by J. M. Madden
Her hand slapped against her lips, and she screamed.
She hadn’t slipped on milk.
She’d slipped on blood.
But whose blood?
And how did it get there?
And why?
She forced herself onto all fours and reached out, switching on the lamp. Though she didn’t want to look, didn’t want to believe what her mind was telling her, she turned, forcing herself to look anyway. June’s limp body was sprawled across the floor, face up, eyes closed. The wood handle of a sharp kitchen knife jutted from her abdomen. Wren placed two unsteady fingers along the side of June’s neck, surprised to find she was still warm to the touch. And there was a pulse. Faint, but it was there. June was still alive!
June’s eyes flashed open. She reached out, took hold of Wren’s arm. “You need to—”
“Don’t talk now,” Wren said. “Save your strength. I’m calling the police.”
June tightened her grip. “Wren … get … out … of … here. RUN!”
Wren shook her head, refusing to leave June’s side. “No, I won’t leave you. I’m calling for help.”
June’s eyes fluttered closed again.
“Shit. June, stay with me!”
Wren managed to press a single digit on her phone before it was jerked out of her hands from someone hovering over her. Helpless and unarmed, she lacked the fortitude needed to turn and face her mother-in-law’s attacker. Instead she muttered, “Please. I haven’t seen you. Let me help her.”
Seconds ticked by without a reply. She swallowed hard, tried again.
“She’s going to die if I don’t do something.”
She realized how crazy she must have sounded to him, whomever he was. She was negotiating a non-negotiable situation. He had a singular agenda. End of story.
Or was it?
He still hadn’t uttered a word.
Was he gone?
The constant ticking of the wall clock in the next room unnerved her. It was the same clock she wished would speed up time just hours before. Now she wished it would stop, reverse, return her to her unstable chair at the dinner table. If only they would have stayed a little longer tonight, maybe, just maybe, June would still be alive.
Alive.
June was no longer moving, no longer breathing. Wren assumed this time her mother-in-law was dead. But what if she wasn’t? Wren bent over June, felt for a pulse. This time, there wasn’t one. In a sudden act of bravery, Wren braced a hand against the arm of the sofa, lifting herself to a standing position. Her legs were limp and noodly, but she didn’t have a choice. Time was ebbing away. She had to at least try to get help, even if it meant meeting the same fate as June.
She’d taken a few steps toward the door before she froze. June’s attacker was still there, lurking in the shadows. She wasn’t sure where, but she could feel his eyes on her, hear each inhale and exhale of his staggered breath. Her jaw dropped, and her head was pounding so quick, so heavy, she wasn’t sure if any actual noise came out.
I’m not going to make it out alive.
I’m going to die here.
Unless …
The last word June had said moments before launched her into action, and she knew what she needed to do.
TWO
Two Hours Later
I draped Cade’s arms around me, inching back in bed until my body was aligned with his, pressed together like we were one. The closeness I craved from him surprised me. I’d tried sleeping next to other men in the past, but it never worked. There was always something, the one deal-breaker that booted them out of my bed and back to their own bachelor pads. It wasn’t the big things that unnerved me the most. It was the little things, like the unsteady rhythm of a man’s hot breath in my ear as he slept, or a man turning on the television at one o’clock in the morning because he still wasn’t ready to go to bed yet.
Cade was what I liked to call a triple threat. He breathed in my ear while he slept, he snored, and he turned the television on when he was fidgety, when there was something on his mind. But somehow it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered with him.
“You keep pressin’ your body into mine and you’re not going to get any sleep tonight,” he teased.
I flipped around, pressing my lips against his. “Maybe I don’t want to get any sleep.”
He trailed a finger along my jawline. “I love you, Sloane.”
“I know.”
I know.
Pathetic, right?
Part of me cringed every time I said it. Up to this point, it was the only reply I’d managed to squeak out. I’d even convinced myself it was a lot better than muttering something back like “ditto” or “thanks,” two things I’d heard from men I’d dated in the past. Both words had made me feel worthless and small, leaving me with the urge to remove a fork from my silverware drawer and stab it into a place no fork should ever be stabbed.
I’ll show you “ditto” or “thanks”.
We’d known each other for a little over a year and had been in a relationship for the last seven months. Life wasn’t just good, it was great; and my life never stayed great for a prolonged period of time. I supposed it was this very reason that made me hesitate when it came to saying the “L” word.
I just wanted to live in the moment.
This moment.
I didn’t want to jinx it.
Cade rolled out of bed and leaned down, grabbing his shirt off the floor. “You can put off sayin’ you love me back if you want. It don’t make no difference. I know you feel the same way I do. Might as well push through your fear and get it over with.”
Push past my fear.
If only it were that easy.
