Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3)

by Rebecca Deel

  “Should I worry about you breaking and entering any time soon?”

  She stared at him a moment, then laughed. “You saw the books on picking locks, huh? I was thinking about doing an editorial on the most burglar-proof locks.”

  “And you wanted to test the manufacturer’s claims.”

  “Exactly.” She poured the now boiling water into the mugs and dumped a packet of cocoa mix into each cup. She stirred the chocolate mix and slid one mug in front of him.

  “Thanks. You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

  “I don’t plan on breaking and entering, but it might be a good skill to have.”

  Rod grunted. “I don’t think I want to hear any more. I’d hate to have to turn you in to one of the cops in your family.”

  The doorbell rang. Meg glanced at the clock. “Right on time.”

  “Check the peephole, Meg.”

  She glared his direction, but complied with the request. She unlocked the door and admitted Nick and Madison.

  Madison pulled up short when she noticed Rod sitting at the counter. “Did we interrupt something?” Her eyes glittered with curiosity.

  “Waiting for you.” Rod smiled at her. She was a mirror-image of Meg, but so different in personality. Madison seemed more delicate, gentle in nature. Meg, on the other hand, sported a take-no-prisoners attitude mixed with grit and stubbornness.

  He finished the cocoa while the girls talked and carried the mug to the sink. Rod caught Nick’s gaze and motioned him outside. To Meg, he said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me if you think of anything else.”

  On the porch, he turned to Nick. “Keep an eye on her tonight. She walked through the crime scene with me.”

  “How did she do?”

  “Gave me a couple more pieces of information, but it cost her. She may not sleep well.”

  Nick leaned against the door frame. “Want me to talk to her or just let it go and see how she copes?”

  “Let’s wait it out for now. If she starts showing signs of having problems, I’ll talk to her about seeing a counselor.”

  Nick grinned. “I’m glad you volunteered for that duty. Meg on a rampage is something to see.”

  Rod climbed into his SUV, and with a wave, headed home. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in his speed dial number for Ethan.

  “Blackhawk.”

  “It’s Rod. Anything new on the Drake case?”

  “Coroner’s office called about fifteen minutes ago. They recovered the bullet intact. It’s a .38 caliber.”

  “Maybe a Beretta?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Fits with what Meg told me tonight. She remembered hearing the shooter cock the pistol.”

  “So taking her back through the crime scene worked?” He sounded pleased.

  “It brought a couple of memories to the surface.”

  “What else did she remember?”

  “The smell of pine.”

  “Pine? As in trees?”

  “Yeah, but there aren’t any pine trees on that part of the trail. I suppose it’s possible the wind might have carried the scent to her, but the smell must have been strong for her to remember it. I didn’t smell that scent tonight and the breeze blew in the same direction as Sunday night.

  “Another thing. Meg only mentioned the smell after she remembered hearing the gun cocked. She said she wondered at the time if her sisters would put pine wreaths on her grave.”

  Ethan remained silent a moment. “She’s one tough lady.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Meg stumbled into the kitchen, tracking the scent of brewing coffee. She hoped Maddie made the full 12 cups. Two hours of sleep interspersed with nightmares left her with brain fog and sluggish movements. Meg yawned, jaws cracking.

  “How did you sleep?”

  She scowled in the direction of her brother-in-law’s deep voice.

  “That good, huh? It might help to talk about it, Meg.”

  Without replying, she grabbed a large mug from the cabinet and poured a cup of Serena’s Home Runs blend. After she’d sipped half the cup, Meg sat at the counter opposite Nick. “How do you stand this? How can you sleep at night?”

  “Some nights I don’t.” He grinned. “Those sleepless nights don’t aggravate me nearly as much now that my bed’s not empty, though.”

  Meg groaned. “Way too much information for this early in the morning, Nick.” Her brother-in-law topped off her mug. “These nightmares are normal, right?”

  “The dreams are your mind’s way of coping. In dreams, you try every logical avenue to change the outcome of what happened. Time will make the dreams less frequent, but they won’t ever fade entirely. Another tragedy may bring them back for a time.”

  “Great. Another nightmare to add to the memory banks. As if what happened to Mandy wasn’t horrible enough to keep me awake some nights.”

  “It will pass, sweetheart.”

  Not soon enough for her sanity. “Is Madison awake?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You will keep an eye on her?”

  Nick smiled, love for Madison shining from his attractive eyes. If you liked chocolate eyes, that is. She was partial to lighter-colored eyes. Like Rod’s. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the strength of his arms round her the night before. Meg yanked her attention back to the present.

  “Always. Stop worrying about her. You should be more concerned about your own safety. When are you leaving for the office?”

  Meg glanced at the clock and estimated the time it would take her to shower and dress for the day. “Thirty minutes.”

  “Okay.” He stood. “While you’re getting ready, I’ll check out the vehicles to make sure no one left us another nasty surprise.”

  “Worried about your Jeep?”

  Nick paused, his hand on the door knob. “Cars can be replaced, Meg. You can’t.”

