by Liz Schulte
“That he couldn’t help me, and I had to stop living among the dead.”
Gabriel took a sip of his coffee. “What do you need help with?”
“The case.” My cell buzzed on my nightstand. “Hello.”
“Ella, this is Carter.”
“Are you calling me from my house?”
“No. Detective Troy drove me back to my car early this morning. Since last night didn’t go as planned, it should be chalked up as a trial run. There’s a gala next Friday at 8:00 p.m.”
“What a coincidence. I need to be picked up from Smithton on Monday.”
I drummed my fingers against my arm, waiting for his reply. “Fine. What time?”
“I don’t know. Maybe 1:00 p.m.”
“Fine, someone will be there. And you’ll come to the gala.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Just be your normal charming self.” He laughed at his own joke. “Make me look good.”
“You’re lucky I skipped breakfast today, or I’d puke.” Gabriel frowned, and I rolled my eyes for effect. “I’ll do my best.”
He laughed again. “Be ready by 7:30 p.m. sharp.”
“Whatever.”
I hung up, thinking that I needed to hunt down a suitable dress to pack, but more pressing matters quickly overshadowed that thought.
“Fagan?” Gabriel asked.
“Yeah. Thanks for driving him to his car.” If I could talk to Grant, perhaps I could talk to whatever was in Jackson, get it to help me. Maybe I’d ruled out an Ouija board too quickly.
“What’s going on in there?” Gabriel tapped my temple.
“Do you believe in mediums?”
Gabriel chuckled. “Not this weekend, I don’t. This weekend you’re all mine, and we’re going to have fun and not talk about ghosts, murders, or any other weird thing you can think of.”
“And start my driving lessons.” I smiled.
Gabriel hopped up. “Breakfast first.” He tugged me out of bed. We went to the kitchen and got out bowls for cereal. He kept giving me sly looks out of the corner of his eye.
“What?”
“So you love me?”
I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. “Sometimes.” He kissed the top of my head. “So I really can’t talk about the case at all this weekend? Hardly seems fair.”
“I told you you’d get obsessed.”
“Not obsessed, preoccupied.” I pushed myself up to sit on the counter next to where he stood. “Is it really so bad I value your opinion?” I looked at him with wide eyes and swung my feet.
He sighed. “You have until the end of that bowl of shredded wheat,”—he pointed to my dish—“then no more.”
Victory was mine. “Fagan doesn’t believe Lakota has anything to do with Mary.”
He stared straight ahead, then tilted his head to the side a fraction. “Why?”
“He says she’s a drug addict.”
“Hmmm.” He took a bite of his own cereal. “What does your gut tell you?”
“I think she was killed because she was going to talk to me.” My conviction was strong, though her apartment supported Fagan’s version more than my own.
“The timing is suspicious all right. Any other reasons you feel that way?”
I considered the question as I ate a couple bites. “She was jumpy when I met her. She came to me, but didn’t ask for anything, and she seemed scared. Something had her spooked. If Lakota knew something about the killer, maybe she’d been threatened, and my presence pushed the killer into dealing with her.” I didn’t like the idea, but it did make sense to me. “And Mary’s been dead for a while. I wonder when Lakota started using. Maybe it was how she coped with whatever she saw.”
“Possibly.”
“I should find someone who knows Lakota. Maybe it will lead me in the right direction.”
“Honestly, El. If she was killed because she was coming to see you, I don’t want you anywhere near this.” He held up a hand to stop the objection already on the tip of my tongue. “I know you aren’t going to stop investigating. Just promise you’ll be more careful. You almost went to meet Lakota alone. What if you’d gotten there on time and the killer did to you what he did to her? Please tell me where you’re going at all times, and take someone with you. Even if it’s Fagan.”
“I’m not sure I trust Fagan.”
“Really?” Gabriel sat his bowl in the sink and turned to me.
“He’s hiding something. I called him on it last night, and I think he almost told me what. Or maybe he didn’t. He knew about my meeting with Lakota, though—he came into the café right before she left.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” And I didn’t. I couldn’t decide if I thought Fagan was a suspect or not. “I have the strongest feeling that he’s hiding something—that he knows more about Mary than he lets on.”
“How long have you felt like this?”
“A while.”
“So you went by yourself, without telling anyone,”—Gabriel smiled but it wasn’t an amused expression in the slightest—“to a dead woman’s apartment with someone you suspect of murder, or at the very least, of keeping something from you about a murder.”
I grimaced. “When you put it like that…”
“You’re determined to give me an ulcer. Always trust your instincts, Ella. And using a little common sense wouldn’t hurt either.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I have to work with him.”
Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough to tell you my impression of him. If you truly think he’s a suspect, you should keep your distance.”
Gabriel’s advice didn’t help at all—sounded more like that of a worried boyfriend than of a detective trying to solve a case. I needed to get close to Fagan, so I could find out what he was hiding, not run away from him. I gave him my phone so he could watch Bryan’s interview I taped while I went upstairs to dress, still thinking. Surely police officers were vetted in some way. I mean someone would suspect if Fagan were murdering young girls, right? My eyes strayed to the purple marks on my arm. He was easy to make angry, really angry, but I didn’t see how I could cut him out and still investigate. I’d have to find a way to work with him.
