Dead For Good Book 1

by Stacy Claflin

  “No. And she isn’t bothering me.”

  “What, then?”

  “I want to open my own salon here in the house.”

  “Not this again.” Brad’s jaw clenched. “We’ve been over this. It won’t work.”

  “Why not? The house is big enough, and with all the kids in school all day, it’ll work perfectly. I won’t have to waste time on my commute and—”

  “We don’t need people traipsing through the house at all hours of the day.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “They won’t be. I can use that storage room by the entry. It’ll be easy to convert. People won’t have to go any farther than that. I can even attach the bathroom.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

  Faye leaned back and folded her arms. “So, it’s all about what you want. Again.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m gone so much — what if something happens? I won’t be here to do anything.”

  “I’m not a damsel who needs rescuing. And I have more than enough clients who would follow me. I wouldn’t have to lose part of my income to the salon. Do you realize how much of my money goes to Cheryl?”

  Brad started to reply, but the doorbell rang. “Crackerjack timing.”

  “We’re not done here.”

  “I’m sure we’re not.”

  “I’ve got it!” Luna whizzed through the kitchen.

  Brad rose. “I’d better see who that is.”

  “And I’ll do the dishes.”

  “I told you I’ll get them.”

  “Wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  He drew a deep breath and marched toward the door.

  Luna flung it open, and two uniformed officers darkened the doorway.

  Brad’s stomach knotted. They must have discovered what he did for his line of work. “Can I help you?” he asked, standing beside his daughter.

  The woman looked at him with a pinched expression. “I’m Detective Stewart, and this is Officer McKinnon. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  This was it.

  Brad straightened his back. “Right here is fine.” He turned to Luna. “You can go to your room, honey.”

  “But Daddy. I—”

  “I said go.”

  She frowned before trudging up the stairs.

  “Police! Cool.” Zeke thundered down.

  Faye appeared at Brad’s side. “What’s the matter?”

  The woman looked around him. “We have a few questions.”

  “Come in.” Faye waved them to the sitting room.

  Brad glared at her, not that she noticed. As long as the cops didn’t go any farther, he could keep everything under control.

  Everyone settled on the couches. Zeke fidgeted, twisting his wild hair.

  The detective made eye contact with each of them before speaking. “Where were you last night between six and eight?”

  Brad didn’t blink. He’d been killing his target. They couldn’t know about that.

  “I was playing video games.” Zeke grinned. “Why?”

  Officer McKinnon scribbled on a tablet.

  Brad opened his mouth to tell them about his supposed knife convention, but Faye spoke first.

  “Our oldest daughter was performing in her play, and our two youngest were here. Brad and I were together all night. Date night.”

  The lie knocked the air from his lungs.

  The two officers turned to Brad. “Is that what happened?”

  Faye turned to Brad, her eyes pleading with him to agree with her story.

  “Sir?” said Detective Stewart.

  Brad turned to her. “Yes, we were together last night.”

  “Where? Doing what?”

  He turned to Faye. “Maybe you should tell them.”

  “We went to a movie and had dinner,” she said.

  Two things they would never be able to prove. He should’ve come up with something faster.

  “What’s going on?” Brad asked. “Why do you need to know where we were?”

  The detective studied him. “There was a murder last night.”

  “Murder?” Faye exclaimed. “Where?”

  “Next door. I’m sorry to inform you that Duke Hill died last night.”

  Brad heard a gasp, then turned to see Hadley in the doorway, her mouth gaping. She ran up the stairs.

  “He’s dead?” Zeke stared into space.

  “Duke?” A mixture of shock and relief washed through Brad. They knew nothing of his assassinations, but his neighbor had been murdered.

  The two officers traded a look, and the man made more notes. The woman leaned forward, her attention on Brad. “Tell us about your relationship with the deceased.”

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing unusual.”

  “No?” the detective asked. “Some people say you two had a feud.”

  “Feud?” Brad laughed.

  Faye glared at him.

  “We had friendly competitions. Nothing more.”

  “Tell me about those.”

  Brad shrugged. “It’s our thing. Everyone knows we vie to have the best-decorated house at Christmastime or the best fireworks on the Fourth.”

  “Fireworks are illegal, Dad!” Zeke shook his head.

  The detective turned to Zeke. “We’re not here to issue citations for fireworks.”

  “That does explain the decorations outside,” said Officer McKinnon.

  Brad nodded. “Exactly. Duke is — was — rooting for the Steelers to win the Super Bowl tomorrow.”

  “And you’re rooting for the Panthers.”

  “Just a friendly competition.” Brad put his arm around Faye and gave the officers a reassuring smile. “In fact, Duke invited us to his place for his Super Bowl party tomorrow. If we hated each other, do you think he’d do that?”

  The officers exchanged another glance. They knew something. Probably that Faye was lying, and he was covering for her.

  “Did you see anything unusual last night?”

  “We were out. Remember?” Brad nodded.

