The Death of Life (The Little Things That Kill Series, #2)

by Pamela Crane

  It was as if he was reciting a lovely, poetic epitaph at her funeral. His body still mourned her in the stoop of his shoulders, the creases in his forehead, the grief in his voice. Perhaps every day he relived his own personal memorial for his daughter.

  “How are things with your other daughter, in spite of everything that happened?”

  A smile softened the sadness in his face. He looked away from me, toward the family portrait on the wall, then returned his gaze to me. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Tempest. But it’s ... well, I never had the connection with Tempest that I had with Kat. Kat always loved me most, a daddy’s girl. Tempest is her mama’s little girl. But she’s still my sun, moon, and stars. She’s all I got left. I miss Kat with every fiber of my being, but Tempest ... well, she keeps me sane. I’ve always loved both my girls. I would never hurt them. Ask Helen—even though she hates me, she knows I’d never hurt my girls.”

  I believed Cody wouldn’t, but what about Helen?

  “Would she ever hurt them?”

  Cody waved his hands frantically. “God, no! She’s a great mother. I don’t blame her for what happened. I don’t think she had anything to do with it.”

  “What about Scott Guffrey, her boyfriend at the time?”

  “No, I can’t imagine him wanting to hurt Kat. I mean, why? He’s a father himself. I knew the guy—he was a good guy from good stock. No, like I told the cops, I think it was the drug dealer who lived down the road from Helen. I’ve heard it happens—those people stealing kids and selling them for ...” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “I can’t even think about that. My baby girl ... that happening to her. The cops might have questioned him, I don’t remember, but they didn’t go anywhere with it.”

  “Do you have his name?”

  “No, just what he looks like and where he lives ... if he still lives there.”

  It sounded like a wild-goose chase to me. But one I was willing to pursue just in case there was something to it.

  “If you give me whatever information you have, I’ll look into it.”

  It was a shot in the dark, I knew, since Kat would have been long gone by now if the dealer had sold her. And it wasn’t like he would just blurt out a confession simply because I asked him to. But maybe I could find something, anything, that would point me in the right direction. For the sake of this shattered family, I was willing to do just about anything.

  Chapter 23

  Tears. Screams. Violence. Rebellion. Anger. Hate. Love. Passion.

  Welcome to the other side of existence. The dark side that turns everyday people into killers. What makes an average person decide it’s okay to take a life? Or it’s okay to avenge the dead?

  I’ve learned a lot about those urges, those feelings that awaken the darkest primal side of us. It’s where humanity dies and the animal takes over. I hated that side, and yet here I was embracing it. I didn’t know why. I just do, act, react to the thing that compels me. To me, it was justice of the highest order. A calling.

  Of course there’s always that one person who unwittingly gets in the way of the hero. Their intentions are good, but it puts everyone at risk. Such people must learn to butt out. Such people must be culled.

  Why? Why must some people push, push, push?

  I’d been following Ari Wilburn to learn more about her, only to discover her mocking me with an endless quest for answers. Why couldn’t she just accept things and let it go? As she threaded together the details of what happened with Scott, with Kat, with Jackson—she was climbing a rope that would lead to me. That same rope would eventually hang me.

  She was a rebel like me, and while I respected her for that, it also would end up getting someone killed. She was putting herself in the line of fire, and I didn’t know how many warning shots it would take to get her to back off.

  It didn’t help that people like Ari Wilburn and me—the bruised, broken souls raised on pain and self-sufficiency—didn’t care enough about life to worry about losing it. So my threats would likely prove fruitless.

  Unless ... unless I threatened someone she loved. There weren’t many people in that category, at least from what I could gather by watching her. Her mother and father, maybe. A detective love interest that I’d seen coming and going from her place numerous times. Then a girl, a pretty Latino girl. Rough around the edges, but interesting. I found myself watching her long after Ari had left her apartment. The blond tips of her short black hair stuck messily in all directions, which I found cute. Some of the mail delivered to the apartment—which I’d clandestinely examined, naturally—was addressed to Tina Alvarez. I slid her name into my memory bank for safekeeping. I might need it for later.

