Olivia had nearly died rescuing a dead man.
Finally, Will spotted Detective Jimmy Benson’s blue Camaro skirting the police barricade. JB and his fourth ex-wife, Tammy—they’d remarried in June at the Little White Chapel in Vegas—had been stuck in traffic on the main road for twenty minutes trying to bypass the tourists who’d left the fireworks show. He’d been buzzing Will’s cell every five minutes to unleash a string of expletives while Tammy tsk, tsked in the background.
Will had been fortunate he’d left the beach early, even if he had been running away. He’d heard the call over the portable radio in his truck as the last of the sparklers illuminated the sky. He glanced back to Olivia and shook his head at her, returning her dim smile.
“Damn tourists!” JB ran an exasperated hand through his graying buzz cut and let out a heavy breath. “I’d like to beat them senseless with their selfie sticks.”
Will could always count on JB to reach new heights of inappropriateness. But tonight he seemed especially rattled. “You okay, partner? You look a little flushed.”
After a few raps of his fist against his breastbone, JB belched. “I shouldn’t have had that third plate of ribs, but Tammy okayed it. She let me call it a cheat day, it being the Fourth and all.”
Will motioned Chet over with a grim wave before returning his attention to JB. “Did you tell her every day is a cheat day?” Since mid-March, JB had been living on the edge, lying to Tammy about his strict adherence to her diet regimen. Low-carb at home, carb-load at work had become JB’s secret motto, most often uttered between mouthfuls.
“Now why the hell would I do that?” He glanced back at the Camaro, where Tammy had taken a seat on the hood, and lowered his voice. “Come to think of it, I’ll tell Tammy the truth when you tell Olivia you want to join her in the horizontal tango.”
“Horizontal what?” With his cheeks burning—Will knew exactly what JB meant—he heaved a grateful sigh as Chet approached.
“What do we have, gentlemen?”
Will stepped aside, gesturing to the dead man. “Doctor Rockwell pulled him out of the car before the whole thing caught fire. It looks to me like he’s been shot in the head.”
As Chet dropped to one knee in the damp grass, JB gawked at the body awash in the lights from the emergency vehicles as if he’d only just noticed the man, sunburned and slack-jawed. Still clad in his beach gear, one flip-flop had been lost to the fire. The other lay in the grass, its strap broken. On the man’s left ring finger, a slim gold band. On his right wrist, a Rolex watch.
“Sheesh, City Boy. Him? When were you gonna tell me?”
Chet peered up at them while he examined the man’s head with a gloved hand. “You two know this man?”
Will grimaced at the irony of it. Chief Flack was going to blow a gasket. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he and Graham Bauer got into it today at the beach in front of that B&B, Shells-by-the-Sea. His kid ran up to catch a football and plowed into Bauer. The guy came over and they exchanged a few words. Then Bauer hauled off and punched him. When he came to, he was understandably pissed off. He announced himself as some big-shot attorney and threatened to sue Bauer and take his badge. JB and I had to help security escort them both to their cars.”
The entire incident had left Will with a bad feeling, a familiar kind of dread. Because as much as he wanted to pass judgment on Graham Bauer, he knew a thing or two about the kind of bad decisions that sprouted from a brain pickled in alcohol. One of many reasons he’d sworn off drinking years ago.
“What time was that?” Chet asked, glancing back at the burned shell of the SUV.
“Late afternoon. Around three o’clock, I’d say. I’m fairly certain the B&B security guard, Wade Coffman, wrote an incident report.”
“Any firearms in the vehicle?”
Will shook his head, distracted by his thoughts unspooling back to the crowded beach parking lot.
“Then it’s highly unlikely he committed suicide.” Chet pointed to the circular hole on the victim’s left temple. “Perforating entrance wound to the right temporal scalp. Medium caliber, I’d say. Fired at close range. Exit wound on the left occipital. Any chance forensics found the bullet?”