  “Right. We’ll need the names of the restaurant and theater.”

  Brad turned to his wife.

  “Yeah, sure. Let me get my purse.” Faye stood and hurried out of the room.

  The man turned to Brad. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Sell knives.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” He studied them, trying to determine their angle.

  “What company?”

  They were asking too many questions. He glanced around the corner for Faye but didn’t see her. “BlueBlade.”

  Another traded glance, this one with widening eyes. The detective turned to him. “Tell us more about that.”

  Brad leaned back. “Not much to tell. I’m a salesman.”

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “Since 2008. After the economy crashed, so did my thriving real estate business.”

  “You’ve been with them since then?”

  “Yes.” Brad tried to keep the edge out of his voice.

  “So, you’d say you know BlueBlade knives well?”

  “I’m one of their top employees. Why? Was he killed with one?”

  Now it looked like the officers were trying not to look at one another.

  He had been. The dead neighbor who Brad openly didn’t like had been slaughtered with one of his company’s knives.

  And Brad was lying about his whereabouts when the murder occurred.

  Couldn’t come clean, and not just because he’d been killing Juan Sanchez at the same time — he had to cover for his wife’s deception as well.

  He needed to find out why she was lying.

  Chapter Four

  Faye pressed her palm against the wall as Brad let the police out, trying to ignore her pounding heart. She should’ve just said that she’d been home with a migraine. Like she had told Brad.

  Now he knew she’d been lyin
g. At least he’d gone with it. And his elaborate descriptions of the knives he worked with had distracted the officers enough to at least temporarily forget about the details of their nonexistent movie and dinner.

  But they’d be back. They would want details. At least, that would give her time to think of something believable. She never should’ve said they were out places where people could say they had or hadn’t seen them. She was a terrible liar.

  Brad closed the door and turned to her, his expression tight.

  Her stomach lurched, and her body went cold.

  “What was that about?” His gaze bored into hers.

  She swallowed, her thoughts racing. “I can’t believe there was a murder next door! Just a few feet away from our house. Next to where the kids and I—”

  “Don’t say that too loudly,” he said, stepping closer.

  “What?”

  “That you were here.”

  “I … I don’t know why I told them we were out together.”

  “You don’t know why?” He leaned in, barely leaving any space between them. “What was wrong with telling them you had a headache?”

  She tried to back up but bumped into the wall. “It’s hardly an alibi. Here with a kid who was glued to his computer the whole time and a seven-year-old.”

  “I sure wasn’t here. You brought me into this lie. Now, what are we going to do?”

  Tears threatened. “It was the only thing I could think of!”

  “Those cops will be back. They’re going to want more information on our ‘date’ last night. Where did we go?”

  “I’ll come up with something. At least we know it wasn’t a sushi restaurant.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve been trying to get you to try sushi for years.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll never eat it. But we don’t need to figure out where we didn’t eat. Like La Isla’s.”

  “No. That’s too far. And they only sell desserts.”

  “If you remember, I did go there last night. Remember the cheesecake?”

  “I know. But you were there alone. That doesn’t work. And besides, I said I’ll figure it out. But first, I need another ice pack.”

  “You’re going to lie down now?”

  “I need to think.” She raced to the kitchen and refilled her ice pack.

  “What are you hiding?”

  She licked her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. No way she could tell her husband that she might’ve been the last person to see Duke before his death.

  “Faye?”

  She spun around. “I really do have a headache. It was better, but now it’s a hundred times worse. Give me a few minutes.”

  “We need to talk about this now.”

  “I said, give me some time!” Pressure squeezed her temples as she raced up the stairs, nearly knocking over Luna. “Sorry, sweetie.”

  She closed the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed, gasping for air. Trying to make sense of the last hour. Waging a war with her tears.

  Duke was dead, killed in cold blood, just one house away from her family. How could that be? Dead. Barely an hour after she’d cut his hair in their kitchen.

  Brad would be furious on so many levels. For one, he hadn’t liked the guy — got upset whenever she or the kids spoke with him. Hated the fact that the twenty-something was always trying to show him up. But Duke always came into the salon asking specifically for her. What was she supposed to do? Say no? Because her husband didn’t like it? Everyone would think she was a submissive mouse.

  She’d been cutting his hair and chatting with him for at least a year now. But last night had been his first time in her home. He’d come over, begging for a quick trim. Needed it right away and offered twice the usual fee. And she didn’t even have to give any to the salon. It was all hers.

  She’d loved every moment of it, as much as Brad would seethe if he knew. Faye had imagined her home salon the entire time she worked on his hair. The only reason she couldn’t was because her husband was so obsessed with his privacy. As if she’d let her clients go through the house.

  Brad didn’t trust her.

  The door burst open, and Brad’s footsteps thundered toward the bed. “We need to discuss this now. The neighbors are gathered next door, and the police are talking to as many as they can.”

  She readjusted the ice pack over her eyes.

