Not Quite Right
Tammy Williams
Genesis Press, Inc.
Indigo Love Spectrum
An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.
Publishing Company
Genesis Press, Inc.
P.O. Box 101
Columbus, MS 39703
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.
Copyright© 2010 Tammy Williams
ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-608-1
ISBN-10: 1-58571-608-1
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0
Dedication
This story is dedicated to my parents,
Rev. Willie and Betty Williams, and my siblings, Willesa, LaWanda, and Derrick
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for making anything possible.
I would like to acknowledge my family for their unflagging support. Your confidence and belief means more to me than I could ever say.
There are quite a few others I would like to acknowledge for their assistance with certain details in the writing of Not Quite Right. To my brother-in-law, Senior State Transport Officer Steven Hallinquest, thank you for entertaining my numerous questions on any and everything law enforcement related.
Chief Leroy Grimes, Coroner Willard Duncan, and Coroner Gary Watts, thank you for answering the many questions I shot your way. Your willingness to help was truly appreciated, and your help invaluable.
To my faithful readers, thank you for your continued support. You make it all worthwhile. I now introduce Darci Clarke and Steed McGraw.
CHAPTER 1
“I need to report a murder.”
Murder? Steed McGraw lost all interest in the file on a rash of convenience store robberies and turned his attention to the troubled female voice. “Excuse me, ma’am?” He waved over the statuesque, dark-haired beauty who seemed strangely familiar and a bit out of sorts. “Did you say a murder?”
“Yes, my best friend was murdered. The officer at the front desk told me come on back. Are you Detective McGraw?”
Steed nodded as she approached, his train of thought centered on the knee-high skirt of her black halter dress and her shapely, seemingly endless mocha legs. Stiletto heels added several inches to what he gathered to be nearly six feet of height, but she had no trouble keeping her curvaceous form upright as she closed the distance from the door to the empty chair in front of his desk.
She crossed her legs, exposing more of her gorgeous limbs to his female flesh-loving eyes, and eliciting reactions in his body that were anything but professional for an on-duty law enforcement agent. Steed shook off his lust. It was time to be a cop first and a man second.
He added the robbery file to the growing stack next to his computer and gave his complete, all-business attention to the upset woman. “Your best friend was murdered?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Somebody shot him.”
Him? Why did so many beautiful women have male best friends? Steed reached for a pen and his notepad. “What is the victim’s name?”
“Kenneth Warwick.”
Oh, boy. Steed dropped his pen. Even in September, with the countdown to fall well under way, that summer sun was doing its damndest. That lady definitely had too much heat today. Murder. Sterling, like most growing small cities in the country, battled a rising drug problem, which led to more robberies and assaults, but the people here didn’t kill each other, they just drew blood.
Steed closed the pad and dragged his fingers through his hair. After he explained things to this lady, getting a trim would be the next item on his “Things to Do” list. The dismissal of one detective and the resignation of another over the last two months had left him carrying the workload alone, but a few minutes for the barbershop had to be found. He had no desire to look like the brunette twin of that guy on the cover of romance novels.
“Look, ma’am…” Steed began.
“Darci. Darci Clarke.”
Darci Clarke. She was familiar. The Sterling native who had made it big in New York with her hard-hitting journalistic approach and contributing reports for the high-rated TV magazine show Heart of the Matter and the network news. In the nearly three years he’d lived in the town, he’d heard her name enough, but the pictures he’d seen around the local eateries, and even at Warwick’s house, didn’t do her justice.
He’d spoken to her on the phone after Warwick’s death. Her upset had been obvious, and her information the same as Warwick’s family, co-workers, and acquaintances—he was happy and everything seemed fine. The man’s funeral was today. That would explain her being back in South Carolina, but it wouldn’t explain her complaint.
“Ms. Clarke, Mr. Warwick’s death was a suicide.”
“Kenny wouldn’t kill himself.”
“According to the coroner and M.E. he would and did.” Why a young, healthy man with financial success, scores of women, an incredible house, and no enemies to speak of would do himself in remained a mystery, but it wasn’t Steed’s job to read Warwick’s mind. He was an investigator, and he’d done that. “Ma’am, Mr. Warwick shot himself in the head at point-blank range. I’m sorry, but this case is closed.”
Darci sniffled. “It shouldn’t be.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her teary black pearl eyes. “Something’s not right here. I know Kenny wouldn’t kill himself. This needs further investigation.”
Steed winced. He was never good with tears. Making his way to the corner water cooler, he filled a small plastic cup and offered it to Darci. “Here, take a drink of this.”
Their fingers brushed. A strange fluttering, like a million butterflies juggling for space to expand their wings and take flight, filled his stomach. Darci smelled of fresh summer peaches, with skin just as soft. It took everything he had to not bury his head in her neck and inhale. What was that strange fluttering about? And why was his body tingling?
