“She’s outside.” Matt went to the french doors and opened them. The dog pushed past Matt. Cold air swept off the lake as Matt stepped out onto the deck. A woman in her fifties stared over the lake. The only movement was the lift and fall of her cigarette. She wore a sweater and jeans. No coat or gloves or hat, even though the temperature was below freezing. Her hand reached automatically for her dog, who planted his huge head in her lap.
Bree edged past Matt. “Ms. O’Neil?”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t even register their presence. But then, she must be in shock.
With one eye on the dog, Bree moved to crouch in front of her. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
Ms. O’Neil’s chin lifted. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray next to her. “I quit two years ago. I found that pack in my office.”
Her skin was waxy pale, her lips almost blue. How long had she been out here?
“Let’s get you inside.” Bree took one arm, Matt the other.
Ms. O’Neil didn’t resist. They brought her into the great room. Bree eased her onto the sofa. Matt whipped an afghan off a chair and wrapped it around Ms. O’Neil’s shoulders. The dog jumped onto the sofa and lay down with his body touching hers.
“The medical examiner didn’t let me see him. She said they beat him, and I wouldn’t recognize his face. But I would have. No matter what. I’d know my son.”
Matt didn’t comment. The ME had been kind when she’d used the word beaten to describe the injuries to Brian’s face. He found a remote for the gas fireplace and turned it on. Flames surged, and warmth poured out instantly. “I’ll make her some tea.”
“He wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man,” Ms. O’Neil said in an absent voice. “Why would someone do that to him?”
“I don’t know,” Bree said.
Matt searched cabinets until he found tea bags and a mug. He used the instant hot water dispenser on the sink. After adding a heaping teaspoon of sugar, he brought the tea to Ms. O’Neil. She was shaking. Tea spilled over the rim of the cup. But she didn’t react or seem to care.
Bree forced her to drink a few sips of the hot liquid. Ms. O’Neil pushed the tea aside. She set the cup down in the small puddle of liquid on the table. Then she rose on shaky legs and crossed the room to a bar cart. Trembling, she poured whiskey from a decanter into a tumbler. She lifted the whiskey with both hands and took a healthy swallow. After topping off her glass, she returned to the couch. “Can you find the person who did this to my son?”
Matt wanted to promise her, but that hadn’t gone well with Mrs. Whitney, had it? But he had to say something. “We will do everything in our power to bring the person responsible to justice.”
“All I want is a name. I can bring justice myself.” Bitterness lowered her voice. She glanced back at them. “You’re surprised? Don’t be. Nothing is more dangerous than a mother. Nothing matters to me anymore. I don’t have anything to lose. It all died with Brian.”
Ms. O’Neil shouldn’t be alone. She wasn’t stable.
Matt cleared his throat. “Did Brian have any disagreements with anyone recently?”
“He and his friends were on the outs.” Ms. O’Neil’s voice was flat. “They were all a little jealous of Brian. He is—was—better looking than the rest of them. I guess that’s not true now.” She stopped. A choke led to a sob. She pressed her fist against her mouth. Two rings on her hand caught the light. One was a cluster of clear stones Matt guessed were diamonds. The second was a deep blue square the size of a marble. Sapphire? When she dropped her hand, she lifted her glass and drained it.
“By friends you mean his roommates,” Bree clarified.
“Yes.” Ms. O’Neil went back to the liquor cart and refilled her glass. At this rate, she wasn’t going to be coherent for long. Matt didn’t blame her one bit. The dog watched from the couch, his sad eyes following his mistress.
She crossed the room and stood. Her eyes were on the lake, but they weren’t focusing on anything. “Brian and his roommates have been friends since freshman year. Christian, Dustin, and Eli come to the lake for a week in the summer.”
“You said they were jealous. Do you think they could have hurt Brian?” Bree asked.
Ms. O’Neil fumbled and nearly dropped her tumbler. “I don’t want to think that. But I also think no one ever shares all of themselves. Everyone holds something back. Who knows what that something is? I know they were all jealous of him. I spoiled him sometimes. Nice car. Nice clothes.” Her smile was devastated. “Now I’m glad I did.”
“How long have you lived here?” Matt asked.
“Since Brian was a baby. My husband and I bought the house to raise a big family. Then he left us.” Her words were beginning to slur. She pressed a palm to her forehead. “Before you ask, I bought the house. My family has money. He’s always broke, but I loved him. I didn’t care. What a fool I was.”
“When did you last see him?” Matt asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t even know. Fifteen years, at least. He emailed weekly for the first few months, then every few weeks became holidays and birthdays. Then nothing.”
“Why did he leave?” Bree asked.
