by Angie Fox
Marjorie knelt before it and lifted out her mug shot photo. A pained expression crossed her face as she unclipped the handwritten letter clipped to the photo. “It’s from Rose Adair to Judge Knowles.”
Shane knelt next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she read the letter. “She says she’s disturbed by a letter from Marcus. With it, he sent this mug shot photo,” she said weakly. “Marcus wrote her to warn her about me, that I was a bad influence on Eliza Jean.” Her hands shook as she crumpled the letter in her fists. “Marcus was the reason she cut off contact.”
“And Knowles had it in the case because he’d been using that to blackmail Marcus,” I said. It made sense.
She nodded. “A betrayal like that would have been the one thing that would make me leave him.” A tear fell onto the paper in front of her. “He took my daughter from me. All these years, I felt like I just wasn’t a good enough person. I felt like I deserved it.”
He’d cut her off from her child, her lover. All in the hopes that she’d love him if he took everyone else away. It was tragic, yet I couldn’t seem to stir up much pity for Marcus, not after what he’d done.
Still, if Marjorie needed closure, I’d help her get it. “Would you like to talk to him?” I asked gently. The police still had him nearby somewhere.
“No.” She raised her chin. “I’m done with him. I’m never speaking to Marcus again.”
But Marjorie still seemed so lost.
“Come here, kid.” Frankie urged me to the side. “I get that you want to make things right, but you can’t fix everything.”
I watched as Marjorie cried softly against Shane’s shoulder. “She deserves a place in her daughter’s life.”
“Maybe,” the roughened gangster admitted, “but there ain’t nothing you can do.”
We’d see about that. “Larry was willing to die to protect EJ and her family. The least we can do is make sure he didn’t die in vain.”
“What’s this we?” Frankie balked.
“I may need your help,” I informed him. “And if that happens, I expect to get it.”
“This is becoming a bad habit,” the gangster groused.
I saw De Clercq eyeing us. “You’d better not have another mystery for us,” I told him.
The inspector smiled despite himself. “It’s over,” he said. “For me, at least.”
I could hardly believe it. “So we’re done?” I asked. We had to be. We’d caught his killer. We’d solved his case.
He pursed his lips and nodded. “I am at peace.”
I had to smile. “Forgive me, but you don’t sound too happy about it.”
He wet his lips, searching for words, it seemed. “It’s a strange feeling,” he admitted. “To have this part of my life complete after so many years.” He glanced at Frankie, who stood flicking the ash from his cigarette. “To have a man like that be the one who made it possible.”
“Don’t forget my partner,” Frankie said, taking another drag.
The inspector gave a sharp nod, and I swear he looked at me—truly looked at me—for the first time. “Your methods are strange and unusual. I would never think to employ them. But they work.”
“Thank you,” I said. It was the closest I’d get to a compliment from the man. “I’m glad you can rest at last.”
He turned to Frankie. “You will receive a full pardon from the governor of Tennessee. Luckily, we are in contact with one who died while in office,” he mused. “I knew him. Good man. But I warn you, anything you’ve done anywhere else still stands.”
“You can’t win ’em all,” Frankie said.
De Clercq pursed his lips but did not take Frankie’s bait. He turned to me. “I’ll remove the ghosts from your property immediately. And the prison itself.”
“Hold up,” Frankie said, raising a palm. “Can you give Lefty Scalieri an overnight pass? I need a word with him.”
Yikes. “You know the creepy eye-patch ghost? The one who skulked after me in the yard?”
“He’s an associate of mine,” Frankie said noncommittally.
“I’ll see that he stays there, under guard, until you get a chance to talk to him.” De Clercq held out a hand to Frankie. “Goodbye.”
The ghosts shook, and I watched the inspector smile, then slowly disappear.
“I’m glad he’s found peace,” I said to the gangster.
Frankie shrugged. “Peace is overrated.” He looked around to make sure we were alone. Even then, he leaned in close. “Lefty and I used to work together. He was with me when I died.”
“Did he shoot you?” I asked, a little too loud.
Frankie’s eyes widened as he shushed me. “No. No. He didn’t pull the trigger. But I think he knows who did.”
Chapter 23
It was well past two in the morning when we pulled onto my property. De Clercq had made good on his promise. The prison gates were gone. No barbed-wire-topped fence stood between me and my beloved home.
Just as the inspector promised, Lefty Scalieri stood vigil on my porch with a linebacker of a guard nearby. Scalieri hadn’t looked right when I’d seen him in my yard earlier, and he still looked like a dose of evil. It wasn’t only the scar, but the way he stared me down with his one good eye as if he wanted to cut me apart and eat me for dinner.
“I don’t know about this guy,” I said, slowing the car.
“That’s what I said when they partnered me with him the night I died,” Frankie muttered. “But what’s done is done.”
Lefty’s fists curled when I stopped the car, and Frankie got out.
“I don’t think you want to see this,” Frankie said, taking back his power. I felt the energy drain from me slowly, like a shower of sparks passing down over my body and into the ground.
“Thanks,” I said. “Let me know how it goes.”
