Silas shifted, fighting against the urge to shut her down for hitting too close to home. But for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he answered. “Because they were both found in Seminole Creek, both strangled.”
“Not to be a buzzkill, but strangulation is a pretty common way to die. I mean, no tools required, you know? What else do you have that might lead you to believe they are connected?”
“Good try,” he said, withdrawing as he speared a nugget. “Not interested in sharing.”
“You’re a stubborn little muskrat, aren’t you?”
He nearly choked on garlic chicken. “That’s a new one.”
“Yeah, well, I like to be original.”
“You also like to poke around where you’re not wanted.”
Quinn didn’t take offense. “That’s my job,” she said simply. “No one wants the press to air their dirty laundry. I hardly think politicians are clamoring for the chance to have their secrets splattered all over the New York Times, but that happens and the public is thankful for the information.”
“Politicians are fair game. Little kids aren’t.”
“I’m not trying to capitalize on Rhia’s murder—”
“How do you say that with a straight face?”
Frustration laced Quinn’s voice as she chewed vigorously. “You are impossible. Let me guess, single? You don’t have to confirm. I can tell. You’re rigid as a freaking plank.”
He was single. The job was his life. But hearing Quinn make such an easy and flippant observation pinched.
“I date.”
“Sure you do.”
Was he really going to debate his dating habits with a reporter who was at least ten years younger than him? “Shouldn’t you be getting home? I’m sure there’s a curfew of some sort.”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Not a kid. I’m actually twenty-four.”
“Whoa. Practically an old lady,” he retorted. “What about you? Let me take a crack. Also single, because you’re too damn pushy for anyone to handle on a daily basis.”
He must’ve hit a nerve. But Quinn wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Wrong. I’m single because I choose to be. I don’t need a man to validate me. I have big dreams, and getting hitched and popping out kids are not on my agenda.”
“What is your agenda?” Silas asked, going straight to the point.
“Getting out of this town.”
He saw the hunger, the drive to succeed beyond the borders of her environment, and he recognized that need as something he’d often struggled with in the early days.
“What happened to the Port Orion champion?”
“It’s a good town. But I want more.”
“And you’re going to use the Rhia Daniels case as your stepping stone to bigger and better,” Silas guessed with a wry chuckle. “You may think you’re an original but that’s the tune every reporter has sung in my experience, and they never care about the cases they ruin or the lives they shatter on their way to the top.”
“I care about the people here,” Quinn replied, stung. “I grew up in this town. I have a vested interest in seeing that this story is handled with sensitivity.”
“By the very nature of your job, that’s not possible.”
“You don’t know how to do my job.”
“Sure I do. Go for the jugular...if it bleeds, it leads.”
“Damn, Silas. Who pissed in your cornflakes? Do you hate all reporters, or just me?”
Silas laughed and trashed his empty plate. “Don’t take it personal—I hate all reporters. Now, seeing as you’ve eaten all my garlic chicken, I’m going to have to send you on your way, unless of course, you’d like to finish the fried rice.”
This time, there was no negotiating.
Quinn seemed to sense that he wasn’t kidding. She rose with an unhappy glare but before she allowed him to send her out the door, she snatched his only fortune cookie.
“That’s bad luck, you know,” he told her.
Her voice on the other side rang out as she said, “You will work with me, Silas Kelly. You may be a muskrat but I’m a badger!”
A reluctant smile crept onto his lips.
Quinn Jackson was a major pain in his ass but at least she wasn’t boring.
Chapter 7
Lester Mankins felt another tension headache coming on. He rubbed at his forehead and the back of his neck, feeling the knots in his shoulders, and wondered if he should’ve taken his wife’s advice and retired.
He took no small amount of pride in knowing that Port Orion was a safe place but this recent event had shaken his foundation.
His buddy, Leo Jackson, Quinn’s uncle, was meeting him for lunch, as was their routine each Wednesday, and if there ever was a day that he needed the company of a friend, it was today.
Leo, a man with a whiskered face that never went without a smile, joined him in their booth.
“You look like shit,” Leo observed with a grin. “Tell that pretty wife of yours to stop keeping you up at all hours.”
“If only that were the reason I haven’t slept in three days.”
Leo knew what Lester was talking about. Hell, everyone in Port Orion was talking about the Rhia Daniels case. “Any news?”
Lester couldn’t discuss the case but the burden of what he’d just discovered this morning from the coroner’s report was weighing him down.
Leo sensed he was holding something back. “What’s going on? You’ve got that look on your face.”
“Yeah, what look is that?” he asked wearily.
“That look that says you either have really terrible news or you ate bad meatloaf again.”
Lester chuckled. “It’s not the meatloaf.”
“Ah,” Leo said, nodding. “So out with it. You’ll feel better once you do.”