“They’re waiting for Fire and Rescue to give us the all-clear before we search the area.” Will nodded at the fire engine parked at the scene. Though the car’s remains had been extinguished, the heady smell of smoke still lingered from the small patch of smoldering grass beneath it.
“Got a name for this guy?”
Will turned to JB, his partner’s worried face matching his own. The dead man had a name, of course. A name and a family—a wife and three kids. He’d been too drunk to drive himself, so Will had taken the keys from him and placed them in his wife’s hand.
“Peter Fox.”
Three
“Don’t you think you should thank Detective Decker?” A mischievous Emily nudged Olivia with her elbow before she hopped off the back of the ambulance and waved Deck over. “It’s only polite.”
Olivia’s head ached; her eyes burned too. The arm of her favorite sweater bore a small singe mark and a bloodstain. But she could breathe well enough to hiss at her sister, “Em. No. Stop.”
Deck made a straight line toward her, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Too late.”
Olivia flashed Em a death stare before he arrived, which she promptly disregarded with a shrug—typical—and slunk away to eavesdrop from the shadows.
“You feeling alright, Red Adair?”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” She tried not to stare at his hand on the tailgate mere inches from her thigh. When he moved it and stuck it in the pocket of his shorts, she knew he’d read her mind. She forced herself to think of anything but what had happened between them tonight on the beach. “Is that…?”
“The guy that had a fight with Graham? Yeah.”
“He had a nasty head wound. Gunshot?”
“Chet says so.”
After an awkward silence, they both spoke at once.
“Are you sure you’re—”
“About earlier—” Olivia stopped short, uncertain what she’d intended to say. She took the easy out he’d given her. “Am I okay? Right as rain, thanks to you.”
He nodded, looking down at his boat shoes. “I suppose it was a good thing then, leaving when you did.”
“And you. It’s lucky you were right behind us.”
“Damn lucky.” Deck retrieved the edge of the blanket that had fallen from her shoulder and returned it there. She gave in and let her eyes meet his. Between them, the cool night air felt weighted with all that went unspoken.
The fire engine suddenly roared to life, its siren wailing through the trees like a banshee and sending a shiver straight through Olivia. Pulling in alongside it, she spotted Graham in a patrol car, his partner nowhere in sight. Only in a small town like Fog Harbor could a cop be drunk on the beach in the afternoon and back on duty by the evening. Still, it rattled her, the way his eyes darted.
Deck shouted to JB. “What’s going on?”
“Another fire.” JB jogged up the side of the road toward the ambulance.
“Where?”
Breathless, he rested his hands on his knees, spitting out the words with effort. “That fancy rental up by Shell Beach.”
“Ocean’s Song?” Olivia knew it well since her friend, Leah, owned the B&B next door.
Will’s face paled. “Shit.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“That’s where Peter Fox and his family were staying.”
Four
The sky caught fire and burned. A tower of flame and smoke grew above the redwoods, casting an eerie orange glow in the dark as if the sun had risen too early.
Pedal to the floorboard, Will followed behind the red engine racing toward Shell Beach, gaping out his truck’s front windshield at the menacing inferno. He didn’t like leaving the scene of a murder, especially with Graham showing up. Though Graham had sobered,
he’d still acted like an ass, insisting he’d take over in their absence.
“Pull over here.” JB directed him into the ditch, twenty or so yards from the BEACH ACCESS sign.
While the engine sped toward the turnoff, Will steered the truck to a stop and flung open the door, ignoring the smell of smoke that rushed in to meet him. Anxious to lay eyes on the place, he jogged through the tall grass, stopping to wait for JB.
“No offense, but could you move any slower?”
JB raised his middle finger. “It’ll still be on fire when we get there, City Boy.”
The dirt access road led straight to the sands of Shell Beach. Out of place on the rocky coastline of Fog Harbor, it boasted a smooth, white shore, a functioning lifeguard stand, and the best sand dollar-picking in Northern California. The perfect place for a family vacation.
