by Dan Padavona
“I’ll be here. And so will LeVar. He set his alarm and will arrive before lunchtime. What do you have in mind?”
Upstairs, the floorboards squeaked. Lambert was awake.
“We’ll bypass Wells Ferry PD and the state police and solve this case ourselves.”
Chelsey’s voice smiled through the phone.
“I like this rebellious side of you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sunday, 12:00 p.m.
Thomas pulled into the Wolf Lake Consulting parking lot a second before LeVar. The teenager blasted hip-hop from the speakers of his black Chrysler Limited as his tires bumped over the blacktop. LeVar lifted his chin at Thomas and slammed the car door, juggling his keys in his hands.
“You ready to work, Shep Dawg?”
Thomas squinted at LeVar.
“How do you have this much energy?”
LeVar laughed without answering and motioned Thomas to follow. As they walked toward the entrance, Deputy Lambert drove his cruiser into the lot and parked between Thomas and LeVar. Lambert appeared as if he hadn’t slept in a week. LeVar held the door for the sheriff and his deputy. Thomas scowled down at his muddy boots. He slipped them off, banged them together beside the bushes, then set them on a floor mat.
Chelsey rounded the corner as Thomas stepped into the hallway. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and the smile pouring out of her gaze warmed his chest. She turned into the kitchen. The silverware tray rattled open. As Thomas padded down the hallway, his socked feet slipping on the mopped floor, Lambert and LeVar headed to the investigation room.
Thomas stopped inside the kitchen doorway and admired her. Chelsey was a whirlwind of activity. She portioned sandwich meat on sliced rolls, adding toppings as she hummed to herself. The light through the window caught her complexion and haloed her face, making her appear angelic. And she was an angel. After all she’d gone through between her teenage and adult years, she always thought of others and placed their needs above hers.
“Let me help you with those,” he said.
She waved him off.
“I’ve got this.”
She glanced down at his socked feet and grinned. He lifted his shoulders.
“Force of habit. My mother would have my hide if I tracked mud into the house.”
Chelsey set the sandwich fixings aside and crossed the kitchen. Taking his face in her hands, she pressed her lips against his. Heat rolled through his body. Her shampoo was redolent of wildflowers and honey. After their lips parted, she pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He hung his arms at his sides for a second, overcome by her sudden display of affection. Then he moved his arms around her back, the sounds from the office melting away, as though the two of them drifted out to sea on a raft. A quiver ran through Chelsey’s body, and when he tried to pull away and question her, she tightened her grip. A long time passed before she let go.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing,” she said, giving his nose a boop. “Do I need an excuse to hug my boyfriend?”
Thomas watched her from the corner of his eye as she returned to the sandwiches. He’d sensed fear during their embrace. Yet this had nothing to do with panic attacks, and everything to do with him.
“Hey, you don’t need to worry about me.”
She glanced away, but not before he caught her eyes misting over.
“Just be careful. Okay, Thomas?”
“I always am.”
She set a hand on her hip and shot him a you-can’t-fool-me glare.
“How long have I known you? I have a bad feeling about this case.”
“If this is about the attack outside the garage, it was supposed to be a simple search.”
“And the Jeremy Hyde case. Rushing into Alec Samson’s house without backup. Don’t do everything by yourself. You’re just one man.”
“I have two deputies.”
“Then take them with you and stop traipsing around the forest on your own.” She released a breath and set the tray aside. “This killer is smart, Thomas. He’s always one step ahead of us. My advice? Trust nobody.”
Inside the office, they gathered around the murder board. Thomas mulled over Chelsey’s warning before she appeared in the entryway with the tray of sandwiches.
“Are those from the deli?” Lambert asked, touching his stomach.
“Heck, no. These are homemade. I have roast beef, turkey, and chicken. Take your pick.”
