If nothing else, her sister had taught her what not to do and how not to live. Harper wouldn’t be flippant about love. She wasn’t like Jenna. She couldn’t live with herself if a man died having chosen to ignore the curse just to experience love.
Chance’s white cowboy hat slipped off the dashboard of the truck as he turned the wheel. He reached out and stopped the hat from falling. She couldn’t help but notice the way his hair had a slight natural wave, which made his locks fall into his face like caressing fingers. His silver-tinted eyes were focused on the road as he steered his truck. The way he was so concentrated on the task at hand made it hard to not notice the way the fine lines collected around his eyes.
As much as Harper wanted to deny it, Chance Landon was handsome. Far more handsome a man than most she had met working in the lab.
She had played it brilliantly back at the house. Yes, she was absolutely attracted to him, but she had been fully justified in refusing his advance. No matter how badly her instinct driven inner-nymph would have liked to see him without a shirt — or more — she couldn’t live her life that way. No.
Chance looked over at her and caught her looking. His million-dollar smile returned. “So, about Carey, did she leave you an address or anything? I was hoping to stop by her place before I head out of town.”
His question jarred her back to reality; with the drugs and everything that had gone on between them she had forgotten the real reason he had come to see her. “Actually she’s a tenant in an apartment building my sister owned. It’s not far from here. It’s on the way to Coeur d’Alene. Maybe we can stop by on the way to dinner.”
“Sounds good. What’s the address?”
“962 Cemetery Road.” She pulled out her smart phone and tapped the screen until she found directions to the apartment complex. “Here,” she said, handing him her phone.
He took a quick glance and handed it back. “I got it.”
She rolled her eyes — why couldn’t men take directions? “Why do you think she was looking for you, Chance? “
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have no idea what Carey wants. But I’m sorry she got you mixed up in her business.”
“You don’t need to apologize. It’s not all bad,” she said, trying to not look him in the face.
“I’m glad you feel that way. But I hope nothing happens to change your mind. I mean, you haven’t seen me eat dinner yet.” He gave a short laugh, but she could sense his nervousness as he tapped on the steering wheel.
“Chance, is there something you aren’t telling me?”
He glanced over at her. “What do you mean? About dinner? Let’s see … I’m not one for Chinese food. I’m more of a steak and potatoes guy.”
That’s not what she had meant and he knew it. “Are you in some kind of trouble with Carey?”
“Why would you ask me something like that?”
“Look, I don’t mean anything by it, but are you afraid of Carey or something? You seem nervous. And don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. I’ve just learned that when it comes to Carey I can never expect things to go a certain way. Maybe it’s not such a great idea for you to go with me there. I can’t guarantee what she’ll say.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not worried about Carey. She seemed upset at the services, but I think it was just because she was looking for you. If anything, I think she’ll be happy to know I found you.”
“I like that about you — you’re not afraid to face things head-on — or while tripping over barstools.” He teased her with a broad smile, but his smile looked strange, almost off, like he put it there only for her.
Chance steered the truck down a winding road toward the aging beige apartment buildings Harper now owned. The siding was starting to slip, giving the building the look of a tiered cake on the verge of tipping over. The all-weather carpeting on the stairs leading up to the upper floors was worn through, exposing chipped and crumbling concrete.
From the look of the place the complex was going to be a challenge to sell. Harper’s only hope was that she could sell it cheap to get out quick. After what they had found in the house, she hated to think of the mess they would find within the derelict apartments.
“There,” Harper said, pointing up to the third floor apartment with the brass number 316 outside of its door. The six hung upside down, making it look like a nine. “I think that’s Carey’s apartment.”
Chance pulled the truck into a parking spot next to a car with a flat tire.
“Do you want to go in? Or would you rather stay here?” Chance grabbed his cowboy hat off the dashboard and pushed it down over his locks, making him more irresistible than ever. When she thought about him going up to see another woman, a strange wave of jealousy passed through her.
She pushed open the door of the truck. “I’d hate to miss all the fun.”
It surprised her when Chance met her at the front of the truck and took her hand, almost as if he knew she needed his support. He was warm and his palms were sweaty from nerves, but whether that caused by her or the thought of meeting up with Carey, she didn’t know. She secretly hoped she could cause that reaction, but nothing had passed between them besides a few smiles.
“My ex-wife can be a bit of a handful.” He ran his thumb over the back of Harper’s hand, and his voice seemed quiet, but it could have been the pounding of her heart that made it difficult for her to hear. “I’m just throwing it out there, but I’m thinking that there’s a connection between your sister, Carey, and the drugs we found.”
“What?” Harper snapped back to reality. “Do you think they were dealing drugs together?”
“I wouldn’t put it past Carey.”