“Rhia was pregnant,” Lester said even though he should’ve kept his mouth shut but he was struggling. “Goddamn, Leo. How am I supposed to break that bombshell to her parents? The sun rose and set in that kid’s eyes as far as they were concerned.”
“Pregnant?” Leo was just as shocked. “What the hell?”
“Coroner confirmed she was six weeks along. The kid probably didn’t even know herself. Hell, I just wish I could go to bed and start the day over without that information.”
Leo sighed with a shake of his head. “Kids nowadays...it’s a different generation. You never know what they’re into.”
“This kid was a sweet girl,” Lester disagreed. “And her parents were pretty strict. Her daddy watched her like a hawk.”
“I hate to point out the obvious but he must not have been watching too carefully if she got herself knocked up.”
Lester cut Leo a sharp look. “Careful, you never know who could be listening. I have to find a way to break it to the Danielses and no matter how I’ve turned it around in my head, it always comes out stinking like a wet pile of crap.”
Leo grimaced. “I don’t envy you.”
“Thanks.” Lester grabbed his lager and took a healthy swig. He didn’t drink on the job, but a beer seemed in order. “Lately it feels like the job gets harder as I get older.”
“Lester, you should’ve retired five years ago,” Leo pointed out gently. “Not sure why you hung on this long. You ought to be spending your golden years chasing a little white ball across a pristine tee or going on a microbrewery tour, not staring down the business end of misery on a case that promises nothing but grief.”
Leo’s comment roused him from his self-pity party long enough to say, “Hey, hold up there. I’ve done a pretty fine job of being sheriff of this town. No complaints to this point.”
“Calm down. Don’t get your panties in a twist, you old fart. I was just saying there are more things to life than just keeping the
peace. Time to hand it off to someone else.”
“I can’t now, not with an active murder investigation. If I retire now people will think I’m running with my tail between my legs, unable to handle this case.”
“What do you care what people think? You’ve earned some R&R.”
Lester knew his friend was right but he couldn’t in good conscience leave when his town was in crisis.
“I’ll see this through. I have to.”
“Come with me to Thailand. You’ll love the culture.”
“They have mosquitos big enough to cart away toddlers. No, thanks. Besides, Thailand is your thing. You know I hate spicy food.”
Leo grinned. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Their food arrived and even though Lester had started out hungry, his appetite had waned. He kept seeing the coroner’s report in his mind.
This newest little tidbit was going to throw the town in a tizzy; the tongues were going to be wagging for days.
The town sweetheart...the good girl...maybe wasn’t such a good girl after all.
“Didn’t you work with Rhia Daniels on some kind of photography project?” Lester recalled, pulling the memory from a foggy place filled with useless data.
Leo cleared his throat, staring down at his plate before answering with a short nod. “Yeah, good kid. Talented, too. Not just a pretty face. Reminded me of Quinn when she was that age. She won some awards for her photography.”
Lester grunted an acknowledgment and took a bite of his burger. He chewed, lost in thought, when he realized Silas Kelly had walked into the diner.
Yep, there went the rest of his appetite. Silas was going to take that tiny bit of information and tear into it. He was a bulldog. If only it were possible to bury that damn report and forget he ever saw it.
Silas saw him and headed over. Lester forced a smile, trying to appear as if he wasn’t going through the motions.
“That’s going to kill you one of these days,” Silas said, pointing to the double cheeseburger with avocado and bacon that was Lester’s favorite and had been since the beginning of time. “I doubt your arteries are thanking you for that heart attack on a plate.”
“Bah! My arteries are just fine. Son, life is about the little things that bring you joy and a fine burger and a glass of lager are about as joyful as they get at my age.”
Silas chuckled and looked to Leo, his gaze narrowing with recognition. “Leo... Jackson of Looking Glass Photography Studio?”
“And substitute teacher when the mood strikes me. You must be Silas Kelly, the FBI agent who’s come to town to shake things up.”
“Not here to disrupt anything,” he assured them. “Just trying to lend a hand.”
“That’s right friendly of you,” Leo said, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lester didn’t know if Leo had history with the Kelly family but to his knowledge they only knew each other peripherally.
“I’m glad I ran into you. I was wondering if the coroner’s report was ready yet so I can take a look.”
“No,” Lester lied, shooting Leo a look that said “shut your trap” and returned to his burger, if only to fill his mouth with something. “I’ll call as soon as it’s ready. Hey, since you’re here, get something to eat. Best food is right here in this diner.”
“I remember,” Silas said, smiling. “Maybe I’ll have the heart attack special.”
“At least you’d die smiling,” Lester joked, relieved when Silas wandered to his own table.
Once they were free and clear, Leo looked at Lester. “Can you tell me what the hell just happened? Why’d you lie?”
“Because I’m not ready for the shit-storm that’s coming, that’s why,” he answered with a bit of an edge. “Look, I don’t begrudge Silas coming to see if this case and Spencer’s case are connected, but this case is already getting under my skin unlike any before. I just need a breather.”