Darci cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said, taking a drink.
Her voice broke his reverie. Since when did perfume and soft skin get him off track? Steed shook the cobwebs from his head and returned to his chair. “You’re welcome.”
Darci’s tongue brushed the glistening water droplets from her full lips. The weird tingling shot down his spine. What was going on with him?
“When will you continue the investigation?” she asked.
Steed grimaced. Maybe he should have offered her a shot from his private stash. Jack Daniel’s would probably do her more good than water. And after his reaction just now, him, too. “Ms. Clarke, I can see you’re upset, and you have my deepest sympathies, but there’s nothing more to investigate. I am an investigator, and I have done just that. I have been doing it for a lot of years.”
“But—”
“Mr. Warwick was a television newsman. He was a celebrity around here. Not nearly as celebrated as you, but famous enough. I gave his case the time it merited and t
hen some. If you look around,” he jutted his head in the direction of the two empty desks along the front and side walls, “you’ll notice things are a bit thin in the way of detective personnel. I can’t afford to waste time on a case that was practically solved the moment after it happened.”
“I understand, but…”
“Look, I hate to be blunt, but your friend blew his brains out. I’m waiting for final results from his autopsy, but cause of death is not in question. The point of entry rules out anything other than self-infliction, his fingerprints were the only set on the gun, the gun was his, and powder residue was found on his hand. There were no signs of forced entry or foul play. It’s pretty much open and shut. My investigation and all reports confirm Mr. Warwick committed suicide.”
Darci took another sip of the water and placed the cup on the desk. “Then you and all the reports are wrong.”
Steed sucked in a breath. Now she was starting to irritate him. “Ms. Clarke, what would you have me do differently?”
“I would have you find who killed my best friend.”
Before he could comment, Jackson, the front desk officer a month into his rookie year, entered. “Detective McGraw, the chief wants to see you,” he said.
Steed welcomed the interruption, but this momentary reprieve from the gorgeous but pushy woman wouldn’t keep him from giving Jackson a piece of his mind for sending her back here in the first place. Find the killer of a man who committed suicide. His time was too precious for this.
“I’ll be right there.”
Jackson nodded and left.
Steed gave Darci a tight smile. “Sorry, I have to go.”
“Fine.” She crossed her legs and settled into the chair. “I’ll wait.”
“Great,” he mumbled, pulling his sports coat from the back of his chair and making his way to the office of his ranking superior. He gave Jackson a harsh stare as he passed the front desk. “Why did you send her to me?”
“She had a question about the Warwick case, and you’re the lead investigator,” Jackson explained.
“I’m the only investigator.”
Jackson looked in the direction of the detective’s office. “That’s Darci Clarke, sir.” He smiled brightly.
Steed frowned. “I know who she is.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Steed drew a deep breath as he continued eyeing the young officer who reminded him of his younger brother. Blonde and clean-cut, Lucas Jackson looked every bit of his twenty-two years. Fresh out of the academy and green as a string bean, he was eager to please and anxious to learn. Too bad he was starstruck, too.
“Did Rogers say what he wanted?” Steed asked, slipping on his coat. Rogers always dressed as if he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ, so wearing a sports coat in his presence made Steed feel less underdressed. A black modern-day Kojak. That was Chief Rogers.
“No, sir, he didn’t,” Jackson answered.
Without another word, Steed continued to Rogers’s office. Outside the door, he did a mental checklist of his last cases and found no problems, but that wouldn’t stop Martin Edgar Rogers from finding something to criticize. Rogers’s drill sergeant mentality, a holdover from his Marine days, peppered his tone and demeanor with a “don’t test me” edge, and his imposing six feet-five, 250-pound frame reinforced it.
Though he didn’t like hearing about his shortcomings, Steed held the chief in high esteem. Rogers was a great cop, and every meeting helped Steed in his pursuit of being the best cop he could be. The kind of cop his father had died trying to be.
A hard shove jostled Steed. “Out of my way, McGraw!”
Paul “Fritz” Fritzano, a Sterling officer of eighteen months who had wanted to be a detective since his first day on the job, zipped past Steed and burst into the chief’s office.
Steed had spent two years in New York walking the beat, and another five on patrol, before leaving for patrol duties in Texas and getting appointed detective. After four years in Texas, he relocated to Crider County, South Carolina, and settled into the city of Sterling. Career movement didn’t happen here overnight, so he’d worked hard and harder to get recognition. After almost three years, he’d gotten a lot of experience, plenty of pats on the back, and a couple of raises, but no promotion in title.