Sharp as a blade, that thought pierced Will’s stomach and twisted, the moment he caught sight of Ocean’s Song through the haze.
Flames engulfed the north end of the house, greedily consuming the bungalow one room at a time. A crew of firemen battled the monster, beating it back with a hose, even as it leapt to life again.
As Will looked on from a distance, the blaze broke through the picture window, and the small crowd of onlookers gasped and moved back, briefly abandoning their cell phone recordings of the devastation.
“Damn.” JB whistled. “That’s one hell of a fire. You think we have a second crime scene?”
Will didn’t answer him. The whole night had begun to feel like an awful dream, the kind that leaves you breathless and drenched in your own sweat. Now, he could only watch and wonder what they’d find upon waking.
Five
For the second time that night, Olivia stared into the fiendish face of a fire, her sister at her side. She felt safe next to Em on the back porch of Shells-by-the-Sea, but the flames hinted otherwise, flaring high into the night sky and threatening to jump the stretch of sand that separated Ocean’s Song from the rest of Shell Beach.
“That is way too close for comfort.” Leah swaddled a crying baby Liam against her chest while her husband, Jake, looked out with trepidation. A few of the guests milled about, having heard the commotion and abandoned their rooms.
“Did you see anything?” Olivia asked him.
Jake shook his head. “I was still half asleep when the fire trucks pulled up.”
“Lucky you,” Leah teased. “I know this sounds crazy, but I could’ve sworn I heard gunshots. Liam woke up screaming bloody murder.”
“Gunshots?” Emily widened her eyes at her sister. An expert eavesdropper, Olivia knew she’d heard Deck’s every word earlier too.
“I heard them.” The voice materialized from the doorway. From the solemn mouth of the security guard Leah and Jake had hired months ago, in the wake of the highest murder tally Fog Harbor had ever seen. His starched uniform identified him as Wade Coffman of Steadfast Security. “At least three—bang, bang, bang—but spread apart. Like the guy took his time to think about it.”
Olivia shivered. She’d made a point to clean her hands, splashing them with water from a cold bottle one of the EMTs gave her and rubbing them dry with the blanket they’d wrapped around her. But when she looked down at them now, she could still see the red stains of Peter Fox’s blood.
Six
With the fire finally doused, Will and JB approached the charred remains of Ocean’s Song. While most of the sprawling house had been spared due to its sturdy cinder block construction, the back had burned beyond recognition. Near the swimming pool deck, ashes blackened the usually pristine sand.
From the periphery of the scene, Fire Lieutenant Jeff Hunt waved them over. The waxing moon spotlighted his tired eyes and drooping shoulders. No surprise to Will since he’d heard the old guy worked himself to the bone, doing double duty as the fire investigator. He even coached the local high school wrestling team on his off days. “Walk with me, Detectives.”
The lieutenant led them up the access road, past the remaining fire engines, and around to the front of the house. “What a night. And I was thinking my biggest problem would be the kiddos getting drunk and setting off illegal fireworks. We usually have at least two grass fires and one lost finger. Hell, I’d take a missing appendage any day over this.”
Will waited for JB to insert his foot in his mouth like usual, but his partner kept it shut instead, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow as they walked.
“What can you tell us?” Will glanced over Lieutenant Hunt’s shoulder at the intact front door. It yawned open, a warm yellow light glowing from within the foyer and beckoning them inside. From here, nothing seemed amiss. But Will could smell the lingering smoke, caught in his nose like a hideous perfume. A persistent reminder of the hidden devastation.
“For starters, we’ve got three dead bodies.”
“Three?” JB sucked in a breath. “Jiminy Christmas!”
His worst fears confirmed, Will’s heart lurched in his throat. “Burned?”
“Shot in the head from what I was told, but Doc Clancy’s on his way. We’ll let him make the call. Fortunately, only one of the victims was impacted by the fire. We were able to contain the blaze to the back portion of the house. The other two were found just inside the door and moved out here by the firemen. No signs of life.”
