Evil Eye

by Amanda McKinney

  She cocked her head. She didn’t recognize the woman, or girl, to be more precise. She guessed her age to be in the upper teens to lower twenties. Way too young to lose her life.

  She peered at the baseball cap that had been on the woman’s head—a blue and white Cowboy’s hat. Not hers, Scar guessed. A boyfriend, maybe? Her gaze shifted to the bullet holes in the girl’s back. Three shots. Three erratic shots. One hit her shoulder—didn’t kill her. The second, her ribcage—hurt, but assuming it didn’t hit any major organs, that wasn’t the shot that killed her. And the third, in her lower back, piercing the kidney—the kill shot.

  What order did the shots happen, she wondered?

  “Not a very good shot.”

  She jerked at the sound of Luke’s voice behind her. “No, that’s exactly what I was just thinking. Whoever did this isn’t an expert marksman.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Anything interesting in the other house?”

  He kneeled down next to her, looking the body over. “No. Boarded up tighter than a nun’s… well, you know.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nice.”

  “There’s no way in, or out of that house, for that matter. Based on the growth around it, my guess is that things been boarded up for years.”

  Just then, sirens broke the silence of the night.

  Luke glanced over his shoulder where blue and red lights bounced off the trees in the distance. “Cavalry’s here.” He looked back at the house. “We’ll figure out who owns both houses and pay them a visit.”

  “I can get that info.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.” She pushed off the ground and started for the front door.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “My cell’s inside.” She stepped into the house as the sound of tires on gravel vibrated through the air. If she wanted to look at anything else, she’d better do it quick.

  She stopped. Living room, or bedroom? Her gut told her that whoever was dead at the front door stayed in the bedroom, so she stepped into the den where a single, navy blue sleeping bag lay on the floor. The front flap was pulled back as if someone had recently slept there. And didn’t plan on staying long.

  Who?

  She clicked on her flashlight and squatted down. A small lump pulled her attention to the bottom of the bag. Still wearing her gloves, she carefully lifted the foot of the bag, revealing a worn jean jacket. She pulled it out, turned it over in her hands and peered down at the ripped front pocket.

  Her stomach dropped.

  She grabbed the picture of Athena that she’d swiped from Ms. Thorne’s bookcase, and looked closely at the image.

  The young teen was wearing a worn jean jacket, with a rip in the front pocket.

  CHAPTER 11

  10:55 p.m.

  Scar glanced out of the back of the Jeep just as Cora, the county medical examiner, was zipping up the body bag. She shivered. She wished she could go the rest of her life without seeing one of those bags again, but considering her choice in occupation, she knew that wasn’t in the cards.

  In the far distance, flashlights bounced off the trees where Officer Hunter was looking for tracks or footprints from the shooter. It was the general consensus that the girl was shot by someone stalking her from the woods.

  After Lieutenant Zander Stone had arrived, Luke had insisted that she stay with Zander while he went back to Hell’s Cove to get her Jeep. After three solid minutes of arguing, she let him go without her—through the woods, in the pitch-black, where it was a possibility the killer still lurked.

  She didn’t know how he did it, but he was back with her Jeep in under fifteen minutes. He must have sprinted through the woods using heightened senses excluding sight—another skill he’d picked up in the military, she assumed.

  Now, they were on their way to interview the landlord, who according to Ace’s research, owned both houses. Luke insisted on driving, in case they ran into trouble, he'd said. She conceded—a recurring thing between them it seemed, but this time she was glad. The last thing she wanted to do was focus on navigating the narrow, dark roads. Her thoughts were spinning as it were.

  She turned back, looked down at the picture, then at the jean jacket that lay across her lap.

  “You’re sure it’s hers?”

  She held up the front of the jacket. “Yes. Look at this tear in the pocket. It’s almost identical. It’s a size small, too. Same size Athena would wear.”

  Luke glanced over, nodded. “So Athena lives there, or is squatting for a while, at least.”

  “Appears that way. Her coat was tucked under the sleeping bag.”

  “It could be her lipstick on the beer can, then. Her's and the blonde's.” He paused, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. “I wonder if she owns a gun...”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not saying…”

  “I’m considering every angle right now. If Athena is indeed the person sleeping on the floor, she isn’t there right now. Why couldn’t she be the one in the woods?”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “No, I don't think…”

  “The girl's had a shitty life, Scar. To say the least. That messes with people.”

  “Then we need to get the blonde’s identity ASAP and see what the connection is between her and Athena. Have they been friends for a long time, or did Athena just simply toss the blonde a few bucks to sleep on her floor? Have they recently had a falling out?” She looked ahead, at the long dirt road leading them further into the woods. “Hopefully Mr.…” She looked down at the note in her hand. “Clarence Holmes will have some information for us.”

  “Ace is sure he owns both houses?”

  “Ace is always sure.”

  “What else did he say about him?”

  “His wife died ten years ago, and he became a hermit. One kid in jail, the other living in Nebraska with her third baby’s daddy. That’s about it.”

  “Clarence Holmes… don’t know the name.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Well, at least he lives close.” Luke braked at a dented metal mailbox and glanced at the piece of paper in her lap. “Eight-thirty-eight, right?”

