by Debra Webb
A rap at the door drew Laney’s attention. Dana Perkins stood in the open doorway. She waved and showed Laney the file folder in her hand.
Laney left the call lists and joined the principal at the door. “Hey. Did you recall something else that might be useful to our investigation?”
“I’m not sure, but I thought you might want to see this project.” She indicated the file.
“Let’s go to my office.”
Laney led the way back to her office and gestured toward the only chair besides the one behind her desk. “I’m glad you’ve been thinking about all this.” She reached for the file. “As difficult as it is to keep the murder in front of you, you never know when the next thing that comes to mind will be the one that makes the difference.”
She nodded. “I’ve been thinking along those lines. The project is one our juniors did right after the school year started. The teacher asked her students to write a report on entrepreneurship. They were to choose someone who started their own business and saw success.”
Laney opened the file and saw the title and author on the first page. A Sparkling Success by Vinn Bradshaw.
The first page after the title page showed a photo of Sylvia Cole. Her smile was beautiful, playful. Page after page lauded her ingenuity and success. Vinn Bradshaw was totally smitten with the woman.
“I was discussing your idea with some of my most trusted colleagues and one of them reminded me about this project.” She exhaled a heavy sigh. “I know this all looks as if Vinn had some sort of obsession with Sylvia but I just can’t see him that way. He has never given any of his teachers reason to believe he would harm a fly, much less a person.”
“Is it all right if I keep this for a few days?” Laney asked rather than giving her the agreement she wanted about Vinn. Sometimes good people did bad things.
“Of course.” She shook her head. “I am so torn about this. I feel incredibly guilty presenting material that casts him in a bad light.”
“Don’t feel guilty, Dana.” Laney placed the file on her desk. “Putting all you believe about him aside, if Vinn did harm Sylvia, it’s better that this awful secret is discovered now so that he can receive the kind of help he needs. It’s very possible there’s an underlying mental disorder.”
“You’re right.” Her face showed the relief she felt at the idea. “The most important thing here is that we do the right thing, for Sylvia and for Vinn.”
“This was the right step in that direction.”
When Dana was gone, Laney decided she needed another look around the victim’s home. Maybe they’d missed something or maybe something that had appeared innocuous before would look different considering all that they now knew.
Which wasn’t a hell of a lot.
She’d driven across town and made the turn onto Olive Tree Lane when her cell vibrated against her waist. She tugged it free, thinking it would be McCabe with something he’d learned from Vinn Bradshaw’s friends.
The number wasn’t McCabe’s. “Deputy Holt,” she said in greeting.
“Deputy, this is Troy Duval.”
He was one person she hadn’t expected to hear from again. “Mr. Duval, I hope you’re doing well.” It occurred to her that he might be ill and need some assistance. Without Sylvia, he likely didn’t have anyone else to call as of yet.
“I’m fine, thank you. But something has been troubling me and I really feel as if I need to share it with you.”
Laney parked in Sylvia Cole’s driveway. “Do you need me to come to your house?”
Anticipation lit in her veins. He appeared to have been closer to Sylvia than any of the other friends and associates she had interviewed, with the exception of Fernandez and possibly Vinn Bradshaw.
“That’s not necessary. I’m certain you’re very busy with the investigation. I can share my concerns with you now, if you have the time.”
Laney shut off the engine. “I do, yes, sir.”
“You see, I watched my beautiful wife suffer greatly at the hands of powerful, greedy men. I didn’t want to see that happen to Sylvia. If the nightmare I lived could somehow be helpful to her, then perhaps it was not for nothing.”
Laney kept quiet, allowed him to tell his story without any interruptions.
“So I gave her some advice several years ago. Advice she heeded well. Perhaps too well.”
When his silence lingered, Laney couldn’t help herself. “What sort of advice, Mr. Duval?”
“Sylvia was under the mistaken impression that Shutter Lake was a boring, nothing ever happens place. She looked at the people she had known her whole life and saw them as quiet, harmless beings who never crossed the street without a crosswalk or traffic light.”
Laney had made those same sorts of conclusions when she first moved to Shutter Lake. Today wasn’t the first time she’d likened the eerily serene place to the fictional Stepford, but the town was far closer to the tranquil paradise it appeared to be than most other towns. Still, there was no denying that bottom line: wherever humans collected in one place there would be some measure of evil. It simply wasn’t possible to have one without the other. Unfortunately.
“I warned her that she was being naïve. I suppose it was my bitterness talking but it was the truth, still is. There are secrets here the same as any other town. I advised Sylvia to learn all the secrets she could. To watch the people for whom she provided housecleaning services. To learn their secrets in order to be armed if the need ever arose. Knowledge is power, Deputy Holt. I’m certain you know this better than most.”
There was no denying his point. “Knowledge is a very powerful tool,” she agreed. “Why would you be concerned about urging Sylvia to arm herself with knowledge?”
He’d already given part of the answer, but she wanted to hear the rest.
