by A M Ialacci
After they declined her offer of something to eat or drink, she offered them seats on a squished bean bag and a stepping stool, which they also declined.
“You know why we’re here,” Will said.
Radhika nodded. “Eddie’s in trouble, and he told you he was with me when that man was killed.”
“He did.”
“And he’s telling the truth,” she said, looking Will in the eye. “I have proof.”
She sat at her desk and pulled up a feed on the same monitor that had previously shown the apartment. Now there was video of Radhika and Eddie sitting at the desk facing the computer. “See?” She said.
“Here’s the thing, Radhika. I think you’re also behind the fake video on Vanessa VanEckle’s blog. If that’s the case, how do I know this video you just showed us isn’t fake?” Will asked.
“Want me to show you?”
Will and Cleo nodded.
“I’ll pull up both videos so you can see behind the curtain,” she said, fingers already flying across the keyboard.
The fake video with the time stamp was on her left, while the monitor showing her with Eddie was on her right.
“In the fake one, I can show you the original footage down here, and you can see where I spliced some things together and added the fake time and date stamp here.”
She switched to the other screen.
“Now on this video, you can see from the source footage that there were no alterations made. Everything you see here is exactly as it was filmed.”
“Is it possible to get a—”
“Sure is,” she said, handing Will a flash drive.
“How did you know—”
“Listen, Officer Truman. If a hacker isn’t five steps ahead of you, especially ‘you,’ as in the police, we aren’t employed for very long.”
Cleo found herself smiling at this girl.
“Will you sign an affidavit when it comes down to it?” Will asked.
“For Eddie, I will. He’s not like the rest of his family.”
Will thanked her for her honesty and the flash drive and he and Cleo went back to the car.
“Now you’ll have to release him, huh?” Cleo asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Back to square one?”
“Seems that way.” Will sighed.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“No. You?”
“If you come over, I can cook you something,” Cleo offered.
“Do you cook?”
“No, not really.” She laughed.
“How about if you swing by the grocery store, and we can get something for me to cook?” Will suggested.
“Even better.” Cleo smiled. “Now how do we get back to the highway?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Will looked quite at home in the kitchen. He noticed her watching him.
“What? You didn’t think I got this gut from eating like a bird, did you?”
“No, I just blamed it on burgers and fries. Don’t forget, I know your affinity for country fried steak.”
“That’s just when I eat out at the fancy places,” he said. “My first love is pasta!” He emphasized his point by grabbing a big bunch from the pot with his tongs and holding it at eye level.
“Just try not to make too much of a mess or Oliver will be all over you.”
“Oh shit, you’re right,” he said, hastily putting the pasta back in the pot. “He’s shut up in the other room, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is, scaredy-cat,” she said. “And speaking of cats…” Buttons was winding his way in between Will’s legs, purring.
“Why does this cat love me so much?”
“I have no idea.” She laughed. “I barely like you. Maybe that’s it!”
Will dished up the plates, and they went into the dining room.
“Still waiting on your replacement computer and camera?”
“Should be here in the next few days,” Cleo said, frowning.
“We’ve cleared Eddie, Maeve, Berta, and Travis, I guess, although I still don’t like that guy.”
“As well you shouldn’t. He’s a creep. Did you know Shelley was taking the time to box up his shit when they broke up?”
“Doesn’t deserve it, but you didn’t hear me say that.” Will snorted.
“Permission to speak freely, Officer.”
He smiled. “We’re looking at Jimmy, I guess.”
“Or someone we haven’t even considered,” Cleo offered.
“Who else could it be? I don’t even want to think about some sicko shooting random people. Crimson Falls may have a crime wave every October, but at least there’s a method to the madness.”
Cleo shook her head. “I still can’t wrap my brain around this curse and why you don’t just bring the National Guard in here every fall.”
“Every year we think, ‘Maybe this will be the year,’ and every year we’re proven that there’s a very dark side to some of our neighbors.”
“Jimmy’s motive would be the money, right? But he clearly didn’t need to murder Nicholas to get the key to the safe-deposit box. Why commit murder if you don’t have to?”
“Maybe he was ticked off at him about something else and it was just easier,” Will suggested. “I’ve seen people kill for less.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“With nothing.” Cleo shoved her fork under a clump of pasta. “This is very good, by the way. I’m going to let Oliver out, if you’ll excuse me a moment.”
“Let him out?” Will’s eyes widened.
“To pee, scaredy-cat. To pee.”
“Oh, okay.”
Cleo opened the bedroom door and grabbed Oliver by the collar. He didn’t seem to mind Will as much as he did the night he bit him, but better to be safe than sorry. She let him out the back door and heard his throaty bark as he ran off into the shadows of the back yard.
Back at the table, Will said, “You’re getting discouraged, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am. I thought Eddie was it for sure, but now it seems like we’ve spent all this time and effort and have nothing to show for it.”
“That’s how it works, unfortunately. It’s a marathon, sometimes. And sometimes you never get answers. That’s the hardest part.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, until a piercing yowl made them drop their silverware.
