by Connie Mann
Other times, though, he’d punished Mama. And those memories were even worse.
After last night, sneaking Mary away before her family figured out she was back was no longer an option. All right, then. She’d track them down and confront her father. She reached under the dinette cushions and pulled out the envelope of cash she’d hidden inside a sweatshirt. John Henry had always acted as though feeding Delilah was an added burden, so she’d offer money in exchange for Mary. She checked her Glock, added an extra magazine, and stashed that in her backpack, too, under her camera. If money didn’t convince him, she’d threaten to tell FWC what she knew about the guns and cash. She had options. When the scared sixteen-year-old she’d been urged her to find another way, to avoid a confrontation, the new Delilah gently told her to let her handle it. This wasn’t about her old fears. Or the past. It was about Mary’s future.
The counselor Kimberly Gaines had sent her to years ago had taught Delilah that courage wasn’t the absence of fear. Courage meant looking fear in the eye and doing the right thing anyway.
On the way to the Corner Café, she called Kimberly, who promised a map and directions. She told herself she needed a serious shot of caffeine, but as she slowed to make the turn into the parking lot, she admitted that was a lie. She wanted to see Josh. When the man himself stepped onto the porch in his khaki uniform, looking like he belonged on a magazine cover, Delilah turned her blinker on and slowed to a crawl, eyes following him as he walked to his truck.
What was she doing?
She pressed the accelerator and kept going, eliciting a honk from the annoyed driver behind her.
No matter how much he tempted her to curl up against his hard chest or how much she’d started imagining what it’d be like if they gave in to the attraction between them, she couldn’t afford to get distracted or involved in any way, not when she planned to leave town as soon as she had Mary with her. Grant, or no grant.
* * *
The scrub squad was already seated at one of the picnic tables in the Outpost’s pavilion when Josh arrived.
“Wondered if you were going to grace us with your presence, Hollywood,” Lieutenant Boudreau drawled.
Josh raised the box of cupcakes bearing the Corner Café logo. “Y’all quit ragging me, or I’ll eat these myself.” He set the box on the table, and they descended like locusts.
Once everyone had a cupcake in their hands, Hunter said, “I heard from the ME right before I texted everyone.”
The good-natured ribbing stopped as everyone froze, cupcakes suspended midair.
“Cause of death was a stab wound to the heart.”
There was a beat of silence. “We were right. This was murder.” Josh glanced at Pete, who was brushing cupcake crumbs off his green sheriff’s office uniform.
“Looks to be,” Hunter confirmed.
“So the killer spread the honey around to draw the bear and cover the murder.” Josh shook his head as he spoke. “That’s pretty ballsy. And implies some clear thinking in crisis. Did he kill the guy and then think, oh, crap, now how do I cover it up?”
“Or was it premeditated, and he brought the honey with him?” Sanchez asked. “Otherwise, who carries that much of the stuff in their vehicle?”
“And those, ladies and gentlemen, are among the many questions we have yet to answer.”
“What do we know about the knife? Anything?” Lisa Bass, aka Fish, asked.
Josh glanced over and saw Pete eyeing Fish with what could only be called interest. Their gazes collided, and she ducked her head and looked away, uncomfortable. What was up with that? Those two were forever sniping at each other over something.
“Not much,” Hunter said. “Based on the length and width of the blade and its smooth edge, it’s the same size and shape as the knives every hunter around here wears on their belt.”
“Do we know who the victim is yet?” Pete asked.
Hunter nodded. “Byte emailed me late last night. He tracked the guy’s tattoo to a particular tattoo artist, who keeps a record of all the ink he does. Our victim is Robert Black. He was born in Ocala but lived near Tallahassee and came back here regularly to go hunting, according to his social media.”
“Any ties to…ah…anyone local?” Josh caught himself before he blurted out Delilah’s name.
Hunter merely raised a brow. “Why don’t you go talk to our neighborhood monkey researcher again, see if his name rings a bell? Byte found nothing that suggests he’s a researcher—he works in banking—but maybe he and Ms. Paige crossed paths some other way. Find out what she’s not saying.”
Josh nodded, mind racing. Oh, he’d bet his left arm there was worlds of stuff she wasn’t saying. “I’ll let you know.”
“Before I forget,” Hunter continued, “we need to start thinking about who’s wearing the tux and schmoozing the locals at the Mayor’s Ball this year.”
“I’ll work security, as always,” Sanchez said.
“Maybe,” Hunter replied, nipping the evasive maneuver in the bud.
Josh caught Pete eyeing Fish, who sighed as she scanned their faces. “I suppose you’re expecting me to get all dolled up again this year and act like one of you is my date.” She rolled her eyes and made air quotes around the last word.
Hunter nodded. “Appreciate it. It’d look weird if this year’s tux lottery winner had to go stag.”
Everyone groaned.
“You have a better idea on how to choose who puts on the monkey suit?” he asked. No one responded.
