With any luck, he could be back home in less than an hour. He’d miss the sunset, but his bed was calling his name. Unfortunately, Marcus had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him things wouldn’t go that smoothly, and his feelings were hardly ever wrong.
He pulled up to Butchie’s to find it almost completely packed. It was usually busy – but he’d never seen it this packed. He adjusted his belt, killed the engine, and climbed out of his vehicle.
I just hope things don’t get ugly. It’s one thing stopping an armed robber. It’s another to interfere with these people’s lives. As if they need any more reason to hate me.
He knew the animosity towards him grew bit by bit every time he arrested someone for drunken misconduct or hauled them out of Butchie’s, but it was his job. He wasn’t going to not do his job just to please a few people of the town. They could hate him all they wanted, though he didn’t like it.
Marcus would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he didn’t like being the outsider of Charming. He’d been here for two years – longer than some of the so called locals, and yet they still treated him differently. Part of it was because he was the law, the other part was because of his golden eyes.
He couldn’t help what he was born as.
And if I had any say in it, I wouldn’t have chosen this. I didn’t ask to be a freak. I didn’t ask to be an outsider. I didn’t ask for anything that happened to me.
And then a little voice in his head said, But you could have stopped it. You could have saved her.
He closed his eyes, clearing his head, and walked into the bar. His eyes scanned the place. Butch was behind the bar, yelling at a couple of people. The entire length of the bar was filled. He recognized everyone there. People were crowded into all of the booths on the right wall, though they weren’t getting rowdy like the patrons near Butch, so he ignored them.
He took a deep breath and was flooded with all sorts of emotions. Most of it was anger, but there was some uncertainty, mainly from Butch. There was apprehension, tension, anticipation about what was about to happen. There was also something else, someone completely new to Charming. He turned his head to find these newcomers, wondering if they could be the source of the problem…
And then there was a yell, the sound of a fist hitting a skull, and the fight broke out. People scattered from the bar, getting out of the way. Barstools fell to the floor. Butch was yelling. Glasses of beer shattered.
In the center of the fight was Stu Copeland, Mayor Copeland’s youngest son. Tangled up with him was Jimmy Rivers. Their two families had never gotten along, though Marcus had never seen things come to physical blows. He had just reached the two when Stu’s older brother, Cliff, joined the fray. He swung in wildly, drunk, and came close to catching Marcus’s face. Marcus grabbed him, threw him onto the floor and finally reached Stu and Jimmy.
Jimmy hit Marcus squarely in the jaw. Marcus growled, pulling the two of them apart, though they were still swinging at each other. “Enough!” Marcus bellowed. “ENOUGH!”
The commotion died down. Cliff had been coming back, but Marcus heard him coming and one glare stopped him in his tracks.
“What’s going on around here?”
The rest of the bar was silent. No one seemed to want to speak except for Butch, who said, “I dunno, Sheriff. Things were getting kinda dicey in here. A lot of arguing, too much booze, these macho tough guys trying to prove something. You know how it goes.”
“Who started it?” he asked. Butch shrugged, so Marcus turned his attention to Stu. Stu shook his head. Marcus looked at Jimmy, who didn’t answer, either. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
“We ain’t saying shit to you,” Jimmy spat. “We don’t answer to no outsiders like you around Charming.”
There were a few yells of agreement, though they quickly died when Marcus turned and scanned the crowd.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jimmy,” Marcus answered. He let go of Stu and clasped handcuffs on Jimmy’s wrists. The man looked down, stupefied. Then Stu started to laugh since he thought he’d won. Marcus grabbed him, spun him around, and slapped a second set of cuffs on him as well.
“Wait. What are ya doin’?” Stu asked.
“Taking you two in for the night,” Marcus said, grabbing both by the cuffs, pushing Stu in front of him and pulling Jimmy behind him.
“You can’t!” Jimmy said. “What are you arresting us for? If you don’t have a reason, you gotta let us go! We didn’t mean anything by it!”
“I’ll decide that in the morning,” Marcus said. “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Butchie.”
“Thanks for the help, Sheriff. Your next beer’s on the house.”
Chapter 6
Angie’s alarm went off at 7:00 A.M. sharp, but she’d already been up for an hour. She’d already showered, dressed, and ate a couple bites of a bagel. Her rest was important, but her mind was abuzz with everything she had been planning.
She slammed her hand on the alarm to shut it off and took a few steps back. Laid out, covering her entire bed, was a tableau of plans, prices, and papers that would help her revitalize Charming and bring the town into the future.
While she spent the afternoon walking around town, rating the best places to put the new restaurants, Erica would be on the phone with the restaurant owners themselves, trying to arrange meetings. They each had their job to do, and neither was less important than the other.
At 7:30, Angie grabbed all of her papers, quickly organized them, and slid them into a briefcase. She would take it with her, though she’d memorized most of the information by that time.
It never hurts to be prepared, she knew. She was supposed to meet Erica at her room at 8:00. Usually, she would have Erica up and out of the door by 7:00, but Angie felt a little bit of pity for her. They were in a small town, unlike anything either of them had ever experienced, and Erica was out of her element.
