the dead girl (BREAKDOWN Book 1)

by Debra Webb

“Wait.” He laughed, the sound broken and hoarse. Definitely drunk. “I know that song. That old guy sung it. Everybody needs somebody…,” he crooned.

  The off-key lyrics drifted off.

  “Is there anything about Sylvia you’d like to tell me, Nolan?” He seemed more upset than a mere old school mate who felt sad about the loss.

  He shook his head. “No. She…she was happy. And smart.” He smiled. “Really smart. Way smarter than anyone knew.” He exhaled a big breath permeated with the scent of whiskey. “I don’t know why anyone would want to kill her.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” Laney stood. “Let’s get you home before you freeze.” He lived on the second floor of the coffee shop. The stairs were in the alley between The Grind and Batter Up Bakery. “I need you making coffee bright and early in the morning.”

  He got to his feet. Swayed. “Don’t worry. I’ve never opened late before.”

  Laney walked him down the alley and guided him up the iron stairs. It took him a couple of tries to get the key into the lock.

  Once he had the door open, she ordered, “lock the door behind you.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. G’night, Deputy.”

  “Goodnight, coffee guy.”

  He laughed another of those shattered sounds and closed the door.

  Laney waited until she heard the lock engage before she headed back down the stairs. Whether he knew it or not, Nolan Ikard had just made his way onto her persons of interest list.

  “The list that won’t end,” she muttered

  She broke into a sprint, headed for home.

  Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Six

  Friday, October 5

  Laney inhaled the dark, decadent aroma of coffee. At quarter to seven in the morning that scent was exactly what she needed. The bell over the door jingled as it closed behind her. Two lines of customers were cued up to the counter at The Grind.

  It was the same every morning, even Sundays. She took her place in the longer of the two lines. And why wouldn’t the one and only coffee shop in a town that offered an endless variety of delectable coffees and exotic teas be busy? One of the pubs served breakfast and two of the three restaurants in town did, as well. But no one had coffee like The Grind. Not to mention the bagels and croissants were excellent.

  Next door, Heidi Udall frequently threatened to open up her bakery, Batter Up, for coffee and sugary treats, but so far it was only talk. Udall probably brought up the subject now and again just to scare her Main Street neighbor. If Nolan Ikard, barista and entrepreneur, was ever found murdered, Udall would be at the top of Laney’s suspect list. The woman’s personality could be grating at times, but she made a mean almond flavored cupcake with butter cream icing. She thought of the box of cupcakes in the victim’s fridge. It was a shame to let them go to waste.

  Can’t eat the evidence, Laney.

  The crowd of customers had disappeared by the time it was her turn—which was the point of choosing the longest line. Based on her experience, by seven fifteen or twenty there would be another rush so she didn’t have a lot of time. For the past six or so minutes she had watched Nolan and the other barista, Shonda Reed, put on a show with their coffee making groove and their flirty personalities. Both were young, attractive, under thirty for sure.

  As Laney bellied up to the counter Nolan’s attention landed on her and his expression immediately closed. The playful, carefree attitude vanished as quickly as if she’d tossed cold water on him. “G’morning, Deputy Holt. What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll take two Red Eyes.” Laney had a feeling McCabe would need the extra caffeine. She could use the additional blast as well.

  “That’ll definitely kick start your morning.”

  As he prepared the espresso shots for the coffees Laney had ordered Nolan was strangely quiet. Shonda busied herself with cleaning up and restocking before the next rush. If not for the snappy music strumming from the speakers, the place would have been as quiet as a stuffy library. Laney studied Nolan. She stopped in The Grind every morning except Sundays. It really was unlike him to be so quiet and soberly focused. Maybe he was embarrassed about last night.

  “Red Eyes have helped me through a hangover or two,” she said, just to see his reaction.

  He glanced up, managed to produce a ghost of a smile. “Works every time.”