“He couldn’t handle the responsibility of being a parent,” Ms. O’Neil said. “I know couples break up, but how do you walk away from your child? Brian was three when he left.”
Matt had no answer. “Does Brian have a room here?”
“Yes.” Ms. O’Neil tipped her head into her hand.
“We’d like to look at his room,” Bree said.
“Go ahead.” Ms. O’Neil gestured toward the staircase behind the fireplace.
Bree and Matt went up the steps. The two rooms that faced the road were guest rooms. Brian’s bedroom was easy to find. University and high school pennants were pinned over the bed. Bree stopped and stared at a row of high school baseball trophies that lined a bookcase. She cleared her throat and took a pair of gloves from her pocket. She offered a pair to Matt. He took them and tugged them on.
“You want to take the closet?” She pulled out a dresser drawer.
“Sure.” Matt opened the door. The closet was half-full. Matt went through the pockets of pants and jackets. He moved the sweaters on the top shelf. Two shoeboxes contained dress shoes. A third was full of baseball cards. Matt found nothing even remotely interesting.
“Nothing in the dresser.” Bree turned.
“Same. Are we done?” Matt asked.
“Almost.” Bree took pictures of the bedroom. “I didn’t expect to find much here. He lived at school most of the time.”
Matt motioned toward the closet. “Seems he uses his room here to store the stuff he doesn’t need at school.”
Bree returned her phone to her pocket. “OK. We’ll say goodbye to Ms. O’Neil on the way out.”
They went downstairs. Ms. O’Neil crossed the room to pour herself another drink. Her eyes were glassy, and her gait was unsteady. Yet she looked more coherent than she wanted to be.
Matt stopped to look at a row of framed snapshots. He spotted a photo of Brian with a dark-haired girl on the dock of a lake. It was Sara Harper. She and Brian were leaning into each other and grinning for the camera. Matt looked through the glass panels behind him and saw the dock in the photo. He took the picture off the shelf and showed it to Brian’s mother. “When was this taken?”
Ms. O’Neil glanced at it. “A few weeks ago? Brian brought Sariah up here for the day.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Does she know?”
Christian had said neither Brian nor Eli had dated Sariah. But it seemed like she’d actually dated both of them. Had the roommates lied, or had they been lied to?
“We’re trying to contact her now,” Bree said. “But we haven’t been able to find her. Do you know where she is?”
Ms. O’Neil shook her head. “She only came here once. But I could tell Brian really liked her. He talks about her all the time—talked about her all the time.” She closed her eyes for a second. When s
he opened them, they were filled with unshed tears. “They spent a lot of time together.”
Matt turned the photo of Sara Harper and Brian so Bree could see it. She didn’t look surprised. Ms. O’Neil pressed her fingertips to her eyes. Her rings caught Matt’s attention again. “Ms. O’Neil, has any of your jewelry gone missing lately?”
She froze and lowered her hands. “Yes. How did you know?”
“There’s been a series of residential robberies lately,” he said.
“Do you think they’re related to Brian’s death?” she asked.
Matt looked to Bree. Did she want to give that possible connection away?
“We don’t know if the crimes are related or coincidental,” Bree said. “Can you tell me what went missing?”
Ms. O’Neil wiped a tear from her cheek. “I keep my valuable jewelry in a safe, but there were some smaller pieces in my jewelry box that I wore often—small diamond studs and a matching pendant.”
“Can you estimate the value?” Bree asked.
“Roughly eight or nine thousand dollars.” Ms. O’Neil acted like she’d said ten bucks.
“Did you call the police?” Matt asked.
“No.” Ms. O’Neil shook her head. “I thought I’d simply misplaced them. The last time I was wearing them I’d been to a party. I’d had too much champagne.”
Bree’s eyebrows rose. “When did they disappear?”
“Two or three weeks ago.” Ms. O’Neil lifted a shoulder.
Shortly after Sara’s visit.
“Do you have any family nearby, Ms. O’Neil?”
“My sister.”
“Let me call her for you,” Bree said.
“Fine.” Ms. O’Neil read a number off her phone. Only after Matt and Bree were sure the sister was on her way did they leave the house and return to Bree’s vehicle.
In the passenger seat, Matt fastened his seat belt. “Sara Harper seems to be the center of everything.”
Bree started the engine and turned the vehicle around. “She had been dating Eli and Brian. Neither one had told their roommates or each other. Was keeping their relationships secret her idea or the boys’?”
“I’m betting it was her idea. If she was targeting Brian for his mother’s jewelry, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know.”
“That would also explain why she was less interested in Eli. His grandmother doesn’t have any money.”
“Could Sara Harper be behind Brian’s death and Eli’s disappearance?” Bree asked. “Why would she want Brian dead?”