  Rod scanned Ruth’s article on Sherri’s murder. He had to admit, for a woman who didn’t habitually write for the paper, she had done a great job. She had gathered facts the public would be interested in plus an interview with Ethan, all without compromising their investigation.

  He scanned the paper until his gaze fell on Meg’s editorial about Sherri’s dream for The Haven. True to her word, she stayed away from the case, focusing instead on the necessity for keeping Sherri’s vision alive.

  Meg had a knack for writing. Her impassioned plea had him mentally reaching for his wallet to donate to the cause. Every week during the course of his work, he saw evidence of the need for The Haven’s ministry in their community.

  He knocked on Ethan’s office door, paper in hand. Rod waggled the paper at his boss. “Did you see this?”

  “Not yet.”

  He laid the latest edition on the desk. “Ruth did a great job.” He grinned. “So did you.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Not an easy thing to dance around Ruth. She knows when I’m holding something back. What about Meg?”

  “She wrote about The Haven in her editorial, never mentioned the events at the fitness trail.”

  The police chief nodded. “What’s on your schedule today?”

  “Interviews, starting with Senator Drake.”

  The Watcher balled the Gazette and threw it across the room, rage boiling in his gut. Why wouldn’t she leave this alone? She was going to ruin everything. His destiny awaited. He had to stop Megan Cahill. Permanently.

  Rod waited in the Drake mansion library in front of another crackling fire. The door opened and Warren Drake, wearing a dark suit and tie, entered the room. He looked ready to walk onto the senate floor and deliver a speech.

  Drake’s gray hair glistened in the sunlight shining through the windows as he extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Rod, though it’s under horrendous circumstances.”

  “Thanks for seeing me this morning, Senator.”

  “Anything I can do to help find Sherri’s killer.” He waved Rod toward the chairs by the fire.

  “Did Sherri m
ention a problem recently?”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Anything that caused her enough concern to mention it to you.”

  “You know, I haven’t been home much this year. Spent most of my time in D.C. and abroad. I really didn’t talk to Sherri much except to check in once in a while and let her know when I would be in town.”

  “What about this trip?”

  Drake frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you inform Sherri you were coming home Sunday?”

  Face coloring, he shook his head. “Last minute change of plans.”

  “So when did you arrive?”

  “Around seven o’clock. I didn’t pay attention to the time.”

  That statement struck Rod as strange. As a kid, he remembered the Drakes were always punctual for events. When he spent time in their home, he’d noticed the clocks in every room. “Did you see Sherri or talk to her?”

  “No. I came in here to work as soon as we arrived.”

  “Anyone with you?”

  “Kyle and Don Brandenburg.”

  Brandenburg? Rod sat back in his chair. “Don works for you?”

  The Senator smiled. “In a way. He works for Kyle managing campaign funds.”

  A bean counter. Well, that fit with Don’s nerdy personality in high school. “How long has he worked for Kyle?”

  “Oh, a few years now. You’ll have to ask Kyle for the exact date.”

  “Did you make any phone calls Sunday night?”

  “Phone calls?” Drake’s smile dimmed. “I’m sure I did. Why do you want to know that?”

  “Who did you call, sir?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I need an answer to the question, Senator.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Rod. You used to be friends with my sons. I expected more respect from you than this.”

  Rod had wondered how much cooperation to expect from the Senator. Looked like he had his answer. “My friendship with your sons has nothing to do with this matter. I’m investigating a murder. That takes precedence over loyalty and ties to old friends.” He let the silence build a moment, then said, “I’d rather learn the information from you, but I can get it from the telephone company if necessary.”

  “I suppose that’s what you’ll have to do. That’s an invasion of privacy and I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “How did you get along with Sherri, Senator Drake?”

  The senator sat frozen for a moment. “You’re accusing me of killing her?”

  “No, sir.” Of that he was positive. Warren Drake was about 75 pounds overweight. In his physical condition, Drake couldn’t have run a half mile after Sherri and Meg. That didn’t, however, let him off the hook for hiring someone to kill Sherri and any potential witnesses. “I’m asking if you and Sherri had any disagreements.”

  “I’m hardly here enough to say more than two sentences to anybody. Sherri was a sweet, attractive woman whom my son loved dearly.”

  “Do you know of someone who might have wanted to harm her?”

  He shook his head. “Not unless you count the scumbag who raped her. But you still don’t know who that is, do you, Detective? Maybe he’s the one who killed her.”

  Rod’s face flushed. Although he worked for the Knoxville police department at the time of the rape, the unspoken accusation of ineptness still stung. He stood. “I need to search Sherri’s suite and other areas she frequented.” He handed over the search warrant.

  The senator rose. “I suppose that will be all right. Ty drove to the funeral home to make the arrangements for Sherri’s service. I’ll have the maid escort you upstairs.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Just give me directions. I’ll find it.”

  Moments later, Rod opened the door to Sherri and Ty’s suite. The living room was neat, with only a copy of the Gazette on the coffee table. Nothing else was out of place. He scanned the cherry bookshelves. One, obviously Ty’s, had books on computer programming and graphics, and stacked issues of computer magazines. The other bookcase held a hodgepodge of paperbacks and gardening books and magazines.