And she’s probably hungover, too.
That was another reason why they were starting their day just a little late. Erica had went hard on the beers last night, though Angie didn’t blame her.
After that fight broke out, and that sheriff broke things up…
Eight rolled around and Angie grabbed her keys and the briefcase. It was time to grab Erica and get to work. Angie left the room, locked it behind her, and walked the few steps over to Erica’s door.
She knocked lightly and waited a few moments. There was no answer. She knocked again, this time just a little bit harder, and said, “Don’t get used to sleeping in, Erica. This is a one-time event. Let’s go!”
But there was no answer. She’d had trouble waking Erica up more often than she’d like to admit. Even back in New York, where they lived, she’d had to drive to Erica’s apartment to fetch her at least once or twice a month when they were working a job there. More often than not, Angie wondered why she put up with her.
Because she’s good at what she does, that’s why. And that was true. Erica was great at her job. Getting her to do the job, though, was the hard part.
“Erica! Come on! We have a long day ahead of us!” she called, pounding on the door again. There was still no answer. Angie grabbed the door handle, trying to get in, but it was locked. She knocked a few more times, sighed, and dropped her briefcase. “I’m going to get the key!”
That threat had gotten Erica to open the door more times than she could count, but this time, there was still no answer.
She went to the front desk, almost coughing from the cloud of smoke that billowed out the open door. The old woman was sitting behind the desk, a tattered Reader’s Digest in her wrinkled hands. She didn’t look up when Angie came into the room.
“Excuse me?” Angie asked. The old woman didn’t look up. What is with everyone ignoring me this morning? What did I do? “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“What?” she croaked. It was barely a question, and Angie could tell the old woman wanted nothing to do with her, but Angie wasn’t going to be defeated.<
br />
“I need a room key to my friend’s room.”
“That’s your friend’s room,” the old woman said, her eyes scanning the Reader’s Digest, still not looking up at her. “So I can’t do that.”
“That’s my room. I paid for it.”
“You’re not the resident of it, so I can’t help you out.”
“Who paid for it?”
“You did,” the woman said, finally putting the magazine down. “But it ain’t your room.”
“I need to get in there,” Angie said, leaning forward on the desk, her voice turning icy. “And you’re going to let me in.”
The old woman got up, looking straight into Angie’s eyes. “You city folk think you can do whatever you want.”
But she grabbed the master key from behind the desk and waddled outside. Angie followed her, wondering what this woman’s problem was.
They stopped right outside of Erica’s room. The old woman turned back to her.
“You’re the woman who brought that damn coffee shop into town,” she said. It wasn’t a question at all; there was no mistaking the statement now. Or the hostility.
“I am,” Angie said. She wouldn’t back down, especially not to someone like this. She knew she would face opposition, but she hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly.
The old woman shook her head and said, “You’re gonna ruin Charming. Young kids think they know everything. Convinced they can change the future.”
“And you’re old, stubborn, and near-sighted. Now open the damn door,” Angie ordered. She’d lost her cool with this woman. She just wanted to wake up Erica, get to work, and prove this old woman wrong. If anything, she wanted to change Charming, even if only to spite this woman.
She unlocked the door and stepped back.
“Thanks,” Angie said, though both women knew neither one of them truly meant it. Angie knocked once more, received no answer, and opened the door.
All of the lights in Erica’s room were still off. “Erica?” Silence. Something felt off. Something felt wrong.
Angie flipped the lights on – and screamed.
Erica was laying on the bed, her mouth and eyes open in a grimace of terror – or pain. She was covered in blood, as was the bed underneath her. There were stab wounds all over her body.
“Erica?” Angie asked, running over to her, but it was pointless.
She was dead.
“What?” the old woman asked, coming into the room.
“Call 911!” Angie screamed. The old woman didn’t move; she was rooted in place, her eyes fixed on Erica’s lifeless body. “Call 911!” she repeated. Angie walked over to her, slapped her hard – and then the old woman nodded and disappeared outside, leaving Angie with Erica’s lifeless body.
Angie crossed back over to the side of the bed, looking down.
She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. Someone killed her. Killed.
Someone had murdered her.
And all Angie could do was look down at her lifeless body.
The old woman came back – how long she was gone, Angie wasn’t sure – and said, “The Sheriff is on the way.”
“The Sheriff?” Angie asked. They’d seen him last night, back when Erica was still alive. He was large, rugged, and from what Angie could tell, strongly disliked in the town, with maybe the bartender being the only exception. “Can he help? Shouldn’t you call the police?”
“He’s good at what he does, I’ll give him that,” the old woman said. Her attitude from before had evaporated, and she stood next to Angie. “Jesus. She’s dead. Jesus.”
“Just leave!” Angie exploded. “Go outside and wait for the Sheriff to get here!”
“Yeah,” the old woman said, leaving.
And Angie followed her outside. She couldn’t look down any longer. She was no coroner, but it looked violent. It looked like Erica had been stabbed five or six times – blood was everywhere.
And her face. Oh God, her face.