“I’ll let you know who’s going.” He handed out more assignments, but Josh’s mind had turned back to Delilah. Since this was now a murder investigation, he’d definitely have to check into her background, which would tick her off.
But it also gave him the perfect excuse to talk to her in person again.
He grinned in anticipation.
* * *
Later, Delilah headed into the forest, Kimberly’s directions beside her. Her stomach clenched as she thought about confronting an angry John Henry. What had he done when he realized Mary had met with her? She shoved that aside, because she couldn’t change it. She had to focus on the future. Speak calmly and lay out your position in a logical fashion. Offer money. Then threaten if needed. You have the power here.
The aching knowledge that Mama would pay the price no matter what she did, same as when Delilah escaped years ago, sent pain knifing through her. I’m sorry, Mama.
Keep your focus on Mary, she told herself.
This far into the forest, the tree canopy blocked much of the sunlight, and Delilah gripped the wheel tighter, afraid the shifting shadows would make her miss the barely there dirt track Kimberly said led to their campsite.
Maybe, just maybe, she could get Aaron alone and get him on her side. At one time, her brother had been just as frustrated with John Henry as Delilah was. Maybe she could still reach him.
As she drove farther and farther into the forest, the sky darkened and the wind picked up, indicating a storm was brewing. She squinted through the dusty windshield, determined to find the campsite. There, that was the turnoff Kimberly had mentioned. She hooked a right past the huge live oak tree that had been scarred by lightning and kept going, her confidence increasing with every landmark she found.
Heart pounding, she made the final turn into the clearing and stopped.
The campers were gone.
She was obviously in the right place, since signs of habitation were all around, but she was too late. She leaned over the steering wheel and studied the clearing as the reality sank in. Rather than deal with her, her family had packed up and moved.
Just like eight years ago.
Only that time, she’d found the burned remains of all her clothes in the fire, a clear message that they’d completely turned their backs on her.
The past threatened, but she pushed it
away and focused on today. With Mary’s wedding coming up, they wouldn’t have gone far. She’d find them.
Delilah slid out of the truck and scanned the area. She walked to the fire ring, held her hand over it. It was cold, so they had probably left last night. A few steps farther, she picked up a clothespin that had fallen underneath where the clothesline had been.
She stood, hands on her hips. “I won’t go away quietly this time, John Henry,” she shouted. “I let you bully me, but I won’t let you bully Mary. I won’t let you do it, either, Aaron.”
Feeling marginally better, she walked the perimeter to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. She was ready to climb into her truck when she noticed a small pile of rocks. She stepped closer, curious, as they appeared to have been stacked on purpose. She pushed them aside and found a folded piece of notebook paper.
Delilah, I hope you find this. I’m sorry I ran away. Papa has gone completely crazy since you showed up. Aaron, too, and they won’t stop fighting. I’m scared. Please find me.
Her breath caught at the fear that bled through the note. “Be strong, my Mary Lou Who. I will find you. Make no mistake.”
Determination shot through her as she roared back toward the main road. John Henry was a live grenade on a good day, and Delilah had inadvertently pulled the pin.
She was driving too fast, bouncing over dirt roads, sliding around sandy corners, fear for her sister keeping her foot on the accelerator. “Slow down, you idiot,” she muttered, “or you’re going to crash.”
She had to think smart. And that meant a more concrete plan than careening around the forest.
By the time she pulled up to the camper, she’d realized that no matter how careful her family was, somebody would know where they’d gone. She just had to figure out who and then get them to tell her. Easier said than done, but she wouldn’t stop until she did.
Hang on, Mary. I’ll find you.
Chapter 7
Josh sat in his official FWC truck outside Delilah’s trailer and stewed. Where was she? He’d been sitting here long enough that mosquitoes buzzed through the open windows and humidity coated his skin like glue. The more minutes that ticked by, the more irritated he became, which was ridiculous, since they hadn’t planned to meet and she certainly had no obligation to keep him apprised of her whereabouts. The fact that he’d been looking forward to seeing her just made him more annoyed.
He opened his truck-mounted laptop and typed Delilah Atwood into the database. He found a birth certificate, which surprised him, given that she had probably been born at home and John Henry would have seen no reason to deal with government documents. Perhaps the midwife had filed it.
He also learned that Paige, the last name she’d been using here, was actually her middle name.
He found her listed on the university website and on one social media site. There were only a few dozen posts, mostly regarding the monkeys or the latest anthropology research or nature photos. Clearly, she wasn’t someone who lived her life online. He focused on the few personal photos, which showed Delilah with several other women in various locations. She always looked slightly uncomfortable and held herself stiffly, like she wasn’t sure how to act or where to look from that side of the camera.
The short bob was new. Given what he knew about the Atwoods, maybe it was part of her break from her family. All the online pictures showed shoulder-length, deep-brown hair with hints of red. Either way, she had an unconscious sensuality that tempted a man to get closer, to want to touch.