“She made several comments over the months and years after that day. At first it was surprise or shock at how wrong she had been about certain people. She never said who or what had shocked her. I remember feeling great pride that I had helped to open her eyes. But then she stopped mentioning the secrets she had discovered. Not that she specified what those secrets were, more a comment about being surprised, as I said. But over the past two years she has on several occasions thanked me for helping her see how naïve she once was. She went so far as to say my advice had changed her whole life. She wouldn’t elaborate further, but after she was murdered I began to worry she had gotten in over her head with this business of secrets.”
“So far, Mr. Duval, we haven’t found any reason to believe that’s the case.” Even as Laney said the words she thought of the money they’d found.
If Sylvia had been blackmailing her clients that would certainly explain all that cash. But it was difficult to believe not one single person broke and allowed some reference to the blackmail to slip. How many people were involved? Her first thought was of the Bradshaws.
“Perhaps it’s nothing. I may have read more into her comments than she meant, but I had to tell you if there was any chance blackmail might be the motive for her murder.”
“You have my word that I will pursue this avenue to the best of my ability, Mr. Duval. And, please, if you think of anything else, call me.”
He assured Laney he would and the call ended.
She stared up at the house. “What the hell were you up to, Sylvia?”
The street was quiet as Laney emerged from her car. Then, things were always quiet in Shutter Lake. She climbed the steps to Sylvia’s deck. At the front door, she tugged on gloves before pulling loose the posted warning that the property was currently considered a crime scene.
Inside, she closed and locked the door behind her. No point risking a reporter showing up and walking right on in like he or she owned the place. The house was cool inside, cool and dark. Laney flipped the switch next to the door and half a dozen overhead can lights shed a glow over the expansive living area.
“Where did you keep all your secrets, Sylvia?”
Laney moved to the far side of
the living room or den, whatever Sylvia considered the space where the sofa, chairs and television called home. Shelving lined one wall. Laney started with the lower shelves since they were readily accessible. Rather than just looking around and beneath things, she opened every single book. Fanned through the pages. Any sort of container or vase had already been inspected but she inspected them again. She pulled out the penlight she carried and peered into each opening of any piece that had one. Once she reached the shelf at eye level, she went in search of a ladder or stepstool.
The stepstool she found in the kitchen wasn’t tall enough so a trip to the garage was necessary. The garage was fairly clean. Not much to look at in there and the Crime Scene Unit had gone over her vehicle thoroughly. Nothing in there either. Ladder in hand she returned to the living room.
Slowly but surely she reached the top shelf and came up empty handed for her trouble. Then she moved on to the rest of the room. Since the ladder was handy, she first checked behind every framed photo and piece of artwork hanging on the walls. She moved every table, checked inside and under every drawer, under rugs, inside the heating and cooling vents. She even stuck her head in the fireplace and looked up in the chimney.
Once the living and dining areas were done, she moved to the kitchen. She poked around inside any open package of cereal or crackers or whatever. Drawers, cabinets, under and behind and inside every single thing. Nothing.
She moved on to the stove and then the fridge. A half empty bottle of wine, cheese, grapes and several other fruits were tucked into the see-thru drawers. On the top shelf in the fridge was a box from Batter Up Bakery filled with cupcakes. Laney’s mouth watered. Heidi Udall made great cupcakes.
“Don’t even think about it.” She closed the fridge door and moved on.
Since the guest room and hall bath would be quicker, she walked to that end of the house next and executed the same sort of search in those rooms. Within half an hour she was moving toward the master bedroom. That room would take some time.
The bed linens were at the lab and the mattress had been removed from the bedsprings for a thorough inspection and then returned. There was nothing under the bed. Not even an odd shoe.
Lastly, she retrieved the ladder and ventured into the closet. From the very top shelves she thoroughly searched and made her way downward. She went through every hanging and folded garment once more. Inspected every pocket, every fold. Same with the lingerie. And she found exactly what she’d found last time—nothing.
Laney returned the ladder to the garage and decided to check the exterior of the house. It had already been given a once over for ruling out forced entry. This time she intended to look for anything, including a hidey-hole.
First, she walked all the way around the house, checked the outside of the windows and all the doors. When she reached the windows of the master bedroom, she paused. The redwood siding was in pristine condition. No deferred maintenance around this place. She crouched down and looked more closely at the siding directly under the windows of this room. There were a couple of scuffs in the wood finish, almost as if someone had climbed into or out of the window.
Since she couldn’t reach the window from outside, she went back into the master bedroom and checked the locks. Both the locks were in the proper position. Well, hell. The windows being locked blew that theory.
Unless, one of the locks didn’t work.
Laney pushed up on first one and then the other. The first window wouldn’t budge, but the second one shifted, going upward as if it wasn’t locked at all. She leaned out the window and sure enough the scuffmarks lined up. She closely scrutinized the window frame, particularly the sill. The window was as old as the house, forty or fifty years, and metal. Her gaze lit on what appeared to be a small piece of skin. Anticipation roaring in her veins, she rushed to the kitchen and found a sandwich bag and then she located a tissue. As carefully as possible she removed the piece of skin and tucked tissue and all into the bag.
If she was really lucky DNA could be extracted from the skin. If it matched the semen, it was possible Sylvia’s lover and her murderer were one in the same. Laney closed and locked the window for the good it would do considering the lock was broken.