  “Yep.” She glanced at the clock. “Eleven o'clock is pretty late for an unannounced drop-in.”

  “If someone were murdered at one of my rent houses, I’d want to know immediately.”

  “Me, too. Let’s go.”

  As they bumped over the potholes in the short driveway, she peered at the trailer sitting on cinder blocks ahead of them, blanketed with green mold and mud. Empty bottles, cans, milk jugs and plastic containers littered the small yard. In front of the house was an older model dark green Chevy, and off to the side sat three, rusted, doorless, vehicles that she assumed hadn’t moved since the seventies.

  Suddenly, a black and brown ball of fur sprinted up from the side of the trailer, barking wildly. Its neck snapped back as it hit the end of its short metal chain. But that didn’t stop the animal—it leapt forward, fighting the chain that was cutting into its neck. The barking intensified as the Jeep rolled to a stop.

  A light flicked on inside the trailer.

  “Well, if he wasn’t up, he is now.”

  She stared at the hysterical animal as it snarled and barked, its hair standing on end. The beast looked like a Rottweiler mix. Maybe Rot and Pit—hell of a combination.

  “Hell of an alarm system.” Luke turned off the ignition and got out. “Hope that chain holds. Let’s go.”

  With her eyes locked on the animal, she slowly got out of the Jeep and stared at the dog, viciously biting the air not four feet in front of her.

  Luke grabbed her arm. “Hey. Stay back, seriously.”

  She shook out of his hold. “Go knock on the door. I’ll be right there.”

  He grabbed again, and this time pulled. “No, Scar. Seriously—

  The front door of the trailer swung open. Luke spun on his heel, but she kept her eyes on the dog. As Luke walked away to address the pissed off la
ndlord, Scar slowly squatted down, her gaze locked the wild, black eyes.

  “Hey,” she whispered slowly, “it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The frantic pitch lowered. The dog stomped its paws in the dirt, pacing back and forth at the end of the chain.

  “Shh, now. It's okay. It's okay.”

  The barking stopped and a low whine ensued. She smiled, stuck out her hand, and edged closer.

  He sniffed and whimpered some more.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” She crab-walked to the dog and planted her knees in the mud as the dog nuzzled against her. “You’re a boy, aren’t you? I can tell. Good boy.”

  The dog's ears pushed back, submissive.

  “There you go, baby. It’s okay,” she whispered. She didn’t even hear the voices raising behind her.

  A wet tongue licked the side of her face as she ran her fingers through the short fur. Her stomach sank. She could feel the dog’s ribcage as if it were a skeleton. She slid her hands down its legs which were covered in mange. Her jaw clenched as she glanced around, finally spotting two dirt-covered dog bowls—no water, no food.

  She put her hands on the dog’s face and looked into its eyes. She fought the tears beginning to creep up. Nothing tore at her heartstrings more than a suffering animal—a vulnerable animal, fully dependent on someone else's care, only to be left to starve and wallow in misery. It was not okay. Animal neglect was never okay. Hot anger replaced the sadness and she kissed its nose and surged to her feet.

  Her blood boiled as she stomped across the yard. Clarence’s sunken-in face was beet red as he glowered at Luke, and she suddenly realized both men held guns at their side. Obviously, Mr. Holmes wasn’t too pleased to have visitors.

  Well, she didn't give a shit.

  “Clarence Holmes?” She growled.

  Both men turned toward her. Luke cocked an eyebrow.

  “You Clarence Holmes?” She snapped.

  The old man’s face squeezed in disgust as he looked down at her from his raised trailer. “That’s none of your goddamned business, sweetheart.”

  She stepped in front of Luke, her cheeks as flushed as the old mans. “I’m going to make it my business, Clarence. Whether you like it or not. What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Snots.”

  She shook her head. “Do you realize Snots is extremely malnourished and covered in mange?”

  Clarence’s eyes slid behind her, glancing at the dog, then back to her. “Who gives a shit?”

  “I do, and every good-hearted person in the world does. Now, we’ve come here this evening to talk to you about your rent houses, but I’ve just added something else to the list. And if you don’t let us in and answer all of our questions, I’m going to call animal control and have that dog taken away from you within the hour.”

  He snorted. “Do it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll also have you taken in and charged with animal cruelty.” She glanced at Luke who was hiding a smirk. Okay, so she came in guns blazing, but when it came to animals, all bets were off.

  Just then, she noticed someone else in the trailer behind Clarence. A boy, she guessed a teenager, wearing a black beanie with scraggly auburn hair sticking out from the sides, grey stained hoodie, and baggy jeans. He stepped gingerly past the old man. Surprised at the visitors, his eyes locked on Luke first, darted down to his badge, then cast a quick glance at Scar before muttering, “See ya, Mr. Holmes.”

  Scar watched the boy as he shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared into the woods.

  Who the hell was that?

  She glanced at Luke, who looked at her, no doubt wondering the same thing.

  Luke slid his gun into its holster and flashed his badge. “As I was saying, Mr. Holmes, I’m Officer West with Devil’s Den PD. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” He slid Scar the side-eye, and the message was clear—cool it.

