by Terry Odell
Lying in Scott’s bed, staring into the darkness, Ashley listened to his even breathing. His lovemaking—because she was sure there was more to it than sex—had started out gently. Caring. Then it had escalated until she thought Scott was proving something. To her, to himself—she couldn’t tell. Only that it seemed his very life depended on being together.
She snuggled closer to him, almost afraid to sleep. What if he had another nightmare? But didn’t the fact that he’d invited her to stay mean he had opened himself up that little bit? Add that to the little bit he’d shared before, and maybe the crack in that armor he surrounded himself with would get big enough to let her see inside. And maybe, someday, big enough to let him out.
Too much thinking. She was sated, exhausted, and next to a man’s warm, solid body. She allowed herself to relax.
Daylight crept through the gaps in the curtains when she opened her eyes. Scott was propped on an elbow, watching her. He ran a fingertip down her nose.
“Time to make the donuts,” he said with a grin.
Donuts? She didn’t offer donuts at the bakery. It took a moment for his words to register. She looked at the clock. Five-thirty. “How about cereal?” she mumbled.
“You can borrow my robe,” he said. “On a hook in the bathroom.”
What she wanted was to sleep another hour, then a long, hot shower. In her own apartment. But Scott’s lazy grin and half-lidded eyes had her heart thumping, thoughts of showers abandoned. She ran her hands along his torso, to his waist and beyond. “Are you saying you want me out of your bed right now? Because I’m getting a different message from down here. Or is ‘making the donuts’ some cop euphemism I’m unfamiliar with?”
He chuckled, then sobered. “Mornings are tough on me, Ash. But if you don’t mind—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish, merely rolled over and straddled him. “I don’t mind at all.”
At the island counter, wrapped in Scott’s robe, Ashley sipped coffee and waited for Scott to finish in the shower. She’d contemplated going home, but then she’d have to deal with coming back—or not—both of which had a strange feel. She’d spent the night, and once she walked out his door, the encounter would be over. At least she thought that was the rule.
With Barry, she’d be expected to stay and fix him breakfast if they were at his place. At hers, however, he was always gone before morning.
And why was she thinking about Barry at all? After a few nights with Scott, she had no more doubts. She knew she’d made the right decision leaving Barry. She drew a huge, thick, black box in her brain, surrounding the area where memories of Barry resided.
Scott limped into the kitchen, but the pain that had etched his face earlier was gone. The lines around his eyes were smile lines now. His gaze ran over her. He nodded and flashed that grin again. “Looks better on you, I think.”
As if. Two of her would fit inside it. Or was it the way it hung open at the top that he appreciated? “Coffee’s ready.”
He poured a cup and drank it leaning against the counter, still eyeing her.
She cupped her mug in her hands, avoiding his gaze. “Does it hurt to sit?”
The appreciative look faded. “Stiff in the mornings.”
She giggled. “I noticed.”
He actually turned red. “I was referring to my leg.”
“Okay, that too, then.”
His smile returned. “I usually sit in the Jacuzzi before work.”
“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—you would have had time—”
“Hey, no apologies. I’m happy to trade being sore for … making donuts.”
She burst out laughing, glad she didn’t have a mouthful of coffee. “So it is a cop euphemism.”
He crossed to her and kissed her cheek. “Nope. But it’ll be ours.”
She reached up and stroked his jaw. “I should go. I’ll be at the bakery all day. I hope you’ll come to the bakeoff Saturday night.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Ashley basked in the warm glow of the simple exchange as she gathered her clothes.
“You can return the robe next time,” Scott said, as if he sensed her reluctance to put her well-used, unshowered body into yesterday’s garments.
Next time.
She stood, and he walked her to the door, opening it for her. Before she stepped into the hallway, he gripped her arm, spun her around and kissed her, shooting pleasure all the way down to her toes. She didn’t think she’d ever become immune to Scott’s kisses.