“Oliver!” Cleo said and jumped up from her seat, sprinting to the backdoor.
“Cleo, wait!” Will yelled, gun drawn.
The trees obscured any light from nearby streetlights or the moon, so she was running blind toward the back fence, hoping Oliver would come bounding up from somewhere. A shaft of light from behind her illuminated the ground in front of her and she saw she was nearing the fence line. She couldn’t see Oliver anywhere and worse yet, couldn’t hear him. She turned and headed toward the corner where Imani’s yard met hers, and the light turned and preceded her by a few feet. Will was lighting her way with his mag lite.
“No, no, no, no, no…” she moaned as she saw a heap on the ground near the corner. Cleo skidded on her knees as she got close and put her hands on Oliver’s body. She could feel the warm liquid pumping out of his right side, and he was panting. “No!” she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes. She felt his body to determine where his wounds were, pressed her hands where she thought they were to try to stop the bleeding, and put his head in her lap. “Don’t leave me, Oliver. Stay with me. Stay with me…”
Will caught up to her and looked over her shoulder. “Stay here,” he choked out. Cleo could hear him giving orders into his walkie-talkie as he jumped the fence and followed it south for a while, mag lite and gun in front of him. The noise from the walkie-talkie grew dimmer the further he went. Oliver’s heart pumped slower and slower.
The light was gone, and she couldn’t even see his face, but she knew his eyes were on her. She lowered her face to his and whispered her love for him in his ear as the pumping slowed. Shouting men pulled
her attention away from Oliver, and several officers were suddenly there next to her, wrapping Oliver in a blanket, lifting him, and sprinting back to the waiting cruiser with lights flashing. She sobbed, wondering if that was the last time she would see Ollie. Will returned to her side, lifting her while she wailed, and then carried her back into the house.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Cleo didn’t remember how she had gotten Oliver’s blood off of her body. She knew she had been covered in it, because she remembered Will and Imani talking about trying not to get it on the carpet.
Techs had come to process the scene, and she’d had to imagine Oliver out there losing blood and fighting for his life all over again. Will stayed with her the whole time, though. When they called from the vet’s office to say he had lost a lot of blood, had a punctured lung, and would lose his leg, she had lost it there in the living room, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Will had picked her up, carrying her yet again into her bedroom.
Now she found herself in her pajamas that she didn’t even remember unpacking after the move. These bunny slippers weren’t even hers, but they kept her feet warm and taking them off would require moving, which she wasn’t going to do for quite a while.
Cleo was on the recliner, staring at the wall, filled with both gratitude and guilt. A flood of memories of Oliver threatened to trigger more tears. He would live, and there was no reason to cry, but logic was no match for her emotions.
Will had left sometime after she had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning. Cleo had heard him tell another officer that there was to be someone stationed outside, watching the house. But she didn’t care too much about herself right now. If she hadn’t pushed her way into this investigation, Oliver would never have been targeted.
Little baby Oliver that had been so small she could cradle him in her arms. When Greg had left, there was no question that Oliver would remain with her. He had always preferred her, and truth be told, Cleo had preferred Ollie to Greg.
Her hand dangled over the side of the chair, and she half expected Oliver to come over and lick it and then put his head under it to get her to pet him. He often woke her up this way. A fresh well of emotion sprang up inside of her and she sobbed some more. Something moved near her feet and she was startled into silence. But when she looked, it was Buttons, perched on the footrest, looking back at her.
“Mew?”
She didn’t respond, waiting for the cat to begin hissing, but he didn’t. He sauntered up toward her midsection and nudged his way under her arm. There he found a good spot near her chest to curl up and began to purr.
Stunned, Cleo tentatively put a hand to his head and stroked him behind his ears as the volume of the purring increased. Tears streamed down her face.
Whoever killed Nicholas had been watching her since day one, and this was clearly meant to scare her off the case. If the killer could get to Oliver, they could get to her, too. What the killer didn’t count on was that Cleo had nothing left to lose. And now she had every reason to find this bastard and make him pay. Whoever this was had clearly underestimated Cleo Kemp.
Imani had managed to convince Cleo to get out of the house and come over to help her bake pies for the Founders Day Festival. She had been to visit Ollie at the animal hospital, but he needed multiple surgeries and rehab, and would be out of it for a while. There was nothing more she could do for him for now, and she had taken to sleeping late, skipping showers, and eating ice cream when she got hungry. Cleo knew nothing about baking pies, and it was an obvious attempt to reintroduce her to the world of the living, but it was about the seventh time Imani had tried, and Cleo was starting to feel bad for shunning her only friend in town. She drew the line at getting dressed, though. She would show up, stay for a little while, and then retreat to her cocoon. No need to change out of her jammies and bunny slippers.
Will had called about an hour ago to check on her and to share that the forensics lab in Riverside had finished the DNA analysis in the case, but the findings were convoluted. Officer Sanchez was driving him there to have them explained. Will had also said something about some familial matches, but Cleo wasn’t paying attention. Unless it told her who the killer was, she wasn’t interested.