From the safety of my car, I watched him glide toward my porch. Either it was my mind working overtime, or just knowing Scalieri was there, but I swore I could feel the heaviness of the evil that lingered beyond my potted geraniums.
I hoped they’d conclude their business fast and easy so that Lefty could get off my property and back to eternal lockup.
I drove around to the rear of the house and found Ellis’s police cruiser parked near my rose garden. He flashed the lights once to let me know he’d seen me, then exited the car stiffly, as if he’d been waiting a while.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, glad for the unexpected company.
He treated me to a tired, lazy grin. “Good to see you back.” He kissed me. “It looks like your investigation went well.”
“We solved the case,” I said, resisting the urge to do a little twirl.
“That’s great news. One down. One to go.” He reached behind him and drew a tired, snuggly-looking Lucy out of his front passenger seat. “Lauralee called,” he added, as Lucy nuzzled her nose against his uniform shirt. “One of her kids might be coming down with a stomach bug, so I told her I’d take this little girl.”
“You’re so sweet,” I said to him, and to my skunk as he eased Lucy into my arms. She’d been sleeping on her tummy. It was nice and warm, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the soft feel of her fur on my chin.
With the prisoners gone, she’d be glad to be back home.
Ellis walked us both to the house. “The fingerprint team was in your kitchen earlier this evening. I came by after and locked your doors.”
And then he’d finished his shift, fetched my skunk, and waited outside in his car tonight, instead of in my more comfortable parlor. “You could have let yourself in again,” I said, pleased to have him here. It felt good not to jump at every shadow.
“Didn’t want to impose.” He lingered close as I unlocked the back door. “But I will now. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
His declaration warmed me to my toes. Yes, there was a live killer on the loose and I could use some protection, but I was also a girl who enjoyed having her boyfriend around.
“The killer used cyanide,” he said, bending to ruffle the fur on Lucy’s head. “Not very elegant, but effective. Whoever doctored that pie wasn’t concerned with this looking like anything but a cold-blooded poisoning.”
So, someone wanted me dead and wasn’t afraid to let me or anyone else know it.
“I don’t understand this.” It didn’t make sense.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised, walking ahead of me, turning on the lights to my kitchen. I half expected to find another pie on the counter. What I saw instead stopped me in my tracks.
Photographs littered the countertop, some two and three deep.
“Stop,” Ellis said, inserting an arm between me and the photos.
Someone had been in my house. Ellis locked it, and someone had been in here anyway.
“Who else has a key?” he demanded.
“Just…Melody, Lauralee, my mom.” Nobody that would hurt me. “I have to see,” I said, skirting Ellis, pressing forward. “I won’t touch it.” I wouldn’t even breathe on it, but I had to see.
What I found were dozens upon dozens of pictures of me, taken without my knowledge. I saw me walking up the steps to the library, talking to Zoey, laughing with Lauralee. All of them candid. And in every single one, somebody had torn my head from my body before replacing it neatly back where it belonged.
We didn’t get to bed until almost sunrise. The police came to take photographs of the photographs. They dusted for prints once more. And all along, I told everyone who would listen that my home had been locked.
Ellis tried to get me to go to his place for what remained of the night, but if my tormentor could get through a locked door, I didn’t see the difference between his house and mine. At least here I had Frankie to keep an eye on things.
I hadn’t seen him since his meeting with Lefty, but I knew that—unlike his shady partner in crime—my gangster wasn’t going anywhere.
Ellis stayed. Another officer from the Sugarland PD remained parked outside the house.
And so I slept. Eventually.
Around mid-morning, I was awakened not by the persistent nudge of a wet skunk nose, but by my phone buzzing on the floor next to the futon.
“I’ve got it,” I mumbled, fishing for it with my face still in the pillow. I vaguely recalled Ellis pressing a kiss to my cheek while I slept. He’d headed off to work, hoping to discover more about the killer plaguing Sugarland.
I didn’t envy him in the slightest.
After a few tries, I located the phone. “Hello,” I said, rolling onto my back, instinctively glancing at the kitchen just to make sure it was empty.
“Oh my god, Verity! Please, I need your help.”
It was Zoey, and she sounded frantic. Please, not another emergency.
I propped myself up on my side. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Beau. He’s gone completely off the rails. He’s just—it’s crazy,” she said, her words tripping over each other.
“Slow down,” I instructed, sitting up, my head heavy. I checked my watch. It was past eleven in the morning, and whatever sleep I’d gotten hadn’t been enough.
She hardly took a breath. “I think he might have been working in the barn all night, and when I got here this morning—” Her voice broke on a sob. “He’s calling it his greatest artistic achievement yet. I don’t know what it is, but I need you here. He listens to you.”
“Not enough.” She must be desperate if she was inviting me back into the picture.
“I can’t handle this alone.” Her voice warbled. “I’m scared.”
I searched for my shoes. “I’m coming.” I knew what it was like to be alone and afraid. “I’ll call Ellis.”
“No!” Zoey broke in. “You don’t understand. Beau’s been ranting about his family taking everything away from him. The last person he needs to see right now is his cop brother.”
I didn’t know who appointed me custodian of Beau’s sanity, but I didn’t want the job. “All right,” I said, heading for the bathroom. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Nine, I thought as I located a clean sundress on the banister.
