HOMECOMING: A thrilling crime mystery full of twists (New York Murder Mysteries Book 4)

by Joshua Brown

  I returned to the Eagle’s Nest motel with a heavy heart and an aching mind. My emotional state since I entered Priest River took a toll on me, and after the odd encounter with my family, the pleasantry, it seemed to only get worse. A night of waiting for the bottom to fall out leaves a strange scar on a man’s psyche.

  Pulling up to my bungalow, overlooking the Pend Oreille River, all I wanted was a good night’s rest. One evening of peace among the days of absolute mental agony—but if I’ve learned one thing in this life, you never get what you want.

  I got out of my car, lit a cigarette, and took the turn towards the patio of my rental home. I barely made it a few feet along the stepping-stone path before realizing I wasn’t alone. With the cigarette clutched between two fingers in my left hand, I drew my Sig Sauer P365 and neared with caution.

  I had to act under the assumption that the man I was chasing was onto me. Thinking anything less was a rookie mistake, and falling into a trap at the hands of some psychopath that didn’t want this little town to flourish didn’t sit well with me.

  “Who’s there?” I called into the night, pressing my shoulder against the wall. I heard someone outside, sitting at the table, lightly shuffling around. My car was only a few feet away. If worst came to worst, I could run.

  “It’s such a lovely place, isn’t it, Jack?” I heard a woman’s voice. I recognized it but couldn’t place it instantly. “These small villages are nothing like the big city. They’re flowing with delectable radiance. You can feel it too, can’t you? The overwhelming power that ebbs and flows from street to street.”

  Still, with pistol in hand, I took the corner. I made no early threats, nor did I swing my pistol at the woman; not yet. But I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to see her there. Her pale skin, a sullied reminder of my time with her in the park. She sat, button nose in the air, a thin cigarette connected to the tip of a long telescope holder. Pristine, golden hair in a bob, tucked beneath the same red cloche hat as all those weeks ago in the park. A warm evening, she’d forgone on the thick brown coat for a white dress with little red flowers, instead. I guess even a chilly evening out this way was warmer than a rainy summer’s afternoon in New York.

  I never learned her name, but I made no investment in finding it. I thought our original meeting was merely a strange coincidence, nothing more. But seeing her again, the Lady in Red, left me wishing that I had done my due diligence.

  I was at a loss for words at her sudden appearance in Priest River. Our previous meeting involved strange circumstances and her annoyance that I had felt nothing after being given a stone with a peculiar symbol. Had anything really changed? I felt no radiance of which she spoke.

  Just another night, no different from the last, and all the same as tomorrow’s would be.

  I holstered my gun and approached the two steps leading onto the patio. The Lady in Red never turned from the river, a content smile on her thin lips.

  “Tell me, Jack, how are things?” she asked with fond remembrance, as though we were old friends catching up on each other’s lives.

  “Fine,” the word left my lips in a croaky whisper.

  She didn’t respond right away. Her head arched away, facing me slant. Oddly intrigued, I’d stick around to find out what she had to say.

  “How did you know I was here?” I inquired.

  Finding me in New York wasn’t anything surprising. I didn’t put much weight into hiding my habits. If anyone dug hard enough, they’d know I went for walks with Skylar every morning, then to my office and back home after. My routine rarely changed unless working on a case. But finding me somewhere across the country was vastly different.

  Hell, I didn’t even tell anyone apart from Lauren and Aaron. And the two of them would never share my location with a stranger, especially not someone they didn’t know.

  “It’s come to my understanding, Mister Mercer, that you’ve had a few encounters over the last few months. Mostly visitations, though the persistent nightmares are growing more severe, too,” she ignored my question. A giddiness emanated through her. “It’s only fitting, I suppose, especially here.”

  “How do you about that?” I cocked a brow.

  “Words are whispered on the wind, stories travel, you’re just going to have to trust me on that one. At least for now,” she said.

  The curious nature of this conversation left me uneasy, but I’d play along.