When they broke apart, he cupped her face and whispered into her ear. “Macquarie.” He spelled it. “Google it.”
Chapter 26
Stopped at a red light, Scott drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, asking himself again why he’d given Ashley the key to his secret. He never talked about it. He’d given the department shrink just enough to get cleared for duty. And yet he’d thrown the door wide open for Ashley. Maybe not wide open—but he figured she was clever enough to follow the clue he’d given her. And why had he been so cryptic?
Because you’re a damn coward.
To take his mind off the inevitable confrontation, he reviewed the events of the previous night.
Mrs. Osterlund had called the station, complaining about the dogs again. Dispatch had sent Animal Control. The officer had arrived, found two large dogs of mixed breed in a vacant lot about half a mile from Mrs. Osterlund’s property. The dogs were clearly strays. And clearly experienced in evading capture.
However, the officer was equally experienced, and had snared one of the dogs. When she noticed blood on his muzzle, her first thought was that he’d killed a squirrel. Then she’d smelled the decomp.
Her initial reaction was that perhaps the dogs had killed something larger—she said deer occasionally wandered through the undeveloped areas outside Pine Hills and it wouldn’t be the first time one had wandered through a more populated area.
However, her first concern was the dogs, which she managed to corral and secure in her vehicle. Once she did that, she checked to see if her hunch about the deer had been right.
When she discovered the deer was in fact a mutilated human body, she called it in.
Scott had taken her statement at the scene, and had a brief chat with Charlotte Russell, the M.E.
“Second body in less than a week, Whelan?” she’d said. “You bringing your big city crime into Pine Hills? Maybe you should have retired outright. I don’t need the extra work.”
“I think it’s the big guy,” Kovak said. “Last time he was out of town, we had a homicide.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Charlotte said. “I’ll have to get him on the table before I can give you cause of death.”
“Time of death?” Detweiler asked.
“I’d say we’re looking at a couple of days ago.” She smiled. “I’m a real medical examiner. I don’t play one on TV. I’ll give you my findings, but it’s not going to be immediate—maybe not until next week. I’ll give you a heads up before I cut.”
Although Charlotte had joked with Scott and the detectives, as always, when it came time to deal with the body, she treated it with respect. After she made her preliminary exam, she had her techs load it for transport. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, and strode toward her vehicle.
Scott turned to Detweiler. “So, we’ve got a white male, best guess is somewhere between twenty and forty. Nothing remarkable about his clothing, although it was torn and covered with blood. Jeans, plaid flannel shirt over a white tee. Work boots. No watch, wallet or cash on the victim. No wedding ring. Robbery gone bad?”
“It’s on my list of hypotheses.”
Kovak and Detweiler discussed what they needed from the scene with the crime scene techs. Scott offered his opinions, Kovak went to knock on doors, and Detweiler dismissed Scott.
“You can go,” Detweiler had said. “Unless you think I’m missing something. I’m going to stay with the techs a while. I’ll set the tape and get a coup
le uniforms to secure the scene. After that, I’ll help Kovak with door knocking. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find someone who saw something.” He swiped a hand across his jaw. “Then we’ll have to figure out if what they saw has any basis in reality.”
“Hear you on that one. Sure you don’t want help?”
“Not tonight. I’d rather pick your brain, and it’ll probably be fresher after a night’s sleep.”
Scott hadn’t argued, although he did stick around long enough to help set the tape. Without an ID on their victim, they didn’t have a likely place to start.
When Ashley had come over, he’d avoided bringing up the discovery of the body. Somehow, talking about a mutilated body didn’t make for idle conversation unless you were talking to another cop. Leaving his laptop open had been a stupid mistake, but once Ashley saw his searches, there was no point in trying to pretend they were something else. And bouncing things off her had led to a lightbulb moment in the Markham case.
He didn’t owe her anything. He never talked about his work. So why had he told her to Google Macquarie? She wasn’t stupid. She’d find it.