He also checked the background of any group photos, looking for Robert Black. She claimed she didn’t know him, but maybe he’d known her? Followed her? It was a long shot, but he had to check, though he wasn’t really surprised when he found nothing. No sign of her in any of Black’s social media accounts, either.
Her truck roared up, and she hopped out and hurried toward the camper almost before the vehicle came to a complete stop. He intercepted her before she disappeared inside. “Delilah. I need to ask you a few more questions.”
She tried to rush past him, head down. “Sorry, now is not a good time.”
He stepped in front of her. “It won’t take long.”
She bristled but stopped. When she finally aimed a quick glance his way, his questions vanished. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She shook her head, but he saw the devastation in her face. Something, or someone, had upset her. Badly. “Talk to me, Delilah. I can help.”
“I wish you could. Please. It’s better if you just leave me alone.” She marched up the steps.
After she unlocked the door, she turned and stopped him with a hand on his chest. He automatically gripped her upper arms, and attraction crackled in the air as they studied each other. His heart pounded, and he wondered if she could feel it under her palm. She snatched her hand away as though she’d been burned. “I can’t spar with you right now.” Her voice was a desperate whisper.
“I won’t take much of your time, but I have to insist.” And maybe, afterward, he could get her to tell him what happened.
Her blue eyes shot sparks, but he wouldn’t look away. Finally, she sighed and stepped into the camper. He followed and waited while she cranked the windows open, which didn’t help much, since there was no breeze.
When she perched on the edge of the futon, he sat at the small dinette across the room, unwilling to crowd her any more than necessary.
“We were able to ID the victim you found on Saturday.”
When she looked up, her expression held nothing more than polite curiosity and a flash of pity.
“His name was Robert Black, and he lived in Tallahassee.”
“I’m very sorry for him and his family. Do they know yet?”
“Yes, his parents have been notified. He wasn’t married.” He waited a beat, then asked, “You sure you didn’t know him?”
Her head shot up in surprise. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. Except, you know, the other day.”
He leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table. “As Wells alluded to, we found notes and photos that suggest he was also studying the monkeys.”
“I’ve never met him. I didn’t know there was another researcher out here.”
Josh rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Delilah, it wasn’t a bear that killed him. He was murdered.”
All the color drained from her face. “Why would somebody kill him? Wait. Does that mean the bear just showed up to investigate?”
“We don’t have those answers yet, but we’re working on it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And since I am also studying the monkeys and happened to find him, you think I had something to do with this.”
It sounded as far-fetched coming out of her mouth as it had when he’d thought about it earlier. But he had to tug on the string, however thin, that connected Delilah to the victim and see where it led. “All I know is that your paths intersected in the forest. Had you met him in a class somewhere maybe? A coffee shop on campus?” When she simply shook her head no, he asked, “Do you own a hunting knife?”
Indignation flashed across her features before she reached into the backpack she never seemed to be without. She pulled out a knife, its sheath the kind typically worn on a belt. “This is the only one I have.”
It was about the right length, but the murder weapon had a smooth edge. He scanned it anyway, checking crevices for signs of blood, but knew he wouldn’t find any. “Mind if I take this with me? I’ll see that you get it back.”
Delilah sighed and then waved a hand. “Fine.”
He blew out a breath, frustrated by the distance she seemed determined to keep between them. “You know I’m just doing my job, right?”
“I know. But it doesn’t make me like you very much.” She smiled slightly when she said it, and he smiled back.
She’d picked up his busi
ness card and was turning it over in her hands.
“You should keep that with you. You never know when you might need an annoying cop.”
They both stood, and the space suddenly seemed too small. She took a step back, and her hips hit the dinette table. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear but pulled his hand back at the last second. Their gazes collided, and he watched her eyes dart to his mouth and back again before she looked away. The fact that she was as attracted to him as he was to her did not help. He stuck his hands in his pockets to ensure he didn’t do something dumb like yanking her into his arms. He was working a case. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Are you okay?”
She sent him a rueful smile. “I will be. My day did not go at all the way I had hoped.”
“Something to do with your sister?” He had no idea what was going on in her family, but he’d bet money Aaron or John Henry had fired those shots last night, though he’d be hard-pressed to prove it.
“I needed to speak to my father today. And my brother,” she added. “But apparently, they wanted no part of that.”
“Why didn’t they want you talking to your sister last night?”
The silence lengthened. Finally, she said, “I want Mary to come live with me. Based on the less-than-enthusiastic response, I guess John Henry doesn’t like the idea.”
Which confirmed the shooter had been one of the two men. What kind of crazy family was this, where people discussed things with weapons instead of words? “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She cocked her head as though he was some sort of unfamiliar species and then shook her head and sent him a sad half smile. “No, but thank you for asking.”
His cell phone buzzed with an incoming text from Hunter. “I have to go. If you can think of any connection at all between you and Robert Black, I hope you give me a call. Day or night.” He looked over his shoulder from the doorway. “I don’t know what’s happening here, Delilah, but I hope you’ll decide to trust me enough to let me help.”
