by Devney Perry
“How about I pick up Chinese takeout on my way home and we have a late lunch and watch a movie?”
“Do I get to pick what we watch?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I get two vetoes.”
“One.”
“One.” He leaned in and brushed his soft lips to mine. “I’ll hurry.”
“Text me when you leave the station. I might take Nazboo over to my place to start packing.”
“Don’t wear yourself out. Save some energy for me.” He grinned and kissed me again before rushing out of the kitchen. His sweatpants hinted at the perfect ass beneath the gray cotton.
I’d hoped to spend a lot of time squeezing that ass today. Instead, I’d get a head start on packing so I could officially move in.
I sighed and hopped off the counter, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. I was just about to go upstairs when Cole came back down, dressed in jeans and a thick green sweater. The cable knit made the green in his eyes pop more than his usual black polo.
“I love you.” I wrapped my arms around him, taking a deep breath of his fresh smell.
“I love you too.” He leaned me back so his lips could mold to mine. His tongue slipped between my teeth, tickling, before he pulled away. “See you soon.” One more kiss to my forehead and he was gone, striding toward the garage.
I held Nazboo back as we went to the front door to wave good-bye from the porch.
Nazboo let out a whimper as he backed out of the garage and onto the street, leaving her behind with her second-favorite owner.
“Sorry,” I rubbed her ears, “but he’ll be back soon. Come on. Let’s get some packing done before he gets back.”
I hurried through my own shower—not bothering to wash my hair but rather leaving it up—then pulled on some skinny jeans, an oversized gray turtleneck and my favorite black TOMS. Nazboo rode shotgun as we crossed town, and when we got to my house, I decided to start packing up the small office.
Two hours later, I was sitting on the floor, sorting books and papers into three stacks: keep, throw and Jamie. The keep pile had been growing the fastest, with the throw pile a close second. The Jamie pile was the smallest with a few of his old books I was going to give to Jimmy.
“Nazboo!” I called, taking a break from sorting.
She’d disappeared about fifteen minutes ago and I couldn’t hear her paws clicking on the hardwood floors, which meant she’d either fallen asleep or she was causing trouble.
I waited and listened, but nothing. “Nazboo!”
This time I heard a scurry from the living room before she came trotting down the hallway and into the office with a book in her mouth.
“No!” I jumped up from the floor. “Bad girl.” I yanked the book from her mouth and pointed my finger in her face. “Bad girl, Nazboo. No. No. No. We don’t chew books.”
Damn it. She wasn’t entirely to blame. In my hurry this morning, I’d forgotten her rawhide sticks.
I walked out of the office and to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to wipe off the book. Once it was dry, I recognized it as one from the Jamie pile.
“Jimmy isn’t going to want this one now.” The cover was destroyed with teeth marks and slobber, though the inside wasn’t too bad. I thumbed through the pages, surprised when a letter tucked into the middle popped out.
Folded in thirds, the top flap had been inscribed To Jamie on his 35th birthday.
“Oh my god.” I gasped and covered my mouth.
This was it. The letter I’d thought was lost. The letter Jamie had written to himself in ten years.
The letter Jamie had written the day he’d died.
This letter was one of only two things on the birthday list Jamie had done himself. I’d searched for this letter. I’d torn the house apart the year after his death searching for it but I’d never been able to find it. But here it was all along, tucked into a book that Nazboo had used as her chew toy.
And now I could finally read the last words Jamie had ever written.
Tears threatened, but I swallowed the burn in my throat and took two long breaths. Then I went to my small dining room table and took a seat. Carefully, I opened the letter, smiling at Jamie’s sloppy handwriting. It only filled the top half of the page. Of course his letter wasn’t long—that hadn’t been his style.
I inhaled, filling my lungs completely, before reading his words.
Old Me,
You’re getting up there, dude, so before you hit forty, I wanted to give you some advice. Don’t have a midlife crisis. Don’t be that guy. It’s sad and pathetic and would really piss me off. Look around. I’m sure you’re still cool since you’re me. Your wife is smoking hot. Life is good. So stay cool, and be good to Poppy. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.
Don’t fuck it up,
Young Me
I laughed as tears filled my eyes. This was just . . . so Jamie. This letter was all the wonderful, ridiculous, sweet things that my husband had been.
And I was just so glad that I’d found it. Now I could put it with his birthday list, where it belonged.
Thank you, Jamie. Thank you for helping me find this.
Whether it was Jamie or not, I didn’t know. I was just grateful that another coincidence had led me to his letter.
These incredible coincidences.
And maybe it was silly, but I was thanking serendipity for bringing me Cole.
I sniffled, smiling again through blurry eyes as I reread the letter. Then I folded it back up and took it to my purse, tucking it into Jamie’s journal. Tomorrow, I’d let Jimmy read it too. He’d like that.
After the journal was safely stowed, I bent low to scratch Nazboo’s ears. “I guess you’re not in trouble. But no more chewing books, got it?”
She licked my face.
