Chase burst through the door, a phone to his ear. He paused when he saw me and raised a finger, indicating I should wait.
“I see,” Chase muttered into the phone. “I’ll head out there now. Thanks for the update.”
He hung up and looked at me. His eyes were bright with curiosity. “Holly. What brings you here?”
I wiped my sweaty hands on my lavender dress. “I was going to talk to someone about—”
“Dexter, you hear about that van?” Another officer burst through the door, not slowing down.
“Justin just gave me the update. A convicted drug dealer sounds like a good lead to me.”
Chase inched toward the exit, casting an apologetic glance my way. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. Is there anything I can do for you, Holly?”
My thoughts raced at such a dizzying pace that I nearly lost my balance. “Convicted drug dealer?”
He shrugged. “The van’s owner. We think we have enough to bring him in for questioning.”
My heart stuttered and time seemed to freeze.
They weren’t going to arrest Jamie? Me?
Chase pointed toward the door. “I really do need to get going.”
“I just wanted to . . .” To what? “You know what? I think I was overthinking something. I’m good.”
Chase nodded and pointed toward the door. “All right, then. I’ve got to run.”
***
An annoying chirp pulled me from a restless sleep the next morning. I popped one eye open and scowled at my cell phone. Who was calling at . . . I checked my alarm clock . . . 5:30 a.m.? Could there have been an emergency at work?
I checked the ID and saw that it was Jamie. My friend never called me this early. I put the phone to my ear, making sure that my voice sounded especially pathetic so my friend could know she woke me.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Turn on the news.”
I sat up a little straighter when I heard the serious tone of her voice. “What?”
“No time for questions, just turn on the news.”
I shrugged my sleep off, grabbed the remote from beside my bed, and flipped on the TV that sat on my dresser. The early morning news blared across the screen, and I came in halfway through the story.
“. . . the Good Deeds Killer has struck again. Another man was found dead inside a home in Price Hill, three gunshot wounds to the chest. At both this scene and an earlier one, a mop and bucket were found and part of the house had been cleaned. The victim’s name hasn’t been released yet, pending notification of next of kin. The police are looking for any information on this crime. If you know anything, call . . .”
“Oh. My. Goodness,” I whispered. So many thoughts raced through my mind that I could hardly make sense of any of them.
I listened as the news anchor offered some information on the first victim. His name was Dewayne Harding, he was twenty years old, and he’d grown up in the area. Friends said he was bright and always up for a good time, and that he wouldn’t hurt a flea.
I blanched when I saw his face. Sure enough, he was the same man I’d seen on Katrina’s bathroom floor.
“What’s going on, girl? This is crazy.”
“Crazy is an understatement . . . she said feeling dumbfounded.” I stared at the TV, something close to shock numbing my body and mind.
I was still sleeping, and this was a nightmare. That had to be it. No way was this actually happening.
I’d just settled on that thought when Jamie said, “Someone is copying what happened at the last murder. They know about the fact that you came and cleaned, and they want to keep that as a pattern.”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Why would someone do that?”
“To frame you?”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Why would someone want to frame you? Girlfriend, do I really need to answer that? To get the attention off of themselves, of course.”
The familiar feeling of nausea gurgled in my stomach. What had I done? The even bigger question—how was I going to fix it?
I had no idea. But just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they had. Big-time.
The killer knew about me. And as soon as the evidence was processed at the lab, there was a good chance my fingerprints or DNA would be found.
“Are you still there?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” I wished I weren’t, though. I really wished I weren’t.
CHAPTER 8
By the time I showered and got downstairs, my brother and sister were there. They came over once a month to have breakfast with Mom. I usually fixed my “famous” coffee cake, and my mom made freshly ground coffee. We’d all catch up for a few minutes before heading in different directions. It was a nice little ritual that ensured we all kept up with each other.
My sister and brother were older by quite a bit: Alex by ten years and my brother by eight. Alex was an assistant district attorney for the city and was getting married in a couple of months. My brother Ralph had been married, but his wife had died in a car accident only six months after they said, “I do.”
That had happened twelve years ago when Ralphie was twenty-four, and I was only sixteen. It all seemed surreal. Ralph said he was never going to get married again and instead threw everything into his career. He’d been a high school principal before running for the school board. That had lasted five years, just enough time to give him a real hunger for politics.
“Did you hear?” my sister asked, downing a sip of coffee.
My sister was what most people called “The Total Package.” She was blonde, thin, smart, savvy, confident, and successful. Pretty much, she was perfect. She’d been homecoming queen, been listed on more “Who’s Who” lists than I could count, had graduated from Harvard, and owned a gorgeous house in the suburbs.
I lowered myself into a chair. I’d normally help my mom serve the food, but today my brain spun at a dizzying pace. I just needed to sit for a moment.
“Hear what?” Ralph grabbed a banana from the center of the table.
My brother was tall and thin and wore plastic-framed glasses. He had a love for sweater-vests and was kind of nerdy cute, I supposed. I mean, he wasn’t cute to me, of course.