  She shifted her weight and took a deep breath.

  With his disapproving, yellow-tinted eye, Clarence kept his gaze locked on her as he stepped back and opened the door. The man obviously wasn't a fan of outspoken women.

  Behind Luke, she stepped onto the cinder block that led through the front door. It smelled like fresh bleach, with the faintest scent of cigar smoke.

  She looked around.

  The inside of the trailer was a stark contrast to the littered yard outside. Surprisingly tidy and clean, the trailer had only the necessities and embraced Southern décor, with antlers, American flags, hunting pictures, and mounted guns on the walls. Aside from two large gun cabinets, Clarence had antique firearms on display around the small space. The man liked his guns, which wasn’t uncommon in the small, Southern town, but considering the evening’s events, it made her uneasy. All in all, a normal home, aside from the God-awful stained, yellow and brown wall paper peeling at the ceiling.

  Clarence crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter, directly in front of the door. He’d let them inside, but it was clear he didn’t want them taking a single step past the entryway—if you could call it that.

  He cast one more disgusted look at her, which she immediately returned, then turned to Luke. Clarence was dismissing her presence and wanted to make sure she knew.

  “Shoot your questions, then I want you off my damn property.”

  Looking particularly massive in the small trailer, Luke stood just a few inches ahead of Scar, his presence strong, alpha, and ready for whatever the man might do. It was a protective stance, and she noticed.

  “Mr. Holmes, can you confirm that you own the two properties just off Hell’s Cove, including eight-thirty-two?”

  “Yep. Rent houses.”

  “Both?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eight-thirty was boarded shut.”

  “Renovations.”

  Scar rolled her eyes.

  “Anyone living in that one?”

  “Not for years.”

  “The other?”

  “A blonde girl.”

  She watched him carefully as he spoke. He was irritated and angry, and faint warning bells went off in her head.

  “Name?”

  “Maddie Potter.”

  Maddie Potter. The bullet-hole ridden body had a name. Maddie Potter sounded like someone who was planning to be an art major, or music, perhaps. Someone who spent hours primping for a first date while dancing around to the latest pop music. Maddie Potter didn’t fit with the girl who’d bled out on the ground.

  “How long has she been renting from you?”

  “Just shy of three months.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “She can pay the rent. That’s it.”

  “Do you have the renter’s agreement that I can look at?”

  Clarence snorted and flashed Luke a seriously? look. No, Clarence didn’t take the time to write up renter’s agreements. She assumed he had no problem renting his dump to desperate people just passing through town, or the type of people who didn’t want to stay too long in one place, for reasons that could land them in jail.

  Luke continued, “How did Maddie find your place? How did she contact you?”

  “My last renters moved out unexpectedly. I put an ad in the paper, and she called within a few hours of it being printed. Met her there, got the first month’s rent, and left her to move in. Only seen her once since then, to lay some mouse traps.”

  “How did she pay?”

  “Cash.”

  “Was anyone else with her?”

  “Nope.” He shifted his weight and looked out the window. “That’s about all I can tell ya about Maddie Potter. Now, y’all tell me what this is about so we can move along with our evening.”

  Scar stepped forward. “One more quick question. Is it possible that someone else is staying there? With her?”

  He cocked his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Did you see a sleeping bag on the floor when you took care of the mice
?”

  Pause. “Well, I guess I did. Didn’t think much of it at the time. But, makes sense, I guess.”

  “Makes sense?”

  “Yeah. She’s had someone else bringing over the rent, for her.”

  Scar glanced at Luke, then back at Clarence. “Who?”

  “Jax. The boy you just saw leaving.”

  “Jax?”

  “Yeah. He walks over. Don’t think he got no means of transportation.”

  “Last name?”

  “Nope. And to save you some time, now you know as much about him as I do—what he looks like and his first name. Now, what the hell is all this about?”

  In an emotionless tone, Luke responded, “Maddie was found shot to death in front of your rent house not an hour ago.”

  Something flickered in the old man’s eyes, but he stayed still as a statue. A minute, laced with tension, ticked by as she and Luke stared at the man while he said nothing.

  Not a word.

  Finally, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Did you hear the shots?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know anyone that might have done it?”

  “No.”

  “Any vehicles on the road this evening? Ones that you’d never seen before?”

  “No.”

  Scar glanced at Luke as he slid his hand into his pocket and handed Clarence his card. “If you think of anything…”

  Clarence took the card and tossed it on the counter.

  And as they turned to leave, Scar glanced down at the fresh mud caked on the old man’s boots.

  CHAPTER 12

  11:13 p.m.

  “Come on, Scar.”

  Luke stood at the hood of the Jeep watching her stroke the animal that had almost snapped its chain trying to attack them minutes earlier. She leaned down, pressed her cheek to the mutt and whispered something in its mangy ear. The now calm, docile dog closed its eyes and pressed back, and Luke swore—swore—the dog actually smiled.

  He should have been impatient, but instead, he found himself completely captivated by her. By her soothing, almost hypnotic nature. And apparently, the dog did, too.

  Scar Knight could be fierce and threatening one minute, then calm and angelic the next.