The weekend was wonderful and over too soon. Driving was terrifying, however, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would do it every day, but on the bright side, I didn’t kill us or wreck Gabriel’s car. That was something, at least. Gabriel didn’t think Fagan’s interview was anything to be alarmed over. Lloyd drove me to Smithton, along with my new garment bag packed with a few nice outfits and Martha’s dress to return. Unfortunately, I had to carry the load with me into the coffee shop where I’d agreed to meet Lola and Alfie. They were already there, Lola in a red suit and killer leopard print heels that I’d break my neck walking in, and Alfie looking like he’d been rustled out of bed. She gave him a stern look as he slouched in the chair. I liked her even more.
“Ella, so good to see you again.” She smiled brightly and stood, shooting another warning look at her son, who rolled his eyes and made a big production out of standing. “This is my son, Alfie.”
I shook Lola’s hand and nodded to Alfie. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Now I have an appointment, but this one’s going to tell you whatever you want to know. Aren’t you, Alfie?”
“Whatever.”
“Remember what we talked about,” she told him, then winked at me before sashaying out the door.
I sat across from the kid who was now shooting me the evil eye. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you want from me. I hardly knew Mary.”
I raised an eyebrow and crossed my legs. “I heard the two of you became friends recently.”
His mouth twisted in a perplexed expression. “Hardly.”
“Not at all?”
He sighed noisily and leaned forward. “We hung out a couple times at the beginning of the se
mester. She was sort of cool for a goody-goody from Jackson, but then she never came around anymore.” He glanced at the door, angrily grinding his teeth. “Why don’t you talk to her boyfriend?”
“You mean Bryan Jenkins?”
“Bryan Jenkins?” Alfie spat the name from his mouth like rotten food. “Why would she stay with that loser?” He shook his head, and a little, ugly smile curled his lips. “I don’t know who she was seeing. All she ever said was that he was older. But I’d definitely check in with him.”
Yes, confirmation that as Nikki suspected, Mary had two boyfriends, but I still needed proof. A name. And to get that, I needed to know what she was like while she was here. “Did you know Mary in Jackson?”
“Not really. I’d seen her around, but we never talked.”
“What was she like on campus?”
Alfie glared at me. “Nice. She was always nice to everyone, even people who didn’t deserve it.”
“Do you know any of her friends here who might know who she was seeing?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Try Caleb Monroe. He’s a dweeby scholarship kid who was always hanging around her.”
I scrawled his name in my notebook.
“So will you tell my mom I cooperated?”
“Did you know Lakota Heller?”
Alfie shook his head, but his body went very still.
“If you want me to say you cooperated…”
“I said I’d talk about Mary, not that white-trash hillbilly Lakota.” His words were harsh, but his voice was soft, and there wasn’t any real force behind what he said.
I watched him carefully. “Did you know she was killed?”
Air gushed from his lungs as if I’d punched him in the stomach. “How?” he whispered.
“Violently.”
His eyes closed.
“How well did you know her?”
He didn’t answer.
“She came to me. Said she knew something about Mary and she wanted to talk. She was killed before I could speak with her. Do you have any idea what she could’ve known? How she was connected to Mary? Where were you on April 12?”
Alfie stood up, swallowing hard. “Tell my mom whatever you want.” He walked out.
I watched him leave. Alfie may not have had much to say about Mary, but he knew plenty about Lakota. I’d let him process the news before I contacted him again. Now, how was I going to hunt down Caleb Monroe? I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google search with his name and Smithton. Scrolling through the somewhat bizarre results, I found a link to a Twitter account. The profile picture looked like a college student, so I used my author account to tweet him—and it wasn’t easy to impart urgency in 140 characters.
Need to talk about Mary Nelson. Can you meet ASAP?
I ordered coffee while I waited for a reply, tapping my foot like mad. Mary was seeing someone else. I thought back to my conversation with Bryan. He was fidgety and didn’t meet my eyes. Was it grief or was he hiding something? Did she break up with him? Why didn’t her mother know? I made a note to look at Mary’s room again. To search harder for her diary. A diary the police didn’t find. Was it destroyed in the car? Could the mysterious boyfriend number two have it? How was a drug addict connected to a goody-two-shoes scholarship student? My phone chirped a notification, startling me.
Who is this? Did you know Mary?
Good God, this was worse than text messaging. At the Corner Bakery now. Come talk.
Caleb didn’t respond. I couldn’t be sure if he was coming or not, so I sipped my coffee and moved over to Alfie’s chair so I could see the door. As the bottom of my cup neared, a young man with wild dark hair burst through the door, eyes darting. He looked enough like the picture on Twitter that I nodded to him when his gaze caught me. He shuffled over. “Are you the one who asked about Mary?”
I nodded. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Ella. Jennifer Nelson, Mary’s mother, asked me to look into her case.”
He collapsed in the chair across from me. “You’re like, what, a private detective?”
“No. I’m an author.”
He stared. “Why would she ask you for help?”
I shrugged.
“Are you going to write about Mary?”
“I am. Can you tell me a little about her?”