  In the kitchenette, Sherri’s collection of herbal teas and various blends of coffee filled the cabinets along with a few snack foods. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Rod searched the bedroom and noted Ty’s aftershave. Old Spice. Definitely not pine-scented. Their framed wedding picture sat in the middle of the dresser. He remembered the day they got married. They all had big dreams then. No one would have guessed Sherri’s life would end in a senseless tragedy.

  He opened the closet door and found fewer clothes than he expected for a walk-in closet the size of his main bathroom. Sherri chose basic colors, aside from the dresses he recognized from society page pictures and news clips, dresses worn in hosting the senator’s dinners and lunches.

  He paused as he reached a section of larger clothes. Sherri had never been large. Why would she have a section of clothes too big for her to wear? He removed one top, examined the label. Marti Maternity. His gut clenched and his mind flashed back to the shopping sprees he and Erin enjoyed when she was expecting Kayla.

  Rod returned the shirt to its place and continued the search. He turned to leave and noticed a shoe box at the back of a shelf in a dark corner. There were no other shoes boxes in the closet. Sherri had used shoe cubbies to organize her footwear.

  He pulled the box from the shelf, lifted the lid and peered inside. Journals, the kind found at Wal-Mart. Rod thumbed through the five books. The earliest date was January 1, 2000. At a glance, it looked like Sherri consistently wrote for five years. Did she stop journaling in 2005 or were the next years kept somewhere else? Maybe someone took the journals because something incriminating was in them.

  Rod carried the box with him into the living room and opened another door into the second bedroom, used as a study. Two desks occupied the room, one large, one small. The large desk looked like a work area for Ty.

  On the smaller desk sat a laptop and an assortment of gardening books and magazines. He touched a key on the keyboard and the computer shifted from sleep mode. Maybe Sherri switched to a computer journal. The crammed desktop calendar and multi-colored slips of paper posted various places indicated she spent a lot of time in here.

  He called up the word processing program and scanned the files. Rod tried to open the 2005 Journal file, but discovered it was password protected. He didn’t have time to fiddle with possible passwords. Maybe one of the computer geeks at the lab could open the files. He shut down the computer, unplugged it, and carried it to his car along with the shoe box.

  “How are you this morning?” Ruth’s concerned gaze missed nothing. “I didn’t think it possible, but you look more tired than yesterday. Did you stay late last night?”

  Meg glanced up from the article she was editing and wrinkled her nose at the older woman. “I think I look pretty good for two hours of sleep.”

  Ruth sat across from her. “Were you hurting?”

  “Some.” She shrugged. “Nightmares kept waking me.”

  “Understandable considering the trauma you’ve been through in the last few days. Have you written any of this down yet?”

  Meg dropped her red pen and sat back in her chair. “Why should I do that?”

  “You’re a writer. We think better with a pen in our hand or a keyboard under our fingertips. You might remember more details to provide Ethan and Rod, but the most important reason to write your experience down is the chance to deal with your emotions on paper. Exorcise your demon, so to speak.”

  “I didn’t think about doing that.” She should have considered it. She was a writer, after all, even though in non-fiction. The stream of consciousness writing some of her novelist friends talked about might clear the clutter that plagued her brain at night. “That’s a good idea, Ruth. I might take my laptop to bed with me and do a brain dump before turning out the light.”

  Ruth smiled. “So, what’s our assignment for today,
Boss?”

  “Cornerstone Church’s Christmas cantata promo and the water system project, along with updates on Sherri’s case and any other emergencies that pop up.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s just for this morning.” Meg grinned. “I have another list for this afternoon.”

  “I may go back to writing novels. It’s less work.”

  Meg chuckled. “Want to tackle Cornerstone’s write-up since you’re part of the choir?”

  “Sure. How many words?”

  “Aim for 200. Is there any legwork you want me to do?”

  “Ask Rod if he’s made any progress on the murder investigation. I would also like to include statements from Sherri’s mother and father in my follow-up article for the next issue.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Meg could easily get a statement from Sherri’s mother, but she didn’t know if her father was still in the area. She hadn’t seen or heard about Gerald King in years.

  She would start with Rod, since he was the closest target interview and his car remained parked in the police station lot. Meg grabbed her notepad and pen and stuffed them in her bag. “Zoe, I’ll be at the police station for a few minutes. Call my cell if you need me.”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  Meg stepped onto the sidewalk and breathed in the crisp December air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but soon. She loved the crunch of snow and ice under her feet and the challenge of keeping her ‘Vette under control on the weather-stricken roads.

  She scowled. Except this year she wouldn’t have the ‘Vette.

  In between deadlines, she needed to find a new car. Her mind whirled with the possibilities. She just wished her budget kept pace with her taste in vehicles.

  “Hey, Meg!” Rod waved at her from the sidewalk in front of the station. “Got a minute?” He jogged toward her.

  She checked for traffic, stepped off the curb and into the square to meet him at the grassy median. An engine revved, followed by squealing tires. As if in slow motion, Meg looked to her left. A black SUV bore down on her.