Lambert plucked a turkey sandwich off the tray. Thomas wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t expect another meal before nightfall. He let LeVar and Chelsey choose first, then grabbed the remaining sandwich which turned out to be roast beef on an onion roll with lettuce, tomato, and a horse radish sauce. He placed the sandwich on a paper plate and set it beside Chelsey’s computer. She dumped a handful of veggie chips next to the sandwich and gave him a wink.
“They’re good for you. Eat up.”
“What’s wrong with good ole potato chips?”
“Don’t argue with her, Shep,” LeVar said. “She’s on a healthy eating kick.”
“Fine,” Thomas said, popping a veggie chip into his mouth. Not bad. He palmed a few more.
“I should adjust the murder board,” Chelsey said. She peeled Stokes’s photo off the suspect list and placed it beside Megan Massey’s picture. “There. That’s better.” She turned her attention to Thomas. “We’re coming down to the finish line on the Shawn Massey case. How can Wolf Lake Consulting help the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department?”
Thomas gestured at the board with a chip.
“Now that Hanley Stokes is off the suspect list, it’s time we alter our strategy. We’re not only searching for people who wanted Massey dead, but also anyone who had a beef with Stokes.”
“The bartender at Mahoney’s mentioned a fight. How about the guy Stokes pulled the knife on?”
LeVar lifted himself onto the edge of his desk.
“Nah. That was a drunken brawl gone wrong. No reason for Jonas Briggs to hunt Stokes down after the dude got out of prison.”
“So who wanted Stokes dead?”
Lambert chewed his sandwich and said, “If Stokes sold drugs in Wells Ferry, maybe someone wanted in on his territory.”
“Now you’re talking,” said LeVar. “Follow the money.”
“Another dealer?” Chelsey asked. “I didn’t realize Wells Ferry had an underground drug war.”
Thomas shook his head.
“If there was a war, we’d have more bodies on our hands and more suspects to look into.”
“Perhaps Stokes cheated someone on a deal, or somebody sought revenge after a loved one overdosed.”
“This doesn’t strike me as a drug deal gone bad,” Lambert said. “More like someone wanting Stokes out of the way.”
Thomas sipped from a water bottle.
“It’s possible. But Megan Massey doesn’t fit into that theory. Why would anyone encroaching on Stokes’s territory kill Massey?”
The others fell quiet. After a moment of thought, Chelsey spoke.
“I ran background checks on Hanley Stokes and Megan Massey. Except for Massey representing Stokes, their paths never crossed. I crosschecked every name that came up, but didn’t find a common thread.”
“We’re missing something. The problem is, between searching for Shawn and hunting down Megan Massey’s contacts, my department has a full plate. And Wells Ferry PD already decided Kemp Massey killed his wife with Shawn’s help. I need Wolf Lake Consulting to dig into Stokes’s past. Interview his friends, his enemies, anyone who’ll shed light on our case. Someone wanted Stokes dead, and the same person targeted Megan and Shawn Massey.”
“We’ll start with Stokes’s associates.”
“Shake the bushes. See what falls out. Remember, the killer beat me to the Blanton house. He suspected Shawn would seek refuge inside the garage.”
“And the killer was there when Shawn broke into the Nash house on Lake Shore Drive,” Le
Var said, narrowing his eyes. “I’d focus on Shawn’s friends. But why would a teenager kill Hanley Stokes?”
“We keep running into dead ends. Let our department concentrate on Megan Massey’s murder. Hit the streets and learn everything you can about Hanley Stokes. There’s a common thread between them. Let’s find it.”
Chelsey produced a list of names she’d compiled during the Stokes background check.
“I’ll take LeVar with me. As soon as we learn something, I’ll contact you.”
The group broke up. Lambert grabbed his keys and headed for the door, while LeVar carried half of his sandwich to the refrigerator. As Thomas turned to leave, Chelsey grabbed him.
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I should ask you to make the same promise,” he said, studying her eyes. What was she so afraid of?
“Humor me.”
“All right, I promise.”
She kissed his lips.