“Mary was great. She had this fantastic sense of humor, you know? Not like she tried too hard or was a clown or anything, but she always laughed at jokes, no matter how corny they were, and her laugh was genuine. It never sounded faked or forced. She was really smart too.”
“Did you know her boyfriend?”
Caleb picked at his fingernails. “No. She talked about him some, though. He was older.” His tone hardened.
“How much older? Was he from Smithton?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t in school, though. Yeah, he lived here. She went to his place between classes to study.”
“Do you remember his name?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think she ever used his name. She called him Buddy.”
“Buddy?”
He shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“Did she ever mention Bryan Jenkins to you?”
He crossed his ankle over his knee. “No, doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Do you know Alfie Laurie?”
“Who doesn’t? He’s pretty high and mighty for a—” He shook his head.
“For a what?”
He glanced up, then gave a wry quirk of his eyebrows. “Trust fund kid.”
I’d have bet money that wasn’t what he was going to say. “Why are you protecting him, Caleb?”
“I’m not,” he grumbled. “But I’m not a rat, either.”
“And I’m not a cop. I don’t care what Alfie does so long as it isn’t murdering young women.”
Caleb leaned in so close, he almost flattened his chest on the table. “A dealer.”
I assumed he didn’t mean cards. “What does he deal?”
“The usual.”
“Sorry—enlighten me. What’s the ‘usual?’”
Caleb rolled his eyes, but humored the old out-of-touch woman, a.k.a. me. “You know. Pot, Ritalin, Ambien, Ecstasy, Ketamine—he caters to the college crowd.”
Was that Alfie’s link to Lakota? Was he her dealer or was she his supplier? How did Mary factor into all of this? Should I tell Lola? I rubbed my temples. “Did he know Mary?”
A thunderous frown crossed his face. “Yeah, they hung out some.”
“You didn’t approve.”
“He thinks he’s God’s gift, and all the girls here believe him. Mary was the only one who saw through it. I think he liked that about her, so he’d come and interrupt us while we were having lunch or talking between classes. He was always pulling her off to the side, wanting to have a word with her away from me.”
Not exactly the story Alfie gave me. Interesting. I studied Caleb. His eyelids were somewhat red. His shoulders were slumped and his hair looked unclean. “Did you like her?”
He blew air out of his nose in a half huff, half snort and rubbed his eyes. “Fat lot of good it did me.”
I stood up, grabbed my garment bag, and patted the kid on the shoulder. “Do you have a piece of paper?”
He dug a notebook out of his backpack, and I wrote my phone number down for him. “Thanks for talking with me. If you want to talk about anything else, here’s my cell.”
I left the café with an hour to spare before Fagan was supposed to pick me up. I hadn’t intended to leave quite so soon, but I panicked at the sight of Caleb’s emotion. I wanted to remain objective and feeling sorry for Caleb wouldn’t help that. Whether I liked it or not, he loved her, and therefore had motive to kill her. I called Lola and reported how my interview with Alfie went, wandering down the street as we spoke. When the call ended, I was across the street from the city’s Chamber of Commerce office. I jogged across and went inside, making the bells jingle.
“Hello.” An older lady looked up with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“Do you have a map of Smithton I could have?”
“Sure do.” She stooped over and dug around under the desk, then produced a small map. She plucked an orange highlighter almost out of thin air and drew a circle on the map. “We’re right here. What can I help you find?”
“Where’s the campus?”
She highlighted a large area off to the left. “Are you driving?”
“No. Where are the residential areas around the campus?”
“Hmmm.” She studied the map with the end of the pen in her mouth, then marked a few locations.
“Are those apartments or houses?”
“Apartments. Mostly student housing.”
“How about nearby non-student housing?” Assuming her boyfriend had a job, if Mary went to his house on her breaks to study, he had to live close or she’d be wasting valuable study time. I couldn’t imagine an adult wanting to live in student housing.
“There’s really only this one area—an older established neighborhood.” She circled one tiny spot on the map.
“Great. Thanks.” I was outside, studying the map, when my phone rang. Fagan was here early. I told him where I was, and a minute later he pulled alongside the curb.
He started back toward Jackson without so much as a hello, which was fine with me. On the highway, he finally spoke. “What did you learn from Alfie Laurie?”
“Not much.” It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t learn much from Alfie, but I’d learned plenty from Caleb.
“I could’ve told you that’s what you’d get and saved you some time. He didn’t know the victim more than in passing.”
“You don’t have to be best friends with someone to kill them.” My words opened old wounds that I quickly tried to close.
“He’s a suspect now?”
“Everyone’s a suspect, Fagan.”
“Let me rephrase that. He isn’t one of your suspects. Stay away from the Lauries.”
We rode in silence for a few miles, but this time I spoke first. “What are you hiding, Fagan? Does it have to do with you or are you protecting someone else?”
“I’m not hiding anything, Ms. Reynolds.” The mocking tone he used for my name made me bristle, but it was his way of putting me on edge—of reestablishing the distance between us. Why he saw me as a threat was a mystery I was determined to solve. Even though he was a lot more convincing sober that he had nothing to hide, I still wasn’t buying it.