“About that Good Deeds Killer they’re talking about on the news?” Alex continued. “There are sick people in this world. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You see the worst of them,” my mom added, thrusting some coffee into my hands.
I hoped my gaze said the appropriate amount of “thank you.”
“You’re right.” Alex slid a bite of cake into her mouth, leaving not as much as a crumb on her perfectly plum lipstick. “I do see the worst offenders. So the fact that I even think this killer is messed up should tell you a lot.”
“This guy has a calling card—cleaning supplies. I really don’t get that. Is he cleaning up the crime scenes before the police get there?” Ralph asked.
Alex shook her head. “From what I heard, no. The crime was executed in a different part of the house. It’s like the killer wants to be nice to make up for their evil. Sorry about killing your loved one. Let me clean part of your house so you can more easily accept visitors who come to offer their condolences in the aftermath of what I’ve done.”
“This might be the time to think about getting an alarm system.” My mom sat at the table.
Ralph prayed for the food, and then we all dug in. The time frame we had was limited, so everyone ate fast and talked even faster.
“The house where the first crime took place was actually the home of someone on my caseload,” I offered. It would seem weird if they found out later and I hadn’t shared.
Everyone in my family seemed both impressed and horrified.
I still felt like I was living in an alternate reality. I’d dug a hole for myself and fallen in, and now I had no idea how to get out without pulling other people in with me.
“Let’s talk about something happy,”
Alex suggested.
“I have good news,” Ralph announced. “I’m up by six percentage points. If no skeletons from my past come out, I think I’m going to be able to take this election.”
My hole got deeper.
My mom laughed. “Skeletons? In your closet? I don’t see that happening. You have a squeaky-clean past.”
“It’s amazing the things the media can dig up.” Ralph frowned.
More of the imaginary dirt in my hole was thrown to the surface. I felt claustrophobic even thinking about it.
The media liked to talk about Melinda—Ralph’s wife. The whole story of her death had been a gut-wrenching human-interest story that made people instantly like my brother Ralph.
“I thought I’d also add that Rex Harrison is a scumbag,” Ralph said. “He’s going to dig up whatever dirt he can. I have no doubt about that. He’ll make up dirt if he has to.”
“Dirty is as dirty does,” Alex agreed. “I don’t care if everyone else in the city thinks it’s great that he used to be a cop, a public servant. Some people are cops to serve people; others because they want power. I know what category I’d put Rex into.”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Ralph said. “I heard his campaign is in serious financial trouble. At least, that’s what Brian said a couple of weeks ago.”
“All right, enough about this. Holly, name one new thing with you,” my mom encouraged.
I shook my head, running a napkin over my lips. “Nothing new here. Same old, same old.”
“Did you all hear that Chase Dexter is back in town?” My mom’s eyes sparkled as she glanced at Alex and Ralph.
“Good old Chase,” Ralph said. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I did hear that he was working for the police department, on the fast track to becoming a detective,” Alex said. “He looks like one of those made-for-TV detectives, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t let William hear you say that,” my mom laughed.
William was Alex’s fiancé. He was a general surgeon at a nearby hospital. My sister, also known as “Alex the Great,” lived what I called a charmed life.
“He’s always reminded me of that guy who plays Thor,” Ralph added.
Why did everyone always say that? Chase wasn’t that handsome. I mentally snorted.
That’s when I realized everyone was staring at me.
Maybe that snort hadn’t been mental.
“You don’t think he’s handsome?” Alex grinned, a sparkle in her eyes.
I shrugged. “I think he’s arrogant.”
“Don’t tell Brian that Holly has a crush on Chase Dexter. He’ll be mopey for weeks,” Ralph said.
“First of all, I don’t have a crush on Chase. Second of all, Brian and I are just friends. There’s nothing to be mopey over. Third of all—”
“Keep telling yourself that. All of it. All of your dozens of reasons. We all know the truth.” Ralph stood, chugging another sip of coffee. “Okay, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a meeting with Brian.” He threw me a smile.
“We’re just friends,” I repeated in a singsong tone that I often used to hide my annoyance.
“Keep telling yourself that. You’re going with him to the fund-raising gala, right?” Ralph slipped his coat on.
I nodded. I’d forgotten about that. Brian had asked me a few weeks ago. We both needed a date, so I’d said yes. Going together just made sense, since Brian had to be there anyway. He was Ralph’s campaign manager.
My family liked to give me a hard time for a multitude of reasons. But one thing they really liked to tease me about was the fact that I’d had this crazy idea in high school to save my first kiss for the man I married. And that didn’t mean the man I was engaged to, even. It meant that on my wedding, after I said, “I do,” I’d kiss the man I’d spend the rest of my life with. So, it was true that I’d never been kissed.
I’d been engaged once, but my fiancé had broken it off. So, one of the things on my bucket list was to fall in love. To experience my first kiss.