“I can’t live without you, Thomas Shepherd. Come back to me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sunday, 1:20 p.m.
Scout waited outside the guest house for Jack to do his business. The skies had cleared, but there was something inherently untrustworthy about the day. Like a smiling old woman outside a house of gingerbread holding a hatchet behind her back. She squinted at the sun, wondering where the sense of foreboding came from.
“Are you done, boy?”
Jack gave a woof and strutted into the house with his tail wagging. Before Scout wheeled inside, she gave the sky another skeptical glance. She shut the door and pushed herself into the front room. The majestic view of Wolf Lake unfurled before her. Scout should have been exhausted. After staying up late, she’d awoken at seven, scarfed down her mother’s pancakes, dried the dishes, and hurried to her bedroom. LeVar had been asleep inside the guest house, and she hadn’t wanted to bother him. Instead, she worked on her laptop, crossing off more names as she perused Shawn Massey’s connections. A little before noon, LeVar’s Chrysler Limited roared to life in the neighboring driveway. After he drove off, she kissed her mother and told her she’d care for Jack and spend another hour researching the investigation.
“You did your job,” Naomi said with a curious smile. “Why don’t you play with Jack in the yard, or sit by the lake?”
“It doesn’t feel right. I missed something important.”
Now she typed at the computer, each of Shawn’s connections starting out with false promise before she accepted the friend couldn’t be the killer. She’d heard about the Hanley Stokes murder. It was all over the news. The murders seemed unrelated, except Megan Massey had acted as Stokes’s attorney.
Scout returned to Mike Nash’s profile. Her assumption about Shawn hiding at the cottage had proved accurate. What good had it done anyone? The killer found Shawn before Thomas.
She searched Mike Nash’s posts and pictures, then cross-referenced his other social media accounts—Twitter, Instagram, even his YouTube profile. There was nothing to suggest a falling out between Mike and Shawn. No jealous battle over a girl, no reason Mike would turn on Shawn and attack the teenager, let alone murder Shawn’s mother.
In a separate window, she studied the photographs from Camilla Blanton’s garage. Shawn posing with Polly, his eyes holding the hazy glaze of the inebriated, the girl’s lips pressed against his cheek even as her eyes smiled toward the camera. Camilla leaning over Shawn as he curled inside a sleeping bag, Polly ostensibly shooting the photo as Camilla draped a fake Halloween spider web over Shawn’s face. Shawn felt comfortable over the garage, just as he did at the Nash cottage, where Mike’s parents accepted Shawn as one of the family. The killer had to be a friend. Someone who read Shawn’s profile.
She set the mouse down in frustration. Then a jolt shot through her body.
No, it couldn’t be.
She’d phoned LeVar after discovering the connections between Shawn, Camilla, and Mike. Each time, LeVar alerted Thomas, who shared the theories with the search parties. The killer was on the search team.
Chelsey waited inside the Honda Civic with LeVar and closed the FaceTime meeting with Darren and Raven. Chelsey’s partner and the state park ranger were dodging Wells Ferry officers along the river and ignoring the chief’s mandate to stay out of the investigation. While the search crews concentrated their efforts on the river and lake, Darren and Raven tracked through the forest between the park and marina, convinced they were close to finding Shawn Massey.
Chelsey eyed the white duplex. Two cars and a pickup truck clogged the driveway. Darrell Mack lived in the apartment on the second floor. As they climbed the stairs, a dog barked and clawed at the door of the first-floor apartment. Mack’s name had emerged during the background checks. The police listed him as a known accomplice to Stokes and a possible drug pusher.
Mack answered after a minute of knocking. The man wore a week’s worth of scruff on his face, and his belly hung over the waistline of his bluejeans. He glanced around Chelsey and LeVar as if he expected someone else.
“Darrell Mack?” Chelsey asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Chelsey Byrd, and this is LeVar Hopkins. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Hanley Stokes.”
“I’m not talking to no cops,” Mack said.