  With those three words he went silent again. Laney watched his hands as he prepared the coffees, adding the espresso, then popping on the tops. His usually rhythmic movements were a little stilted, a little shaky. Not embarrassed, she decided. Nervous. What did Nolan have to be nervous about?

  “No bagel this morning?” He placed the coffees in front of her and once more mustered up the smile that wasn’t really a smile.

  “Oh yeah. Got to have a bagel.” She surveyed the array of goodies behind the glass. “I think I’ll go with the sun-dried tomato. Two, please.” She went back and forth on this morning’s offerings of homemade cream cheese blends. Couldn’t decide which one sounded the best. Her stomach grumbled, urging her to get on with it. “And some cucumber herb cream cheese.” Otherwise she doubted McCabe would bother with food this morning.

  Nolan bagged the rest of the order and gave her the total. His hand visibly shook when he accepted her debit card.

  “You and Sylvia were close, huh?”

  He glanced at her, surprise and uncertainty in his eyes.

  Laney could envision the two together. Both were attractive. About the same age. Entrepreneurs. They had a lot in common. If Nolan was the one who left tracks on her sheets, did he know about Sylvia’s other money—the stacks and stacks in the safe?

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He passed the card, along with the receipt, back to her. “I knew her. Everybody did. I guess you could say we were friends. Went to school together and all.”

  Last night his memory of the victim had been a little different. Of course, alcohol had a way of loosening the tongue and amplifying the emotions. “We’re looking for a boyfriend. Someone who might have been intimate with her.”

  The crash of stainless steel against stainless steel shattered the bubble of tension and made them both glance in Shonda’s direction.

  “Sorry.” Her face reddened as she picked up the frothing pitchers scattered across the counter between the brewers and the dispensers.

  Nolan’s attention shifted back to Laney. “Like I told you, if Sylvia had a boyfriend I didn’t know anything about it.”

  Laney noted that Shonda glanced back over her shoulder at him before she disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter. A follow up with the younger barista was in order. She clearly thought Nolan knew more than he was saying. That maybe he was more intimate with the victim than he wanted Laney to know.

  His behavior last night was more telling than he likely realized.

  Tucking her debit card away, Laney felt compelled to add, “We’re not suggesting the boyfriend—or lover—is her murderer. All we need is any info he might be able to provide about her recent activities.”

  He shrugged, his eyes on the door as if anticipating the next customer. “Like I said, we were friends. Back in school, mostly.” He looked directly at Laney then. “Anyone who knew her would be upset. Jesus, she was murdered. Does being upset or sad make me a suspect?”

  “Absolutely not.” Laney frowned to ensure he understood she felt his reaction was a bit over the top. “But you understand that we have to do everything possible to find her killer, don’t you? Anyone who was her friend should want to help. The slightest bit of seemingly irrelevant information could make all the difference.”

  His expression shifted to defeat. She’d made her point. Laney liked Nolan. It wasn’t her intent to make him more miserable, but she needed him to be honest.

  “I wish I could help.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Thanks for choosing The Grind. Have a good day.”

  The bell over the door jingle
d and he looked beyond Laney to greet the new customer. Relief brightened his expression. His exit strategy from this uncomfortable situation strolled up to the counter.

  Laney took one last lingering look at him before leaving the shop. She would be talking to Nolan again. But before she did, she intended to see what Shonda knew about his relationship with the victim.

  ~

  The new Shutter Lake Medical Clinic had been built right on the edge of town, just across the street from the Chamber of Commerce. The sprawling, one story stucco and brick building sat against a backdrop of towering trees. A wide, welcoming porch complete with rocking chairs fronted the entrance. Great care had been taken with the landscape of the parking area as well. Inside, the lobby was filled with comfortable chairs and current magazines. Every member of staff was friendly and accommodating.

  Laney appreciated all those things but it was the doctor and nurses, the insanely well-equipped facility that really made her happy. With the City Council comprised of mostly older, wealthy people, money had been no object when it came to the design and execution of this new facility. Dr. Ana Perez had the very best equipment money could buy. From the hemostats to the imaging department and everything in between, only the most cutting edge would do. Laney had seen big city ERs far less ready for emergencies than this clinic. A half dozen nurses and two nurse practitioners ensured no one waited too long.

