoever asked him the right questions. I didn’t do anything so special.”

  She would have argued with him, but he moved toward the door. “I need to check with the coroner and get the full autopsy on Casey. We need to make sure that this was truly a badly covered-up accident and not cold-blooded murder. At this point, I’m not into believing anything anyone tells me.”

  The rest of the day dragged by. Amberly spent much of the day in the war room, reading and rereading reports and staring at the crime-scene photos as she tried to get into the head of the killer. While she holed up in the room, Cole worked the streets, contacting people for second and third interviews.

  There was no question that the key to the killer was in the dream catchers. Being a Native American herself and having a dream catcher above Max’s head when he slept at night made this particular puzzle feel oddly personal.

  She wished her granny Nightsong was still alive. She’d always taken her problems and worries to Granny, who had managed to give her clarity and had always found the humor in any situation.

  But she had a feeling even Granny Nightsong wouldn’t have had any wisdom to give when it came to these murders. And she definitely wouldn’t have been able to find any humor in the deaths of such vibrant, young women.

  It was nearly seven in the evening when Cole finally returned to the room. He sank down in the chair opposite hers. “You doing okay?”

  She nodded and pulled a strand of her hair over her shoulder and toyed with the ends. “I’m fine. I was just sitting here wondering what my granny Nightsong would say about all this.”

  He leaned back in his chair, the tired lines in his face relaxing slightly. “And what would she have said?”

  Amberly frowned thoughtfully. “She would have said that the Raven Mocker is after me.”

  “The Raven Mocker?”

  “He’s the most dreaded of all the Cherokee witches. In legend, he flies into the house of somebody who is dying and steals their life. He eats their heart, and that adds to his life however old the person was that he took. But Granny Nightsong believed the Raven Mocker was more than just an evil entity that preyed on the sick and dying. She believed Raven Mockers were responsible for all murders and untimely deaths that occurred.”

  “So, there’s more than one Raven Mocker?”

  “There are many, and only a Cherokee medicine man has the power to drive them away.”

  “Maybe we should hire one to help us with this case,” he said dryly.

  “Maybe we should just order a pizza instead.”

  He laughed, and she realized it was the first time she’d heard a real, honest burst of laughter from him. The warmth of the sound wrapped around her, stealing in to heat the cold that had invaded her since the moment she’d seen the things on her mailbox.

  “Now, that sounds like a plan,” he agreed. “We’ve been working this pretty intensely since the moment you signed on. We need a little break to get some distance from everything and hope that distance gives us a new perspective. Pizza and beer sound like the perfect answer.”

  Within minutes, they were in his car and headed for his house. For the first time in days, they spoke of inconsequential things—the warm weather which was lingering, the growth of the Kansas City area and the popularity of reality shows on television.

  It was the first time they’d talked about anything but the crimes and what little they’d shared of their personal lives. It was pleasant just to enjoy a conversation that kept her mind away from murder and Max.

  They arrived at Cole’s house, and by the time she’d changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and an aqua-blue tank top, he’d ordered a large supreme pizza and set two icy bottles of beer out on the table.

  He’d changed clothes, too. He sported a worn pair of jeans, which hugged his lean legs, and a white T-shirt pulled taut over his broad shoulders.

  He picked up the two bottles of beer and then motioned her into the living room. “There is one rule for the rest of the night,” he said as he settled down next to her on the sofa.

  “Ah, you didn’t mention that the accommodations here came with rules,” she said teasingly.

  “Only one and only for the remainder of tonight. The rule is that, for the rest of the evening, we don’t talk about dream catchers or murders,” he said as he twisted off the top of his bottle.

  “I’ll toast to that,” she replied, and they clinked their bottles together. She leaned back and took a sip of the beer and watched as he did the same.

  “I know I’ve asked this before, but remind me. Why are you working in this small town? Why not a bigger city where your skills would be better utilized?” she asked.

  He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes darkening slightly. “When Emily was killed, all I wanted to do was escape. I knew I couldn’t continue to live in the same house where we’d been so happy, and I knew I couldn’t go back to the job that I’d been working when she’d been killed. I quit my job and lived in a motel for about three months, drinking and wallowing in grief and self-pity.”

  He paused to take another drink of his beer and then continued, “But you know, there’s only so long you can wallow before you get sick of yourself. I couldn’t face going back to working on the same police force that I’d been on, but being a cop was in my blood, so I saw a small ad for a sheriff here and I applied.”

  “How long were you and Emily married?”

  “Three wonderful years,” he replied.

  “Tell me about her.” Amberly wanted to know all about the woman he had married, the woman he’d loved so desperately, so passionately that he’d decided if he couldn’t have her, he’d rather live the rest of his life alone.