I folded the pillow behind me in half and rested my head on top, wondering why he shot out of bed so quickly, allowing my fear to create several different scenarios in my overactive mind. They wouldn’t be quieted unless I said something, so I did. “Why did you get out of bed?”
He leaned down, kissed my forehead. “One of the new motion detector lights just turned on in the front yard. I better check it out.”
I glanced over my shoulder. He was right. A sliver of light seeped through a crack in the curtains.
“It’s probably nothing,” Cade said. “My best guess, Shelby’s either trying to sneak in, or sneak out.”
I looked at the time on the desk clock. It was a quarter past midnight.
“You didn’t tell her about the motion lights you just had installed, did you?”
He grinned. “And rob myself of the chance of seein’ the look on her face when she knows she’s busted? Not a chance.”
Cade made it halfway to the bedroom door when there was a knock on the other side. He twisted the knob, shocked to find Shelby standing in front of him, dressed in nothing but a nightshirt. She rubbed one of her eyes and said, “Dad, why is there a light on outside my room?”
He looked at Shelby, then at me, then at Shelby again. “Have you been in your room all night?”
“Yes.”
“All night? You didn’t go anywhere, not even for a few minutes?”
“No, Dad. I was too tired to go out. I’ve been in my room since nine.”
He raised a brow like he didn’t know whether he believed her. “If you’re here, then how did the light switch on?”
I laughed. “You sure it was installed correctly?”
He frowned. “Yes, and, it’s not funny.”
It wasn’t just funny. It was hilarious.
“Isn’t it possible a deer tripped the light?” I asked.
He scratched his head. “I don’t know. I better go check it out. Shelby, go back to bed.”
“How can I go back to bed now knowing someone or something is out there?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s probably just an animal, like Sloane said. I’ll take a look just to be sure.”
He grabbed his Glock from the top of the dresser and exited the room.
Shelby turned to me. �
��Can I stay here with you until he comes back?”
I scooted over, and she sat down beside me. “I didn’t sneak out tonight. I promise. I haven’t done that in ages.”
“I know you didn’t. If you did, it would be to see a boy, and if you were seeing a boy, your hair would look a lot better than it does right now.”
She smiled.
Cade’s phone buzzed.
Seemed I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want him to get any sleep tonight.
Shelby reached out to grab the phone, then paused, hand in midair. “Should we answer it?”
“Nah. He can get it when he comes back.”
“Why would someone call here this late?”
“Ever since your dad was made chief of police, he gets calls like this now and then. Most of the time, they’re just silly questions the officers think can’t wait until morning.”
The phone stopped vibrating for about thirty seconds and then started back up again. When neither of us answered the second time, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said.
“Sloane, this is Shorty. Where’s Cade?”
“Outside. What’s going on?”
“I need you to put him on the phone.”
“Is everything okay?”
A long pause, and then, “It isn’t. Can you just put him on the phone?”
Cade entered the room. “You were right. Just a bunch of deer.”
I held the phone out to him. “Shorty has been trying to reach you. I’m not sure why.”
He put it to his ear and listened. When the call ended, he looked at me and said, “I’m gonna have to leave for a while.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“There’s been a murder.”
“Who?”
He looked at Shelby then at me. Message received. Whomever it was, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of his daughter.
THREE
When I woke again several hours later, I found Cade sitting in the living room, staring at the logs inside the fireplace, even though it was spring and there was no fire going.
I plopped down next to him. “That bad, huh?”
“June Bancroft was murdered last night.”
I’d only lived in Jackson Hole for the past several months. The name didn’t ring a bell. “Who is she?”
“A widow who lives in town. I didn’t know her very well. Her daughter-in-law Wren was Shelby’s English teacher last year. I always liked her. She was nice, passionate about her students. That’s what makes June’s death so confusing.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“We’re still gathering evidence. Far as I can tell, though, Wren stabbed her mother-in-law in the chest and then tried to flee the scene.”
“How do you know?”
“A neighbor across the street spotted Wren running down June’s driveway. And get this, she was holdin’ a bloody knife in her hand, the one we assume was the same knife that killed June. The neighbor went after her, and when Wren wouldn’t stop, the neighbor held her at gunpoint while she called the police. She said Wren was mumblin’ a bunch of things she couldn’t understand.”
“Did Wren admit to the murder?”
“She said she didn’t do it, but right now, everything I’ve seen says she did. If she’s innocent, why was she tryin’ to leave?”
“Did you ask her?”
“Tried. So far, she’s not talking. She just sits there, starin’ at the wall, cryin’.”
“I thought you said she said she didn’t do it.”
“She didn’t say it to me. She said it to the neighbor.”
“What happens now?”