  Then there was a family in that rich section of Durham, with two little kids. Philip and Eve Baxter, I discovered after a property records search. Ari had only lurked outside their house, never approaching them. Perhaps it was time I made an introduction. I didn’t want it to come to that—hurting kids, it should never come to that—but I needed to make a point before my neck was on the chopping block courtesy of Durham’s boys in blue.

  The loss of a few innocents was worth the bigger cause. Or as Mr. Spock so aptly put it, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

  One last warning shot. I’d give Ari that. Then it was war.

  Chapter 24 Ari

  If you’ve ever seen Breaking Bad, imagine Walter White’s sidekick, Jesse Pinkman. When I knocked on the door of dilapidated trailer number six, that was who answered the door—that is, a poor man’s version of the character. Yeah, I have to admit, I found Jesse kind of hot; Andrew Watson wasn’t. He favored Jesse enough around the face to draw the comparison, but he lacked his brooding sexiness—and hard body. Andrew was shirtless, of course, in keeping with some arcane law peculiar to redneckdom that dictates its members practice upper body nudity whenever possible. His skinny chest was hairless and ghostly pale like it’d never been exposed to sunlight before.

  “Hey, pretty thang.”

  He smiled down at me about a foot below him on the stoop, his teeth brown from either too much Red Man tobacco or meth use. One skinny arm hung lazily at his hip; he flexed the bicep of the other in a bizarre trailer trash attempt at seduction. Instead I wanted to vomit.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Andrew Watson. Does he live here?”

  “Andrew? I ain’t been called that since my grandmama was yellin’ that for me wearing shorts to church. It’s Andy. And yeah, this is my place. You wanna cum inside? You git my meaning?” He laughed at his own crude innuendo.

  “Um.” How deep was too deep for me to go when trying to get answers? Something told me Andy was a take first, ask for permission later kind of guy. “I won’t be long. I just wanted to know if you knew the family down the street—Helen and Scott. They had three kids, two girls and a boy.”

  His smile faded. “Sure, I know ’em. Scott owes me money. Tell ’im I’m comin’ to collect.”

  “For what?” I don’t know why I asked, because I doubted he would give me a truthful answer.

  “Let’s just say I helped him out when he was going through a rough patch. Helped him feel better, y’know? How about you—need a little pick-me-up?”

  “No thanks.” I smiled stiffly. “But I know who to come to if I do. So you’ve done business with Scott?”

  “Only a few times—just some special K and pot. Well, anyway, dude never paid me for his last fix.”

  “That dude is dead,” I said flatly.

  “Really? Aw shit. I ain’t ever gonna see my money, am I?”

  “So you didn’t know Scott was murdered?”

  “What, you a cop or something?”

  “Do I look like a cop to you?” I winked, propping my hand on my hip, unsure why I even did that. Maybe to throw him off. Or maybe to prove something to myself, that I could get this guy to talk. I didn’t know what it would take, but Andy knew something and wasn’t telling.

  “Ain’t never met a cop as fine as you.”

/>   “Aw shucks. Don’t make me blush. Look, I’m just trying to see if anyone who knew him might know what happened to him. Like, who killed him.”

  “Nah, I ain’t seen him for months.”

  “How about the rest of the family that lived there? Did you know them?”

  “Nope. I seen little kids running around before, but I don’t pay much attention.”

  “So you wouldn’t know anything about the little girl who was abducted from their home about two years ago?”

  “Two years ago? I can’t even remember what I did last night. Oh wait—yeah, I do remember. I did some girl named Candi!”

  I realized then that Andy played as dumb as he looked. This guy had nothing of value to offer me. I was antsy to leave.

  “So you didn’t know about the kidnapping? How could you not have known? There were cops crawling all over this place. Asking neighbors. I’m sure they came here to ask if you’d seen anything.”