Cleo sat at the large kitchen island and watched as Imani floured the countertop and the rolling pin, then rolled out dough. She wasn’t really helping, but she knew that wasn’t the point of Imani’s invitation, either, and she was content to sit and watch. Imani was chatting with her about random things she had seen in the news and the excitement of the festival kicking off later in the day. Cleo interjected when expected but otherwise let her mind wander.
Kiara wandered into the kitchen, looked solemnly at Cleo and stopped. “I’m sorry about Oliver,” she said. “He’s such a good dog.”
“Thank you, Kiara. He is a good dog,” Cleo agreed, voice cracking and tears in her eyes.
Kiara looked at her mom and then back to Cleo. “Are you coming to the festival today?”
“I don’t think so,” Cleo said.
“You might like it,” Kiara said.
“I’ll consider it,” Cleo said.
“Kiara, why don’t you go outside? It’s a beautiful day,” Imani suggested.
Kiara looked solemnly at Cleo again and then nodded at her mother, pulling open the back door, then pushing it shut behind her.
“You should think about it. It would be good for you to get dressed and be around people again,” Imani said.
Cleo looked at her and then away.
“You know, they’ve dedicated the festival to Walter VanEckle, who was part of the committee that planned it. That’s Vanessa and Eddie’s dad who died a few weeks ago. He was probably our most prominent citizen, from a founding family, and all that.”
“Did you know him?”
“Me? Oh no. Much too low class for him.” Imani smiled. “But I work with a woman who was his private nurse.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Right up until the end.” Imani had placed the dough in a pie tin and was now preparing the filling. “In fact.” She looked at Cleo. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”
“What?” Cleo asked, interest piqued.
“Well, she said she thought maybe old Walter didn’t die of natural causes.”
Cleo stilled.
“She said, quite rightly, that it was her job to count Walter’s meds, and that the count wasn’t right when they found him.”
“Wasn’t right how?” Cleo asked.
“There were several unaccounted for.”
“He could have overdosed?”
“Except for the fact that she gave Walter his meds herself, and she knew she hadn’t made a mistake.”
Cleo’s phone pinged with a message. She thought she had turned off all notifications besides the animal hospital and was annoyed that one had slipped through. She went to turn the volume off on her phone but saw the preview of the message on her screen. It was from Shelley.
Results of genealogy kit came in…
Cleo clicked through to get the rest of the message then jumped off the barstool.
“Imani, I have to go. But I may need your help. I’ll call you on the way there.” Cleo was already through the sliding glass door to the backyard.
“On the way where?” Imani shouted, following her to the door and tracking flour behind her.
“To the Founders Day Festival!” Cleo shouted.
Kiara bounded inside. “She’s going?”
“Apparently,” Imani said, worry lines on her brow. “Help me finish this pie. She’s going to need us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Cleo parked the Mini in a no-parking zone because there were few spots available close to the town square, and she knew parking violations would be the least of the police department’s concerns that day. She had only had time to grab her pea coat to throw over her pink pajamas and was still wearing the mysterious bunny slippers that were not hers. A far cry from her usual black concert T-s
hirts and Doc Martens, but there was no time.
The park was packed with people. Most were standing or coming to stand near the gazebo in the middle of the park. Microphones and monitors were being tested, which meant the main event was just about to start. Within minutes, the band was playing the emcee to the stage, a weatherman from Riverside by the name of Chuck Wiggins.
“Hello, Crimson Falls, I’m so glad to welcome you to the first annual Founders Day Festival, the celebration of the founding of this beautiful town!” The band played a celebratory refrain to much applause and hollering from the crowd. “We have some exciting guests to kick off this wonderful event today, and the first needs absolutely no introduction…but I’m going to do it anyway.” Chuck chuckled, and the crowd laughed with him. “She was the youngest multimillion-dollar fashion blogger to hit the Internet and ten years later is an even bigger star, still choosing to call Crimson Falls her home. Related to the founding members of the town, and still giving back to her wonderful community, Miss Vanessa VanEckle!” He stepped back to welcome Vanessa to the stage, and she entered right on cue with a big smile and waving with both hands.
Cleo looked to her right, standing on her tiptoes. She searched the crowd until she found him, and then nodded. She made her way to the stage, slowly nudging past people in her way. When she reached the foot of the steps, she looked across the stage and saw that he had made the same progress, and she nodded once more.
“Our charity drive has reached its goal of $100,000, I’m happy to say,” Vanessa was saying to cheers from the crowd. Then she noticed Cleo entering stage left. Taking in her outfit, Vanessa began to make a joke. “It looks like someone thought this was a snooze fest instead of the Founders Day Festival. Do you need help finding your bed, Cleo?” There was a smattering of laughter from the crowd, but it faded and was replaced by murmuring when the crowd realized that Officer Will Truman had entered stage right, as well.