For Fritz to expect to be made a detective after less than two years made no sense. Fritz was older than Steed and had been an officer elsewhere for years, but he wasn’t as experienced in matters of investigation. In Sterling, you weren’t appointed detective, you had to prove yourself worthy of the job, and then pass a written and physical test. Coming in as detective precluded Steed from the tests, but in his quest for advancement, he’d found proving yourself didn’t come easily.
Loud voices emanated from within at the slam of the door. Fritz’s insistence it was high time Rogers made him detective was followed by Rogers’s even louder declaration that Fritz was in no way ready to be one. Rogers followed his edict with a demand Fritz get out of his office before he made him wish he’d never come in.
“Oh, I’m out, Rogers! I quit! You and this whole department can go to hell!”
Steed received another hard shove as Fritz barreled out of the office, red-faced and steaming. There was something about the man Steed had never liked. Physically fit with good knowledge of procedure, Fritz seemed like ideal cop material, but the shiftiness and cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look in his dark eyes put Steed on edge. He was glad the man had quit, although losing more personnel was not something Rogers needed.
Steed stuck his head in the office door. “I know you wanted to see me, sir, but I can come back a little later.”
“No.” Rogers waved him in. “Fritz was just…being Fritz. The bad thing is his quitting robbed me of the pleasure of firing him. I need more officers, but I don’t need him.”
“You won’t get an argument from me,” Steed said, entering and closing the door.
“I’ve had enough of Fritz’s know-it-all mentality, but what’s your beef with him?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on. There’s just a taunting way about him.” Steed shrugged. “What’s on your mind, sir?”
Rogers raised a steaming mug to his lips. “I understand Darci Clarke came in.”
Steed stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, she did that.” Into the office and into his head.
“What’s with the tone?” Rogers motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Aren’t you helping her?”
“There’s not much I can do to help her, sir.” Steed sat. “She’s upset about Warwick’s death and not thinking clearly.”
“How so?”
“She’s certain somebody killed him.”
“That’s not what your investigation shows.”
“And neither do the reports from the coroner and medical examiner, but that lady’s not hearing it. She’s convinced he was murdered. It’s why she’s here. To report his murder. She’s still here.”
“Hmm.” Rogers trailed his thumb and forefinger along his dark goatee. “They were very close friends growing up.”
“According to her, he was her best friend.”
“Is that all she said?”
“Are you asking me if she said they were more?”
“Did she?”
“No. Why?”
“Before she left, people talked. Sterling’s a progressive little city, but it’s still the South. Darci’s father and I were schoolmates, and he never suggested they were anything more than good friends. But a black woman and white man always joined together at the hip…” Rogers clicked his tongue. “Makes you wonder.”
“Not me. She’s a beautiful woman. A bit pushy, but beautiful. Any man with a pulse would be attracted to her.”
Rogers cocked an eyebrow. “You find her attractive?”
“Last I checked I still had a pulse.” Steed grinned.
“I didn’t think she’d be your type.”
“She’s female and beautiful. That’s alwa
ys my type.”
“Thanks for sharing, McGraw. What else did she say?”
“Not much. She’s just adamant Warwick wouldn’t kill himself.”
“What did you tell her?”
“What could I tell her? I said the case was solved and the final results from the autopsy are just a formality. The guy shot himself in the head. There’s not a shred of evidence that says differently.”
“When did Dr. Kellogg say those results would be in?”
“Two weeks, more or less.”
“Think you can humor Darci until then?”
“Humor her?” Steed grunted. “How am I going to do that?”
“Listen to her, tell her you’ll look into it, and when the final results come in, show them to her and then she’ll head back to New York. You know these news types need facts before they let anything go.”
“What?” Steed leaned over the desk, pushed aside a half-eaten banana nut muffin, and rifled through the chief’s neatly stacked files. “Okay, where is it?”
“McGraw, what are you doing?”
“I’m searching for the script you memorized before I got in here. I’m surprised that run-in with Fritz didn’t erase it straight from your memory.” Steed sat back in the chair at the unhappy scowl on the chief’s face. Rogers was not one to abide frivolous pursuits, and nothing was more frivolous than this. “What’s going on?”
“I got a call from the mayor. It seems Darci went to see him before she came over.”
“And?”
“She intimated Sterling law enforcement would not be painted in a favorable light if she didn’t see some real action taken with this case.”
“Real action? Warwick killed himself. Only God knows why.”
“We know that, but apparently she doesn’t.”
“And you expect me to convince her otherwise?”
“I expect you to show the mayor and me why you should be promoted to sergeant.”
“Sergeant?” Steed eyed his superior. He’d been working hard out of dedication and necessity, but also to prove a point. He wanted to be promoted. It wasn’t so much the responsibility that came with the title, he had plenty of that, it was the idea of it. Sergeant. He wanted to achieve that goal, and the chief knew it. “I’m getting the promotion?”
Not Quite Right (Indigo Love Spectrum) Page 1
