Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  Leland’s mouth formed an O. “I’d say this guy’s certainly overextended, unless he won the lottery, or they came into a sizable inheritance.”

  “Exactly. Something stinks.” Now that her suspicions were out, it felt good to share the burden with someone else, and to know that Leland saw validity in her concerns felt even better. She hadn’t told anyone else, not even Troy, and he was the man she loved and lived with and was “raising” a fur baby with. She’d especially kept Troy out of this loop. He was safer that way—so was Hershey, the chocolate lab—and she didn’t need Troy talking her out of doing this, reminding her of the dangers involved with poking around.

  Her eyes went to a clock on the diner’s wall. Just before nine in the morning. She had to get to the station. She got up to leave and remembered the coffee. She reached into a pocket for some cash, but Leland stayed her hand.

  “It’s on me,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Just watch your back.”

  “You too.”

  She left the diner. On one hand, it felt like a weight had been lifted. On the other, it felt like another had been added.

  -

  Two

  Chocolate was the only thing that could help Madison’s nerves. She drove to the station, a woman on a mission, and the second she got there, she made a beeline for the top right-hand drawer of her desk where she kept a stash of Hershey’s bars. Good news: there was no sign of her partner, so she’d be saved the need to defend her chocolate munching first thing in the day. Bad news: she wasn’t seeing any chocolate.

  “Shit. Don’t tell me…” She pulled the drawer all the way out and rummaged through business cards, pens, clips, elastics. “Son of a…” She slammed the drawer shut.

  She must have eaten the last bar yesterday. She patted her pockets for change, holding out hope the vending machine in the cafeteria would come through for her, but she came up empty-handed. Now she wished Terry was around to mooch money from, even if it came with a lecture on healthy eating.

  “Hey there, beautiful.”

  She turned to see Troy approaching her. Talk about impeccable timing. He’d just saved the world and didn’t even know it. She smiled brightly at him. “You wouldn’t happen to have a buck, would you?”

  He closed the distance between them and looked around. With the coast clear, he tapped a kiss on her lips.

  They’d been together for almost a year, and her heart still sped up when they came into contact. What woman could blame her? Troy had blond hair and piercing green eyes, was six-foot-three, and had six-pack abs. When he held her, she felt safe enough to weather any storm.

  She licked her lips and held out a hand. “A buck?”

  Troy looked at her hand and up to her eyes, no smile. He didn’t part with them easily, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Let me guess. Time for a chocolate bar, and your inventory’s out?”

  “Now, who’s the detective?” she jested. Troy headed up a SWAT team, but when those services weren’t needed, he performed officer duties as necessary.

  “No need to get hostile.” He reached into a pocket and came out with change. “You know the stuff is going to kill you.”

  She snatched the coins from him. “If it does, I’d die with a smile on my face.” So maybe she was a little transparent when it came to her cacao-bean addiction and how she craved it like a smoker did cigarettes. Surely, chocolate was healthier than nicotine. She took off toward the vending machine, Troy following her.

  “I take it your Tuesday’s gone downhill since I saw you last?” The devil danced in his eyes. The day had started off with them in a heap of sweat, tangled in sheets. Heat flushed through her at the memory, but she wasn’t letting it derail her current mission.

  She popped the coins into the vending machine and made her selection. The curly metal started to turn—then it stopped! The Hershey’s bar was suspended.

  “This can’t be happening.” She kicked the machine and writhed in pain. The bar stayed put, taunting her. “Stupid, fucking mach—”

  “Hey.” Troy shuffled up beside her and nudged her out of the way. “It’s okay. I’ll get it.”

  “I don’t need a man to—”

  He’d already grabbed both sides of the machine and was in the processing of shaking it. The candy bar fell loose. He retrieved it from the bin and extended it toward her. She reached for it, and he pulled it back.

  She cocked her head. “Someone’s living dangerously.”

  He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “That’s what you love about me.”

  Her damned heart fluttered—again. She grabbed the bar, stepped back from him, tore the wrapper, and bit off a mouthful. She closed her eyes and let out a moan.

  “You two should get a room,” Troy said, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

  “Hmm, not a bad idea.” She took another bite and leaned against the machine, allowing herself a few minutes’ bliss.

  “You never did answer my question.” He tilted his head, that morning’s escapades reflected in his eyes.

  “You couldn’t have expected it to get better.” She narrowed her eyes seductively and planted a deep kiss on him, savoring the taste of him—maybe even more than the chocolate. Or was it the combination of him and chocolate? She’d have to remember that for the bedroom and was surprised they hadn’t already tried the combination.

  Troy pulled back. “I did say something about getting a room—”

  “Cut it out,” she teased.

  “Hey, you’re the one who kissed me. I wish I could ignore the fact that you did so to distract me from the serious implication of my question. Is something wrong?” His gaze bored through her.

  He knew her far too well. “Nope, everything’s fine.” She hated keeping secrets from him—even this one and knowing that she did so for his own good. If that fact ever changed, which she doubted it would, she’d reassess, but for now, the less he knew about her side investigation, the better. She didn’t want to think too hard about the fact she might be withholding from him for a while to come.