  Dropping his arm, he rested it on the doorknob, clearly as anxious to get rid of me as I was to slap that nasty mouth of his.

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re gittin’ at, but I ain’t got nothing to do with any of that. I was in jail two years ago, so if you think I have anything to do with some kid gittin’ stolen, do your research first. Unless you wanna bang, I suggest you take your hot ass off my front porch.”

  I couldn’t get away from this jerk fast enough. As I left, I wondered if Cody knew Andy had an alibi for the night of Kat’s disappearance. Had he purposely sent me down a dead end? And if so, why?

  Chapter 25 Ari

  “Welcome to Great Clips. How can I help you?” The receptionist was almost too pretty as she smiled up at me from behind a marbled Formica reception desk. Extreme makeup from the sparkly purple eye shadow to the red lips framed in black lip liner. Hair curled and upswept like she was going to prom. Yet somehow for her it worked. Me? I’d look like a clown—the scary kind from Stephen King’s It. Though, what other kind of clown was there?

  “I was hoping to get a haircut with Lillian Guffrey? Is she working today?”

  It had taken a bit of good old-fashioned sleuthing to find out that Lillian wasn’t home today and that she worked at Great Clips as a hairdresser. That was the useful thing about bored shut-in neighbors—they often knew everyone else’s business and were happy to share it with anyone who knocked on their doors. As I headed to the North Pointe salon, I figured I could use a trim anyway, so what better opportunity to talk to Lillian than when her guard was down while at work. Hairdressers were notorious gossips, too. I’d have her eating out of my hand.

  “As a matter of fact, she has an opening now, if you’re ready.”

  Tra-la-la. Things were going my way today.

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  After being seated in a swiveling salon chair in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, Lillian Guffrey greeted me. Her mane of blond and gray curls was the first thing I noticed. Skimming the collar of her black smock, the unruly locks almost tempted me to get a perm for myself. A throwback to the 1990s era when Mariah Carey made it look good, before my time. I had a vague memory of my mom’s attempt at a Julia Roberts look-alike, with her red hair permed big and bold. I had only been maybe five at the time, but she’d taken me with her to the beautician and we got our hair done together. I cried the entire time. After that, Mom always trimmed my hair herself—except for that one time I cut my own bangs. Let’s just say Mom didn’t order school pictures that year, but we never forgot my half-inch-long bangs job, and the scissors would forever remain hidden after that.

  As Lillian and I discussed my hair prospects—“just a trim,” I emphasized at least three times, because in hairdresser-speak a trim could be anywhere from an inch off to half a foot—we made small talk about her grandkids, hobbies, and eventually I segued into my job at the police department.

  “Guffrey is your last name?” I asked her. My acting skills weren’t half bad. “We just had a case for a Scott Guffrey. Any relation to you?”

  Her busy fingers slid out of my hair, setting the scissors down on the small table next to her. Pushing my chair around to face her, she looked at me. Oh crap. I had blown my cover.

  The cheerfulness had left her voice. She spoke now in a flat monotone. “He’s my son. Was. Was my son. I’m guessing you know that he was murdered.”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry.” That part wasn’t an act. The lady was as sweet as apple pie.

  “Do you know anything about the case? I keep calling to see if the police have any idea who did it, but so far nothing.”

  “If you give me your number, I’d be happy to stay in touch if there’s any new developments.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said.

  “How are your grandkids handling the loss of their father?”

  “Mikey’s taking it the hardest. He’s only five, just started kindergarten this year. The older one, Kevin, he’s hanging in there. Though I don’t see him, so I can’t really say. He’s all grown. In the military.” She handed me a framed certificate of achievement with Kevin Guffrey’s name on it. “Graduated with honors. A genius. Amazing kid with a full scholarship offer to Duke. But he wanted to serve his country. With his intelligence, they suggested he’d make an excellent explosive ordnance disposal specialist. That’s a fancy way of saying defusing bombs. Isn’t that amazing?” Her face brightened as she bragged about her grandson. The flush of pride looked good on her.

