Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3)

by Rebecca Deel

  Meg drew in a deep breath, teeth clenched against her body’s protest. “We walked toward the parking lot, but someone started chasing us.” She looked away. “I told Sherri to run. He shot at us.”

  “He?”

  “The footsteps were too heavy for a woman. Sherri screamed and stumbled. I dropped back and told her to run.”

  Rod stared at Megan’s pale face, her hand trembling under his. He fought an urge to gather her close. The sassy editor would probably slug him for thinking she was weak or offering sympathy. “You dropped back? Why?”

  “Sherri wasn’t a fast runner.”

  His blood ran cold. “What did you plan to do, Cahill? Face down an armed, unknown assailant in the woods with no weapon?”

  “Don’t go all macho cop on me, Kelter.” She jerked her hand away from his. “The shooter was after her, not me.”

  “You sure about that? You’re not exactly everybody’s favorite person.” She irritated hundreds of people some weeks with her editorials, him included.

  Her eyes narrowed. “No death threats this week. Look, I hoped to outrun him, but hamper his aim. His first shot peeled tree bark.”

  Jaw clenched, he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Yet. Santana had found the marked tree and the bullet lodged in a nearby oak. He motioned for her to continue.

  “When I reached the trail entrance, Sherri jammed her key in the door lock.” She covered her face with scratched hands. “I thought she would escape, but the footsteps kept coming closer. He shoved me into the stone wall.” She fell silent, dropping her hands to her lap.

  Rod sat on the edge of her bed. “Take your time.”

  “The fall stunned me so much I couldn’t move. Sherri screamed and I heard a shot. Then nothing.”

  He stiffened. “Nothing? Do you mean the shooter ran from the lot, followed by silence?”

  “No. I can’t remember anything else.”

  “Planning to expose the murderer yourself?” His face burned. “Don’t hold out on me, Cahill.”

  “One of my best friends is dead and you’re accusing me of impeding your investigation?” Meg’s voice rose. “Why would I do that?”

  “Circulation.”

  “That’s cold, Kelter. We report news. Period.”

  “Right. Talk me through it again.” Rod yanked a notebook from his pocket. “Start at the bench. You heard a noise. What was it?”

  Meg closed her eyes, for a moment visualized decking a certain aggravating detective, then replayed the morning’s events in her mind. “A cracking sound, like a twig or branch breaking.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Headed for the cars. Then we heard footsteps.”

  “Running or walking?”

  “Running.” She shuddered. “Long, ground-eating strides.” Strides she knew would haunt her dreams for years to come.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Too dark.” Her heartbeat soared as she remembered dense, oppressive darkness, the isolation from people and safety.

  By the time she finished reliving the incident with Rod, her headache scaled new heights while her energy level sagged.

  Rod stood, tucking his notepad into his pocket. “Look, Meg, I know you believe in freedom of the press. Because you’re involved in this case, you’re privy to information I wouldn’t release to reporters.”

  Meg crossed her arms. “Every major news team in the country will be here when they find out the Senator’s daughter-in-law was murdered.”

  He scowled. “Don’t you want us to collar Sherri’s killer?”

  “Of course I do.”

  His face flushed a deep crimson. “So you won’t help me?”

  “I didn’t say that. I promise what goes into print will be discreet. If you ask me to leave something out, I’ll do my best to see that it doesn’t make the Gazette. But I will keep Otter Creek’s citizens informed. They deserve the truth.”

  “I’m not sure Ethan will agree to that arrangement.”

  “He doesn’t have a choice and neither do you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A knock at the door brought Meg awake again. She turned her head carefully and waved into the room the blond mirror-image peeking around the door frame. “Hey, Maddie.”

  Madison engulfed her in an embrace. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” At her sister’s doubtful glance, she added, “Really. A few bruises.” She smiled and pushed her hair away from the bandage. “Look. I’m trying to make it harder for people to tell us apart. Now I’ll have a scar, too.”

  Her sister frowned. “Not funny, Meg.”

