by Jaycee Ford
“Cocky. Arrogant. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women. That’s pretty much Jack Heavner. Landry also suffers from a bit of know-it-all syndrome, but he’s a really good cop. Probably makes more of an effort given the nature of this town.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, wiping her mouth.
“Well …” I tried to think of a way to put it delicately. “This town isn’t exactly … diverse.”
“Oh … I didn’t even think of that. Maybe more people should follow my lead and not think of it either,” she said.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“What’s up with Grayson and the therapy?” she asked as she put down her fork and sipped her tea.
“The night …”
“The night of the explosion,” she finished my sentence.
“So, you know a little bit?”
“I wasn’t coming in here blind. I researched the town and I learned about Mike Shuler. I just wanted to hear about what he was like from you, his partner. But I don’t understand what happened with Grayson Cooks.”
“During the fire, Cooks got caught under some falling beams. His leg practically split in two. The therapy is for his leg, which I think is healing remarkably well.”
“And the mental part?”
“I think damaging his leg also damaged his ego.”
“Well, a little therapy never hurt anyone.”
“So, that’s pretty much the gist of it.” I put my fork down. Stuffed was an understatement. I needed a workout and a nap.
“And now we go question the roommate.” She pulled out a ten-dollar bill, stuck it under her plate, and scooted out of the booth. I did the same. This time I reached the door before her. Just because she was my partner, it didn’t mean I couldn’t be a gentleman.
“You should take the lead on this one,” I said as we walked outside. The sun was still nowhere to be found. “She’ll probably open up more for you.”
“If there’s anything to tell,” Lara added, tugging her blazer tight around her.
“From what I’ve gathered so far, the murder feels premeditated.” We cut across the street toward my cruiser. “But we must be missing something. It feels too random and too brutal.”
“So, we really need to go through her day and see if there’s anything else we can learn about Erica Gunter’s past,” Lara said as we reached the cruiser.
“It might not help, but it certainly can’t hurt. Now that we’ve had a day to process, maybe we’ll find something we didn’t catch the first time,” I said before opening the door and sitting behind the wheel.
“Do you think there’s any clues we’ve missed?” she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Honestly, I don’t think so, but you’ve got a fresh pair of eyes that might pick up something we overlooked. We’ll have to get you over to the crime scene and see if there’s anything you can find. I know this might come as a shock to you, but we’re a rather inexperienced force. Olde Town is a relatively quiet place. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen every day.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises.”
A GREY MIST hung over the tips of the trees as we pulled up in front of a two-story lake house. The dreary cold lingered, and it seemed it would continue to linger until the murderer was found. I stepped out of the cruiser and glanced at the house peering over the lake. It wasn’t a massive house, but for someone like me, it was remarkable. Development had started in the area not too long ago, but these new houses were built like something found in Charleston; tall and narrow with multiple columns and spacious balconies, white trim bright against the slate blue siding.
“I can see why she stays over so often,” Lara said as she admired the house. “What does the boyfriend do?”
“He’s an attorney,” I told her as we walked up the brick walkway to a double glass door. “But he also comes from old Charleston money.”
Lara pressed the doorbell. We stood a moment before a man, who looked to be around my age, opened the door. He was tall and gave off that metrosexual city vibe with his slacks and sweater, the collar of a button-down shirt peeking out the top. Black frames rested on his nose.
“Blake Wicker,” he said, offering his hand to Lara first. He opened the door wide, allowing us to enter.
“I’m Detective Lara Allen. This is Detective Wyatt Peterman. We’re sorry for having to disturb Camille again.”
“No, we … we understand.” He shut the door and turned around to face us. “This has been hard on the both of us. I just wish Camille wasn’t the one who found her. I can’t imagine having to witness something so gruesome. But I’m thankful she chose to stay with me that night. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened had she been there.”
“How long have you and Camille been together?” I asked.
“Just about a year now. We met at Dixie’s on New Year’s Eve.”
“How well were you acquainted with Erica, Blake?” Lara asked.
“I would say well.” He slid his hands inside his pockets. “Not as well as Camille, but better than most, I assume. She didn’t have a lot of close friends, but she was well liked by everyone.” He hung his head, gave it a slight shake. “I have no idea who would do that to her or why. She never had anything bad to say about anyone.”
“To put it bluntly,” I started. “We know she was somewhat of a flirt. Do you think a man came after her? Or maybe felt distraught at being blown off?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call her a flirt. She was friendly. I knew Camille said one of the bartenders at Dixie’s she was into was an old friend of hers, but I wouldn’t really call her a flirt. She was a very focused girl. I don’t think she had much time for men.”
“What makes you say that?” Lara asked.
“She was very ambitious. I knew she really wanted to go to nursing school. She worked hard, saved her money, and didn’t go out all that much. She was single, but I never heard her talk about dates or guys she was interested in. She always seemed very focused on accomplishing her dreams. She inherited a bit of money after the death of her grandmother and asked my advice regarding financial aid.” He shook his head again. “She was so full of hope and ready to start a new chapter of her life, and all of it was just snatched away from her.”