Pulling into the station, Scott left being a civilian behind. He paused at reception, where Doranna was reassuring someone that he or she had nothing to worry about. She hung up. “Heard you’re back on detective duty. They’ve commandeered the break room again. Go on back. I’ve got it covered up here.”
The phone rang again. “I take it word is out.” Scott said.
She rolled her eyes. “Two bodies in a week? Yeah, it’s been deemed newsworthy.”
Scott still hadn’t bothered moving his television set from his old apartment. He could imagine what the newscasters were saying—probably something including “the once peaceful town of Pine Hills—” He wondered if Ashley had seen the news this morning. And what he’d say if she asked him why he hadn’t mentioned it last night.
“Good luck,” he said, both to Doranna and himself.
Scott found Detweiler in the break room standing in front of a white board. He’d done the basics with timeline and a photo of their victim, but there wasn’t much more.
Detweiler turned. “Good thing these boards are two-sided. But if we get another unexplained death anytime soon, the department’s going to have to spring for a second one.”
“You get any indication it’s a homicide?”
Detweiler shook his head. “No, still covering all the bases.”
Scott sat on the edge of the table. “Charlotte come up with anything yet? An ID would be nice.”
“No hits on the prints—what there were of them. I’d have to agree with the doc that the body had probably been there for a couple of days. Between the dogs and the bugs—”
Kovak came in carrying a cardboard tray with three lattes. He set it on the table beside Scott, took a cup for himself, and paced the room. “Don’t remind me. I’ll be dreaming about creepy crawlers for days. Makes my skin itch just thinking about it.”
“Don’t knock the creepy crawlies,” Scott said to Kovak. “They’re markers for time of death.”
Kovak made a face. “What they can do for the case, and what they do to me are two different ballgames. I still can’t watch the bug scene in that Indiana Jones movie.”
Detweiler grinned. “Back on task, gentlemen. Kovak?”
“Not much. Howard Vossler”—Kovak turned to Scott—”Damn reporter showed up at my door this morning. Pre-coffee. Thank goodness he’s with the local paper, and not the television vultures. Brody’s out at the crime scene keeping them at bay.”
After observing the thorough way Detweiler had directed the crime scene techs to work the scene, Scott doubted there was any usable evidence left in the lot, but unlike Ashley’s almost barren bakery, there still could be a clue or two in the clutter out there. Keeping the scene secure until they knew what direction they should be looking made sense. Nothing like a bunch of film crew people traipsing all over the place for no better reason than to have a “real crime scene” as the background for their reporters. Hell, they could find another vacant lot to film from, and the public wouldn’t know the difference.
“My knocking on doors was less than helpful. Did get a couple of people who saw a dark-colored pickup parked by the lot two nights ago, but no plates, no make, not even confirmation of the color. Could have been black, blue or dark red.” Detweiler’s grin was gone, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. “I’m getting flashbacks to the last murder. Another unidentifiable body, another vacant lot. And I don’t like it one bit.”
“You think it’s the same killer?” Scott asked.
Detweiler sipped his coffee and took a deep breath. “No, we caught that guy, and there was no question he was the killer. He’s in prison.”
“Plus, the other guy had his face blown off to conceal his identity. This guy was intact—at least until the dogs and bugs found him,” Kovak said.
“You can’t discount the possibility that someone is trying to make those two cases appear connected,” Scott said.
“Which would mean we should be looking close to home for our killer,” Kovak said. “That case was huge from a Pine Hills standpoint, but on a national scale, I doubt it was a so much as a blip on the media radar. Heck, even in central Oregon, it’s probably long-forgotten.” He balled his fists. “We don’t get homicides in Pine Hills. This is a safe town, a great place to raise a family.”
Scott heard the anger, the frustration in Kovak’s tone.
“We’ll get him,” Detweiler said. “Focus.”