  Though the clinic had a lobby full of patients, Perez took the time to see Laney and the chief in her office, away from the patients and the rest of the staff.

  “We know you’re busy,” McCabe said, kicking off the interview, “we’ll try to make our questions as direct and brief as possible.”

  Ana’s long dark hair was captured in a ponytail. Like Laney, she preferred it out of the way. Laney wore hers in a ponytail most of the time. It was just easier. Not to mention for her it helped with the whole dumb blond stigma.

  “I’m happy to help any way that I can,” Ana assured the chief. She glanced at Laney. “Sylvia and I were friends. Good friends. We have been since she volunteered to represent the small businesses of Shutter Lake with the Chamber of Commerce. She was very passionate about the community. So many young people can’t wait to grow up and leave home—particularly if home is a small town—but not Sylvia. She loved her life in Shutter Lake.”

  “She helped with your wellness classes,” Laney said. She’d been to yoga a few times—not nearly as often as she should. Ana was always after her to attend more often. Sylvia had led one of the high-energy cardio programs. Laney preferred to get her cardio workout pounding the pavement.

  “She did.” Ana smiled sadly. “Everyone loved her. Her enthusiasm for fitness was contagious among all ages.”

  “Did Sylvia have any health problems that you’re aware of?” McCabe asked.

  Ana shook her head. “None. She was very healthy. After I heard,” her voice trembled, “what happened, I checked her file just to be sure. She was always very healthy.”

  “No depression or anxiety?” Laney asked. “It’s tough to be free of one or both in today’s rush-rush world.”

  “Sylvia refused to watch the news,” Ana explained. “She preferred to focus on her world, the one where she lived, in hopes of making it a better place.”

  Laney didn’t miss the hint of worry that colored her older friend’s tone as she said this. “Can you tell us about some of her efforts to make Shutter Lake a better place?”

  Ana stalled, that deer caught in the headlights expression flashing for an instant. “Well, you’re aware she served the Chamber of Commerce and that she volunteered at my wellness center.”

  Laney waited for more. Ana shifted in her chair. Tension elbowed its way into the room, pushing out far too much oxygen. Why was she so nervous? This was not like the steady doctor.

  McCabe outmaneuvered the tension by moving on to another question. “Are you aware of any sort of trouble Sylvia might have been having with anyone?”

  Ana shook her head instantly, adamantly.

  “And yet she’s dead,” Laney pointed out, “murdered. Someone clearly was upset with her over something she had said or done.”

  Ana braced her forearms on her desk and stared at her hands for a moment before meeting Laney’s gaze. “Sylvia and I were close, but we didn’t share all our secrets. Who of us does?”

  Laney had to give her that one.

  “So, she did have secrets?” McCabe pressed.

  The doctor flinched. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “But not everyone ends up dead on her living room floor,” Laney countered, framing the statement for the most shock value. She hated to use this sort of pressure on a friend, but she needed her to drop her guard. “We can’t find Sylvia’s killer if we don’t know what was going on in her life. If you know anything—if you even suspect something that might help us please tell us, Ana—Dr. Perez. Any little thing could make all the difference.”

  Ana held up her hands. “All right, all right.” She exhaled a resigned sigh. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but on two occasions in the past week or so I saw Vinn Bradshaw talking to Sylvia in the parking lot after class at the gathering hall. He seemed upset and Sylvia appeared to be trying to calm him down. Whatever was up between them, it looked intense.”

  Vinn Bradshaw. He was a senior at the school. Quiet kid. Never been in any trouble as far as Laney was aware. She glanced at McCabe who looked as surprised as she felt. Laney asked, “Did Sylvia mention what was going on with Vinn?”

  “She told me he had a crush on her and she was trying to let him down easy.”