“I don’t blame you. No judgment here, my friend. Besides, no offense, but there’s no reason Silas Kelly needs to be poking around our business. We have plenty of skilled officers who can figure this mystery out. I say tell him, thank you but we got this. You can go on home.”
If only Lester could do that. “I wish it was that simple. I don’t want to make waves with the Feds. They saw fit to send him here for a reason. I just hope whatever he’s looking for...doesn’t tear this town apart.”
* * *
“Still nothing?”
Quinn’s editor, Mick Creech, was doing that weird frown again, where his forehead crinkled and his bald head started to turn red.
“I’m working on it. These things have to be finessed.”
“No, these things have to be pushed along. You need to get more aggressive.”
“The family is grieving. I can’t just plop down on their sofa and start grilling them about their daughter’s death. C’mon, Mick, have some compassion.”
“Of course not,” Mick said quickly but followed up with, “But we need something. We’re getting snowed by the competitors and this is our local story.”
“I know that,” Quinn grumbled, turning to spin slowly in her office chair. She didn’t need Mick telling her what she already knew. She’d had a chance to ask some serious questions and she’d passed it up.
Somehow Silas had gotten in her head and made her feel guilty for being there at all.
“I’ll have something by Friday,” she said to mollify Mick. “You’ll have something for the weekend edition. I promise.”
“You’d better or I’m putting Gigi on this story instead of you.”
Gigi? Was that a serious threat? Gigi was afraid of her own shadow and preferred to write the obituaries.
But she supposed Mick was right to a point. She had to get more aggressive if she wanted to make something of herself.
Quinn popped out of her chair and went to the archives. She was looking for news articles on the youngest Kelly brother.
She pulled the archived news from the year Spencer died and thumbed through it. Quinn found it quickly.
Local Boy Found In Creek
By Sara Westfall
Port Orion Tribune
An 11-year-old boy was fished out of Seminole Creek, early Sunday morning, dead from apparent strangulation.
The boy, Spencer Kelly, was found by a fisherman looking to catch steelhead in the early morning.
According to the family, the youngest Kelly boy was on his way home when he disappeared, only to be found twenty-four hours later, in Seminole Creek.
“We are putting all resources toward finding who did this terrible thing to one of our own,” Sheriff Lester Mankins told press. “Anyone with information is urged to contact the office.”
The story went on with some local color, how the creek was a tributary to the coastline, but nothing else relevant about the case.
Sara Westfall.
Quinn didn’t recognize the name but sometimes reporters came and went at the local paper.
Not everyone had their sights on bigger things like Quinn.
She flipped through the following editions, looking for follow-up but aside from a few blips here and there, as the months dragged on, so did interest.
Whole lives changed but the world kept spinning.
Quinn returned the volume to the archive and closed up. The archive room smelled of dust and old books. She rubbed her nose as a sneeze threatened.
Mystery man, mystery man...why are you stuck in my head?
More and more, Silas popped into her thoughts and they weren’t always work related.
She wasn’t blind.
He had a strong, lean build, not that she was surprised. As if Silas would allow an ounce of flab to settle any
where on his body.
Silas probably had two gym memberships because one wasn’t enough.
He probably took some weird, off-the-beaten-path exercise discipline that required him to stand on his head and lift weights with his toes.
Because he had a physique that wasn’t natural.
Not that she’d been obsessing or anything.
A sigh escaped as she leaned against the archive wall. Silas was a man with his head on straight. She liked that about him.
Even if he didn’t feel the same about her.
What kind of woman would turn his head? It was idle curiosity, not genuine wonder, but she pictured a woman with diamond-cut abs, a short, efficient haircut and combat boots.
Silas wasn’t the type to seek out a woman to serve as an accessory. He was all about purpose.
She liked that about him, too.
What she didn’t like about him was his rigid refusal to play nice in the sandbox. He didn’t want to share any of his toys and he suffered no shame in admitting it.
Silas had been pretty clear that he wasn’t willing to work together.
Fine.
She didn’t need him to hold her hand.
It was time to start digging around on her own to see what she could scare up.
Maybe then Silas would see that she could be an asset.
Chapter 8
Silas sensed Lester wasn’t up to this investigation. He seemed haggard, as if he were aging by the day.
The Port Orion Sheriff’s Department was small by most city standards but then it wasn’t really a hotbed of crime, either.
The usual crime feed was filled with a host of nuisance crimes such as vandalism, petty theft, and the occasional pervert flashing his genitals.
Big crime had always seemed to bypass Port Orion for juicier targets. Well, except for the murders of Spencer and Rhia Daniels.
But the lack of crime meant the law enforcement didn’t have a lot of experience in closing serious cases.
Oppenshaw had given him strict instructions to avoid stepping on local law enforcement toes but Silas couldn’t help but worry that the locals weren’t up to the task.
The Killer You Know Page 6
