A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by D E Dennis

  “Johnson!”

  The officer bolted upright, tumbling out of his chair. He landed at Chief Jackson’s feet in a heap.

  She sniffed, unsympathetic. “If I catch you sleeping on the job again, you’re fired. Am I making myself understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stepped over him and peered at her next target: Michael.

  “What do you want?”

  “Hello, Chief Jackson, you’re looking well.” And she was. She looked the same as she had eight years ago. Coarse hair cut close to the scalp with little flecks of gray. Brown eyes sharp. Build short but sturdy.

  She gave another sniff. “Save the sweet talk, Grimm. I asked what are you doing here?”

  “I’m here about the Rowe case,” he said, getting right to the point.

  “What about it?” She folded her arms.

  “We’d like to work with you on the case. Grimm Investigations and the CRPD sharing information and working together to get Harper justice.”

  “Who?”

  “Harper Rowe,” he said patiently. “The victim.”

  She sucked her teeth. “Hmm, yes.”

  “So? What do you say?”

  “You know what I say, Grimm. No. My detectives will not work with you on this case or any case, and not even your daddy from the other side can change that.”

  Michael stiffened. “I don’t need my dad to step in. I hoped the two of us could talk and settle this ourselves.”

  “Well, we can’t,” she replied, folding her arms. “You know why, so I don’t know what game you’re playing by coming down here.”

  “Can I at least see the evidence that has already been processed?”

  “No.”

  “What about the computers? Did the forensic tech guys recover anything?”

  “I can’t comment on that.”

  “What about the ballistics report? I saw a gun in Liam Antarr’s workshop. It could be the gun that killed Harper.”

  “We know all about Mr. Antarr’s gun. The ballistics don’t match the one he has registered, but if there is a second weapon, we will find it. On our own. Without your help. Now is that all?”

  Michael fought to keep a tight lid on his temper, it wouldn’t serve him in this situation, but from Jackson’s smirk, he could tell she knew she was getting to him.

  “Why are you doing this?” he forced through gritted teeth. “We’re on the same side.”

  Her smile melted away. “Excuse me. Why am I doing this? I should be asking you that question. Why are you here, Grimm? After everything that’s happened. We had a deal, you and I. You’re the one who went back on your word, not me.”

  “I did not!”

  “No? What do you call that little business of yours, if not a way to skirt around our agreement?”

  “But you said—”

  “I said you were never to join the force, any police force. If you agreed, what happened that night stayed between you and me. So, what do you do? Open a private detective agency. You spat in my face, Grimm.”

  “That was never my intent,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to get around our deal. I just— Just—” He threw up his hands. “This is just all I know how to do. Figure things out, solve puzzles, pick out the things people try to hide. This is what I know and this is the only way I know how to do it.”

  She lifted her chin but didn’t argue his words.

  “Elias Rowe,” Michael burst out, causing her to blink. “He had the killer in his grasp, but he slipped through his fingers like liquid. He couldn’t get Liam Antarr then, but we can get him now. I can get him now. Jackson, let’s leave the past behind us. Make a new deal.”

  To her credit, she appeared to consider his words. She looked up at him, face devoid of hostility. “I was a rookie then,” she said softly. “When those poor kids went missing. Elias Rowe was my mentor and... my friend. He never forgave himself for not cracking Antarr.” She shook her head. “No one is more desperate to see that animal in a cage and I would accept help from anyone—”

  Michael grinned. “Thank you. I—”

  “Except you.” She dropped her arms, staring him down. “I can’t trust you, Grimm, and I only work with people I can count on. You let me down once. You don’t get a second chance.”

  “But you’ve let me work cases with the CRPD before. On the last case—”

  “On the last case, the suspect threatened to sue me and everyone I’ve ever met, if I did not let you into that interview room. But this time, there are no Fairy Tails moneybags or their high-priced lawyers to force my hand.”

  “If I can’t get a second chance, then give me a favor. Just one.”

  “What favor?”

  “Let me go over the old case files on the Siren Woods Killer. It may help us fill in some of the blanks.”

  “I’m sorry.” She did sound it too. “But I can’t do that. I’m keeping up my end of the bargain. I made your problem go away and I never told anyone about it, including a certain young detective. You’re all out of favors from me, Grimm, so don’t bother coming back here and asking me again.”

  “Understood,” he said stiffly, turning to go. “Goodbye, Jackson.”

  She tsked. “You flatfoots. A pain in my neck for as long as I can remember. Just chasing glory and headlines. Had to deal with one of you the first time we went after Antarr.”

  Michael froze, halting his retreat.

  “Irritating little man called Finley. Always sticking his nose in and blathering about his job being a noble profession. He only got away with it because he was Elias’s friend, but there will be none of that in my station. My people are more than capable of closing cases, and I won’t have us getting a reputation saying otherwise.”

  Michael resumed his walk, heading straight for the door.

  “And don’t come back unless you have a police emergency!”

  “Thank you!”