  “I know, but if I don’t joke about something connected to this nightmare, I’ll end up in tears. Again.”

  “What did you do to Rod?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Ha. Try again.”

  “I refused to fall in line with his idea of reporting.”

  Madison chuckled. “He was pretty steamed walking down the hallway a minute ago. Serena cornered him.”

  “Wish I could have seen that.” With a camera in her hand. Meg envisioned the lifestyle section headline, “Detective Cowed by Chief’s Wife.”

  Serena slipped into the room behind Madison and closed the door. “It was interesting. I’d say Ethan will get an earful before noon.” She sat on one side of the bed and tilted her head, speculation in her eyes. “Planning to spill your guts on the front page of the Gazette?”

  “It would be the scoop of the year in Otter Creek. Who better to report on the crime than a witness.” Meg sighed. “I can’t, though. I don’t remember everything.” She wanted to tell Sherri’s story. Maybe a series of in-depth articles? But Meg couldn’t do that until she knew what was bothering Sherri. Her hands fisted. “And Sherri didn’t have the chance to tell me anything before some lowlife pond scum killed her.”

  Madison sat on the other side of the bed, and the three sisters joined hands, forming a circle. “We’re grateful you’re safe, Meg.”

  Megan squeezed their hands. “I don’t understand why someone killed Sherri. She wasn’t a celebrity attracting a stalker, didn’t run with a rough crowd. She didn’t take drugs.” A wry smile crossed her lips. “She hated taking any drugs, even over-the-counter pain relievers. So no illegal activity which might lead to retaliation.”

  “Was this just a random act of violence, a crime of opportunity?” Serena asked.

  Meg shook her head. “No chance. He shoved me aside to reach her. This guy wanted Sherri dead. I just don’t know why.” But she would find out, no matter the cost.

  “Tell Sherri’s story,” Madison said. “All of it, not only the murder. Don’t let that be the story people remember, Meg.”

  “People expect the Gazette to share information about the investigation. I won’t have enough space to do justice to her life story in a few column inches.”

  “So think bigger than the newspaper,” Serena said. “Finish her book.”

  Meg sat in silence a moment, turning over the idea in her mind. What purpose would it serve? Sherri had asked Meg to write the book and planned to use it as a fund-raiser for The Haven. What would happen to Sherri’s dream now? “You really think I should finish the book?”

  “I do. At least think about it.”

  Meg knew it was good advice. But if she followed this story to its conclusion, she was bound to cross paths and swords with Rod Kelter, and interfere with his investigation as he’d accused her earlier. “I’ll get in Rod’s way. You know that, right?”

  Serena laughed. “You’re already in his way. What are a few more roadblocks?”

  Meg glowered. “He wouldn’t dare arrest you for interfering in an investigation. You’re married to his boss. If I so much as look at him cross-eyed, he goes into battle mode.”

  Madison’s eyebrow rose. “Battle mode?” She looked at Serena and grinned. “He’s never shown that side to me. How about you?”

  Serena shook her head. “Nope. Must be reserved for only you, Meg.�
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  Meg sank deeper under the sheet. “Great. How did I rate such special treatment?”

  Speculation gleamed in Madison’s eyes. “I’d say you matter to him. You get under his skin.”

  “Yeah, like a rash.”

  “How can she be so callous? Sherri Drake was her friend.” Rod paced in front of Ethan’s desk, jerky hand motions punctuating emotions. Anger boiled inside him. “If she interferes in my investigation, I’ll toss her in jail. I don’t care if she is your sister–in-law.”

  “Why so much animosity?” Ethan sipped his coffee and set the mug on his desk. “Meg has a strong sense of responsibility to the public, but she has worked with us in the past to control information flow. I find it hard to believe she wouldn’t cooperate now when the stakes are so high. What exactly did she tell you?”

  Rod relayed the conversation, still pacing.

