I wiped away a few tears as I listened to Shannon. I'd lost two friends this week, and my beloved Castle Rock had been shut down until further notice. Still, I couldn't feel sorry for myself at a time like this. Laura's parents had just lost their only child, Reese had lost his girlfriend and his freedom—and Kat had also lost her husband. I needed to pull myself together to be there for my friends now more than ever.
Shannon and I finished our coffee and headed back into the lobby so she could rejoin her grief-stricken family. I hugged her and offered my sympathies, then gestured to the flowers that were still sitting on one of the lobby tables. I retrieved them and discreetly removed the "Get Well Soon" tag I'd placed in the center of the arrangement less than an hour earlier—at around the same time Laura was taking her last breath. "Make sure Theresa gets these." I handed Shannon the green flowerpot and turned to leave.
The coffee wreaked instant havoc on my bladder, so I stopped by the reception area to find where the nearest restroom was located. The young nurse behind the counter was busy typing away at her computer. The desk phone was pinned between her shoulder and her ear. "Yes, Mrs. Collins, I am looking up the room number right now," she said politely into the receiver. She held up a finger to let me know that she'd be with me in a moment. As she turned back to her computer, I studied the visitor sign-in form while I bounced on the balls of my feet, anxious to find the closest ladies' room.
Two names on the visitor's list caught my eye: Tim Scott and Detective Dixon. Interesting. Why would Tim Scott come by? Was he hoping to get some juicy details from Laura or her family so he could provide an update during his next broadcast? I must have just missed them—he and Dixon had both signed in less than an hour ago. Dixon had probably been trying to get a statement from Laura. A pang of fresh sorrow ran through me. She'd never be able to tell him who shot her now.
The nurse hung up her call just then and gave me a warm smile. "Sorry about that. What can I help you with today?" She pointed the way to the nearest restroom, and I thanked her before scurrying down the hall.
I heard the door to the ladies' room open as I pulled shut the door to my stall, and as I was washing my hands in the sink a few moments later, I glanced up into the mirror as a familiar face emerged from the stall behind me.
"Emily Almond!" I cried happily, turning to greet my old college friend.
"Amelia Louise Grace? Is that you? Long time, no see!" She spread her arms wide and wrapped them around me in a hug.
Emily Jefferson Almond lived on the same hall as Kat and me in our dorm freshman year. The petite brunette was warm, genuine, and the polar opposite of her wicked cousin, Stacy.
"So good to see you, girl!" I said, pulling out of our hug and holding her at arm's length. "You look fabulous as always—you're positively glowing! What in the world are you doing in the hospital?"
"Haven't you heard the news? I'm expecting!"
"What?"
"I'm pregnant. Preggers. Knocked up. With child. Expecting. Got a bun in the oven," Em deadpanned, then burst into a fit of giggles. She met Jeff first week of college, and they'd practically been joined at the hip ever since. Kat and I teased them constantly, referring to the couple as "Jemily." All kidding aside, Jeff was a great guy and I was thrilled when Em bounded into my apartment senior year sporting a gorgeous engagement ring. She'd asked both Kat and I to be bridesmaids, and, even though Stacy Jefferson had been her maid of honor, I'd accepted and done my best to play nice with Stace during the wedding festivities. The Blonde Bitch of the East hadn't been willing to meet me halfway, of course, and she had made a pretty big scene at the rehearsal dinner, loudly complaining about having to stand next to me during the ceremony. For Emily's sake, I'd just let it slide.
"That's wonderful!" I hugged her again. "Give my congrats to the proud papa, too. How is Jeff, by the way?"
"He's doing great. He was nervous about being a dad at first, but I'm only two months along, and already he's flipping through books about parenting and baby names. He's even talking about turning his study into a nursery!" She scooted past me to wash her own hands in the sink. "He's just a few halls down with the family—we wrapped up my check-up and were about to head to lunch when nature called. I've always been a teeny lady with a teeny bladder, but pregnancy has made it so much worse." She scrunched up her nose. "What're you doing here?"