  He got a sniff and a few unkind words in return but he chuckled. Maybe he hadn’t made Jackson into the enemy he thought.

  Michael hurried to his car. He needed to get back to the office, drag Monica away from her desk, and track down a certain nosy old neighbor.

  “Mikey?”

  He stopped, hand on the door, and looked up.

  Across the parking lot, Samira slammed her car door shut. “What are you doing here, Grimm?”

  He straightened. “I came to speak to your chief. How are you? How was dinner last night?”

  “It was good. Ella’s got a great speech prepared, and you know I love spending time with your mother.”

  “She’s one of a kind, Kimona Grimm.”

  “That she is. That she is.”

  They stood there for a while, looking at everything but each other.

  “So—”

  “How—”

  They laughed. “You go first,” Michael said.

  “What did you want to speak to the chief about? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. I just wanted to see if I could get her to move on the no-working-together rule.”

  Samira lifted a brow. “Oh? How did that go?”

  Michael whistled, hand flying through the air. Then he mimed an explosion, sound effects and all.

  Chuckling, Samira said, “I could have told you that would happen. Saved you the trip. She really doesn’t like you, which is strange because you were her favorite when we were in the academy. What happened with you guys?”

  Michael’s smile disappeared, as did his speech. He looked away, letting the silence stretch between them.

  “I see,” Samira said, voice chilly. “Another one of your secrets. Let me guess, you’re not ready to tell me what it is, so you’ll need me to wait another eight years?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “Mira, please.”

  “Just tell me this, Michael.” He felt a hand on his chin. Samira stepped into his line of sight, holding him fast. “This big, shameful secret that ended our engagement and has stood between us for al
most a decade, is it...” She took a deep breath, but her voice was still unsteady when she said, “Michael, did you cheat on me?”

  He jerked, reeling back. “What? No! Of course not.”

  She dropped her hand. “Are you sure?”

  “Am I— Of course, I’m sure! Mira, I would never cheat on you. I lov—” It was his turn to take a steadying breath. “I did not cheat. I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

  “You couldn’t hurt me?” she said softly. “So what do you call what you’ve been doing all this time?”

  He lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m sor—”

  “And these last few months,” she plowed on. “I thought we were working on getting back together. Did I misread the situation?”

  “No, I—”

  “You say no but here you are dating someone else? Is this some kind of game to you?”

  He closed his eyes. “Mira, please, just listen.”

  “Listen?” She laughed. It was a harsh sound that made him look at her. Her eyes were hard. Cold. “Listen to what, Mikey. You aren’t saying anything.”

  With that, she brushed past him and into the station. Michael let her go without a word.

  MICHAEL HESITATED JUST outside the door of his office, psyching himself up for the day ahead.

  When he felt ready, he grabbed the knob and pushed through with a smile plastered on his face.

  “Morning,” he said brightly.

  He got mumbled unenthusiastic greetings in return.

  “Is this Grimm Investigations or Grimm’s Funeral Home?”

  “We have a great last name for a funeral home,” Monica replied, lifting her head from her mug of coffee. She waved at him. “Morning, brother dear. How did your talk with the chief go? Did she chew you out before showing you the door or did she decide to multitask and give your dressing down while she kicked you out?”

  “She went with the first option,” Michael replied as he hung up his coat. “Think she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

  “Smart, very smart.”

  He chuckled, turning to their assistant. “What about you, Ella? Where is your usual early morning cheer?”

  She gave him a lopsided smile. “Sorry, I’m just tired. Mrs. Meadows told me last night that she wants me to be the auctioneer for the charity ball. I don’t even know what an auctioneer does!”

  Monica lifted her head off the desk, this time a Post-it was stuck to her forehead. “I think they just stand behind a podium and shout numbers at people.”

  Chuckling, Ella said, “Well that, on top of the speech, getting my classwork done, and combing through these suspects’ lives, means I’m getting even less sleep than Monica.”

  “If you need a break—”

  “No,” she said, smoothly interrupting him. “The ball is this weekend. I can handle it for a few more days.”

  Michael nodded, strolling over to his chair. “So my trip to the station wasn’t a total bust,” he said as he booted his computer. “Jackson turned down my request to see the old case files, but she did tell me a private detective worked the case back then. A dude named Finley.”

  Monica frowned at him, Post-it still stuck fast. “Finley? As in Nelson Finley?”

  “Another member of our noble profession.”

  She straightened, ripping the pink paper off her head. “We have to talk to him. Today. He said he’s retired, so he should be home.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “Good job, big brother. I was successful too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I spoke to Dougie last night. He warned that we shouldn’t expect too much, but he’s going to hack into her accounts and see if the virus was sent that way. I already paid him out of the business account. I suggest you don’t look in there for a while. It will only depress you.”

  Michael sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It had to be done,” he said, mostly to himself. “And it will be worth it if he finds the source.”