“Please hurry.” She ended the call while I dashed up to the bathroom.
I ran my free hand through my bed-messy hair. Beau Wydell needed to come back to this planet. I’d hoped his break from Virginia’s expectations would cause him to mature, but it seemed as if he’d gone from one self-indulgent lifestyle to another. And he had no right to frighten Zoey like that.
I washed up, donned the new dress, and was ready to walk out the door in eight minutes.
Little Lucy lifted her head from the covers as I left.
She’d been up almost all night with us. “Sleep,” I said, leaving her a plate of fruit before locking the door behind me. She’d be in bed for another few hours, as I would have been if Beau hadn’t gone off his rocker.
I slid into the land yacht. It wasn’t even noon and the thing already felt like an oven. I fired up the engine and backed out. I should call Ellis, and I would, no matter what Beau thought.
Ellis and Beau might not—ever—see eye to eye, but if his brother was in trouble, Ellis would want to be there for him. But first, I’d figure out what kind of trouble.
Truth be told, I’d hoped my own life would slow down a bit after last night.
At least I knew what to do about this.
The whole drive to the barn, I channeled my inner Zen. Whatever was happening with Beau, it couldn’t be any worse than what I’d managed to live through last night. As long as he hadn’t gone full-on van Gogh, Zoey and I could talk him down.
I squinted against the bright Southern sunshine. If only I’d stopped to grab my sunglasses.
My car’s rear wheels kicked up a spray of dirt and gravel as I turned down the farmer’s road.
The barn stood with its doors shuttered and Zoey’s food truck parked outside. That made sense. She wouldn’t be getting much business downtown on a Sunday. But as I parked my own car, I realized Zoey’s engine was running and the back door lay open.
This could be worse than I thought.
I killed my engine and slipped out of the car.
“Zoey?” I asked, coming around the truck.
I peered into the back. The stove sat cold and the kitchen abandoned. All right. They must be in the barn. First, I’d calm Zoey down. Then we’d both work on Beau.
“Hello?” I eased open the large barn door and poked my head inside.
“Verity?” Zoey’s voice quavered. None of the lights were on, but there were enough windows that I was still able to pick her out, crouched on the far side.
“It’s me.” I stepped inside. “How are you doing?”
She looked as if she were hiding from someone.
“Zoey.” I took a few more steps inside, keeping my voice gentle. I was rewarded when she straightened up. “Where’s Beau? Did he end up…” I trailed off as I registered the fact that Zoey held a gun.
Heavens. How badly had Beau scared this woman?
She raised the gun and pointed it at me.
“Whoa.” I slowly raised my hands until they were level with my head. “It’s okay. Calm down. I’m here to help.”
Zoey strode toward me, the gun pointed squarely at my chest.
She wore her hair in a messy bun. Her colorful maxi dress swished around her legs, but her eyes were dead. Every hint of fear and sadness had vanished. And there was no sign of Beau anywhere.
“Looking for your old boyfriend?” she prodded. “He’s not here. And you’re going to be leaving, too.” She drew a set of handcuffs from the back of her belt. “Put these on.” She threw the cuffs and they landed at my feet.
Chapter 24
I stared at her, frozen. “What’s going on, Zoey?” This was insane. She must have snapped. “
Where’s Beau?”
The bracelets on her wrist jingled as she tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. The other hand she held steady on the gun. “Beau’s mother is staging another intervention at her house,” Zoey snorted. “That should keep him busy for a while.”
“All right,” I said, trying to keep us both calm.
It wasn’t working. At least not on my end.
I looked for some sign of the Zoey I knew, the one I’d liked. I tried to reconcile the laid-back California girl with the cold-blooded killer who held a gun on me. She believed in people like I did. She liked Beau, which seemed to be a positive thing for both of them. Sure, he’d been a little careless in telling her about his past relationship with me, but it was nothing to get homicidal over. I’d tried to stay out of their way. I’d been nothing but kind to her. I’d introduced her to Lauralee, for goodness’ sake. “This is crazy,” I said, refusing to show fear, but not about to pick up the cuffs she’d tossed at my feet.
I searched the shadows. Did she have Lauralee here as well?
“Your friend’s working at the diner today,” she said.
Zoey stood about five feet away—too far to jump, yet close enough to have a very, very good shot at me.
“Beau’s moved beyond Virginia’s petty interference,” she said. “Soon he’ll be beyond yours as well.” She racked the slide of her handgun. “Put the cuffs on now.”
“Fine.” I held up my hands. “I’m doing it.” I bent over and picked up the metal handcuffs. They were lighter than I’d expected and lined with fur. My fingers fumbled a bit as I threaded a wrist through one cuff.
“Tighten it,” she ordered.
I nodded and complied.
She aimed the gun at my head. “Now the other one.”
I really didn’t want to do the other one. “Look,” I said, holding my hands up, letting the cuffs dangle off my wrist, “I meant what I said. I’m done with Beau—”
Zoey’s finger went white on the trigger, and for a second, I thought I was a goner.
“Put. The. Cuff. On. Now,” she barked.