  “She was a pretty blonde, kind of quiet but with a great sense of humor. She loved two things in life, being a teacher and me, and just for your information, in the three years we were married our passion for each other never waned.”

  A wistful yearning filled Amberly at his words. “And how long since her death?”

  “Almost eight years.”

  “That’s a long time to be alone.”

  “Yes, it is.” Once again he tipped his bottle to his lips, but his gaze remained locked with hers and held a spark of something hot and dangerous that caused the breath to catch in Amberly’s chest.

  He was looking at her the same way he had that night in his guest bedroom when she’d wanted nothing more than to invite him into her bed.

  The crackling electricity was back in the air, raising the hair on the nape of her neck, forcing her heartbeat to thud a little faster.

  There was want in his eyes, hot, fiery need that seemed to melt every bone in her body. He didn’t move an inch closer to her, and yet she felt him invading her space, not in an intimidating way but rather like an intoxicating haze she wanted to ge
t lost in.

  At that moment the doorbell rang, and the moment shattered as the pizza arrived.

  COLE RUBBED THE BACK OF his neck where tension had snarled his muscles into a tight knot. He knew that part of the tension came from the fact that in the past week they’d made no more headway on the murders. But he also knew that part of the tension was from being under the same roof as Amberly for the past seven days.

  They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, sharing coffee just after dawn, heading into the office by seven and working both together and apart throughout the day.

  They worked together as if they had been doing so for years, finishing each other’s thoughts and anticipating each other’s needs. They cooked together if there was time or ate takeout if they’d worked particularly late. They shared laughter and ancient stories about each other, but beneath it all, Cole felt a continuous simmer of desire for her.

  And in the past week he’d been thinking a lot about Emily. He’d not only thought about all that he’d lost when she’d died, but also all that he’d given up as a result of her death.

  Emily wouldn’t have wanted him to close himself off from feeling, from loving. In fact, she would have been angry with him for cutting himself off from love, from building something special for himself with another woman.

  There were so many things about being a couple he’d forgotten about, such as the noise of somebody else in his quiet space. Amberly filled the house with her sound. Wherever he was, he found himself listening for her soft footsteps, straining to hear the way she hummed slightly off-key when she stood in front of the oven.

  He liked the conversations they had, whether they were talking about nothing or talking about something important. Over the past week, she’d charmed him with stories about growing up with her granny Nightsong and her son, whom he knew she missed desperately. The brief visits and phone calls she had with Max weren’t enough to fill her mother soul.

  He’d sent her home with Deputy Black an hour earlier, needing some distance from her. She was getting to him with her beauty and intelligence, with her lilting laughter and smoky, dark eyes.

  Her scent infused the house, and each night he dreamed of her in his bed. Murder and Amberly, that’s all that filled his head these days. He didn’t know how to solve the murders, and he wasn’t sure what to do about his desire for Amberly. Those two things caused the tension to pinch his neck and ride down his back.

  A glance at his watch showed him it was just after eight. It was time to end another unproductive day. He was just about to get up from his desk when Linda buzzed to tell him Tara Tanner was there to see him. Cole told Linda to send the woman in, wondering what on earth Jimmy Tanner’s wife might want to tell him.

  She came into the office with blue eyes blazing and short, crackling-dry, white-blond hair nearly standing on end. “I have a bone to pick with you, Sheriff Caldwell,” she exclaimed. Her body nearly vibrated with anger. “You’ve been harassing my husband.”

  “It’s called investigating a murder, not harassment,” Cole countered and gestured her into the chair opposite him. She refused to sit and instead began to pace in front of his desk. “Besides, I thought the two of you were divorcing.”

  “Malicious gossip. I have no intention of leaving Jimmy, and he’s not going anywhere, either. We’ve been together since we were kids, and we’ll die together as an old married couple. Oh, I know Jimmy is an ass who drinks too much and cheats on me, but he’s my ass, and he always comes home to me. We know each other…we understand each other, and I’m telling you right now there’s no way Jimmy could have anything to do with murdering those women.”

  She paused, and he didn’t know if it was because she expected a reply from him or simply needed to catch her breath. “Tara, I’m just doing my job. Jimmy runs with a rough crowd. Both your husband and Jeff and Raymond have ties to at least two of the three victims. I can’t just ignore that during my investigation.”

  “The Three Stooges, that’s what those men are whenever they’re together. Between the three of them, you couldn’t find a fully functional brain.” She leaned forward, bracing herself with her hands on the edge of his desk. “Every minute you’re spending on Jimmy and Jeff and Raymond, you’re wasting valuable time in finding the real killer.”

  “I’ll take your concerns under advisement,” he said, knowing his words wouldn’t satisfy her but might move her out of his office.