  “Sit down, Rod. Watching you prowl around my office makes me tired.” He sat back in his chair. “Look, you’re burning a lot of energy better utilized elsewhere. Meg has integrity. You can trust her to do what’s right. If she promised to be discreet, she’ll do it. The Gazette is not going to be our problem. Those media hounds from the major networks are the ones we need to watch.”

  Ethan tore a sheet from his yellow legal pad, set it aside, and grabbed a pen. “Talk to me about the Drakes. How well do you know this family?”

  Rod drew in a deep breath and replaced emotions stirred by the gorgeous, but aggravating Megan Cahill with memories from his past. “Growing up, Kyle Drake and I were best friends until high school. Ty, Sherri’s husband, is Kyle’s younger brother.”

  “Were friends? What happened?”

  “Warren Drake was elected to the Senate. Kyle and I moved in different circles until college, where we roomed together.” He grimaced. “I found out during those four years how much we had changed. I went to UT on scholarship. I spent every free moment studying. Had to maintain the grades. Kyle, on the other hand, spent every free moment rolling from one party or bed to the next.”

  “Did he graduate?”

  “Oh, yeah. He graduated.” Rod laughed, some of the bitterness he felt through those hard years surfacing. “Senator Drake would have made sure of it if necessary, but he didn’t need strong-arm tactics or a large donation. Kyle has a photographic memory. He majored in political science with a 4.0 grade point average.”

  “What’s the story with Sherri and Ty? Any marital problems?”

  “Don’t know of any, but I haven’t spent much time with Ty in recent years. He always seemed to fall under Kyle’s shadow. Where Kyle was outgoing and popular, Ty kept to himself. He was bookish, read everything that fell into his hands.”

  Ethan jotted notes on his pad. “That’s probably what made him a good teacher.”

  Rod nodded. Ty had taught computer science at Otter Creek Community College for ten years. “He and Sherri seemed happy, but marriages aren’t always how they appear on the surface.”

  Meg dashed into the Gazette office in the early afternoon. The headache still throbbed in her brain and her stomach burned, but deadlines were unyielding taskmasters. The paper went to press in twenty-four hours. She still had a feature article to write about the town’s proposed water system improvements and the front page story about Sherri’s murder. First stop, her desk drawer and the bottle of antacid tablets.

  “Boss, what are you doing here? You look terrible!”

  She scowled at the bald and chubby part-time photographer who also ran the press. His mechanical genius kept the equipment running. No easy task on their shoestring budget. “Thanks a lot, J.J.”

  “Think you might have a black eye by tomorrow? It would make a great front page picture to go along with the headline.”

  “Forget it. No battered editor pictures. Too many people might enjoy them.” She glanced around the empty office. “Where’s Zoe?” Her part-time reporter, part-time receptionist usually sat at the front desk which J.J. now occupied.

  “Chasing down the mayor for an interview.”

  Meg frowned. “I assigned that interview to Amanda.”

  J.J. shrugged. “She bailed. Said she was moving to Knoxville. She stopped by on her way out of town with the moving truck.”

  Great. Another vacancy. She’d been working short-staffed since the spring. Now she had only one part-time reporter and J.J.

  “What are we going to do, boss?”

  “A good question to which I have no answer. Reporters aren’t beating down our doors.” Meg trudged into her office and sank into her leather chair, the one luxury she allowed herself to purchase when she started the paper. The rest of the furniture and computers were donated or bought at a large discount. Her biggest expense had been the used press.

  She grabbed the large bottle in the desk’s bottom drawer and popped a couple of antacids in her mouth. She chewed, wrinkling her nose at the chalky cherry taste, and leaned back, closing her eyes. Who could she con into pitching in for a few weeks until she hired another reporter? Somebody able to handle pressure-cooker deadlines. Someone with writing skills whose articles didn’t need a total rewrite before they were fit for public consumption.

  She toyed with toughing it out for a few weeks, but she couldn’t write seventy-five percent of the news stories and expect the paper to remain objective.