“I’m taking that as a yes.” I stood and nodded to the garage. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find some boxes.”
Another hour later, I’d boxed the keep pile and loaded it into my car. I’d finished trashing the throw pile and was checking my phone to see if Cole had texted. He hadn’t, so I decided to start packing the kitchen.
An hour later, when all the drawers had been emptied and cleaned, I checked my phone again, still seeing nothing from Cole.
“He’s probably just busy,” I told Nazboo.
Her brown eyes opened, but otherwise, she didn’t move from where she’d fallen asleep next to the fridge.
“I’ll send him a text.”
I fired off a quick note, asking if he had any idea when he’d be done at the station, and then I went back to packing.
The minutes ticked on, and my phone stayed silent on the counter. My eyes darted to the screen so often, I lost focus on packing. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on sorting dishes and random kitchen appliances, I couldn’t stop myself from constantly checking my phone. And every time it turned up blank, my panic grew.
There was something eerily familiar about this. Something entirely unwelcome. Memories plagued my mind from the last time I’d been in this kitchen, desperate for my phone to chime.
He’s okay. He’s just at work. I reminded myself over and over that Cole was fine. That the anxious prickling on the back of my neck was just because I was here. That finding Jamie’s letter had freshened old memories. This is just déjà vu.
Despite my best efforts not to compare the past to the present, when the doorbell rang, a lance of terror cut through my racing heart. I held my breath as my unsteady feet rounded the corner of the kitchen.
My eyes searched the window of the door, and for a moment, I was taken back five years. It took me a second to separate the memory from reality, but when I did, the wave of relief that crashed over me nearly knocked me over.
Cole’s handsome face was on the other side of the glass.
I hurried down the hall—Nazboo rushing to catch up—and turned the lock.
“Hi,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my still pounding heart. “That was
the most intense déjà—”
I stopped talking at the look in Cole’s eyes. They were full of pain. Of dread. I’d seen that combination in his eyes before. It was the same look he’d had the night he’d stood on this very porch and told me that my husband had been murdered.
“Cole?”
My voice seemed to make the pain worse and his entire face twisted in agony.
“You’re scaring me. What is it? Tell me.” I waited three heartbeats. “Please.”
He swallowed hard. “We found the person who killed Jamie.”
My hand clamped over my mouth but a sob still escaped. No amount of calming breaths could keep my tears away, and they flooded my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. “You did? It’s over?” An unbelievable sense of finality settled in my chest. I was still crying, but the drops were no longer filled with fear. They were full of relief. It was over.
Cole nodded but didn’t seem at all relieved. Wasn’t this good news? A killer was off the streets. He’d found the bad guy. Why did he still look like he wanted to be anywhere but on my porch?
“There’s more.” His voice cracked.
Tension came rushing back, filling my muscles as I stood silently, waiting for Cole to continue.
When he looked to his feet and then back up again, the tears in his eyes pounded a hammer to my chest.
“What?” I begged. “What don’t you want to tell me?”
A tear rolled down his cheek. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault Jamie was killed.”
Cole
Five hours earlier . . .
“Hey.” I stepped into the observation area attached to the interrogation room. Matt was standing by the two-way mirror, staring at the woman he’d called in for questioning.
“Hey. Sorry to call you in, but I think you’re going to want to be here.”
“Okay.” I stepped up to the glass.
The woman at the table was young, probably in her early twenties. Her hair was trimmed short, like a man’s, except for the mass of bangs that covered her forehead and fell completely over one eye and covered part of the other. The roots were black but the bangs had been bleached to near white. Her shoulders were hunched forward as her elbows rested on the table, but even with her slouched position, you could tell she had a broad frame. Much bigger than most women.
And she was familiar. Her head was tipped down so I couldn’t get a good look at her face—that damn hair was in the way—but she was familiar. I searched my memory but when nothing came up, I shrugged it off. I probably just found her familiar because I’d seen her on video surveillance.
“Who’s this?”
Matt handed me a manila file. “Nina Veras. She’s number eleven on our list of potential subjects, and I brought her in this morning to ask her some questions about the murder. When I got two different answers to the same question, I stepped out and called you. I’ve got a feeling we’re onto something here.”
I nodded and flipped open the file.
Nina Veras was twenty-two. She worked as a barista at one of the downtown coffee shops. She had no criminal record. No speeding tickets. No parking tickets.
“I trust your gut, so if you’ve got a feeling, I’ll go with it. But, Matt, this girl is squeaky clean.”
“You’re right. She is. But take a look at this.” He handed me another file. “That’s her boyfriend. I pulled it right before you got here. Look familiar?”
The mug shot paper-clipped inside raised the hairs on my arms. With dark eyes and a red bandana tied over his black hair, the man in the photo was wearing a white, threadbare tank top as he glared at the camera and held his identification board. A dog paw print was tattooed on one shoulder. Across the base of his neck were the letters MOB—Member of Blood.
I had no trouble putting his face to a name.
“Samuel Long is her boyfriend?”
Matt nodded.
“Shit.”