The room fell silent as the evil truth echoed around us.
“Could you tell Camille we’re here?”
He nodded at my question and darted up the stairs.
“I read in the report that Jack got Erica’s number,” Lara said as we stepped into the adjacent living room. “How did that happen if she wasn’t a flirt?”
“I think when Heavner asks for a girl’s number, they gladly give it to him. I don’t know how he does it, but it works every time.”
“It wouldn’t work on me.” She sat down on the dark leather loveseat.
“Really?” I sat in a chair across from her, leaving the open space on the loveseat open for Camille.
“No chance in hell.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I would have loved to see Jack try to get with Lara, but it was easy to see that Lara was out of everyone’s league. She was attractive, motivated, and bright, yet there was nothing attracting me to her. My heart belonged only to Grace.
Camille Roy walked down the stairs. Lara and I got to our feet as she entered. Her puffy face and red eyes indicated a long night and morning. Blake never came back down, giving us the appearance of the space we needed to question her, but I was sure he was listening somewhere out of sight.
“Camille, I’m Detective Lara Allen and this is Detective Wyatt Peterman. We wanted to ask you a few more questions regarding Erica Gunter.”
Camille nodded, wiping her nose with a tissue as she sat next to Lara. She refused to look at either of us, her eyes remaining fixed on the floor.
“Where do you currently work?” Lara asked, a touch of gentle compassion in her voice.
“I work at Caldwell Memorial Hospital.” Camille focused on Lara.
&n
bsp; Lara took control of the questioning. “What is your occupation?”
“I’m an ER nurse.”
“How long have you been a nurse?”
Camille tilted her head in thought. “I guess between two and three years.”
“And when did you meet Erica Gunter?”
Camille exhaled, attempting to keep things together. “I met her around the same time I started working at the hospital. I needed a roommate so I put up an ad on Craigslist. We met for coffee and seemed like we’d make a good fit. And we really did. She’s my best friend.” Camille wiped at the tear rolling down her cheek. “Was my best friend.”
“Did Camille always work as a waitress?”
“She used to be a bartender at the Steakhouse, but switched over to waitressing there about a year ago.”
“Has she always worked there since you’ve known her?”
“Yes. She liked the stability and she made pretty decent tips.”
“Does she have any relatives in the area?”
“She didn’t have any relatives actively in her life. Her mother and grandmother are dead. Her father was never in the picture. I think she might have an uncle who lives in Cherokee, but they’ve not been in contact since he went back to the reservation.”
“So, her mother and grandmother are native Cherokee?” I asked, stopping Lara’s questioning. The family connections were intriguing, and the only area still unexplored in this case.
“Yes.”
“But they didn’t live on the reservation?” I asked to clarify.
“No, Erica’s grandparents left years ago, but Erica’s uncle went back. I don’t really know why, though. She never really said much about her family. I got the impression the ones who were still alive were dead to her.”
Lara’s eyes caught mine, and then she returned to questioning Camille.
“Where were you while Erica was at work the night of her death?”
Camille pushed a breath out between her lips. “I’d gone to dinner with Blake. Afterward, we came back here for the night.”
“What time did you leave your boyfriend’s house?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” She pondered silently for a long moment. “Around 7:00 in the morning. I left before he went to work.”
“Camille, what did you see when you arrived to your townhouse?”
“The house looked fine. Nothing was out of place. It was just her.” Her lip began to quiver. “Lying face down in her own blood.”
“Did you touch anything in the kitchen?”
She shook her head. “I just turned around and ran back outside. I couldn’t process what had happened—what I saw. I’m used to seeing blood, but seeing her like that was unlike anything I’d ever seen.” Quiet tears came one after the other as she stared at nothing, consumed by her memories. She looked at me and then to Lara. “I want to help in any way I can. I’m just not sure how I can.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“I hadn’t spoken to her all day, which isn’t unusual. I saw her when I was getting ready for work at 8:00 that morning. She said she had some things to do before she went to work.”
“Do you know what things she was speaking of?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I assume just normal errands. Possibly the grocery store. She was pretty good about keeping her receipts so maybe they’re still in her purse.”
“Have you been back to your townhouse since that morning?”
“No. I’m not going back. Blake asked me to move in, and under the circumstances, I accepted without thinking twice.”
“Would you have accepted under normal circumstances?” I pushed my way into the conversation.
She looked up at me. “I think so. I knew it would happen eventually, but I hate that this is the reason for the decision.”
“If there’s anything you can think of, any person that seemed questionable, please let us know.” Lara stood. Camille and I did the same.
“I will, detective. Please let me know if there are any developments. I need to know that the guy who did this is put away.”
“I promise you, when I find him, he will be.” I shook her hand before heading for the door.
I tried to process everything as the door closed behind us and we walked to the car.
“Do we track down the uncle?” Lara asked as she opened her door.
“The only motive I picked up from all of that was the inheritance.” I opened the door, and shut it against the cold air.
“How much of an inheritance do you think it would take to make an uncle massacre his niece?” Lara asked while reaching for her seatbelt.