Scott brought things back to the investigation. “You said you had witnesses mention a pickup. Have you found an abandoned one that matches what they’ve described?”
Both men shot their gazes to Scott. “Good thought,” Detweiler said. “The killer knows he’s got evidence in his truck, so he ditches it. I’ll put out a BOLO.”
“Check for stolen vehicle reports while you’re at it,” Scott said. “The creep might have reported his truck missing to cover his tracks. That ruse has been on television so often, even the dumbest assholes know it.”
“Which speaks to premeditation if he reported it missing before he killed the guy.” Kovak said. “Or maybe the killer did steal it.”
“Assuming it was a homicide,” Scott said. “Still no confirmation. He could have died of a heart attack.”
“You think so?” Kovak asked. “Would make things easier all around.”
“Not really. But here in Pine Hills, I’d give it more credence than if it happened when I worked County.”
While Detweiler left to take care of the lookout order, Kovak resumed his pacing. Abruptly, he stopped. Put his coffee on the table. Stared at Scott. “We’ve got two bodies in less than a week. You think there’s a connection? Should we be working them together?”
Scott smiled. Kovak had the chops.
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Scott said. “And, when I was digging into Belinda Nesbitt’s background, I found something that might be another puzzle piece to consider.”
“A connection?” Kovak asked.
“Don’t know yet. You have any problems with gays in Pine Hills?”
***
Walking into her apartment, Ashley pondered what Scott had whispered in her ear. Macquarie. Another connection to Belinda? Or Felicity? She jotted the word on the notepad by her phone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. Her bakeoff and grand opening were first, second, third—and all the way to the end—of her to-do list.
She flipped on the television, hunting for the local news. Maybe there would be more information about Felicity’s death. The station was in the middle of the weather forecast. That, she knew, would be followed by sports, and then no telling when they’d get around to the local headlines. Why wait? She needed to shower and dress. Besides, Scott would have told her if they’d found out anything. Wouldn’t he?
As she strolled to her bedroom, she ran her hands along the soft fabric of Scott’s robe. She let it drift along her body as she shrug
ged it off. She gathered it close for one last inhale of Scott’s lingering scent. And some of hers, with definite undertones of sex. She’d have to wash it before returning it. One more thing to add to her ever-growing to-do list. Which now had an actual deadline. She had to be ready to go first thing in the morning.
She rushed through her shower and yanked on some jeans and a tee. She’d grab something to eat later. Stuffing her feet into her sneakers, she crossed the living room to turn off the television. When Detective Kovak’s face appeared on the screen, she froze. Had they solved Felicity’s death? She looked more closely. The newscaster was in the studio, and Detective Kovak’s image was a picture behind him. To make the story more believable, she guessed. She punched the volume button on the remote.
Another body? Discovered yesterday? The remote slipped from her hand. The newscaster went on in the typically emotionless tone common to the profession. Ashley tried to listen above the blood pounding in her ears.
The victim, a male, probably in his thirties, has yet to be identified. The police are unable to determine if this death is related in any way to the death of Pine Hills resident and business owner, Felicity Markham, who was discovered in a construction site just days ago.
Construction site. That conjured up images of bulldozers and scaffolding, not her bakery remodel. Ashley exhaled in relief. No mention of her shop.
Scott must have known about the dead man. Yet he hadn’t said a word. What if the two cases were related?
Was that where he’d been last night? He’d have said something. Wouldn’t he?
Ashley shoved her irritation away. Scott was under no obligation to share his work with her. It was enough that he’d included her in his search for Felicity’s killer. But deep down, it wasn’t. Even if he couldn’t share details, couldn’t he have said something? “By the way, there was another dead body.”
She thought about asking Sarah how she and Randy handled things, then wondered why it seemed important. Sure, she’d slept with Scott. Sure, she was attracted to him. But their relationship hadn’t reached that “share everything” stage. Heck, they hadn’t really reached the relationship stage, period.