  “What’s so special about Priest River?” I scoffed.

  I knew I should’ve felt threatened, on high alert, ready to draw down and fight for my life—but I wasn’t. Speaking to the Lady in Red left me feeling… comfortable. Like an acquaintance, mingling on the sidewalk, catching up on all the time that’s passed us by.

  “You don’t feel it?” she asked. She killed her cigarette in the ashtray, cleaned earlier that day while I was out, and grabbing her dark brown handbag. More of a tote bag, I suppose.

  She slid her slender fingers through the zip, drawing from it a book. It wasn’t much bigger than a notepad but bound in leather. She set it down on the table. In a flash, I thought I saw him there again, Johnny Ortega, dancing on the waves. His words played in my head: hey, look, I’m walking on water. I wonder what that means.

  What game was she playing?

  “All this mystery and intrigue will soon end, Jack. I have to apologize for the secrecy in which we work. You see, to find like-minded people is a challenging thing. Standing with you and guiding your hand is easier once you’ve accepted it to be true, though most don’t even get that far,” she rose from her chair.

  Flabbergasted, dumbfounded, confused, all words vastly inferior to describe the feelings I felt. She spoke with such certainty, a knowing that even I didn’t possess. Her confidence shone through and left me unsteady.

  The Lady in Red knew something I didn’t, and I hated that.

  “This book will answer all your questions. It will awaken your mind to all that’s happened and all that will. You’re in the earliest stages of your life, so close to death,” she snickered. “Isn’t it such a beautiful thing?”

  “Now, hold on a second,” I stood at the bottom of the two steps, blocking her from descending. “I’m not going to stick around here playing whatever game you’ve got cooking up. I want answers.”

  “So demanding,” the Lady in Red took a single step down. Our heads were level. She ran a finger down my chest, eyes fixed on the buttons of my shirt. “I know, Jack. You’ve seen it. You’ve felt their presence and experienced the tether. Johnny Ortega is living…” she paused on living. “Proof of that.”

  “How do you know that name?” I demanded an answer. But once more, mention of the tether left me uneasy, nervous. Whoever this woman was, whatever game she played, involved some long con I had no time for.

  Digging up my past, though not a simple task on its own, but Johnny Ortega would be even harder still. He was a man I shared a hospital room with for a week, definitely not someone I’d expect to have popped up so frequently all in one go.

  Either this woman started digging deeper than I ever would, or there really was something going on.

  “Don’t fight it. There’s no need,” she said. “Just ride the ethereal wave and let it carry you to me.”

  “I don’t even know your name,” I said, allowing her to take the last step and walk by me.

  “Well, all you had to do was ask,” she looked at me over her shoulder. “My name is Marceline Tremaine.”

  “Marceline Tremaine,” I repeated. I always found it easier to remember a name if I said it back right after hearing it.

  “We tread on such precarious laid land, detective. Pioneers of passion,” she spoke once more. “All your questions will be answered soon enough.”

  And then she left. I watched as she took every step, walking on until she vanished into the inky black night. I had to still my over-zealousness to pry open the leather-bound book and find whatever secrets it held. For now, I was still working on an active
investigation.

  Even if it left my night’s rest uneasy, tossing and turning, while my tortured mind ached for knowledge. Soon, there’d be time enough to pry open the leather-bound booklet and see if what Marceline said held any truth.

  But bringing Lynne Sawyer and Dominic Cornelius’s murderer to justice had to remain my primary focus.

  Chapter 21

  Jack

  I woke the following morning with the birds. My night of tossing and turning did little to ease the frustration from the day prior. Marceline Tremaine’s entrance into Priest River only brought more questions than answers. But that seemed to be my entire stay in Priest River. Every action or thought only left me seeking answers that always somehow eluded me.

  Before I got out of bed, I eyed the leather-bound book on my nightstand. I was deeply curious to inspect it, to see what secrets hid within, but I fought the urge. With Victor Dinwiddie in my sights, this case might’ve been ready to shut down. All I needed was a little proof that he was my man.