  “This isn’t going away! They’ll be back. Maybe in minutes. The way that detective was eyeing us — there’s no way she’s buying our story. We need to figure out the details now.”

  She sat up and glared at him. “We didn’t kill him. What are you so worried about?”

  Brad paced. “We just lied to the cops about a murder.”

  “No. About our alibis. Big difference. We didn’t commit a murder.”

  He jolted to a stop. “If they find out we lied, they’ll assume that we did.”

  She relaxed a little. At least he wasn’t asking about why she lied … yet. “Dinner and a movie.”

  “Where? What time? Who saw us? Did you think about that?”

  Her mind went blank. “We, uh, ordered in.”

  “You said we weren’t here.”

  “We ate at a hotel.”

  “Got a receipt?” He cocked a brow.

  “No, because we paid cash.”

  “What hotel? Can we convince a receptionist to vouch for seeing us?”

  Tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Brad wrapped an arm around her. “We’ll figure something out. What about your parents’ cabin? It’s close enough to use for an evening to get away from the kids.”

  She wiped her eyes. “That might work — if we don’t word it like that. If nobody else was there at the time.”

  “Any way to find out?”

  “I can call Mom.”

  “Do that. I’m going to look outside again and see what’s going on next door.”

  Faye laced her fingers through his and looked into his eyes. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”

  “We’re in this together. Always and forever.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  She hated lying to him.

  Chapter Five

  The crowd outside had grown. Brad grabbed a coat and slid it on before heading outside to find out what people were saying. Did anyone think he would actually kill the neighbor? Sure, he’d never been a fan of the guy — not by a long shot — but that didn’t mean he wanted him dead. Duke had been young and arrogant but likely would’ve outgrown that with time. Especially if he ever got married.

  Brad zipped his jacket all the way up as the chilly air hit him. His breath formed a puff of smoke. Just as he was closing the door, someone tugged it open.

  Hadley stood there in too much makeup — for the production he’d promised to attend that day — and red eyes. She’d been crying. Over the fool next door? It shouldn’t surprise him. She and Faye often sobbed over puppy commercials and romcoms.

  “You okay, kiddo?”

  She nodded. “Gotta go. I’m running late.”

  “Need anything?”

  “Nope.” She darted past him and into her car, parked down the street. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to get around the curious neighbors.

  He closed the door and made his way to the sidewalk. The property was blocked off with yellow caution tape, with uniforms swarming in and out of the house alongside plainclothes detectives. A Steelers flag hung proudly by the door — larger than the Panthers flag Brad had put up on his own porch.

  A hand rested on his arm. “Can you believe he’s dead?”

  Brad turned toward Lisa from down the street. “It’s horrifying.”

  “I just can’t imagine someone murdering Duke. There’s never been a nicer guy. He fixed my toilet when Cory was out of town.” She wiped her eyes and turned back to Duke’s house.

  He perked his ears to a whispered conversation right next to him.

  “Who would do this?�
��

  “And to Duke, of all people?”

  He clenched his jaw. Had nobody else seen their neighbor for who he really was? Or was the man being immortalized in the aftermath of his murder? People tended to only focus on the good in the deceased as if death automatically diluted the truth. Even his own family was upset, and they hardly knew the guy.

  Sure, it was rattling to have a murder so close to home, but it wasn’t that shocking for Duke to be the target. The guy had practically been asking for it, the way he always had to be number one: best neighbor, best handyman, best cook, best everything. He had probably exhibited the same basic behavior in every other part of his life.

  Brad knew better than to verbalize any of that. Most people didn’t even consider any of this, mourning only the idealized version of the departed. It was human nature. Brad had once been there. Until his own father’s murder. Then he’d learned to see people realistically. Nobody was ever perfect. Everyone had a good side and a bad side. And you could only see what a person was willing to show you.

  He wandered around, offering condolences to his troubled neighbors but mostly listening to conversations. His name hadn’t come up. Good. That meant nobody took his ongoing feud with Duke seriously — or at least nobody was voicing it.

  But the police had known. Someone had told them.

  A hush ran through the crowd as two CSI investigators exited the house with sealed bags. A flurry of whispers surrounded him. He tried to see what they were carrying, but the bags weren’t transparent.

  Could the murder weapon be in one? He narrowed his eyes, looking for the outline of a knife.

  Someone tapped his shoulder. “Looks like the Hatfield has lost his McCoy.”

  “Excuse me?” Brad whipped around.

  “You know what I mean.” Lucas from the other side of the street patted a chihuahua with a pink bow on her collar that was nearly as big as her head. The dog shook in his arms.

  “Afraid I don’t. You should take your dog inside. She looks cold.”

  “Mitzy’s fine.” He rubbed the pup’s head, then spoke in a high voice. “Bit of a nervous Nelly, aren’t you?”

  Brad stepped away, but not before Lucas turned back to him.

  “You and Duke were always going at it. Look at your houses now. It’s like the NHL exploded right here.”