  A warning throbbed through Laney. “Are you aware of any mental health or drug issues with Vinn?”

  Ana shook her head. “You know I can’t answer a question like that.” She turned to McCabe. “If Vinn had a drug problem or a mental health issue with a propensity toward violence, wouldn’t you know about that, Chief?”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Laney answered the question before McCabe said a word. She supposed that was as close as Ana could come to answering without breaking patient-doctor confidentiality.

  “Do you have any other questions?” Ana appeared agitated now.

  McCabe stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Perez, you’ve been very helpful and we appreciate your time. We know how busy you are. It’s possible we’ll have other questions before this is done.”

  Laney was on her feet thrusting her hand across the desk right behind the chief’s. “We only want to find the person who did this. This isn’t about digging up dirt or sullying Sylvia’s name.”

  It was best not to leave on a sour note which was the reason Laney felt compelled to explain the questions. If there was any hope of Ana coming to them with additional information, she had to feel comfortable with how they planned to use the parts that might seem negative.

  Ana nodded. “I understand. I do. This is just such a tragedy. It’s difficult to look at it from an objective place.”

  “Please,” Laney urged, “if you think of anything at all that might help, call me. You have my number.”

  Like McCabe, Laney kept quiet until they were outside the clinic and well across the parking lot. “You know we can’t go to the school and question the Bradshaw boy.”

  They stared at each other across the top of her vehicle.

  “We can if one of the parents is willing to allow it,” he countered.

  Laney made a yeah-right face. “And which one of the parents is going to allow us to speak to their minor son about his potential involvement in a murder investigation without a lawyer present?”

  “You let me worry about that part.”

  Couldn’t hurt to try. The lists the Coles had provided this morning gave them no additional leads. A break would be good about now.

  ~

  By noon they were waiting in a small conference room at Shutter Lake School. Dana, the principal, had arranged for Vinn to skip his college prep class. She smiled and said a young man as
super intelligent as Vinn didn’t really need it anyway. Vernon Bradshaw sat at the table, conversing casually with the chief as if his son wasn’t about to be questioned in an ongoing murder investigation.

  Laney was dying to know what McCabe had on the guy. Why would any father allow his son to be questioned in regards to a homicide without an attorney present?

  Maybe one thoroughly convinced he had nothing to worry about?

  Never a smart move either way, which suggested this intelligent man, who was the brains behind numerous internationally renowned pharmaceutical breakthroughs, owed McCabe something.

  Just another one of those small town secrets.

  Before coming to the school they’d had to stop by City Hall for a meeting with the mayor. Mayor Thomas Jessup wanted an update on the case. His office had been inundated with calls. When they finally left City Hall McCabe insisted on driving. Any time they worked together, he preferred to drive. Laney was only too happy to let him—as long as he wasn’t hungover. In her opinion, a hungover driver was about as bad as a buzzed driver.

  Dana arrived with Vinn. She smiled at those assembled and ushered the boy toward the remaining empty chair at the table. Every time Laney saw the principal she was smiling. She couldn’t imagine how Dana spent her days surrounded by just over three hundred students and still keep that smile on her face. Not true. Laney knew. The woman loved the kids. She loved her job.

  Dana glanced around the table. “Anyone need anything? Water? Coffee?”

  Laney shook her head, the others declined as well.

  “Well, then, just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Dana exited, closing the door behind her.

  Vinn Bradshaw was seventeen, tall—basketball player tall—lanky but handsome, and, like the principal, always smiling. Even now, when he was obviously nervous, his lips seemed to curl up into a smile. His pleasant expression was far more like his mom’s than his dad’s. Vernon Bradshaw had dark hair, too, but his was peppered with gray. His eyes were dark, not hazel like his son’s. Vinn had the classic square jaw while Vernon had more of a long face with a sort of pointy chin that he kept covered with a well-manicured beard. The ends of his mustache connected to the beard, framing his thin lips. The man, late fifties, had that I’m-too-important-to-be-bothered air about him.