I pulled the cruiser into the street and drove toward the station. “I guess that’s our only lead. It’s just hard to imagine your own relative doing something like that.”
“I’ve seen worse, Wyatt. It’s not too hard to grasp.”
“But it couldn’t have been that much of an inheritance if she was pinching pennies and saving for nursing school.”
“That’s a fair point.” Lara breathed out a sigh. “Jesus, this one isn’t easy.”
“Especially for a bunch of green cops.”
The phone in my pocket buzzed with a text. I wanted it to be from Grace, but as much as I would have loved to reach for it, I was driving on curvy roads. It would have to wait.
“But how messed up would one man have to be to do that to his niece?” Lara asked almost to herself as she glanced at the case file.
My phone buzzed again. Grace wouldn’t send another text that quickly unless something was wrong. I ignored the oncoming stop sign and peeled onto Main Street.
“Wyatt, what’s wrong?” Lara asked, closing the file and grabbing onto the passenger door handle.
“My texts are blowing up. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Where is it?” Lara leaned across the seat and patted my shirt pockets. I shoved my hand into my left pant pocket and pulled my phone out.
“It’s from Chloe,” Lara said, taking it from me. “It’s locked, so I can’t read the messages.”
“1776,” I replied, my burning curiosity overpowering my apprehension about giving a stranger my password. I made a mental note to remember to change it later. “She’s Grace’s daughter.”
“It’s Chloe,” Lara read the messages aloud. “There’s someone in the woods behind the house. Mom’s not home and I’m freaked out. He’s wearing a ski mask.” She dropped the phone and unbuckled her seatbelt, pulling at the door handle. “Wyatt, just stop the car. I’ll walk.”
I slammed on the brakes. Before I reached a complete stop, Lara jumped out in the middle of the street. I didn’t stop to explain. The look on her face told me I didn’t need to. I threw on the lights and pulled a U-Turn in the middle of oncoming traffic. My only concern was for Chloe.
SHE ANSWERED MY call with a whisper. “Wyatt?”
I exhaled, calming at the sound of her voice. “Where are you, Chloe? Are you okay?”
“I’m in the closet in my room. I’m okay. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
“Don’t apologize. You can always call me if you’re scared, even if your mom is home. I’m on my way. Just stay put.” I put the phone down in my lap to grip the steering wheel with both hands. I loved Chloe and I owed it to her, and to her father, to protect her at all cost. I picked up the phone again. “I’m almost there.”
“Okay. I’m okay. Just a little scared.”
“Don’t be scared. No one will hurt you. I promise you that.”
The headlights beamed against the evening dusk. Cars parted in front of me as the cruiser whistled down the highway. I exited onto a side road and killed the sirens once I turned onto Grace’s street.
“There’s a key hidden under the orange flower pot on the back porch,” Chloe whispered.
“Did you text your mother?”
“No, I didn’t want to freak her out, and the hospital is on the other side of town. You were closer.”
“Goo
d. I don’t want her freaked out either. I’m pulling up now.” I slammed on the breaks and jumped out the door, running around to the back of the house. “Are you still in your closet?”
“No. I’m in the bathroom.”
“Did you hear something in your room?”
“No. I had to pee.”
I bent over and lifted the potted plant from the ground and kicked out the key from under it. After placing the plant back down, I inserted the key and unlocked the door.
“I’m inside,” I informed her as I entered the house. “Let me check things out. I’ll knock in a second.”
After I hung up, I turned off the lights inside the house and flicked on the floodlights outside. A frightened deer darted past the trees and into the woods. My first thought was the guy in the mask must have been a hunter; even though, it wasn’t hunting season. I turned the living room lights back on and closed the blinds over all the windows. My second thought was that Grace should quit keeping the blinds open at night. I knocked on the bathroom door and heard the toilet flush. Chloe opened the door a moment later and smiled.
“So, there’s a strange man lurking around outside your house and you just casually walk out of your closet to use the bathroom?”
“Don’t be silly. I army crawled to the bathroom just like Dad taught me.” Chloe brushed past me and went into the kitchen. I couldn’t help but to laugh as I walked back into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, worn out from the surge of adrenaline.
“Do you want a beer?” she asked, poking her head in the fridge.
I glanced at the time. A little before 5:00. If work needed me, they’d call.
“Sure. I’ll take a beer.”
Chloe came back in, handed me a beer and sat next to me, sipping a Coke.
“I thought y’all were low carbing it.”
“Don’t tell Mom.” She grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
“Maybe we should cook your mom dinner,” I suggested.
Mid-sip, Chloe’s eyes widened. “That’s a great idea! We were just going to have taco salad anyway. Cooking ground meat can’t be that hard, right?”
We moved off the sofa and headed into the kitchen. Chloe opened the door to the fridge and pulled out meat wrapped in butcher paper. She handed it to me and headed into the pantry to fetch an onion and a bell pepper. She placed the onion on a cutting board and began chopping away while I dug around for a pan in the cabinet, and then placed it on the stove. Once I turned on the fire, I dropped the meat in a pan, breaking it up with a spatula.