Lieutenant Hunt made quick work of the front lawn. Quicker than JB could manage. Quicker than Will wanted to go. His thoughts slowed him down, left him standing there, talking to himself, while they went on ahead of him. “Only three?”
Mrs. Fox lay on the grass nearest the doorway, flat on her back and clad in her pajamas. Her copper-red hair fell messily around her face. Her dull blue eyes, still open but unseeing. In the center of her forehead, the cause of her death. A single bullet hole.
“The wife.” Will made a mental checkmark on a grim list.
Next to her, the teenaged boy from the beach. His patchy stubble and wiry muscles and SpongeBob T-shirt pinned him squarely in the middle: not a boy, not yet a man. Will could still hear his mother chastising him. Dylan, take your brother and sister to the car. Now. All signs of the troublemaker he’d been had drained from his body. The wound on his head appeared identical to his mother’s.
“That’s the kid who smacked into Bauer, right?”
Will nodded at his partner. “He probably heard the first shot and came to the door to investigate.”
“Good lord.” Chet appeared on the lawn, looking as beleaguered as the lieutenant. “When dispatch said multiple victims, I never imagined this.” He stooped down over Dylan’s body, releasing a weary sigh.
An unsmiling procession, they moved single file up the steps and inside the house, with Lieutenant Hunt leading them.
“The crew found the adult female victim here.” He pointed just past the threshold, where a bowl of half-spilled popcorn had landed, scattering its contents across the hardwood. The bowl itself had broken into four uneven pieces of ceramic. A fifth piece sat in the dustpan near the broom resting against the wall. “The boy was a few steps away. At first, we suspected they’d succumbed to the smoke, but…”
Clad in a pair of crime scene booties, Will stepped carefully to avoid the blood-slick floor, though the firefighters had already left a trail of bloody footprints. The walls, too, bore the red spatter evidence of the crime.
As they moved down the hall, past the kitchen, smoke stained the walls black. By the time they’d reached the remnants of the hard-hit living room, soot carpeted the floor. Empty hooks hung from a curtain rod above the missing picture window, the curtains themselves burned to nothing. Outside, ash and debris floated in the pool, eerily spotlighted by the LEDs below.
“Any idea what caused the fire?”
“It’s arson. We’ll get the fire dog in here to take a sniff but I’d stake my life on it.” Lieutenant Hunt pointed to a half-melted plastic bottle of lighter fluid discarded beneath the charred coffee table. “There’s another one of those just inside the master bedroo
m.”
Will approached the debris of ground zero with trepidation. The third body rested on the sofa.
“Lily.” Chet gently lifted the burned wrist, where a gold charm dangled, unharmed, from its bracelet. The girl’s name had been engraved on a small butterfly. Then, he examined the head, the grisly conclusion visible on his face.
“What about the little boy?” Will remembered him best of the Foxes’ three children. Because he’d clung to his mother’s leg like a monkey in the throes of a massive meltdown, whining and desperate not to leave the beach. “Three or four years old, maybe. Red hair, freckles.”
“The crew checked all the bedrooms. Let me—”
But Will had already taken off for the far wing of the house, passing the shell of the master suite, where the bed frame loomed like a dark skeleton and smoke stains wept down the walls.
He poked his head into the next bedroom, finding it largely untouched by the fire. A pair of boy’s swim trunks hung from the top post of a bunk bed erected in the corner. Hidden partway beneath it, Will spotted a plastic police car with one of its tiny tires missing. He peered up at the unmade bed. Empty.
“Hello?” Will’s voice sounded small, the way he’d intended. The poor kid probably felt scared out of his mind. But the only answer came from his partner across the hall.
“Got anything?” JB asked.
“Nothing. You?”
JB wobbled, catching himself against the doorframe. Grimacing, he shook his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay, man? You look—”
From down the hall, Lieutenant Hunt yelled to them with newfound urgency. “You two need to see this.”
One Child Alive: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with nail-biting suspense (Rockwell and Decker Book 3) Page 2