I didn't have the heart to squash her happy mood with my sad news. "Just visiting a friend," I said, forcing another smile. "It was really great to see you, girl. Let's get together for lunch soon—you, Kat, and me—just like old times."
After parting ways with Emily, I shuffled out to the parking deck, mulling over the week's events in my head. Even with Laura's death fresh on my mind, my thoughts kept drifting back to Parker. All of the trouble started the night that he was pushed from the tower. While the police had their suspects—Reese and Kat—I had a list of suspects of my own, but there was only one name on my list: Shawn Stone. He'd been there the night that Parker fell, and he'd been out in the rain the night that Laura was shot—and had conveniently gone back by the coat closet, where the gun was found planted in Reese's coat pocket. I thought of Jared's warning. He'd said that Stone was dangerous and that I shouldn't go after him alone. Reaching into my purse for my keys, my hand brushed another object. I pulled it out to examine it, and a thought struck me. I knew whom to enlist to help me catch Shawn.
There was only one more place I needed to go that afternoon, and that was straight to jail. I still had the notebook Detective Dixon had dropped in Kat's office. With the mystery truck chase and Laura's death, it had slipped my mind until now. I tucked the notebook back into my bag and headed across town.
The Atlanta Police Department was located in the heart of downtown on Pryor Street. It was housed in a modern structured building of tan and brown stone and story after story of windows, with a catwalk around its perimeter that was sheltered by glass roofing. I parked my grey Jetta on the street and fed the meter before ambling onto the catwalk. Shielding my eyes, I squinted through the sunlight that broke through the transparent ceiling above the walkway. It was bright now, but I could see the dark, gloomy clouds rolling in from the distance. Another storm was brewing.
Once inside the police station, I walked across the atrium and approached the front desk, which was enclosed behind a protective wall with a glass window. An elderly woman with short, curly white hair and Coke-bottle glasses sat behind the desk. The lenses magnified her eyes to the size of half-dollars. She looked up at me pleasantly and slid the glass window open. "Good afternoon." Her voice was soft as a summer breeze. "Welcome to the Atlanta Police Department."
I smiled at her. "Thank you. I am here to see Detective Ben Dixon. Can you tell me if he's in this afternoon?"
"I'm sorry, Miss, but Detective Dixon is currently out of the office. Would you like to leave a message for him, perhaps?"
"Do you know when he'll be back?"
"He's due back within the hour for a briefing with the sergeant," she replied.
I thought that over for a moment before deciding that I should stick it out and wait to speak to him in person. I'd come this far to bring him his notebook, and while I was here I wanted to glean as much information from him as I could about what the police knew of Shawn Stone. "I don't mind waiting, then. He'll want to see me."
The old woman eyed me curiously then stretched her lips in another courteous smile. "If you'll just fill out this visitor sign-in paperwork for me, I'll be happy to let him know you're here as soon as he returns. You can have a seat in the lobby back there once you've completed the form and received a visitor's badge." She gestured to the waiting room to the right of her desk. I quickly filled out the sign-in form and took the visitor's badge, and then I shuffled to the lobby. I took a seat and busied myself pinning my tag to my shirt, carefully sliding the pin through the fabric to avoid tearing a hole in my navy and cream-striped top.
A tired-looking, middle-aged woman sat across the lobby from
me. She leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed. There were dark circles beneath them and crow's feet in the creases of each. She looked like she'd been losing a lot of sleep over something. I figured out what that something was a moment later. A buzzer sounded, and a portly officer waddled out of the hallway, escorting a young man. The teen's face was pockmarked with acne scars, and he had jet black spiky hair, eyeliner, and a nasty scowl on his face. His look of contempt mirrored the one I'd seen on Bronwyn's face many times before. Another rebellious teen.
The tired woman's eyes flew open at the sound of their approach. She tucked her bushy brown hair behind her ears then stood, wringing her hands in distress. "Tommy, I just don't know what I'm going to do with you! Skipping classes and vandalizing public property? This just isn't like you!" she cried. Turning to the police officer, she repeated, "This really isn't like him."
