by Celia Aaron
“About as well as you’d expect.” I blinked hard to dislodge the image of Charlotte crying in a heap on the floor.
“Oh.”
I disentangled myself from her and knelt again to go through the desk drawers.
She sighed. “We can do this tomorrow. Together.”
“I’d rather do it now.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?” She opened the cabinets along the credenza.
I should have told her not to touch my father’s attorney work product based on privilege, but the truth was, I didn’t have the will to protest. Not with Dad’s lifeblood in darkening crimson drops all around me. “Just anything out of place I guess. Any files.” I thumbed through a collection of insurance defense litigation cases that I had worked on right alongside Dad. They weren’t helpful. After searching the desk, I turned to the credenza and went back over the areas Arabella had searched. Other than another handful of files I was already acquainted with, there was nothing. So where was the banker’s box from the real estate section of the file room?
“Something wrong?” She didn’t miss a thing.
“No.” It wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t tell if something was wrong. Not yet.
“Then why can I practically see the cogs turning inside your head right now?”
My poker face had faded with the last of my energy. I struggled to get it back into place. “Just trying to put together what happened.”
She tensed like a spider on a web, her gaze focusing on me with an intensity any trial lawyer could appreciate. “If you’re holding out on me—”
“I’m not, all right?” I rubbed my eyes, thankful for the brief darkness the motion provided. “I just need to, I don’t know, think. To try and figure out all the things he was hiding. Things I should have known. Maybe if I’d paid more attention. Maybe if I’d—”
“It’s not your fault, Benton.” Her quiet voice tried to quell the tempest that raged in my mind. “What happened here, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m not a suspect?” I dropped my arms to my sides and let the poker face disappear again. Let her see me.
“In any investigation like this, I’m going to look to family members or people who were close to the victim first.” Her gaze never wavered. “So, yes, I considered you a suspect when I arrived here this morning—right along with Porter and everyone else.”
“And now?”
With one hand resting on her hip, she pointed at me. “You aren’t a suspect, but that doesn’t mean I believe you’ve been entirely straight with me.”
I wanted to argue. To tell her I hadn’t been holding anything back. It would just be another lie. And I was too tired to tell it.
She shook her head, not pressing any further, but not letting it go either. “I think we’re done here for the night.”
“I need to keep looking. There has to be some clue.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes softened. “Give yourself a moment. You need it. If you keep going like this, it won’t be pretty.”
I let a sigh leak out, defeat in the sound.
“Besides, I want to take up the file issue with Judge Ingles first thing in the morning. You’ll need to be there to make all your legally dazzling arguments against it, remember?”
“You’re not wasting any time.” I shot one more look around the room, trying to find whatever was hiding in the cracks. I had to be missing something.
“Not on a case like this, no.” She waved me over. “Come on. You can come back tomorrow—with me or with Logan—and turn this place upside down as far as I’m concerned. But right now? You need a break.”
She was right. Not that I would have admitted it to her. But I was running on fumes, all of them toxic.
“What about you?” I followed her into the hallway and closed the doors behind me.
“Me?”
“Yeah. You’re working late.”
“It’s the job. And I’m not the one who lost a parent today.” We walked to the back door, and I flipped off the lights as I went.
“Your husband doesn’t mind you working late hours?”
She cut her gaze to me as I locked the outside door. “Excuse me?”
Shit. “I didn’t mean to imply that you have to answer to your husband. I was just saying that, since you have a family and all, do they mind your job?” I tried to climb out of the hole I’d dug.
She didn’t shovel any more dirt on top of me, at least. “My family understands I have a job to do.” Her words were careful. “I’m the one who misses out, really.” She shrugged. “Like tonight. I was out interviewing a witness, so I missed my daughter’s bedtime. It’s not something I enjoy, but it’s just one of the sacrifices I have to make if I want to do my job and do it well. And I do. So…”
We took the few short steps to the parking lot.
“I understand.” My short relationship with my last girlfriend—if you could call her that—consisted of her seeking my attention while I buried my nose in my law books or forced her to listen to me practicing my opening statements.
“Do you need me to follow you home?”
“No, Brody is sitting outside. I’m sure he’ll report to you if I don’t make it back.” I cast her my best withering look. “I suspect Brody is the reason you showed up here. Is he there for protection or spying?”
She smiled, the light reaching her eyes. “Six one way, half a dozen the other.”
A beautiful woman by any standard, when bathed in moonlight, she seemed almost ethereal.
“I’ll check in with you first thing.” She opened the driver’s side door of her cruiser. “And I’m serious, go home. And if you come to the office tomorrow, let me know.”
“Will do.” I sank into my car and cranked it up.
She waited for me to leave the lot, then pulled out and followed for a while. When I lost her headlights in my rearview, I took a hard left, driving in the opposite direction of my house.
11
Arabella
“Wake up, baby doll.” I flipped on the light in Vivi’s room. She had one thumb in her mouth, her rump in the air, and a giant stuffed tiger as her pillow.
I should have started pulling her clothes for the day from her dresser or herding her to the bathroom so I could brush her teeth. Instead, I crawled onto the bed next to her and pulled her close.