She couldn’t deny all the trouble Jenna had caused in her life, but it still hurt to hear Chance talk about what a mess her sister had become. Harper pulled her fingers away from Chance’s.
He looked disappointed as he dropped his hand to his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just mean it seems strange that your sister owns the building that my ex-wife lives in. Do you think it’s possible your sister was dealing?”
Harper walked over to the bottom of the stairs and looked back over her shoulder. “It’s hard to say what my sister was doing.” She stepped up the stairs. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Chance made his way up the steps, taking the lead. She trudged behind, silently reprimanding herself for letting his bluntness bother her.
Making her way to the top of the third floor steps, she could hear the rap of Chance’s knuckles against the apartment’s door.
“Hello?” Chance stepped to the window and peered inside. “Carey? You in there?” He reached down to the door handle and, with a twist, the door swung open.
“Oh my God.” Harper’s hands flew over her mouth.
In the middle of the living room, spread out on the floor like a fallen bird, was the redheaded woman she had met at Jenna’s funeral. Carey’s face was the pale purple mottled color of death. A needle protruded from her arm.
The scent of decay wafted out of the apartment, filling Harper’s nostrils. White feathers were strewn around, as if someone had torn through a pillow, filling the room with its eerie down.
On the woman’s face was the terror of whatever it was she had last seen. Something about her ghostly, clouded gaze reminded her of Jenna lying in the white casket. The thought made Harper’s breath catch in her throat and come out as a thin wheeze.
Chance grabbed Harper and pulled her into his arms, shielding her view. . “Harper, don’t look. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
Chapter Seven
What was Chance going to do? He couldn’t leave the body for someone else to find. No matter how much he disliked Carey, she deserved more respect than for him to leave her body untended.
&nb
sp; He loosened his embrace on Harper. Her eyes were filled with terror and disgust and he hated to let her go. She’d been through so much with losing her sister and now this, but he couldn’t hold her forever, no matter how badly he desired it. “Sweetheart, I think you should go stand away from the door. You don’t need to see this.”
Harper answered with a tight nod as he let his embrace fall away. She turned and stepped out of the doorway. Her footsteps made a hollow sound as she walked down the walkway in the direction of the next apartment, thankfully out of sight from the macabre scene.
Covering his mouth and nose, Chance stepped into the small apartment and glanced around the space. On the walls were a few pictures all of a black-haired girl at varying ages. The last photo was of a girl who was maybe about seventeen.
Chance couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There was no way Carey was dead.
Stepping next to the body, Chance did the only thing he knew — he reached down and pressed his fingers against Carey’s neck. Her skin was sickeningly cold.
There was no question in his mind as he glanced around at the white feathers that filled the room. Someone had killed her by pulling her feathers when she’d been in her shift. But who had gotten close enough to attack his ex-wife? Who wanted her dead?
Taking his fingers from her neck, he touched her eyelids and pulled them closed. Out of respect he mouthed a quick prayer, but it had been so long since he’d prayed that he barely knew the right words.
• • •
The nosey neighbors stood on the walkway and around the parking lot as the coroner and his assistant lifted the body and carried it down the three flights of stairs. The whole scene made Chance’s belief in people lessen. The only person who didn’t seem grossly attracted to the investigation was Harper. She leaned against a wall, seemingly not noticing the black bag and its macabre contents, as a police officer continued to ask her questions.
The only reason she had been exposed to this was because of him and his curiosity. He should have never asked her to tell him where Carey lived. He should have never brought her here.
A police officer walked up to him. The officer stared at the ground, the walls, the steps, everywhere except Chance’s face. The man gave a little cough as he attempted to clear his nerves. “You’re Chance Landon, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, the investigator just let me know that we have a letter, which was left by the deceased. It looks as though she might have known her time was coming.”
“What? Who was the letter addressed to?”
“It was addressed to you,” the officer said.
“Can I have it?”
“First, I have a few questions that I need to ask you.”
“Why? I’ve made it more than clear I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Chance said, trying to clear any ideas the officer had of making him a suspect.
“At this point, it looks like a drug overdose, but we won’t know for sure until toxicology comes back — and that may take some time. However, from the state of her apartment, we do have to treat this as a crime scene since the death was not witnessed.”
“I understand,” Chance said, trying to be as compliant as possible. The last thing he needed was the cops on his ass for something he didn’t have any part of. “How long do you think she had been here before we found her?”
“I’m not an investigator, but from the rate of rigor mortis they approximated the death to be somewhere between eight and twenty-four hours ago.” The officer pushed one of his thumbs under the edge of his utility belt. “Just to cover the bases, I do have some questions for you about your whereabouts.”
Chance took a step back and bumped against the railing of the walkway. “I didn’t have anything to do with Carey’s death.”