  He swiveled in his chair, facing Ella with a hopeful grin. “Alright, your turn. Please tell us you found something.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she replied, “Sorry, but I’m going to have to break the good news streak. I don’t have anything on Ximena Cordova or Rowan Presley. Ximena’s parents, Diego and Elena, moved to Castle Rock a few years before Ximena was born. They had no other kids and no family in town so one of them has to be the Cordova written on Antarr’s sign.”

  “Yes,” Michael said, nodding along. “So what’s the problem?”

  She chewed her lip, gesturing at her laptop. “The problem is I can’t find any connection between the families, except that Ximena and the twins went to Castle Rock elementary school at the same time.

  “They didn’t live in the same neighborhood. They didn’t go to the same church. They did not register a business together. If you want to know why her last name was on that sign, I think you’ll have to take the direct approach.”

  He blew out a breath. “Perfect.”

  “What about Presley?” Monica piped up.

  “That’s where things get interesting.” She paused, fingers flying across the keyboard. “There. I just sent you an article.”

  Ella spoke while Michael navigated to his email. “It’s hard to dig up anything on Rowan Presley, which is no doubt her intent. The Presley family started out in Fairy Tails, old money. Her parents were Layland and Rochella Presley. Rochella founded Lollipop Gardens back when she was Rochella Garden, but she died when Rowan was six.

  “Rowan had a little brother named Roland. He was two years younger than her, and he died when he was seven, three years after her mother. There’s been a lot of tragedy in her life, as for murder... well...”

  “What is it, Ella?”

  She sighed. “I did find a sealed juvenile record. I can’t get into it, so I have no idea what happened or if she was actually involved or...” She stopped and then tried again. “Rowan’s little brother, Roland. I sent you the article, the only article, speaking about his death. You should read it.”

  The office was quiet as the siblings did as she ordered. Michael read the whole thing through once, and then he read it again.

  “Fatal allergic reaction?” Michael repeated.

  “Yes,” said Ella. “Her brother died from an allergic reaction in the Lollipop Gardens facility. He had a rare gelatin allergy and he and another child snuck marshmallows while the workers weren’t looking. He hid so he wouldn’t get caught, so of course when he reacted—”

  “There was no one to help him,” Monica said softly. “Except for this other child. You think it might be Rowan?”

  “They would be the most likely pair of children to be running about the family business,” Michael said. “And Rowan does have a sealed record.”

  “But she would have been nine years old at the time?” Monica protested. “You really think she would do something to her own brother?”

  “I don’t know, Mo,” he said honestly. “Ximena was very clear with her boasting though. She called Rowan a murderer.”

  “If she’s referring to something in her record, how could she have gotten into it? Don’t you need court orders for something like that?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “One we should ask Ximena,” Monica said.

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “One we should ask Rowan Presley.”

  She lifted a brow. “We have to draw her out of the woods first.”

  “I’ll call her secretary,” Ella piped up. “See if I can arrange something for this afternoon.”

  Michael nodded. “That’s good. Tell her we’ll meet her anywhere. Just not at her house.”

  Ella gave him a slight smile. “I got it.”

  Getting out of his seat, Michael said to his sister, “In the meantime, we have a former private investigator to speak to. You ready to go?”

  “Can I finish my coffee first?”

  “Bring it in the car.”

  She grumbled but grabbed her coat and followed hi
m out.

  “You’re not going to ask how dinner went last night?” Monica asked after they climbed into the car.

  “Mira said you guys had fun.”

  “When did you speak to her?”

  “This morning,” he said simply.

  She hummed in acknowledgment, taking a sip of her drink. “We did have fun. Mom’s excited for the ball this weekend. She even bought a new dress.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Dad’s going to be her escort.”

  “That’s less cool.”

  Monica laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Come on, Michael. I thought things were getting better between you too.”

  “We went on one run together, and now everyone thinks we’re getting matching father-and-son t-shirts. Look, Dad and I are getting there, but I still worry about Mom. He’s hurt her once before.”

  “He has, but he’s been doing his best to make up for it.” She gave him a little shake. “Mom seems really happy. That should be enough for both of us.”

  He heaved a sigh. “That is certainly enough for me.” He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at her as she drank from her thermos. “What about you? Ready to tell me about this mystery guy?”

  Michael had never seen an actual spit-take outside of a movie, but in reality, they were quite—

  “What?!” Monica cried after showering his dash in brown liquid. It dripped onto the floor, staining his mat along with her shoes.

  —gross.

  “Thanks for that, Mo.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” she snapped while yanking a roll of paper towels from the glove compartment. “It’s your fault.”

  “My fault?” he repeated, amused. “What did I do? I only asked about this guy you’re seeing? Same applies to you, I’ll be happy if you’re happy.” He paused. “Well, unless you’re dating Spencer. Then I’d have to disown you.”

  He laughed but she didn’t join in.

  He glanced at her again. Her long, curly hair, shielded her face as she dabbed the mat with paper towels.

  “Mo?”

  “We agreed, didn’t we?” she asked after a minute. “That you wouldn’t read me like I’m a puzzle to solve.”