She patted my cheek, leaving a wet smear from her thumb. “Mommy.”
“Yeah.” I kissed her forehead.
“Where you been?”
“I had to work late. Did you have fun playing with Meemaw?”
“Mmhmm. I was a mermaid who ate peanut butter.” She popped her thumb back in her mouth.
I promised her I’d break her of the habit once she lost her first tooth. She didn’t even have a loose baby tooth yet—apparently, her brand of stubborn also applied to her teeth.
“I didn’t know mermaids were into peanut butter.”
“I got a shark for a boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend?” I opened my eyes wide. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the bags under them. “That seems positively illegal.”
“What’s eagle mean?”
“Illegal means it’s against the law.”
“What’s the law?”
“We don’t have enough time to even begin to explore that subject.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead. No fever. “How’s your nose? Better?”
She sniffed, the congestion still there but not as bad. “Better.”
May Bell scuffled through the hallway, her tried and true house robe with the pink kittens on it swamping her small frame. “Rise and shine, girls.”
I wanted to stay right where I was, warm and snuggled up with Vivi. Her dark, wavy hair tickling my nose, her snuffles and smiles—all of it was like a siren song to me. But she was four, and the lights were on, so she crawled out of my arms and bounded to her feet, then threw herself at May Bell. “Can I have Cocoa Poofs?”
I stretched and sat up, then bent over to pull out some pant
s and a shirt for her. My phone rang from my bedroom next door, but I ignored it.
“Your phone.” Vivi turned her dark blue eyes to me.
“Later.” I motioned her over. “Let Meemaw fix your cereal, and I’ll get you dressed.”
“Your phone!” She disappeared.
“You don’t have to—”
She jumped past May Bell and stuck the phone in my face, Chief Garvey’s name on the caller ID.
“Thanks, baby doll.” I took the phone and answered the call as Vivi put the clothes back that I’d picked, then selected a ruffled skirt and a sleep t-shirt from her drawer.
“Where are you?”
“Getting Vivi ready for preschool.” I covered the mouthpiece. “You have to wear pants. It’s going to be kind of cooler out there today.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“I need you to get over to Walnut Drive.” The rough edge to Garvey’s voice had my antenna twitching.
“What’s going on?”
“Letty Cline’s dead.”
At first, shock silenced me. Then, something jostled in my memory. “The florist?”
“Do you know of any other Letty Cline in Azalea?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Make it five.” The line went silent.
“What’s going on?” May Bell hovered in the hallway, her hearing just as good as it had always been.
“We’ve got another…” I glanced at Vivi who was wrangling her skirt on backwards. “M-u-r-d-e-r.”
She canted her head to the side, disbelief painting her bleary brown eyes. “Who?”
“Letty Cline. I’ve got to head over to her house.” I knelt and pulled the skirt off a protesting Vivi, then had her step into some pants.
“Mommy!” She stamped her foot.
“You can wear the skirt on top.” I pulled up the pants, then held out the skirt.
Vivi’s nose un-crinkled and she petted the ruffles. “I’m a princess.”
“Can you drop her?” I stood. “I’ve got to go.”
“Sure.” May Bell waved Vivi over to her. “Cocoa Poofs.”
“Yay!” Vivi bounced down the hall to the kitchen, her dark hair flying behind her.
By the time I’d dressed and kissed Vivi goodbye, twenty minutes had passed, and Chief Garvey had called twice, Logan once.
I dialed Logan as I turned the cruiser toward one of the nicer residential areas just off Main.
“Hey, where are you?” Some voices in the background told me he was already at the scene.
“On my way. Five minutes out. Garvey there?”
“Yeah, and half the neighbors are out in the street over here. I’m setting up the tape perimeter to keep the gawkers at bay.”
“What happened?”
“Lead poisoning, Garvey said. But I haven’t set foot inside yet.”
“You call Pauline?”
“Garvey did. She’ll be here shortl—hey, back it up. Back it up. This is an active crime scene. And put those damn camera phones away!”
I turned onto Rose Avenue, the morning sun hidden behind a cloud bank that didn’t bode well. “I’m almost there.”
“All right, bye.” He cut off in the middle of another scolding.
I rolled down the residential street and caught sight of a school bus making its rounds. The rest of the town continued on even though we had two dead bodies and an ever-deepening mystery on our hands.
By the time I arrived on Walnut, the crowd had gathered off to one side. A camera crew began setting up on the edge of the tape.
“Shit.” Media attention was the last thing I needed.
I parked behind Logan’s Jeep and climbed out. He stood on the porch of a modest craftsman-style home, his arms crossed over his chest and a surly expression on his face. We both needed coffee.
A brisk wind promised a change in the muggy weather as it swept past. I walked up the stairs, the residents in their robes and pajama pants eyeing me.
“Detective?” A blonde with a microphone tried to call me over to the camera.
I kept walking, and followed Logan into the house.
Chief Garvey stood at the foot of the stairs, his fingers tapping on the heavy wood bannister. “About time, Detective.”