Samuel was a known gang member with the Bloods. Him and a couple of his cohorts were currently under surveillance by the gang task force. I scanned Samuel’s file, stopping after the first three pages because I’d seen enough. Vandalism. Theft. Drug trafficking.
All gang related.
Montana had seen an increase in gang activity over the last ten years. Gang transplants from California had come to Montana to stake their claim. Our department had been diligent in making it clear that Bozeman was no place for them, but as the town grew and our resources stretched thin, keeping a handle on their influx had become more difficult.
Nina Veras didn’t look like a murder suspect, but I’d learned over the years to never rule out the influence of a gang. They were masters of brainwashing, trapping kids into their circle so tight not even parents could pull them out.
And if Samuel Long had his hooks into Nina Veras, there was no telling what he’d asked her to do.
“So what’s your plan?”
Matt set the files down on a chair behind us. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but I’d like Simmons to come in and help with the questioning.”
“No.”
“Hear me out.” He stopped me before I could object again. “Simmons is shit at fieldwork, we both know that, but he’s got more documented confessions than any other officer in the BPD. If we’re going to get anything out of her before she clams up, he’s our best bet.”
I blew out an angry breath, rubbing my jaw as I considered Matt’s point. Simmons had a knack in the interrogation room, I’d give him that much. He was able to build trust with his subjects faster than anyone else I knew. Maybe it was his pudgy nature—he was far from intimidating—but Matt was probably right. Bringing Simmons in to help was smart.
“Fine.”
Matt clapped me on the shoulder and walked out of observation without another word. Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the mirror as he entered with Simmons on his heels.
“Nina, this is Detective Simmons.” Matt took the chair across from her. “He’s going to be listening as we talk, okay?”
She nodded, her eyes darting to Simmons, before returning to her fingers. She was picking so nervously at her cuticles, one had started to bleed.
I took a seat in one of the chairs and watched as Matt asked some basic questions. Do you remember the liquor store murder five years ago? Can you recall where you were at that time? Every question was answered with a shake of her head. The minutes passed and my hopes of getting Nina to give us any clue as to her whereabouts that day shrank further and further. Her answers were as short as possible and she refused to make eye contact with Matt—who was getting just as frustrated as I was, based on the fists he was making under the table.
Matt circled back to the beginning, repeating a question he’d already asked, when Simmons held out a hand, stepping in.
Simmons began asking Nina questions that had nothing to do with the case. He did it for an hour. Then another. And by the time I’d been watching her in that room for nearly three hours, her shell was finally beginning to crack. They talked about her job at the coffee shop. What she’d done for Christmas last week. How she was enjoying the fresh snow.
As Simmons and Nina chatted about a movie they’d both seen recently, Matt excused himself from the interrogation room and joined me in observation.
We watched as Simmons got up and brought her a paper cup of water from the cooler in the corner. “I appreciate you coming in to visit with us today. I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”
“Can I go?”
“Soon.” Simmons sat back down. “But first I need to ask you some questions about your boyfriend.”
Nina’s face paled. “Okay.”
I raked a hand through my hair. “Where’s he going with this, Matt?”
“Fuck if I know, but he’s gotten farther with her than I did so I’m sure he’s got a plan.”
I sure as hell hoped so. The longer I watched, the tighter the ball in my gut twisted. Matt was right. There was something here. Just like him, I had a feeling about this woma
n, and we couldn’t afford to have Simmons fuck it up.
“Nina, I know Detective Hernandez explained that you were here because we had some questions about a murder five years ago.”
She nodded to Simmons.
“Do you remember that day at all?”
Her eyes darted to the mirror. “No.”
Lie. Her body language was all over the place. She sure as fuck remembered that day. I’d bet my life on it.
“Hmm.” Simmons hummed. “It was in May. The murder happened at a liquor store. It’s closed now, but it used to be next to the grocery store on Twenty-Third Street. Do you know which one I’m talking about?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Well, it was a long time ago. I can see how you’d forget something after five years. You would have been what, seventeen?”
She nodded.
“And your boyfriend, he would have been twenty-three. Is that right?”
“Um, twenty-two. He’s five years older than me.”
“You’re right.” Simmons chuckled. “I never have been good at math. Good thing one of us has some brains in here.”
Nina gave him a small smile but kept her eyes pinned on the table.
“Listen, I’ll be straight with you. We have reason to believe that your boyfriend committed the murders at the liquor store.”
Her head flew up, her eyes like saucers as she gasped.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, shifting to the edge of my seat. What was Simmons doing?
“You seem like a nice girl, Nina. But your boyfriend is mixed up in some bad stuff. We’re bringing him in later today and charging him with two counts of first-degree murder. I don’t want you to get mixed up in all of that, so I need you to think. Think hard. Where were you at the time of the murder?”
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “No. No, he didn’t kill anyone.”
“This is really important, Nina.” Simmons pressed harder. “The district attorney wants to ask for the death penalty. You could be brought in as an accomplice if we can’t verify your alibi. So think. Where were you?”
