She blew his mind.
This woman had an incredible power over people, and dogs, for that matter. The more time he spent with her, the more her reputation seemed to make sense. She was known as the “hippie” sister. But it wasn’t because of the braids in her hair or the peace sign that hung from her rearview mirror. It was a certain light, an aura, that radiated from her, that seemed almost otherworldly. Something about her drew people in.
And dammit if he wasn’t beginning to feel her pull.
She stood, dusted off her jeans and after giving Snots one last pat on the head, she jumped into the passenger side of the Jeep. Apparently, he was driving again, which didn’t bother him one bit; he loved her Jeep.
“You okay?” He slid behind the wheel.
She nodded, watching the dog as he backed out of the driveway. The moment they hit the dirt road she turned to him. “Notice the mud?”
“On the bottom of Clarence’s boots?” He nodded. “Before he even stepped out of his house.”
“Fresh.”
“Yep. The engine on his truck was cold, too.”
“The green Chevy?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe our friend Mr. Holmes took a late-night walk through the woods... with one of his guns.”
Luke nodded. “He had a pistol on him. A HK, VP9.”
“A what?”
“Heckler and Koch nine-millimeter. Heck of a gun.”
“Could it be the same gun that killed Maddie?”
“Could be—but impossible to tell until we send the slugs off to ballistics.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Who the hell was the kid? How totally random was that?”
“That’s priority number one right now. We need to talk to him. He lived with Maddie; he’s got to know something.”
“Agreed. Okay, so, priority one is to find Jax and talk to him. Two, I’ve got to get this jean jacket and beer can to Max, at Graves Laboratory. See what DNA he can pull from them—
“To confirm the jacket is Athena's, and that the second lipstick on the can is, too. Assuming one shade belongs to Maddie.”
“Right. The sleeping bag is either Jax's or Athena's. So three people in that house, potentially. One is dead, one is missing, and one just left Clarences.”
“Remember, we're only assuming that the second lipstick belongs to Athena. Could be someone else entirely. Maybe our killer.”
“Good point.” She held up the jacket. “Regardless, if we can confirm this jacket is Athena’s, then we know where she's been staying, and can interview this Jax kid. He has to know where she is.”
“And something about what happened to Maddie.”
She nodded.
He watched her glance at the time and tense. She frowned and gazed out the windshield.
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “We’ll find Fiona, Scar. We’ll get it done.” He squeezed her hand.
“I just hate that I’m not out there searching the woods with them.”
“Roxy’s got the whole team out there, right?”
“Yes. Roxy, Dixie, Raven, and Harley are out. But what if this whole Athena thing doesn’t pan out? What if I don’t find Athena, or, if I do, Thorne gives me a fake location for Fiona?”
“Look, I know I’ve given you a bit of a hard time, but if anyone can find her, it’s Black Rose. Your sisters are combing the woods, while we’re doing our part to find her. You haven’t told them about the deal you made with Thorne, have you?”
“No. They’d get involved. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk them if things go sideways, and I can’t risk losing Fi if Thorne finds out I told anyone.” She looked at him. “Which is why you shouldn’t even be with me right now.”
He shook his head. “No. If anyone tells Thorne we’re together, she’ll think it’s about the fire. Makes sense with me being an officer and all—you know, the person who should be doing the investigating.”
A small smile crossed her lips.
He smiled, acutely aware that they were still holding hands.
She inhaled deeply, nodded, and to his surprise, squeezed his hand affectionately before letting go.
His phone jangled from the console. “West here.”
“West, it’s Zander. Still no luck on finding prints or anything from our shooter in the woods so far.”
“What about bullet casings?”
“No, but there were two shells under the victim, one stuck inside. We’re sending them off to ballistics now.”
“Good. That’s good; something, at least.”
“How’d it go with the landlord?”
“Typical grumpy old cowboy with a gun arsenal the size of Texas. Answered the door carrying a HK VP9. Claims he knows nothing. It’s a typical rent by the hour house; no contract, cash only.” He glanced at Scar who was texting away at rapid speed on her phone. “We’re digging into him; but I’m hoping you can pay him a little visit, too.”
“Something in particular pique your interest in him?”
“Aside from the gun he was carrying, he had fresh mud on his boots. Could be nothing, but I think it’s worth a shot for you to swing by on your way out.”
“Will do.”
“Also, I got a name—Maddie Potter.”
“Yeah, that’s the main reason I was calling. She had her driver’s license and debit card in her pocket, so we’ve officially confirmed her identity.”
“Cell phone?”
“Not yet. Anyway, her mom, Clara Potter, divorcee and avid church-goer, lives in town… we need to make the visit.”
His spine straightened like a rod, his body tensing from head to toe. He knew exactly where this was going.
Zander continued, “So if you’re done with the landlord, can you swing over to the mom’s house? I’ll text you the address.”