I was up in the air about it all, truth be told. I’d realized when I’d almost gotten married that having not kissed my fiancé led my thoughts to dwelling more on my kiss than I did on my future marriage. While I could still see good aspects of dating that way, I couldn’t say it was definitely for me. It did seem like a shame to die without ever experiencing my first kiss.
“That’s great that you’re going together.” Ralph smoothed the front of his argyle sweater. “Someone from the newspaper asked if we could get a family photo for a feature they’re running. You guys all good with that?”
We all nodded.
Alex stood, downing one last bite of coffee cake. “I’ve got to go prep for a court date. I’ll see everyone at the gala.”
“I’ve got a board meeting so we can raise money for that new children’s hospital,” my mom added.
I felt like I needed to contribute something. “I’ve got mounds of paperwork that I need to do, even though I really need to do home visits.”
Everyone—except me—rushed out the door. I sat there a moment, dumbfounded.
If I admitted the fact that I was at the first crime scene, I might single-handedly ruin Ralph’s campaign. Maybe I’d come forward after the election. If the police didn’t catch onto me by then, I’d go to them myself. That was all there was to it.
I collected the plates, put them in the sink, and then got to work.
It was time to face my boss, Doris Blankenship, a.k.a. the Devil.
As if my life couldn’t get worse.
***
I’d finished up my paperwork—piles of bureaucracy, if you asked me—in the morning, and right now I sat on the couch of Edna Edmond’s house. I’d been doing home visits with her for the past six months. She had custody of her four grandchildren, and she’d have liked to have permanent guardianship.
“Are you okay, child? You seem distracted today.” The grandmotherly lady had puffy wrinkles under her eyes and painfully unnatural red hair. She was thin, spoke in a gravelly voice, and always had cookies around.
I jerked my head toward her. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Edna. I guess I just had a long day yesterday.”
“You make sure you get enough rest now, you hear me? Enough sleep is my secret to a long life. That’s what I always say.”
I smiled. If she only knew my situation. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You stay safe out there, too. This world is getting crazy.” She shook her head back and forth in long, heavy swings.
I stiffened. “I guess you heard about the murder a couple of streets over.”
“Murders aren’t unusual in this area. I know that—I’ve been around the block a couple of times. But this guy just sounds creepy. He cleaned that woman’s house before shooting her cousin.” Her voice rose along with her thin eyebrows.
I swallowed hard. “I know. That’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“You were her social worker, weren’t you?”
I licked my lips. “I can’t discuss that.”
“I know you are.” She waved a hand in the air and grunted. “I’ve talked to Katrina before. One of her boys is in school with one of my granddaughters. We both think you’re the bee’s knees. We have the best social worker in the area. Some of the people who work for your agency—you can tell they don’t really care. You’re the real deal, though.”
Great, another person I’d disappoint if I were found out. I croaked out a “Thank you.”
“I’ve also heard that Frank Jenkins has been talking trash about you all over town.”
I shifted in surprise. There was a name I hadn’t heard in a while.
Frank Jenkins was a man I’d always suspected of hitting his children. He had a nasty temper and a drinking problem, and was oblivious to it all. His kids had been taken away from him and placed in a foster home where they were now thriving. He desperately wanted them back.
He’d turned all of his rage toward me. He’d made threats, called me names,
told me I’d get my payback.
As scary as it sounded, the whole scenario had slipped my mind.
Could he be the one behind the bullets that had flown my way while I stood on the porch with Chase?
I called in sick from work for the rest of the day. Partially because I was making myself mentally sick with anxiety. The other part was the disease ravaging my body.
Really, the best medicine I could get right now was talking to Jamie. I just hoped she was available.
***
“You’re going to have a mental breakdown if you don’t do something,” Jamie said.
I stared at my friend as she sat on the couch across from me at my mom’s place. “If I go down, my family’s going down with me. Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and telling the police that I was there won’t help anyone. I have no idea who the killer is. I saw nothing. I know nothing.”
“But the bucket and mop . . .”
“Originally, I worried that by me leaving it there, I’d be wasting the police’s time. That they’d be investigating something that wasn’t integral. But now that the killer left his own mop and bucket, that’s not really the case.”
Jamie sat cross-legged on the couch wearing utility-style khakis and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. “The guilt is eating you alive, Holly. I can see it on your face.”
I shook my head, knowing I was spiraling down into a pit I might not get out of. For a moment, this had all made me forget about my terminal illness, and that was a feat within itself.
I sighed and flipped on the TV. The news should be on, and I wanted to hear if there were any updates on the investigation.
As I expected, this story was front and center. A possible serial killer in the city grabbed headlines.
“The victim has been identified as twenty-one-year-old Anthony Stevens, who lived in the 2800th block of Hawthorn Avenue.”
I froze. Again. I didn’t know why I didn’t think anything could shock me, but life continued to do just that.
“That’s one of my clients’ houses,” I mumbled. “I was a caseworker for that family.”
Jamie put her hand on my knee. “Girlfriend, are you serious?”
Random Acts of Murder: A Holly Anna Paladin Mystery, Book 1 (Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries) Page 5