  “Where’s he now?”

  “Stationed in Florida. He calls to check in when he can, but I’m sure it’s busy with all the training and whatnot down there. With Scotty gone, I hardly ever see Mikey anymore. His mother, Candace, never brings him around, though she and I have never had a ... well, amicable relationship to begin with. It was always a big drama anytime I wanted to see my own grandkids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pulling up a leather stool, she sat in front of me, grabbed a chunk of hair, and worked her way through the strands with a razor.

  “Scotty had proposed to Candace after getting her pregnant with Kevin, but she said no. He asked her again after Mikey came along. Still turned him down. She liked playing the field too much. I hate to just come out and say it, but Lillian was a slut, seeing a different man every night. And she was a mother, to boot! Poor Scotty. She dragged his heart through the mud. She was a right awful witch, if you ask me. Mostly because of drugs and alcohol, but the sleeping around really broke his heart. Lost custody of the kids a while back due to the drug abuse and negligence, then used her feminine wiles to convince Scotty to share custody.”

  “Sounds like a piece of work.”

  Lillian leaned in slyly. “More than just that. I’m not one to gossip, but I just have to say I don’t think it was coincidence when Scotty was killed. It was right after he was going after full custody of Mikey again. Candace couldn’t shake the heroin and he didn’t want that around Mikey. Shortly after he tells her this, he ends up dead. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

  Candace had left those details out during her interrogation. Could she have overpowered Scott? If she’d gotten him drunk as a skunk, she could have done just about anything. After all, the autopsy report showed a high blood-alcohol content and date rape drugs—which would have made him an easy victim. Which made me wonder if Scott and Jackson’s deaths were truly linked. Could it be two different killers? Tristan was convinced it was the same person, but besides similar stabbing patterns, what else tied them together? The only way to find out was to keep digging deeper until I hit something solid.

  I had to wonder: could Candace be behind both Scott’s death and Jackson’s?

  “I’m curious, but how did you know about the behind-the-scenes stuff going on with Candace? Was this information coming from Scott?”

  “Oh, honey, I have ways of keeping tabs on that little snake. I’m close friends with her next-door neighbor. She keeps me informed, because Lord knows Scotty would never tell me anything because he wante
d to keep the peace. If he even knew the half of what that woman was capable of ...” She visibly shuddered.

  “Did you tell the police what you’ve told me?”

  “Of course, but Candace denied it. Said I made it up to make her look bad because of our family feud.”

  Perhaps Candace had a relationship with Jackson. Lillian seemed like the type to know what went on behind Candace’s closed doors.

  “Does the name Jackson Jones ring a bell with you?”

  Placing her finger on her lips, she contemplatively turned her head sideways. “Why does that name sound familiar? Was he in the news for something?”

  “Another murder victim. Possibly tied to Scott. I was wondering if maybe Candace was sleeping with him.”

  “I never got the names of her beaus—if you want to call them that. It was a revolving door, so if Candace had anything to do with Jackson’s death and starts killing off everyone she’s ever slept with, well, you’re going to have a victim list a mile long.”

  Lillian was now describing every detective’s worst nightmare.

  Chapter 26 Ari

  If there was one thing I hated about PI work, it was the driving. It was a time suck. And then the surveillance part ... boring. It took some imagination, but I’d eventually found ways to entertain myself during those parts of the job, like expanding my karaoke repertoire and mastering Sudoku.

  By the time I’d gotten done with my haircut—Lillian did a smashing job; I found myself admiring the new layered look in my rearview mirror while I searched on my phone’s web browser for an address for Candace Rhoades, currently my top suspect in Scott’s murder—it was early evening. I was too impatient to wait until tomorrow to speak with Scott’s baby-mama-ex, especially since I’d have to wait until after work. I’d already postponed dinner plans with Tristan two nights in a row, so I didn’t want to make it a third. I ached for some cuddles with my sexy chef boyfriend.