He glanced at Scar, who was staring at him intently, reading his body language.
“Yeah, I’ll get it done. One more thing, though. I got Maddie's roommate's name—Jax. He was just leaving Clarence’s house when we got there; dropping off rent. He walked apparently, and I assume he was headed back to the house.” He heard Zander pull the phone away and bark orders to start looking for the kid.
“You’re sure he walked? You think he’s coming back here?”
“Don’t think he has a car, and, yeah, where the hell else would he be going at eleven o'clock at night through the woods?”
“So he was over there, at the landlord’s, when his roommate got shot?”
“There, or on the way, at least.”
“Something smells fishy… did he have a gun on him?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Hmm… well, if he does, we’ll run it. We’ll send it off with the slugs that were in Maddie’s body.”
“Perfect. Call me as soon as you guys get him. I’m anxious as hell to know what he says.”
“Will do. Good luck with the mom, man.”
“Thanks.” He clicked off the phone and gripped the steering wheel.
In a soft voice, Scar said, “You’ve got to tell the family, right?”
He nodded.
She shook her head muttering, “What a fucking night.” She turned to him. “Let me go.”
“No, Scar, this is official—
She cut him off. “You lead; drive the conversation, whatever. Let me be there to help.”
He looked at her, her eyes pleading. She genuinely wanted to be there to help a woman who was about to receive the worst news of her life.
He thought of how she was, five years ago, with eleven-year-old Athena Thorne, scared out of her mind. She was able to control the situation, and in the end, get what she needed.
She put her hand on his arm. “Luke, let me help. This is what I do.”
11:31 p.m.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into a short rock driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac, in a neighborhood where each of the small, two-bedroom, two-bathroom houses looked exactly the same. It was the type of neighborhood that
gave him the willies. Houses ten feet apart, each with postage-stamp-sized backyards and not a single tree around. No privacy, no place to sit and have a drink and listen to yourself think.
He parked behind a small SUV with a cross sticker in the back window, turned off the engine and looked at Scar.
“I know, I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut. You run the show.” Her eyes filled with sadness. “I’ll know when I can help.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Not this exactly, but I’ve been around families when they received the news that their loved one had passed.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
They walked up the small brick walkway lined with decorative stones, each with inspirational words—hope, love, peace, believe.
Hope. His gut squeezed. God, he hated this.
As they stepped onto the porch, a flutter of curtains in the front window caught his eye, just before the porch light clicked on.
Ms. Potter was up.
With Scar close on his heels, he rang the doorbell. He noticed a shadow over the peephole, but the door didn’t open.
He pushed the button again.
Nothing.
He tried one more time, and this time, held his badge up to the peephole. “Ms. Potter? I’m Officer Luke West with Devil’s Den PD. I’d like to speak with you.”
After a moment, multiple locks clicked, and the door creaked open, with the chain still intact. In a deep, raspy voice that told a story of two packs of cigarettes a day, she said, “Who’s the girl?”
The abrupt question caught him off-guard. “This is Scarlett Knight with Black Rose Investigations. Do you mind if we come in for a moment?”
A second passed. The chain was removed, the door slowly opened, and the scent of cigarette smoke permeated the air. He had to fight from wrinkling his nose as he stepped inside. Scar moved silently behind him.
With greying hair pulled back in a tight bun, Clara Potter stood—five-feet at best—on the dust mat nervously twisting a pair of rosary beads in her fingers. Her skin was pale, almost grey, with deep-set wrinkles. Luke guessed she was around fifty-five years old, give or take a few years considering the amount this woman must smoke. She was fully dressed, in a navy-blue button up, pressed grey slacks and black boots. A table with a purse, decorative bowl for keys, and a framed picture of her daughter sat beside the front door.
And a small suitcase tucked neatly beneath it.
Her eyes darted from Luke to Scar, then back to Luke. A line of concern ran across her forehead as she bit—make that chewed—on her bottom lip.
He paused, waiting for her to invite them to sit, which he’d learned was always a good idea for the person who was about to find out their loved one was dead. He’d caught one too many mothers in mid-faint.
When she didn’t, he cut to the chase. “Ms. Potter, as I said, I’m Officer West with Devil’s Den PD.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter, Maddie, is deceased.”
The panicky frown on Clara’s face slowly faded. Her fingers stopped twisting the beads in her hands. She froze.
Phase one: Shock.
“I’m sorry…”
The blood drained from her face, making her even paler. A ghostly pale.
“…for your loss.”
Her veiny arms dropped to her side, and Luke quickly shifted his weight to his toes, ready to catch her if she passed out. Her eyes widened; her mouth dropped open as the news began to sink in. Scar stepped closer.
“Is there anyone I can call for you, Ms. Potter?”
She stared at him, her brain working madly to process the life-shattering information.
A minute ticked by.