  Meg rubbed her face with her hands, flinching as she brushed against the bandage covering stitches in her forehead. How could she write an objective front page article when her anger raged at the killer for running her and Sherri to ground like foxes chased by hounds? As much as she hated to admit it, Rod was right about her knowing too much. She needed someone from the outside to follow the investigation. So who could she hire?

  Her eyelids flew up and a grin crossed her face. Of course. The perfect solution. The perfect person. Wonder what Ethan and Rod would say?

  “You want me to do what?” Ruth Rollins’s eyes widened, her voice pitched high.

  “Work for me a few weeks, Ruth. I need somebody to pinch hit as a reporter and you’re perfect for the job.” Meg pushed the Starbuck’s coffee cup across Ruth’s dining room table. “Consider this your first cup of coffee as an official journalist.”

  “But, Meg, I write cozy murder mysteries. I don’t know the first thing about being a reporter.”

  “Sure you do. You meet deadlines. You write a beginning, middle and an end to stories. You structure sentences properly and you can spell.”

  “I know that’s not all there is to reporting.” Ruth lifted the cup to her lips and sipped.

  “You write murder mysteries for a living, Ruth, and the hottest story going is Sherri’s murder. This is your chance to dog Ethan and Rod about their work. Think of it as an extended research opportunity.”

  Ruth tilted her head. “Well, it would give me a legitimate excuse to watch my nephew work. But, dear, I’m 72 years old. I can’t go traipsing around the county at all hours of the night in search of a killer or another breaking news story. I guarantee Ethan would protest.”

  Protest? A mild word for how Ethan would react if he thought she’d coaxed Ruth into tracking a murderer. “I don’t need you to be an investigative reporter. Just attend the news conferences and see what you can learn from the guys at the station about Sherri’s case. You look like a kindly grandmother, someone in whom to confide.”

  The novelist’s white eyebrows shot upward. A spark of amusement zipped through Meg. Yeah, that description had been a bit much. Ruth was well known for being the police chief’s nosy aunt.

  Meg leaned forward, hands clasped on top of the table. “The truth is I can’t be objective about this story since I’m involved. I don’t want to blow Rod’s case by leaking too much information. I’ll track down whatever information you want, conduct the interviews, give you my notes.” She slid a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to Ruth. “This is a friend’s number. He’s in town and with the Knoxville Sentinel. Compare what you have to the regular med
ia so we’re sure not to leak important information before Ethan and Rod want it out there.”

  “What about other stories? Can I write other things as well?”

  Meg maintained a blank expression. She knew Ruth well enough by now to realize her novelist friend was hooked. “You can write about anything you want or I can assign you stories like I would a real reporter. Which would you prefer?”

  Ruth considered her options for a minute. “I want real assignments.” She narrowed her eyes. “What about you? You aren’t planning to sit on the sidelines. Will you work on Sherri’s murder?”

  “In a way. I don’t want Otter Creek to forget who Sherri was as a person. I have to write about her, Ruth. She was my friend and someone stole her future. I’m going to write a series of articles on Sherri, but not about the murder. I want people to know how special she was. Maybe her story will inspire others to overcome adversity like she did.”

  “So, when’s my first deadline?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon at 4:00. That will be enough time to get your copy in the system, edit it, proof it, and get it into the mid-week edition.” Barely.

  Ruth laughed. “No pressure. Any words of advice before I begin this new venture?”

  “Just answer the questions who, what, when, where, how and why.”

  “Well, then, let me find some paper and we’ll begin. I have a deadline to meet. You’re my first assignment and I hear my boss is a tyrant.”

  Rod drove by Megan’s house for the third time, checked the rearview mirror, completed a u-turn and pulled into the driveway behind a department SUV. He couldn’t tell whether the vehicle belonged to Meg’s brother Josh or Nick Santana. It wouldn’t be unusual for either of them to stop after work and check on her.

  Just like he was doing, though he couldn’t figure out why.

  Megan Cahill wasn’t a close friend. She made him angry more often than not and seemed to enjoy it too much. He scowled and shoved open his door. He was here to check on a witness, see if she remembered anything else that might help their investigation. Nothing else.