  He studied her. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

  “I know.” Her heart swelled. Troy would willingly be her knight in shining armor, but she didn’t need him fighting her battles.

  “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve got it licked, Bulldog.”

  She shoved his shoulder, and he laughed. He knew she didn’t love the pet name he had for her, but he’d likely pulled it out to lighten her mood—and it worked. “I love you,” she said, the sentiment profoundly sincere.

  “And I—”

  “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Terry blew into the room and gestured with a tri-folded piece of paper he was holding toward the bar in her hand. “For some people, it’s breakfast time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Chocolate comes from a bean, so it’s technically a vegetable. We’ve been through this before.” She bobbed her head side to side. “The way I see it, I’m eating healthy.” She stuffed the last of the Hershey’s bar into her mouth.

  “Uh-huh,” Terry said, not convinced.

  Troy stepped back from her and passed a glance to Terry. “Well, you two have fun.” He gave one final look at Madison and, when he was behind Terry, blew her a kiss.

  “What’s up?” Madison asked her partner as she bunched up the empty wrapper and tossed it into a garbage bin. It bounced off the edge and then went in. Score: three points.

  “Where have you been?” Terry’s face was flushed, his nostrils slightly flared, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. Even for looking unhinged, every one of his blond hairs lay perfectly in place. She, on the other hand, resembled a blond cockatoo most of the time.

  “I’m waiting,” Terry pressed. He was certainly in a mood this morning, and he was coming across as if he were the senior detective. He was three years her junior
. “I tried calling you five times, left two messages. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

  Crap. She’d been so focused on chocolate she’d forgotten to turn her phone’s ringer back on. She rectified that and saw the missed calls. “I had an appointment.”

  Terry pointed to her phone. “You had your ringer off?”

  “I had an appointment,” she repeated while shifting her weight to her right hip and jutting out her chin.

  “While you’ve been off doing whatever, we had a double homicide land in our lap.” Terry tapped the paper he was holding, and it sank in that it was likely a search warrant. “Quite a high-profile case at that,” he added.

  He already had her attention with “double homicide.” As a city of about half a million, Stiles saw its share of murders, but rarely were two bodies found together at the same time. “I’m listening.”

  “A man and a woman. Don’t have an ID for him, but she’s Lorene Malone.”

  “The Lorene Malone?” The Malones were a wealthy family that founded Malone’s, a chain of furniture stores that catered to middle-income families. They had three locations—one in Stiles and two in surrounding communities.

  “The one and only,” Terry said briskly. “Both were shot in the head and found naked at the bottom of the Malones’ indoor swimming pool.”

  “Naked? And we don’t know who the man is? Was Mrs. Malone having an affair?”

  “Too early to say.”

  “Who found them?”

  “The Malones’ eldest, Kimberly Olson-Malone.”

  “Does she live in the house?”

  “Nope. She’s forty-two, divorced, and has two young kids.”

  “What was her reason for being at her parents’ house this morning?”

  “Says she was there to pick her mother up for a seven-thirty yoga class.”

  “Early for yoga,” she said. “What time did she show up at the house?”

  “Around seven ten.”

  “Does the daughter know who the man is?”

  Terry shook his head. “Claims not to.”

  The picture forming in Madison’s mind wasn’t a pretty one. If Lorene Malone was having an affair and that was what had driven the murders, one person would have more motive than anyone. “What was Mr. Malone’s reaction to the murders?”

  “Don’t know.”

  The skin tightened on the back of her neck. “How can you not—”

  “I can’t reach him,” Terry cut in. “Kimberly doesn’t know where he is but told me that her parents just celebrated their forty-seventh wedding anniversary.”

  “That hardly excludes him as a suspect. We’ve got to find him and fast,” she said. “I assume that’s the signed search warrant you’re holding?” They’d need one before the house could be processed, as Lorene Malone wasn’t the sole occupant.

  Terry lifted the paper in his left hand. “Yep. It just came through. I’m headed back to the Malones’ now, but thought I’d look for you first.”

  A moody partner, a high-profile double homicide—oh, this week would be getting a whole lot worse before it got better. “Let’s go,” she said.

  -

  Three

  They say someone’s always having a worse day than you are. Who the heck are “they,” and how would they know, anyway? Madison was pretty sure days couldn’t get much worse than the one Kimberly Olson-Malone was having. Madison couldn’t imagine finding her own mother dead—and naked with another man, no less. As much as she felt for Kimberly, she couldn’t let it cloud her judgment. Kimberly had been the one to find them and that alone made her the first suspect.

  Terry pointed to the next street as they drove. “Turn right there.”

  Even though Terry knew where they were going, Madison was the one driving.

  She took the corner, and he pointed at a two-story, gray-brick mansion. With the exception of the forensics van and a police cruiser parked in the three-car driveway, the house had terrific curb appeal with its large front windows and double-door entry.

  Madison parked out front on the street.

  “Before we go in, I’m going to give you a warning,” Terry said.