"They get this way at that age, ma'am." The officer gave her an empathetic look. "Just a teenager thing, I guess." He shrugged. "I found him climbing down from a billboard on North Avenue. He'd spray-painted a mustache on a woman's face."
I fought back a laugh—the kid had gotten picked for defacing Stacy Jefferson's picture on her father's new billboard. As far as I was concerned, that wasn't a crime—it was a public service.
The woman thanked the officer and walked hastily out of the building, dragging her son along with her. I watched them go and then turned back as the officer made his way back down the hallway. On his way through the door he passed by Sergeant Sinclair, who stopped in his tracks when he spotted me. He eyed me warily. "Amelia, what are you doing here?"
I tapped the visitor's badge on my chest. "Just waiting for Detective Dixon."
"Have you got some new information for us?" He said it in a tone that suggested what he'd really wanted to say was, "Have you been snooping around where you don't belong again?"
"Something like that."
Sinclair motioned for me to stay put as he hurried to the front door of the building, returning a moment later with a piping hot box of pizza. "Follow me," he ordered. I rose from my seat and silently fell in line behind the sergeant. "Gladys, she's with me," he said to the elderly receptionist. She buzzed us through a big metal door leading into a hallway full of offices. I craned my neck as we went along, wondering if the hallway emptied into the holding cells—where they were likely keeping Reese. I didn't get the chance to find out because Sinclair stopped and ushered me into the third room on the right.
Eddie Sinclair's office was not very large, but he'd decorated it well. A black leather couch lined the far wall, and through the window I could see the golden dome atop the state capitol building. On either side of the couch were two leafy green potted plants that appeared to be well cared for—I noticed a small blue watering can beside one and grinned to myself as I pictured the sarge's mammoth hand grasping that tiny can as he watered his plants each day. "Something funny?" He scowled, looking a lot like his daughter in that moment, which I also found funny.
"No, sir." I bit my lip. "Just admiring the view and your lovely plants."
The sergeant gestured for me to have a seat in one of the two black chairs that matched the couch, both of which were positioned to face his desk. On the desk sat a framed family portrait—Sinclair in his uniform, glaring at the camera as he sat with one arm wrapped around a plump redhead that must be the Mrs., and the other around a young smiling Bronwyn with long brown hair. It took me a moment to recognize her without her pink pixie-cut and trademark scowl. Across from that was another frame that held a picture of a German shepherd. "Gerry, with a 'G'," Sinclair said with a grin, pointing to the pup.
"Man's best friend, huh?"
"You betcha. That's the best damn dog in this state. I don't know where I'd be without him." Sinclair beamed at the photograph. He opened the pizza box on the desk in front of him. "Sorry, it's been a busy afternoon. I'm just now getting a chance to scarf down some lunch. You like pepperoni?" He offered me a slice.
"Do I?" I cried happily, accepting the piece of warm cheesy and pepperoni goodness. I'd been so caught up in the chaos of the afternoon that I'd forgotten to grab lunch. "So, where is Dixon this afternoon?" I asked between bites.
Sinclair swallowed a mouthful of pizza and then reached into the mini fridge behind his desk. He grabbed two bottles of water, handing me one and taking a swig of the other. "He's out on assignment," he said and left it at that. His expression grew serious. "What did you want to tell him?"
I polished off my slice of pizza and grabbed my purse from the floor. "Well," I began as I slid the small, blue notebook from my bag and placed it on his desk, "this was on the floor in Kat Taylor's office. I wanted to make sure that the Detective got it back since I'm assuming it's important to your investigation into Parker's and Laura's murders. He's got the wrong girl, though," I added with a determined look. "Kat didn't kill Parker or Laura—and while I'm at it, I don't think Reese did, either."
Sinclair frowned and snatched the notebook off of his desk, holding it at a safe distance away from me. "I swear, one more slip up and Dixon will spend the rest of his career as a rent-a-cop patrolling mall parking lots," he grumbled. Fixing me in a steely gaze, he added, "You shouldn't have been looking through this."