“What always happens. We finish collecting the evidence, and we wait.”
FOUR
The following day I received a call from a man introducing himself as Will Bancroft, Wren’s husband. Between frantic, panicked breaths, he managed to ask me when I could meet with him. Since it was the first job offer I’d received since moving to Jackson Hole, clearing my nonexistent schedule wasn’t the problem. The fact I was being hired as a private investigator for Cade’s case was.
When I made the permanent move to Jackson Hole, we’d discussed the possibility, knowing it was only a matter of time before our cases intersected with each other somehow. He’d said he would be supportive. He understood I wasn’t giving up my job no matter what his current position. Still, I worried. This wasn’t a regular case. It was a murder investigation.
I dialed his number, hoping to run it by him first. He didn’t answer. And judging from Will Bancroft’s voice on the phone, Will was a ticking time bomb. I couldn’t just leave him on ice.
On my way out the door, I glanced in the mirror, arranging my short, dark pixie cut with my fingers. My face looked bright and luminous. Alive. After so many years of pale and pallid, bright felt good. It felt really good.
Will greeted me at his front door thirty minutes later. He was of average height for a man. With a bald head and a plumpish build lacking any sort of muscle tone, he wasn’t much to look at upon first glance. Then I met his gaze, saw a childlike kindness most people lacked these days. His kind demeanor, combined with a reddened face that indicated he’d been crying, was all I needed. I was sucked right in.
We walked together to the living room. Sat down.
“Before you talk to me about anything,” I began, “I need to be honest with you. Cade McCoy is my boyfriend. If that’s going to be a problem, I understand.”
Will leaned back, tugged at his jawline. “Chief McCoy?”
I nodded. “We also live together.”
A short time passed, and then, “Is he okay with you taking on a case he’s investigating?”
Good question.
“He thinks my wife is a suspect, for heaven’s sake,” he continued. “That’s why I called you. I had no idea you two were together, or I wouldn’t have.”
I crossed one leg over the other, tried my best to give off a vibe that everything was okay, that my relationship with Cade was no big deal. “I tried calling him on my way over. He didn’t answer. He knew I’d get a case like this sooner or later. We’ve discussed it before. He agreed it was okay. If it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know. For now, I’ll do what I can to help you. Okay?”
He shrugged.
“I heard your wife was released on bail this morning after her arraignment,” I said. “Where is she now?”
“She’s here. In bed.”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
“She’s tired. Maybe later. Why don’t we start with me answering your questions?”
“Mr. Bancroft, you called me today because, as of this moment, your wife is the only suspect in your mother’s murder. You believe she’s innocent, and you want me to prove it.”
He nodded again. I continued.
“You ever play the game where someone whispers a phrase in your ear and then you whisper the same phrase into someone else’s, until it’s passed all the way down the line and the last person verbally recites what he heard? Then everyone has a big laugh because what that last person says is never the same phrase the game started with.”
“Yeah, what’s your point?”
“You weren’t there when your mother died. Your wife was. I need to know what happened firsthand. From her lips. Not from her, to you, to me. Understand?”
“If the story is the same, why does it matter if I tell you or she tells you?”
“Trust me,” I said. “It’s never the same. Even if you had been present when your mother died, no two people have the same perception of the same event because no two people are exactly alike. I don’t just want the story. I want the story within the story.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know yet. And I won’t know until I talk to your wife.”
What I did know was one simple truth—it was always the little things. Things most people didn’t understand they’d said even after they’d said it. An odd tidbit they deemed mea
ningless at the time, so they offered it up without restraint and, in so doing, revealed more than they could possibly imagine.
Will ran a hand across his sweaty brow. “This isn’t how I imagined our meeting would go.”
“You believe she’s innocent, don’t you?”
“She is innocent.”
“Then there’s no harm in me talking to her.”
“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with you talking to her yet,” he said. “I figured we’d meet first and take it from there. I’m the client, right? What I say goes.”
“You’re right. You are the client. And I understand your apprehension. I’m not going to sit here and try to force you to do anything.”
I stood.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Why don’t you give me a call when your wife is feeling up to talking?” I asked.
“You’re leaving? We haven’t even discussed anything yet.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bancroft. I must insist on doing things my way. I know what I’m doing. I also respect your feelings, and I completely understand if you’d rather hire someone else.”
I didn’t usually have difficulty laying the ground rules with a new client, but this time was different. He was different.
“There isn’t anyone else.”
He was right. There wasn’t. Not for a hundred miles at least.
As I stood, torn about how stubborn I was being, contemplating what to say next, a door on the opposite end of the room swung open … and in walked the most beautifully freckled creature I’d ever seen.
FIVE
Will looked at the woman who had just entered the room and said, “Wren, you should be resting.”
