Reid flashed a grin. “I like to be prepared.”
Never one to appreciate sarcasm during his lectures, Britt pressed his lips into a tight frown. “You think this is funny?”
“No. I don't. I swear to you, my intention is to talk to him. If things go sideways, I'll improvise. She needs help. And Mags can't do it. I'm not a cop. I can bend the rules.”
“Not alone.”
“What?”
Britt stepped forward, shoved him out of the way. “I'll go with you. Now, let me see what you've got in here that I might like.”
15
Reid rode shotgun while Britt parked the work truck four doors down from Dexter Sweet's residence.
The house sat in a sketchy area on the southern slope of Asheville that hosted sagging porches, roofs ten years overdue for replacement, and weeds choking out the landscaping. Having run around the Asheville area during high school, he knew these neighborhoods and the minute they'd entered the address into the GPS, he and Britt realized they'd be entering one of the worst areas the city had to offer.
For two hours they sat with the engine off and the windows open, waiting for some sign of Dexter, but nada. So much for getting an idea of his comings and goings. A cop hooked a right onto the block and they ducked low, out of sight, so they didn't have to answer any questions. Well, gee, officer, that guy tried to rape my girlfriend—girlfriend?—and I'd like to bust him up good.
Yeah. Probably not a good thing to say.
“Two damned hours,” Reid said.
“Yep. And don't say it.”
“What?”
“You know what. I know you, little brother. You're antsy and bored and ready to do something.”
Freaking Britt.
“Well,” Reid said, “sitting here isn't doing jack.”
“Well,” Britt shot back, “getting shot by the guy you nearly strangled won't do jack either.”
“I'm not gonna ring his doorbell, for Christ's sake.”
“What'll you do, then?”
Hell if he knew.
Reid grunted.
The front door of the house next door to Dexter's swung open, and a middle-aged guy wearing a blue work shirt, pants, and black rubber-soled boots exited. He hopped off the porch and headed down the sidewalk toward them.
“Neighbor,” Reid said. “Let's talk to him.”
“Why not?”
“Sir?”
The guy stopped, eyeballed them and the truck, but didn't come near it. Living in this neighborhood he knew better.
“Yeah,” the guy said. “Help you?”
“We're looking for Dexter Sweet.” Reid pointed to Dexter's house. “He still live there?”
“You cops?”
“Uh, no. Not even close.”
“He lives there. I don't think he's home. If you want trouble, take it out of here. Mostly, you can find him hanging out by the projects, wasting his goddamn life. What did he do now?”
No love lost here. Reid propped an elbow on the doorframe, looked him in the eye. “He's bugging my girl. I want to know why.”
“He's not the brightest bulb. You and your girl should stay away from him. He's running with the wrong crowd. Sooner or later, he'll wind up in the joint. Can't say I'd be sorry.”
“Sounds like you're not a fan.”
The guy shrugged. “Used to be. Not anymore.”
“Why's that?”
“Caught him selling weed to my son.”
Well, that would strain the bonds of friendship. “No shit?”
“Yeah. Cops arrested him. First offense so he got off easy. Now he's back and I'm trying to keep my kid away from him. It's a shame, too. His folks are good people.” The guy glanced down the block. “I need to run or I'll be late for work.”
Reid dug through the glove box, found an old pencil and an envelope with an insurance card in it. He tore off a piece of the envelope and wrote his number down.
“Do me a favor. If you see him, give me a call. I'll keep you out of it.”
The guy shrugged. “Sure. But, take my advice, stay away from Dex. Nothing good can be found there.”
The guy hustled off down the block.
“Okay, Ace,” Britt said, “what now?”
“Dexter is a bust.”
This field trip netted them a big zilch. Zero.
But apparently, Dexter sold weed. That could be something. Maybe not. Who the hell knew?
Reid ran a hand over his mouth. “I don't know. Nelson gets shot and right after that, Brynne's store and apartment are broken into. Now”—he waved a hand—”Dexter is looking for a phone he thinks she has. And, in Nelson's phone, we found the phone number of Ed Wayne, another murder victim. Coincidence?”
Britt shrugged. “If it is, it's convenient.”
“Right. We need to figure out the connection between these three guys.”
“I'm guessing you have an idea.”
“Bet your ass.” Reid circled his finger. “Let's roll.”
“Where to?”
“Ed Wayne's house. I want to see what that fucker was up to.”
* * *
After carrying Mrs. Steele's Adirondack chairs back to the porch, Brynne sat scrolling through her Facebook page while Evie lounged on the porch swing, using her foot to sway while she released her competitive juices on a live trivia game via her phone.
“What color did Oscar the Grouch used to be? I have eight seconds.”
“Orange.”
“Orange? Seriously?”
Brynne sneered at her.
“Okay, okay.” Evie thumbed in the response. “No need to get huffy. Just…orange? That's surprising.”
“He turned green overnight. Something about getting caught in a swamp.”
“Aren't you the useless book of knowledge.”
“Just saved your butt.”
Evie set her phone down. “I won. Thank you very much”
“You're welcome.”
“We should do something.”