I gave him a doe-eyed expression and held out my hands and shrugged, as if to say, "Oops!" "It was already open on the ground when I found it," I argued. "Couldn't help but read the first page."
"I get the impression that you 'can't help' a lot of the situations you've been getting yourself into," he muttered. "Tell me then, Amelia, if you're so sure that both of your friends are innocent, then who do you think killed Parker Deering and Laura Holly?"
Yes! Finally someone was listening to me! "Well, I've done a little digging,"—that got me a scowl—"and I have a couple of theories, but only one suspect."
Sinclair raised his eyebrows and looked at me askance. "And who would that be?"
"Shawn Stone."
The sarge said nothing, so I continued. "My first clue was when I heard Stone arguing with Parker a few short hours before he was killed. Shawn could have very easily snuck from backstage to the green room and lured Parker to the tower, where I think he bashed him over the head and pushed him to his death."
Sinclair arched a brow. "And your other theory?"
"Then there was Laura," I said. "Stone went back to the hall closet to retrieve his coat on Wednesday night before Laura was shot, and he returned it sometime before she was found. His coat was still dripping wet when we checked out the closet. I think he could have shot Laura, stashed the gun in Reese's jacket—which was still in the closet—and then he returned his own coat before strolling backstage again like nothing had happened. The venue was so crowded that nobody would have even noticed if he'd shaken the rain off of his coat before hanging it back in the closet. There was a nice, big, incriminating puddle underneath it. What I can't figure out," I added drumming my fingers on my chin, "is what his motive was for shooting Laura. Parker, I understand—at least, I will if I can ever find out what they were arguing about. But Laura? It doesn't quite add up."
Sinclair frowned down at his desk, avoiding my gaze. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he said, "Amelia, I understand that Laura and Parker were your friends and that you want to help—but I hope you also understand that I can't divulge details of our investigation to you. All I can say is that we've run a background check on several of the people that were present at Castle Rock on the night that Parker was killed. We are currently following several leads. Now, will you please do me a favor and keep out of it? No more eavesdropping or snooping around for clues. Leave the detective work to my real detectives, okay?"
"Deal." So what if I had my fingers crossed behind my back? He didn't have to know that.
* * *
I sped away from the police station and headed back to my apartment to determine my next move. Parking in my assigned slot, I quickly gathered my purse and zipped to the elevator. I bumped into two
of my neighbors, William and Jay, in the hall. They stood by William's door, making small talk as they munched on plates of cake and potato chips. "Hey Amelia, how's it going?" Jay asked as I walked by.
I snapped out of my little trance. "Hey guys. Whatcha' got there?"
"Today's the grand opening of the new gym. You should head down there and get some free refreshments," Will said through a mouthful of cake. He held up a forkful of yellow pastry with an inch of sugary icing on top. "Of all things to serve at a gym opening, they had a table full of junk food—I guess that's their way of making us need to use the new workout equipment." He and Jay snickered and went back to chowing down on their goodies.
There was a piece of paper stuck under the door of my apartment. Stooping down to retrieve it, I saw it was an envelope. My name was typed in black across the front. Pushing the key through the lock, I leaned back on the door to push it inward, still staring at the envelope in my hand. I closed the door behind me and then tore it open. It contained one single sheet of paper. In the center of the page was a message typed in all caps:
BACK OFF BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Panic sliced through me. Did the killer leave this? He knows where I live! I whirled around to deadbolt my door. My sudden movement alarmed my cat Dos who had been lounging on the kitchen counter atop a stack of my mail. He dove off and scurried across the room, sending the pile of mail scattering down to the floor. I stooped to retrieve the fallen letters, and my eyes fell on a bright blue sheet of paper with the image of a male and female bodybuilder flexing their muscles. It was the flyer I'd received on Tuesday morning for the grand opening of the apartment gym.
I reached down to pick up the rest of the mail when something on the flyer caught my eye. Under the picture of the bodybuilders was the text:
Come on down to the 1st floor this Thursday for our Fitness Center Grand Opening! Food, fun, and prizes await!
Murder at Castle Rock Page 15