“Sorry.” I glanced around, taking in the wood paneling, gleaming floors, and the huge arrangement of flowers sitting on a dining room table to my right.
“In here.” Chief pointed to the room on the other side of the stairs, the wide entryway and the back of a leather couch hinting at a living room. I strode in, the tang of blood hitting me in the face as soon as I stepped into the room. The couch sat in front of me, the wide front window to my left, and a lounge chair with a body in it to my right.
“Jeez.” I pulled some gloves from my jacket and slipped them on. “Anyone touch anything?”
“No.” Garvey hovered at the entryway. He could be gruff, could be a total asshole sometimes, but he let me do my job. He didn’t step on my toes or try to take over my investigations. And this one was mine.
“Who found the body?”
“Cleaning lady. She only comes once a month. I guess she lucked up today.”
“Where is she?”
“Kitchen. She wasn’t looking too good, so I sent Trevor out to get her a coffee.”
I bit back my question about whether Trevor was getting me a coffee, too, and eased around the couch.
Garvey turned to Logan. “Go check on her, will you? It’s Inez from the Shop & Go. I guess she cleans houses part time.”
“Sure.” Logan disappeared beyond the stairs.
The hint of a throwaway memory turned into a full-on clue as I got a better look at the body. “You know, I saw her at the courthouse yesterday.”
Garvey scratched his balding head. “Inez?”
“No, Letty Cline. When I went by to see Judge Ingles, she was in the hallway with some papers.”
“That’ll help with time of death, at least.”
“Yeah, she was alive yesterday around noon.” I eased closer and stopped.
She was slumped over the arm of a chintz chair, her gray hair obscuring her face. Dressed for bed, she was wearing slippers, an oversized t-shirt, and pajama pants.
“I need to know what the hell is going on, Arabella.” Chief Garvey’s deep grumble resonated through the house. “This shouldn’t be happening. Not in my town.”
“I know.” I eased around behind her. “There’s another note.” Written on floral print paper, the familiar scrawl of “you’re next” had been stabbed into her with a pencil. The back of her head was a mess, the blood matting her hair and coating the chair back. Though I couldn’t see her face, I suspected I’d find an entry wound in her forehead, the same as Randall King.
“Is this a serial killer? Is that what this is?” Chief Garvey beat the side of his fist on the door frame.
I moved back around to her front and dropped into a crouch. Her hands were balled in her lap, and a sliver of paper peeked through the fingers on her left hand. “She’s holding something.”
“What?”
“Can’t tell.”
The front door opened.
“Doc, welcome to the circus.” Chief Garvey shook Pauline’s hand as she and her tech entered the room.
She raised a brow. “Something in the water?”
“Not sure.” I rose. “Thanks for coming.”
“It’s my job.” Her no-nonsense demeanor was on full blast.
“Ready.” The tech lifted a heavy-duty camera and began taking photos while he used his other hand to sweep a camcorder around the room.
“She’s got something in her hand I want to see.” I pointed. “Go ahead and video that as well as snap some pics.”
The tech obliged, moving all around Cline’s body and taking photo after photo before filming it all. “Okay, you’re good.” He stepped back and kept the camera focused on her hands as I knelt and tried to snag the piece of paper from between her stiff finge
rs.
“Here.” Pauline handed me a pair of tweezers from her kit. “See if that’ll get it.”
“Thanks.” I gingerly worked the tweezers inside her fist and closed them on the paper. With a few steady tugs, the small white card pulled free. I turned the crumpled mess over in my hand.
“What is it?” Garvey asked over my shoulder.
I recognized it, but not the writing on the back. “It’s Benton King’s business card.”
12
Benton
I awoke from my fitful sleep, my sheet tangled around me. My dreams were soaked in blood, and my father appeared in each one.
“Jesus.” I took a breath, then another, the nightmares receding a little more each time.
The water was running in the bathroom across the hall, and the scent of coffee wafted up the stairs. It was odd having people in my house. It was odder that my father was dead.
Sitting up, I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to erase the images of gore.
The water turned off and, after a few minutes, the door opened. Porter emerged in a haze of steam, a towel around his waist. “You up?”
I looked down at myself. “Seems so.”
“Charlotte’s making breakfast.”
“That’s a first.”
He shrugged. “It’s food. I’ll take it. And I won’t even complain about the eggshells.”
I stood, the shock of the past twenty-four hours still lurking inside me, weighing me down. The steamy bathroom gave a slight reprieve, and instead of going downstairs for coffee, I jumped in the shower. By the time I made it to the kitchen, Porter was finishing up a bacon and egg biscuit, crumbs all over his uniform.
Charlotte’s eyes were red-rimmed, and I could feel the tears just waiting to be set free. At least she’d slept.
She scooped an overdone egg onto a plate, threw some bacon and a biscuit next to it, and slid it down the counter to me. “Eat.”
I perched on a bar stool next to Porter and forced the food down despite my stomach’s protest.
“We need to come up with some sort of plan of attack.” She slapped the spatula on the counter next to the stove and turned to us, an uncharacteristic steeliness in her tone. “Whoever did this needs to pay. I want to find—”