Yes. They should. Because in the past six months, Brynne had had three modes. Working, sleeping, or hanging with Nelson.
And right now, two of the three weren't options and despite brain-ravaging fatigue, without the help of a medication, sleep wouldn't come, so a nap was out.
Evie gestured to the laptop. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing. Facebook. But it's horrible. Everyone is posting about Nelson and funeral arrangements and…I don't know. I want to pretend it doesn't exist.”
“Yeah. Totally get that. Maybe Maggie—or Reid—will figure something out.”
Brynne set her laptop aside. “I've been thinking and thinking and I'm telling you, I can't come up with anything. Other than when he stopped to see me and him acting a little rushed, nothing strange had occurred. He was just Nelson. Same as always.”
“Was he hanging around any new people or anything?”
“Not that he said. There was a new woman at work that he'd mentioned, but it was just a passing comment. He was helping train her and ran late for one of our dinners.”
Wait. Facebook. All those people commenting. Some names Brynne recognized. The others? Who were those people?
She went back to her laptop, clicked in the search bar and typed in Nelson's name. His profile came up and she scrolled down, scanning the latest posts.
Evie rose from the swing and peeked over Brynne's shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Checking his Facebook page.”
“Maggie probably did it already, but you'd know some of the people.”
“That's what I'm thinking.”
She scrolled down the page, scanning the condolences, the poems, the photos of Nelson, all posted by friends and family who'd shared his life. Halfway down, one of their childhood friends added a photo of a group of kids at a high-school football game. Brynne clicked on it, found Nelson in the bunch, and there she was, twenty pounds heavier, right next to him.
Back then he'd been her lifeline. The o
ne boy who wanted to spend time with the chubby little sister of the prom queen.
Adolescence spent in her sister's shadow meant misery, but Nelson always made her laugh. Always accepted her for what she was.
An angry longing sparked and she shook her head, fought the brutal rush of sadness. No. Not sadness. This was more. This was a gutting she'd never recover from. It might, as Reid said, get better with time, but the loss would stay with her.
She continued through the posts, scanning as she went, searching for anything that might appear odd.
Nothing.
Worse, reading all the tributes wasn't helping. She clicked over to Nelson's photo albums. Maybe there she'd find something.
Evie pointed to one album with a photo of some intricate scrollwork. “What's that?”
Brynne clicked the album. “Logos for the business he wanted to start. He'd bought logo-creating software and was testing out different designs on Facebook. He'd toss a design out and ask everyone to vote.”
“Kinda cool.”
“Yeah.” Brynne clicked on a variation of the Canterbury cross with rounded edges. “I think this is the one he decided on.”
“It's nice.”
It was indeed. And for all the time he'd spent on it, he wouldn't even be able to see it on any packaging. Such a waste.
Jonah appeared at the screen door. “Reid just called. He wants me to bring you into town. Grif's place.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. He said there's some stuff he wants you to look at. See if you recognize it.”
After a death-defying ride down the mountain, insane-driver Evie swung her compact into the driveway of Carlie Beth and Grif's place and hit the brakes. Brynne's head snapped forward from the sudden stop and she let out a laugh.
Like Reid, Evie had two speeds.
Fast and faster.
All of them, in one way or another, shared distinctive traits. Jonah and Reid and the constant sense of competition. Jonah and Evie with their love of hacking, the challenge of cracking the code, so to speak, and Britt and Reid with their protective instincts.
Grif? She wasn't sure. She hadn't spent enough time with him to see what his family trait might be. Somehow she had a feeling that was about to change.
Jonah slid out of the car and pushed the seat up for Brynne, who'd insisted on sitting in the back to save him from folding his legs into that tiny bit of space.
Glancing up at the small-framed house with the cute porch, Brynne shielded her eyes from the sun. The house looked recently painted, its exterior gleaming in the sunlight.
Carlie Beth opened the wooden front door just as Reid came around the side of the house and—there he is—Brynne held her breath, let that little jolt of excitement subside.
After months of dedication to her plan, of refusing to even consider dating, it felt…good…freeing even, to look at a man and allow herself the instant heat of attraction.
“Hey,” he said, “you okay? You look weird.”
How romantic.
But that was Reid. Master of the inappropriate comment. And yet, buried in that inappropriateness, he'd already gone into protector mode, sensing something was off.
Jonah and Evie disappeared through the front door, leaving Brynne and Reid alone in the driveway. She looked up at him, at his eyes that screamed of mischief. Maybe she needed a little mischief for her battle-weary heart.
“I'm good,” she said. “I'm…”
“What?”
Should she do it? Take the risk?
On Reid Steele?
“I'm…happy to see you.”
He bent to snuggle her neck and the feel of his lips on her skin and that ultra-manly scent he liked sent another jolt of blazing heat straight to her boobs.
And lower.
He nibbled behind her ear, then kissed the spot. “How happy?”
She laughed, but pushed him away. If he kept that up, they'd go at it right on Grif's driveway. “Relax, player. Why are we here?”
He slung an arm over her shoulder, jerked his head toward the back. “We're in the yard.”
“Why?”
“Uh, I didn't want to pour garbage all over my brother's house.”