  And by God, I hope it came with that morning’s meeting.

  There wasn’t much point in delaying the inevitable. I barely finished my first cup of coffee before getting ready to make my way over to the station. The sun barely showed itself through a thin haze of fog, brought about by the Priest and Pend Oreille rivers.

  To my surprise, as soon as I stepped in, Freddy Cochran was already waiting inside, thumbing through that morning’s paper.

  “Morning, Jack. How was your night?”

  “Fred,” I give a nod of the head. “No better than any other. Can’t stop thinking about this case and had a bad feeling about leaving Rodney all on his own.”

  “I know the feeling. Rodney Stern’s got a heart of gold, that much is certain, but he’s not the brightest bulb in the box,” Freddy sighed.

  “Speaking of which, have you gotten any word from him?”

  “Not from my end. Was hoping he’d have spoken to you by now,” Freddy turned his eyes up to me before back to the paper. “Probably dozed off in the cruiser, napping outside Victor’s place.”

  His satisfied chuckle pissed me off. That was probably exactly what happened, which means Rodney wasn’t doing his job. As fast as I walked through that door, I was back in my car, dialing Rodney’s number.

  “Morning, Jack,” Rodney answered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. I’d know immediately if he passed out behind the wheel.

  “Nothing much. Been a pretty boring night,” Rodney sighed. “Kept my eyes on it all night. Didn’t see lights, movement, or nothing on the inside. Even now, there ain’t a single thing going on.”

  “You didn’t happen to fall asleep, did you?” We should’ve taken it in turns. I barely thought about it the night before, and with the way my evening turned to spinning around aimlessly, I might as well have stayed instead of Rodney.

  “Aw, well, I caught a couple minutes around three in the morning. Didn’t think much’d happen around then,” at least he wasn’t lying to me. And he was probably right, too. As long as he was aware for most of the night, conscious and active, I had no reason to think differently.

  There was always the chance that Victor had been inside, hearing our knocks and not opening the door, but having an officer stationed there, would leave him fearful of leaving. There weren’t many ways Victor could tell if Rodney had taken a nap.

  “I’m on my way over,” I killed the call. If there was only one real thing I liked about Priest River, it was how quiet the streets were, even during peak traffic. In New York, the short drive from the sheriff’s station to Victor’s house would take an hour, maybe longer. There, it took less than a couple of minutes.

  I pulled up behind Rodney’s police cruiser and got in the car with him. The house looked seemingly unchanged, even now nearing 8 AM. No stirrings of life, no movement. Only an empty shell with a potential murderer hidden within.

  “So, you say nothing happened while you were watching?”

  “Nothing at all,” Rodney said. He turned to face the building.

  “Not a single light all night? You think Victor might’ve skipped town?”

  “I don’t, no. Don’t see what reason he’d have to, anyway,” Rodney replied. “Freddy’s right, Jack. Victor’s a kid, no older than twenty-five. He looks after the place while his ma’s out of town on business. Got this thin frame body, you saw the size of Dominic Cornelius. Hell, that boy can’t pick himself up proper without the wind blowing him away, ain’t no way he’s going to move a man of Dominic’s size onto that scarecrow’s pole.”

  “It’s all we’ve got for now,” I sighed. “If it’s not him, we re-evaluate and try again. But we have to explore every avenue.”

  “Alright, alright, how are we going to handle it then?” Rodney inquired.

  “No point in delaying the inevitable. Let’s give him a knock on the door and see where it takes us,” I got out of the car and made my way to Victor’s front door. Rodney followed close behind me.

  I gave the door a few good bangs, making sure if anyone was inside, they’d not be able to mistake it. Without wanting to disturb the neighbors the night prior, a light tapping may have seemed loud to me, but it was late enough in the day now that no one should be snoozing.

  To my surprise, Rodney and I weren’t met with silence this time. A voice from within the house called out. “Just a second.”

  “So he is in there,” Rodney said as if it were some sort of eureka moment.