  She frowned in obvious disgust and, just as he’d hoped, straightened and left the room. The scent of her thick, cheap perfume still lingered when Deputy Ben Jamison walked in.

  “Saw Tara Tanner storming out of here on her stiletto shoes and figured I’d better get back here to make sure she didn’t stab you in the eye with the heel of one of them.” He sank down on the chair opposite Cole.

  Cole grinned at the deputy, who was not only his right-hand man but also had become a good friend. “No, she basically came in to tell me her husband is too stupid to be a murderer.”

  Ben grinned. “Can’t say I disagree with her. But I don’t feel the same way about Jeff. He’s smart like a fox and a hothead to boot. I can imagine him offing Gretchen and then liking the kill so much he just keeps on going.”

  “Yeah, well, somebody is liking the kill way too much, and we need to find him before he decides to act again.” Cole’s gut clenched as he thought of the dream catcher and photo hanging from Amberly’s mailbox.

  Threat or promise? This thought kept him awake nights. Was she already marked as the next intended victim?

  It was this fear that had prompted him to have Roger drive her home when she’d decided to leave earlier. And it was that same fear that would keep Roger there with her until Cole arrived home.

  “We definitely could use a break,” Ben said. “So far, this guy hasn’t made a single mistake.”

  “And I’m having nightmares about every woman in town having a dream catcher hung over her head.”

  “Speaking of dream catchers, where’s Amberly? I didn’t see her when I came through the building.”

  “I sent her home about an hour ago. I’ve got Roger sitting on her until I get there. She looked tired.”

  “We’ve all been putting in a lot of extra hours in an effort to find this killer.” Ben raked a hand through his thick blond hair. “It’s got to be especially hard on Amberly. She must be going crazy this long without seeing her kid. Talking to him on the phone just isn’t the same as being able to be with him.”

  “It’s killing her,” Cole agreed and then winced at his choice of words. “She’s using a disposable cell phone to call John’s house in case somehow her call can be traced. Although it’s illogical, she feels like any little bit of contact might put Max in the killer’s sights.”

  “You mentioned to me that her husband was a famous artist who didn’t like her working as an FBI agent.”

  Cole nodded. “She told me that John wanted her to quit her job when she got married and had Max.”

  Ben laughed. “If she’s anything like all of us, once the law-enforcement bug strikes, it never goes away. You’re forever sick with the need to work in that field.”

  “Apparently her husband didn’t understand that concept.”

  “Is that why they divorced?” Ben asked curiously.

  “One of the reasons,” Cole replied. “Although, according to Amberly, John would take her back in a minute.” Cole didn’t mention that Amberly had told him she’d never been in love with John, that she’d never felt that kind of passion for any man.

  Still, there had been moments over the past seven days when he’d thought he’d felt that emotion simmering in her for him. There had been times when he’d desperately wanted to kiss her, when he’d sensed the same desire coming from her. But he hadn’t acted on it.

  What was the point? She’d made it clear that she had no intention of looking for any relationship, that she didn’t want to drag men into Max’s life. And while his mind was changing about what his future
held, and his heart was opening to the possibility of loving again, ultimately Amberly was just a coworker, here today and gone tomorrow.

  “Have you considered her ex-husband as a potential suspect?” Ben’s question pulled Cole from his current thoughts. He stared at his deputy in surprise.

  “Why on earth would John Merriweather be killing women in Mystic Lake?”

  “I don’t know, sometimes I just think crazy,” Ben said with a small, dry laugh.

  “Please, share your crazy thoughts with me,” Cole replied, desperate to hear any theory of these crimes, no matter how outlandish.

  Ben leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I was just thinking, this guy doesn’t want his ex-wife to be an FBI agent, so he kills a bunch of women here and hangs the dream catcher hoping that the FBI office in Kansas City will send Amberly because of the Native American overtones. So, she’s sent to a small town where she isn’t sure of her welcome, deals with heinous crimes that probably give her nightmares. Then the kicker is he hangs a picture and a dream catcher on her mailbox to make sure she’s separated from her son, hoping that the experience will drive her to quit her job and ultimately drive her back into his awaiting arms.”

  “That would take one sick, evil mind to orchestrate all of that.”

  Ben grinned. “Yeah, that’s why I thought of it.”

  Half an hour later, as Cole drove toward his house, he thought about Ben’s theory. It sounded crazy, laden with the potential for failure, and yet it also held enough possibility that Cole couldn’t automatically dismiss it.

  Now all he had to figure out was how to tell Amberly that they had a new suspect on their list, and that suspect was her ex-husband.

  How was he supposed to tell her that their newest suspect was the father of her child?