“Sir, all I’m asking is where you were for the last twenty-four hours?” The officer seemed almost bored as he asked the required question.
Chance glanced over in Harper’s direction and remembered the drugs. He couldn’t very well tell them he’d been busy aiding in the disposal of narcotics. “I was with Harper. Before that I was in my hotel room with my buddy, and last night I was playing poker.”
“Both of these people can account for your whereabouts?”
“Absolutely.” His legs seemed to go numb as his body compensated for the shock of the officer’s questioning. “I’m sure if you need, the hotel might have cameras. You’ll see I never left until I went to see Harper.”
“Great. Just got a couple more questions,” the officer continued. “Sir, why were you here today?”
“I just stopped by.”
The officer finally looked him in the face. “And how would you classify your relationship with the diseased?”
What relationship?
Chance’s hands gripped the winter chilled metal railing. “She and I were married a while back. I hadn’t talked to her since our divorce.”
“When exactly was your divorce?”
He thought for a moment. “We signed the papers seventeen years ago, thereabouts.”
“So what would you say was the reason for your divorce?”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
The man gave a quick laugh. “I can certainly understand that … Me and my ex just went through one hell of a divorce.”
“Sorry to hear about it,” Chance said, grateful that the officer wasn’t digging too deeply into his life.
“When we get involved with these kind of women,” the officer said, as he motioned toward the black body bag in the coroner’s hands, “it’s never a good thing. Right?”
The man must have assumed Carey was just another druggie off the street, but Chance knew better — there was more going on than a simple overdose.
The cop stuffed his thumb under his utility belt and leaned back. “And what about your daughter? Do you know where we can find her?”
“I don’t have a daughter.”
The officer jerked and there was a flicker of confusion on his face. He pressed a button on the walkie-talkie clipped to his chest and turning, walked a few steps away. Chance tried to hear what the officer said, but he could only make out muffled whispers.
After a moment the officer turned back around and walked to him. “Sir, along with the letter left by the deceased was a birth certificate for one Starling Jackson.”
“And?”
“And you were named as the father of the girl.”
What was going on? Carey, as a nymph, couldn’t have gotten pregnant, could she?
“There’s no way.”
“Legally, sir, you are the girl’s father. We called her school, but they said she is already out for the day. She’s probably on her way home now.”
“Child? How old is she?”
“The certificate date shows she, Starling Jackson, is seventeen.” And then Chance remembered. The week the divorce had been finalized, he and Carey had run into each other in a smoke-filled bar. After one too many beers for him, and more than one or two too many cocktails for her, they had gone back to her place. Had their one last fling resulted in a child?
The knot in his stomach tightened. Was the child the reason Carey had been trying to contact him? It wasn’t beneath her to want to keep a child a secret from him. If she had told him about his daughter, she would have known he would have wanted to have parental rights.
He hadn’t hated her, but in that moment his feelings changed. Any woman who could deceive this much — a woman who could keep his child a secret from him, deserved his hatred.
“Sir? Are you okay?” the officer asked.
Was the guy kidding? He just learned he had a child. No. Not just a child, but a teenage daughter. It didn’t seem real.
“Yeah.”
“Here’s the letter and you
r daughter’s birth certificate.” The officer handed him an envelope.
Chance took the envelope. On the outside, in Carey’s familiar handwriting, was his name. He pulled out the first paper. On the top of the birth certificate was Starling’s name and then Carey’s information. Further down the page was he was listed as the father.
Even though Carey had problems, she wouldn’t have listed him if he hadn’t been the girl’s father. However, it surprised him that she wouldn’t have merely left the father’s information blank. Was it possible that her naming him was a safeguard in the event something happened — something like him finding her dead?
He folded the certificate and carefully slid it back into the envelope and withdrew the letter. He was surprised to see Carey had only written him three words — three agonizing words — Chance, I’m sorry.
The officer stared at him.
“Are you willing to take the child, or would you rather we put her in foster care when she arrives?”
“No.” Chance tensed. “I’ll take her.”
“Great. We hate to see children taken from the biological parents in cases like these.”
Harper excused herself from the officer she was talking to and made her way toward him.
“Chance, you look terrible. Are you okay?”
“I have a child. A teenager. Starling.” He blurted the words out. Her eyes widened and her face paled.
“What are you talking about? She couldn’t have had a child, Carey was a — ”
“Was a what?” the officer interrupted.
Harper’s gaze snapped to the officer. “She was always a surprise.” She gave an unconvincing laugh.
The officer stared at her. “How well did you know the deceased?”
Harper gave the officer a melting smile. “Officer, I already gave my statement to your friend over there.” She pointed at the secondary officer. “I’m just such a mess, would you mind terribly if you talked to him about it?”
The Nymph's Curse: The Collection Page 44