  “Sure is.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” he brought a hand under his chin.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said.

  Any number of things could be happening within. For all we knew, Victor was preparing a shotgun, all the same as Jim Heath had. Only if Victor was backed into a corner, he’d be more inclined to open fire before opening the door.

  “Hold back when I go inside,” I whispered to Rodney. “Keep an eye out in case there’s any trouble.”

  As I got the last word out, the door swung open. I got a good look at Victorand understood why no one thought it’d be him. He was tall, head nearly touching the arch of the door, but his limbs were wiry and thin. There wasn’t much substance to him wearing a pair of sweatpants and a thin, white sleeveless undershirt. His gaunt face placed him somewhere in his twenties, with a patchy, wispy beard that barely covered his chin. Victor wasn’t much more than a child, so maybe everyone was right about him.

  Just looked like another wasted, modern youth turning up all across America.

  He wiped the sand from his eyes, letting out a little yawn.

  “Morning,” he said, eyeing me, then Sheriff Stern. “Sheriff? Is something wrong?”

  Victor’s sleepy face turned scared real quick.

  “Victor Dinwiddie?” I didn’t let Rodney speak.

  Though he gave off an unassuming look, I wasn’t going to say he was clear just yet. He avoided us the night before, and if he wasn’t in on account of killing Dominic, it wouldn’t be that hard to spot Rodney’s cruiser outside, making other plans to get inside.

  “That’s me, yes.”

  “Sorry to bother you this early in the morning. We came by last night but didn’t get any response. My name is Jack Mercer, private investigator. I’m investigating the murders that have happened through Priest River the last few days, along with the disappearance of Lee-Anne Jefferson. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” I drew my recorder and switched it on. “You mind?”

  “Lee-Anne’s gone missing too?” Victor’s face sank. “You think whoever’s killing folk might’ve gotten her? Please, come in, come in. I’ll help any way I can.”

  I eyed him skeptically. He gave off the impression of worry and care, but I didn’t hear any sincerity in his words. His body language gave little away as well. He stood with the same stoic confidence as a moment before.

  Curious.

  I entered the house, not thinking any further about it. Rodney was outside, close enough to get
involved if needed. But Rodney was also somewhat of a liability in this cramped space. I’d rather have him outside, ready to fight, than in here, messing something else up.

  “Where were you last night between the hours of eight and midnight?” I asked.

  “I was here, sleeping. Early bird catches the worm as the old saying goes,” Victor replied. I looked around, down the hall, through doorways leading into the living room and dining room. There wasn’t anything showing something happened here.

  “We came knocking pretty early, didn’t get a single response,” I said.

  “My momma likes to say I sleep like the dead,” Victor chuckled. Another reaction I wouldn’t expect, considering the situation. From my understanding, Lee-Anne was his partner. Sure, being accused of murder and having done nothing wrong, you could laugh at a stupid joke.

  But knowing your partner was missing, that was a totally different situation.

  “And your mother, she’s out of town at the moment?”

  “Yup, she’s out on business. I think she said Texas, but might be anywhere by now. Always traveling,” Victor leaned against the doorframe leading into the living room.

  “And what does she do, exactly?” I asked.

  “Some corporate gig. Don’t know the details myself, never bothered asking. When momma is home, don’t want to burden her with work talk. That’s her time to relax since we never know when she’ll be pushing off again,” he sighed, disappointed. I struggled to place near everything about this situation.

  At some points, he’d look sad, while at others happy, before coming back to neutral. Everyone deals with things in their own way. I knew that, but I had a bad feeling about Victor. And one thing I learned early on as a cop, always trust your gut.

  “And your dad?”

  “Passed on, a long time ago,” Victor turned his head away from me.

  “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened to Lee-Anne? Anyone that would have reason to hurt her?” I supposed he wouldn’t unless he had something to do with it. Trafficking was becoming an increasing problem in the States, hell, the world. And an abduction in a small town was easier than in a big city. Sure, the community was tightly knit, but security was lacking.