“Ma’am is there anything I can do for you?”
She blinked a few times, closed her mouth, then opened it again to say something but stopped. This woman was in total shock.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Do you have any questions for us?”
Silence.
“Okay, then. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, ma’am?”
Finally, she spoke. “No.” Her voice cracked.
“Okay.” He glanced over his shoulder at the living room. “Might if we sit down?”
She nodded, took another look at Scar and walked briskly across the room to a rocking chair with a basket of yarn and a half-knitted blanket strewn across the armchair.
She took a seat as Luke and Scar sat on the couch.
He pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Ms. Potter?”
Sitting on the edge of the seat, Clara grabbed the ball of yarn and began pulling the string. “Sunday.”
“A phone conversation, or face to face?”
“Face to face. I picked her up and took her to church.”
“What church?”
“Den Cross Church.”
“Where did you pick her up?”
“Her house.”
“Just past Hell’s Cove?”
She nodded.
“She’s renting, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Have you ever met her landlord?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else there when you picked her up?”
She began pulling the string of yarn faster. “A guy.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Jax.”
He glanced at Scar, then back to Clara. “Do you know the nature of their relationship?”
The ball of yarn was beginning to unravel on her lap. “No… I… no.” Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a small chest in the corner, with a potted plant on top.
“Boyfriend?”
Something flickered in Ms. Potter's eyes. “No.” She was practically ripping the yarn from the ball at this point. He looked at Scar again, whose gaze was fixed on the woman’s suddenly bizarre behavior.
“Did Maddie have a boyfriend? Or, dating perhaps?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Scar cleared her throat, inserting herself into the conversation. “Was anyone else there?”
“No.”
“Maybe a young girl, sixteen, very dark, almost black hair? Wearing a jean jacket, maybe?”
“No one else was there.”
“Did Maddie ever mention someone by the name of Athena?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Luke shifted impatiently. This woman was giving them nothing, and oddly enough, not asking a single question in return.
He took back over the conversation. “Okay. You went to church, then what?”
“Took her back to her house and came home.” Her dilated eyes skipped around the room, and again, landed on the chest.
“And you haven’t spoken to her since?”
“No.”
“What about her father?”
“He’s gone. Jersey. Doesn’t have any part of her life, or mine.”
“Name?”
“Chris Potter.”
Luke scribbled in his notebook. “Is it possible he spoke with her recently?”
“No.”
The ball of yarn was now disintegrated to a pile on her lap. Wow. He’d seen a myriad of reactions to grief but unraveling a huge ball of yarn in under a minute was definitely new.
“What did Maddie do for work?”
Her hand stopped and pride shone from her eyes. “She was a musician.”
“What instrument?”
“Guitar.”
“Do you play?”
“No.” Her voice softened. “Not any more. That was a long time ago.” She looked down.
Luke waited for a moment, hoping she would elaborate. Give him anything, any insight to their lives. She didn't. “Did your daughter play anywhere local?”
“Off and on. No consistent cash-flow. I helped with rent a lot.”
No co-wor
kers to talk to, dammit. He scooted to the edge of his seat. “Ms. Potter, do you know anyone that would want to harm your daughter?”
Her jaw twitched, and she began chewing her lip, again. “No.”
He paused again, to see if she would say anything else. He glanced at Scar, whose gaze had shifted to the chest. She’d noticed it, too.
“Well,” he stood and pulled out his card. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Clara abruptly stood and took the card from his hand. “I’ll walk you out.” She quickly led them to the front door, her short legs shuffling along the carpet.
He stopped at the door. “I’ll be in touch again very soon. Is there anything I can do for you before we leave?”
“No.” She opened the door.
“Okay, ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss.”
With that, the door shut behind them, with the sound of three locks clicking into place.
CHAPTER 13
11:50 p.m.
Luke slid behind the steering wheel as Scar got into the passenger seat—a comfortable rhythm they’d established over the course of the evening. She buckled her seat belt as he backed out of the driveway.
“Do you realize that woman didn’t ask a single question about her daughter’s death?”
“First, ever. First time I have ever done this where the next of kin didn’t ask a single question about the death.”
Scar shook her head, still in disbelief of the last ten minutes. “Do you think she even realized her daughter was murdered?”
“If not at first, she had to have figured it out when I asked if she knew anyone who would want to harm her daughter.”
She shook her head, again. “That was so odd.”
“Not nearly as odd as how often she kept looking at that old chest in the corner.”
“Yeah. I noticed that, too. What do you think was in it?”
“Not a clue.”
“That woman just seemed off. What do you think about the story of the husband?”
“That he’s long gone, never to be heard of?”
“Yeah.”
“Easy enough to verify.”
She glanced at her watch, then back at the dirt road ahead. “I need to get this can and jacket to Graves to have it scanned for DNA immediately. Any news on Jax? Does Zander have him?”
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