It had been a mask of terror. She knew what was happening, and she had been scared.
And I did nothing to stop it. I was asleep in the next room over while someone stabbed her. Again. And again. And again.
But she knew it hadn’t been her fault. There was nothing she could have done. The rational part of her brain told her that, though it did little to stifle the queasiness that was rumbling in her stomach.
But it was your fault, a voice said in her head. If you never would have brought her here, she would still be alive. If you never would have tried to change this town, someone wouldn’t have retaliated against you. And you know what? You’re next.
Angie’s train of thought was getting worse, and there was nothing she could do to turn it off. Luckily, at that moment, an old Bronco with flashing lights pulled up into the dirt parking lot and parked directly in front of Angie and the old woman… and Erica’s room.
“Maudette,” the Sheriff said, climbing out of the vehicle. “A murder? You sure?”
“I’m sure, Sheriff,” the woman – Maudette – said. “In here.”
The Sheriff walked up and he looked at Angie for a long moment. His eyes, which were a golden hue, were strangely unsettling as they prowled over her body. He took her completely in, sizing her up, trying to figure out just who – and what – she was. His name tag read Stone.
“This is Angie Campbell,” Maudette said, butting in before either Sheriff Stone could ask her who she was or she could even tell him. “That’s her friend there, in the room.”
“Your friend?” Stone asked.
“Yes. Assistant. Friend. Her name is Erica.”
“Stay out here,” the Sheriff ordered. He walked forward, drawing his weapon – as if that is necessary – and moved towards the room. He paused outside the door, breathing deep, eyes closed. What is he doing?
He walked inside, Angie and Maudette moving cautiously behind him. They both paused at the door, but then Angie felt herself drawn back into the room. She couldn’t help herself; Erica was dead.
“I told you to wait outside,” the Sheriff growled without turning around. Angie froze on the spot. She’d moved as quietly as she could.
How did he hear me?
“Tell me what you know. Tell me what you’re doing here. What’s happened up until you found her? Give me the quick and dirty version, I’ll get the official version later.”
“We got into town late last night. We’re here to work…”
“So, I have you to blame for that new coffee shop?”
Angie gritted her teeth but ignored the question. She wanted to scream at this man. Erica had just been murdered and he was more worried about the coffee shop. There was something seriously wrong with everyone in the town, it seemed.
“We met with the Mayor yesterday, then we went out to eat.”
The Sheriff stiffened, then, and he said, “You were at Butchie’s. During the fight.”
“Yeah, but what does it matter?”
He shrugged and waited for her to continue. He squatted down next to the bed, coming eye level with it. He was scanning it without a word.
“We stayed there for a while, then we came here. I went to my room, Erica went to hers, and I found her here this morning.”
“Anyone that would want to harm her?”
“What? No!” she protested.
He got up and turned around and said, “Anyone that would want to harm you?”
“Why would anyone want to harm me?”
“You’ve pissed off a lot of people in this town. They don’t take change like this lightly,” he told her. “Come with me.”
He walked out the door of the motel room. Angie glanced back at Erica but followed. He said a few words to Maudette, who nodded at him and disappeared back into the front desk.
Then he walked back to the vehicle, sat down in the driver’s seat with one leg hanging outside of it, and grabbed his radio. Angie couldn’t hear everything he was saying – she was standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do – but s
he heard enough to know that he was on the radio with the county coroner.
He hung it up, climbed out of the vehicle, and walked over to her.
“I need you to come with me.”
“What for?”
“I need an official statement,” he said. He hesitated for a second before saying, “And I don’t think it’s safe for you here.”
“Sheriff, I don’t know anything…”
“Don’t make me take you in cuffs,” Sheriff Stone said.
“You can’t do that.”
“I’ll do anything I damn well please,” he said, touching the cuffs on his belt. Angie narrowed her eyes and climbed into the Bronco.
Chapter 7
Marcus opened the door, ushered Maudette out of the Sheriff’s department, and closed it behind her. He collapsed in the wooden chair at his desk, rubbed his eyes, and collected his thoughts for a few moments.
He’d learned all Maudette knew about these two women, which wasn’t much. He learned when they had checked in, what they had said to Maudette, and not much else. It had taken less than half an hour to sort through Maudette’s story, but he was already exhausted.
Is this ever going to end? What’s going on in this damn town?
These past few days had been nonstop. First Lester Hayes’s drunk driving incident and then the bar fight – not to mention the shootout in Haven – and now?
A murder. A real life murder. The last one was…
The truth was, Marcus didn’t know. Maybe there had never been a murder in Charming ever. But the truth also was it didn’t matter anymore. There was a murder now, and it had happened under his watch.
Marcus was a realistic man and he knew there was nothing he could have done to stop it. But that still didn’t make him like it any more. His next step was finding out who did it and ensuring that it never happened again.
He rubbed his eyes one more time, sighed, and stood up.
Maudette had little to offer in the way of information and he was left with one more source of information: Angie Campbell. Marcus didn’t expect to find much in the way of evidence at the murder scene, so he was banking on her.
Blood Moon (Bear Sheriff Book 1) Page 4