But why would the person who murdered Sylvia—someone she knew and invited into her home and with whom she possibly had sex—feel compelled to exit through a bedroom window? Not to mention the scuffmarks gave the impression of climbing in.
Just one more detail that left her with more questions and no answers.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, October 7
Laney stepped up to the counter to place her order. Nolan Ikard stared at her expectantly. No hello. No casual, flirty attitude. This was not like the man who usually took her order at The Grind.
“I’m going to splurge,” Laney said. “I’ll have your classic Chai Tea Latte and an apple cinnamon bagel with honey.”
“Coming up.” Ikard said this like a man on his way to the gallows rather than as a happy entrepreneur grateful for the busy morning filling his till.
Laney had purposely waited until almost nine to come in just to make sure she missed the before church crowd. She’d wanted a more one-on-one encounter with Ikard. Another of his part time baristas, this one a young guy—probably a student, was busy cleaning up and restocking after the morning rush.
Laney watched as he went through the steps to fill her order. If that wasn’t enough sugar to get her motor running this morning, she was beyond resurrection. After revisiting the crime scene last evening she had driven to the lab to hand deliver the evidence she’d discovered. Hours later, she had still been pacing the floor. Couldn’t sleep. She kept replaying the possible scenarios. Each piece of evidence—such as it was—circled around in her head. The faces of the persons of interest—particularly Vinn Bradshaw and Nolan Ikard—kept popping into the mix.
Troy Duval was worried because he had encouraged Sylvia to learn as many secrets as possible. And maybe she had. Maybe that’s what the cash stacked in that safe in her closet was about. But the person who killed her wasn’t just an angry individual—perhaps one being blackmailed, he was an intimate. Someone to whom she felt close enough to open her door to him while wearing a nightshirt. Someone who startled her so that she hardly fought back as he choked her to death with his hands. No bruises on the body, save her neck, to indicate a struggle.
Unfortunately, not with his bare hands since no fingerprints had been found on her skin. That was the part that suggested premeditation. At this point, she and McCabe hadn’t talked in depth about the possibility the killer had arrived at Sylvia’s house with murdering her in mind.
But the meager evidence they had could not be ignored.
Ikard bagged her bagel and she considered the long sleeved tee covering his arms. He wore jeans the same as he always did. Whoever had climbed in or out that window had scraped an arm or a leg, maybe a bare chest. Did he have a mark somewhere on his lean body? Or Vinn. Laney could see him going out that window.
“That’ll be twelve fifty-six.”
Laney blinked and brought her attention back to the here and now, her gaze locking on Ikard’s. “Someone had sex with Sylvia the night she was murdered.”
He flinched.
“Would you be willing to provide a DNA sample, Nolan? Just to clear yourself. Everyone knows the two of you had something going.”
He held up his hands, backed up a step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sex, Nolan.” Laney didn’t bother glancing behind her to see if anyone else had walked into the coffee shop. She would have heard the bell jingle if someone had. The other barista had disappeared into the back for supplies or to take a break. It was just the two of them. Time to pour on a little pressure. “I’m talking about sex. You and Sylvia were involved which makes you a person of interest in her murder. Do you want to clear yourself or are we going to have to do it for you? Whatever was between you and Sylvia, you need me on your side,
Nolan. Trust me.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong. That’s all I have to say. It’s on the house this morning. Have a nice day, Deputy.”
He turned and disappeared through the door marked Employees Only.
Well, that went exactly as she’d planned.
Laney picked up her coffee and the bag of goodies and walked out of the shop. She sat down on one of the benches between The Grind and Batter Up Bakery. She might as well infuse all this sugar into her veins. Eventually she would need to bring McCabe up to speed on her chat with Ikard.
The part that bugged the crap out of her was that if Vinn Bradshaw and Nolan Ikard had nothing to hide, why not just be honest and up front? Furthermore, if that was the case, they had no idea that their subterfuge was doing nothing but muddying the water and hindering the investigation. She wanted to shake them both.
She couldn’t see either one of them as the killer but her instincts had been wrong before. Images of a kid running in the darkness attempted to intrude and she pushed them away.
“Well, good morning, Deputy Holt.”
Laney looked up, startled. Heidi Udall stood over her. She hadn’t heard the bakery door open or the bell that certainly jingled as it did.
“Good morning.” She stuffed a final bite of bagel into her mouth.
“I had to come in today to ready the wedding cake for this afternoon’s ceremony. The Brewsters’ only daughter is getting married. The cake is so huge I had to call in my backup baker, Sheena.” She dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. “This is going to be a hell of a wedding cake!”
Laney glanced toward the bakery, noted the royal blue hair of Sheena Appleton. She was far younger than Heidi and lived in Grass Valley. As best Laney recalled she had only seen her working in the bakery a couple of times. The young woman was eccentric, to say the least. Laney dredged up a smile. “I think there’s been a wedding every Sunday for the past two months.”
“I’m telling you. They’ve kept me busy.” Heidi sat down beside Laney. “How’s the investigation going? I’m hearing all sorts of rumors.”