“Huh?”
“We drove by Ed Wayne's house.”
“You stole his garbage?”
“Bet that sweet little ass of yours.”
“Can you get in trouble for that?”
He set one hand on her lower back and led her to the side of the house. “In the law enforcement world, garbage sitting on a curb in plain view of the public is considered abandoned property. Lucky us, it falls outside the confines of the Fourth Amendment.” He gave her a winning smile. “The one that protects citizens from unreasonable searches.”
So, yes, Reid had a constitutional right to pick that bag up off the street and search it. “Yes, but Maggie will skin you for butting into her investigation.”
“I'm risking it.”
He steered her into the yard. To the left was a metal building. Carlie Beth's blacksmithing forge. How cool was that? Carlie Beth had a talent and she'd put that talent to work, supporting herself and a child for years before Grif moved back to town.
Sitting on a giant blue tarp were two torn-open construction-sized garbage bags, their contents spread across the length of the tarp. A light wind blew and the stench of rotting food drifted toward her.
“Ew. That's pleasant. I'm sure your brother appreciates the mess.”
“Bringing it back to the Hill would put my mama on a questioning binge. Grif's was closer anyway. Plus, I'm not afraid of him like I am my mother.”
He led her to the patio table where they'd spread some papers and weighted them down with rocks.
Poor Carlie Beth. The Steele brothers had invaded her yard and quite literally trashed it.
Reid lifted his arm away, taking all the weight and heat and comfort with him and slipped on a pair of latex gloves from a pack on the table. He slapped a pair into Brynne's hand, swatted a rock aside, and picked up a document.
“Put those gloves on. If we find something that could be evidence, we don't want our prints cross-contaminating.”
Once she had the gloves on, he handed her the document.
“We found copies of paperwork. Car insurance renewals, bills, that sort of stuff. Didn't you say Nelson worked for an insurance company?”
“Yes. NC Allied.”
“This is a receipt showing an automatic bank draft from Wayne's account to NC Allied.”
Brynne skimmed the document. “You think that's the connection to Nelson? He was his insurance guy?”
“Not sure.”
“It could be why his number was in Nelson's phone. He gave his cell number to certain clients.”
“Were they friends outside of work?”
Brynne shrugged. “I don't remember him mentioning an Ed Wayne, but it's possible.” She dug her cell phone from her purse. “Let's check his Facebook page and see if they were friends.”
Brynne signed on to Facebook, went to Nelson's page and scrolled his friends list. No Ed Wayne.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Can I take a look?”
“Sure.” She handed over the phone. “I looked through his posts earlier to see if anyone had left any threatening or nasty posts.”
“And?”
“I didn't find anything.”
While Reid scrolled, Brynne wandered to the tarp, scanning the discards of Ed Wayne's life. In the far left corner, a smaller white garbage bag had been torn open and the papers inside shoved into a pile and weighted down with more landscaping rocks.
She squatted next to the pile, removed the rock and sifted through the pages. More receipts, copies of spreadsheets, scrawled notes on sticky pads.
“This pile looks like it came from an office. The pages aren't dirty or wet.”
“That's what we figured. Maybe he has an office in his house.”
The wind blew a few pages from the pil
e and she slapped her hand over them, caught them before they blew away. She assembled the pile again and held it while reaching for a rock. Hold on.
Second page. The edge of a circle peeped out. She slid the page free.
“Wow.”
Reid looked over. “What?”
She held up the page, hopped to her feet. “Give me that phone.”
“You find something?”
She shoved the page at him. “This. It's a Canterbury Cross. And I saw one on Nelson's Facebook page.”
* * *
“Now we're cooking,” Reid said. “What's the deal with the cross?”
Whatever it was, it got his little Brynnie all fired up because the energy in the yard went berserk. An immediate surge that made the air nearly crackle.
Brynne swiped at her phone like a junkie in search of her fix. “Nelson was playing with logo designs for his potpourri business. He posted examples on Facebook. There it is!” She cupped her free hand over the screen to block the sun so Reid could see it. “This is the one most people liked. It's similar to the one in your hand.”
Yep. Sure was. “Why would Ed Wayne have it?”
“I don't know. We need to find out what he did for a living. Maybe Nelson hired him to do packaging or something.”
Reid peeled off, hustled over to the white garbage bag and dropped to his knees. “Let's dig through here. Look for a work order or something.”
The back door opened. Britt, Jonah, and Evie filed out just as Reid handed Brynne half the stack.
“I think we got something,” Reid said.
Britt squatted next to him. “Seriously?”
“See that cross? We found it in this pile of crap. Nelson had the same picture on his Facebook page.”
“What is it?”
Brynne answered that one. “It's the logo for Nelson's potpourri business. We're wondering if Ed Wayne was somehow involved. Like, a packaging manufacturer or something.”
Reid pointed at a second stack. “Put gloves on and go through that. See if you find anything.”
“Like what?”
Was he an investigative encyclopedia? “No clue. I mean, what the fuck do I know about potpourri?”
Jonah laughed and dropped to his knees. “I'll take a stack.”
Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series Page 20