  She glanced over at him, her hand letting go of the door handle. Was he going to tell her it was a messy scene? There wasn’t much else that turned her stomach as did the sight and stench of a lot of blood. She gulped. The victims had been shot.

  “Okay,” she said with trepidation.

  “Cynthia’s on the warpath,” Terry said. “She makes your bad moods look like—”

  “Be careful of your next words.”

  “Or what?” He wriggled his fingers as if to say, Bring it on.

  Terry really was the brother she never had. “Why’s she in a bad mood?” Madison asked but could think of at least one off the top of her head: her wedding was mere days away, and a case like this would take a lot of time for evidence collection and processing. That thought led to another. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  “We had plans for a final dress fitting tonight. We might have to push that off.”

  Terry arched his brows. “I’m not a wedding planner, but shouldn’t dress fittings have been done ages ago?”

  It wasn’t for the lack of trying, but it turned out that when dresses were ordered from different shops, they could be made from different dye lots. With Cynthia’s sister and bridesmaid, Tammy, living in Alabama, she’d gotten hers there while Madison ordered hers in Stiles. With take two, they returned their initial dresses and arranged to get new ones from the same bridal shop in Stiles. “It’s a long story,” was all she said.

  “Okay.” Terry dragged out the word, but quickly moved on. “Well, she’s pissed because the firemen who responded to the nine-one-one call pulled the bodies out of the pool.”

  “Oh,” Madison said slowly, appreciating that her friend would be livid about contamination of the crime scene. Cynthia wouldn’t care that the firemen were wired to save lives until—or unless—they could confirm death.

  The two of them got out of the car, and at the front door, Madison looked up. The place had looked big from the curb, but standing next to it only impressed just how successful the Malones were.

  Officer Tendum was stationed at door. He was younger, a little wet behind the ears, and he and Madison had butted heads more than once. Then again, it was his stupidity that had resulted in her former training officer, Reggie Higgins, being shot during a murder investigation about a year ago. At least Higgins had been fortunate enough to recover and return to work.

  Tendum stepped to the side to allow Madison and Terry to enter the house.

  Inside, they were greeted by a grand entry with two sweeping staircases that hugged the curves of two walls. A large, teardrop-crystal chandelier punctuated the center of the space. Abstract paintings adorned the walls with lighting mounted over them. Madison didn’t know much about art, but flea-market finds didn’t typically wind up in fine frames with specialty lighting.

  The smell of chlorine hung in the air, and she started following her nose—and Terry—toward the back of the home.

  They passed an expansive living space that could have served as a lobby for a fine hotel. A bottle of red wine sat on a coffee table as did two wineglasses, each with some wine in them. The kitchen off to the right gleamed with high-end stainless steel appliances, and a breakfast bar lined the wall.

  “All this for two people,” Madison said, thinking about the imbalances of wealth distribution.

  “Yep, all eight thousand square feet,” Terry responded.

  He opened the door to an atrium with a million-dollar view of the Bradshaw River that ran through Stiles. The rectangular pool, surrounded by a tiled patio dotted with lounge chairs and tables, took center stage. A hot tub, large enough for six, was to the right end of the pool, and in the corner of the
room, there was a sauna. Blood spatter was to the immediate edge of the pool, to the left of the pool ladder, along with the two bodies.

  Matching bullet holes marked both their foreheads, but the water had cleaned the wounds. For a shooting, there was minimal mess.

  Cynthia was next to the bodies, along with Mark Adams, one of her employees from the Stiles PD forensics lab she headed up. Sam, short for Samantha, and Jennifer—never Jenn or Jenny—were also in the room photographing and marking potential evidence.

  Cynthia got up and approached Madison and Terry. “I keep thinking I’m being punked.” She was scowling and shaking her head. “They tromped in here without any regard for the crime scene. Did they really think they’d find the vics alive? They were at the bottom of the pool, and they took ten minutes to get here.” She swept out her arms. “And as if I don’t have enough going on.”

  Any other time, Madison might have laid a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder, but to do so now would be at her own risk.

  Cynthia set her gaze on Terry. “You have the warrant?”

  “I do.” He tapped it in his hands.

  “Great.” Cynthia’s tone deflated the meaning of the word. “We’re legal now,” she called out to her team and then turned to Madison. “Of all the days, too, eh? It’s going to take us hours to work through all this. We’ll probably have to put off our plans for tonight. We might need to pull an all-nighter.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll call Tiffany’s Bridal, reschedule for tomorrow night.”

  “Thanks.” Cynthia put her hands on her hips. “I hate that it’s all coming together so last minute. Everything has to be perfect.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” It was strange seeing Cynthia worked up like this. Normally, she had such a cavalier, go-with-the-flow, laidback approach to life—but everything about Cynthia settling down was shocking. She had long, dark hair, a slender frame, and legs that didn’t end, not to mention a metabolism Madison would kill for, and men loved her. She’d dated a lot. Then again, play with fire for long enough and you’ll get burned. She’d started seeing Lou Sanford, a major crimes detective with Stiles PD, and her black book got tossed out the window.