He pushed the door shut, but Chelsey blocked it with her foot.
“We’re not the police.”
“Bullshit.”
Chelsey displayed her card.
“I’m a private investigator with Wolf Lake Consulting.”
Mack swept the greasy hair back on his head and gave the hallway another wary stare.
“I got nothing to say about Stokes.”
“Please, Mr. Mack. It’s important we learn what happened to your friend. A teenager’s life is at stake.”
“A teenager? Stokes didn’t know no teenagers. You got your facts mixed up.”
“All I ask is you lend us five minutes of your time. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”
Mack studied LeVar. He clearly wasn’t comfortable inviting the imposing teen into his apartment. Mack narrowed his eyes at Chelsey.
“Anyone see you come inside?”
Chelsey glanced at LeVar in question.
“I don’t think so.”
“The cops know you’re here?”
Thomas did, but Chelsey sensed admitting the truth would be a deal breaker.
“Nobody.”
Mack held the door open and motioned them inside with a sweep of his arm. The second Chelsey and LeVar entered the apartment, Mack locked the door, threw the bolt, and connected the chain for good measure. Stokes’s accomplice glared through the peephole for a long second before he invited them into the kitchen.
The apartment appeared upscale for the east side of Wells Ferry. Solid walls, a fresh paint job, long windows with unobstructed views of the town. The lake shimmered in the distance. Despite Mack’s appearance, the man had money. He’d need money to afford this apartment. The clutter told a different story. Dishes piled in the sink, a plaid shirt with a rip down the sleeve dangled off a chair, and an empty dog dish lay in the corner with bits of crumbled kibble dirtying the tiled floor.
“You have a dog, Mr. Mack?” Chelsey asked.
Mack’s lip quivered. He wiped a hand across his forehead.
“Had a dog, yeah. Ripper.”
“Did Ripper pass? I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mack shrugged a shoulder and peered at the bowl with a glazed eye.
“He was a five-year-old pit, powerful as a tank. Came home from work two weeks ago and found him dead in the living room.”
“That’s terrible. What happened?”
“Vet said he got into some bad food. But the cupboards were closed. There was nothing he could have gotten into.”
Concern flashed in LeVar’s eyes. Chelsey crossed a leg over her knee.
“We understand you were friends with Hanley Stokes.”
“We go
back, sure.”
“Did you speak to Stokes after his release?”
Mack’s foot tapped beneath the table.
“We met for drinks once. Two days after he got out, if memory serves.”
“At any point during your discussion, did Stokes complain about someone wanting to hurt him?”
“No, and it would be best if you left. I don’t wanna talk about my dead friend.”
“Please, Mr. Mack. We’re trying to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do to bring him back. I want you to leave.”
“What about—”
“Go. Now.”
“You’re afraid of something,” LeVar said, resting his forearms on the table.
A protest formed on Mack’s lips. His gaze traveled back to Ripper’s bowl.
“Not afraid of nothing.”
“Someone murdered Stokes. Bashed his face in with a hammer. Where I come from, you don’t do something like that unless you’re sending a message.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Yeah? Did the same person send you a message while you were at work?”
LeVar nodded at the bowl. Mack chewed his lip.
“You ask too many questions. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Questions that might get me killed?”
“If the wrong person finds out . . .”
Mack twirled a finger in the air, as if doing so explained who killed Hanley Stokes.
“We’ll offer you protection,” Chelsey said, removing a notepad from her bag. “Tell us the truth, and we’ll ensure the killer won’t hurt you.”
A humorless smile spread across Mack’s face.
“Who’s gonna protect me?”
“My firm has a close working relationship with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. If you tell me who threatened Stokes—”
Mack leaned his head back and laughed at the ceiling.
“Don’t you get it? I can’t go to the cops. If I could, I would have years ago.”
Chelsey met LeVar’s eyes. He gave her a quick shake of his head, a warning not to push Mack. She ignored it.