“Maybe he figured out she stole his mother’s jewelry and threatened to go to the police.”
Bree turned the vehicle down the driveway. “So, she killed him to keep him quiet.”
“With her record of four previous arrests and two convictions, I doubt she would get off with community service or probation. She’d likely spend some time in jail. But how does a slim girl move a dead body to dump it in the lake?”
“Wheelbarrow, hand truck, accomplice . . . There’s always a way.” Bree didn’t look concerned by the logistics. “But if we believe Alyssa’s story, then Sara Harper was shot Monday morning.” She turned onto the main road. “Who killed her?”
Matt considered. “We know Sara Harper is a scammer. What if she staged the shooting to throw us off her track?”
“Let’s see what Todd has turned up.” Bree dialed Todd’s number and put him on speakerphone. “Todd, do you have a last known address for Sara Harper?”
“Yes. 201 Mallard Lane.”
Bree entered the address into her GPS. “What else can you tell us?”
“The property has belonged to Earl Harper, age forty-eight, for just over twenty years. Earl served five years in state prison for first-degree robbery. He beat a convenience store clerk with a baseball bat. Unfortunately, he copped a plea for a minimum sentence. He also has a list of other petty crimes on his rap sheet. Earl is currently self-employed.” Todd paused for a breath. The shuffle of paper sounded over the connection. “Also living at that address is Rowdy Harper, age twenty-seven. Rowdy did eighteen months in prison for grand larceny. He also has a rap sheet of minor offenses. The only violent one is an arrest for sexual assault. But the woman dropped the charges before the case went to trial.”
“Is that it?” Bree asked.
“Isn’t that enough?” Todd snorted. “I handed you two more suspects. But yeah. That’s it for now. I’ll let you know what else I find.”
“What kind of vehicles do Earl and Rowdy drive?”
Todd paused. “Earl has an old F-150. There’s no vehicle registered to Rowdy.”
“Thanks.” Bree ended the call.
“Maybe Sara’s family was in on the burglaries. Brian could have threatened to turn in Sara, which could have taken them all down. Sara went to Daddy or Big Brother and asked them to take care of the Brian problem.”
“Fits with all of their previous histories of theft and violence. I wish one of them drove a Dodge Charger.”
“That would be too easy.”
Bree turned to Matt. “Ready to interview two violent felons?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Checking the GPS map, Bree slowed the vehicle. On the right side of the road, she could see the sparkle of ice through the trees. “Sara Harper’s father lives on Grey Lake?”
“Pretty stupid to dump the body so close to home,” Matt said.
“But most criminals aren’t that smart.” She turned down the gravel driveway. The lane hadn’t been graded in decades, and her SUV bounced and rolled all the way to the house. The Harpers lived in a run-down bungalow. Instead of landscaping, discarded household objects littered the grounds around the house. Bree parked between a kitchen sink and a mattress. The only similarity between the O’Neil residence and the Harpers’ house was a water view.
“How do you want to handle the interview?” Matt asked. “Career criminals usually have a good handle on the law. They will scream lawyer the second they feel threatened.”
“Good point. Let’s approach them with concerns that Sara is missing and has possibly been shot. They might be more willing to talk about Sara instead of themselves.”
“Worth a try.”
“Let’s see who’s home.” Bree slid out of the SUV. The clang of metal striking metal rang through the trees, an echo from her childhood. The memory turned her stomach. The Harper property reminded her of the old Taggert place: rural, weedy, and unkept. “Someone is splitting wood.”
She paused to take pictures of the front of the property, making sure she caught the pickup truck parked in the driveway. Then Matt followed her to the front door. She pressed the doorbell but heard no sound. When no one answered, she knocked on the door. It opened, and a man in jeans, a quilted flannel jacket, gloves, and boots stood in the entrance. He was about twenty-five years old. His eyes were set too close together, and he hadn’t shaved in a while. Unlike Matt’s tight, trimmed beard, this guy’s facial hair looked dirty. He scanned Bree from head to toe and back to her face again. His eyes went flat and hostile.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I’m Sheriff Taggert.” Bree introduced Matt. “We’re trying to find Sara Harper.”
“She ain’t here.” He moved to shut the door.
Bree stepped forward. “Have you seen her?”
“Not in a while.” He scratched his head.
“Are you related to Sara?” Bree asked.
“I’m her brother.” He had the same dark hair as Sara, though she had inherited all the good looks from their shared DNA.
“What is your name?” Bree asked.
He frowned and considered her question for a long minute, as if he were trying to think of a reason he shouldn’t answer the question but couldn’t. Not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. “Rowdy Harper.”
“On Monday, a young woman was reportedly the victim of a shooting,” Bree explained. “When we responded to the call, she was gone. We just learned the victim is your sis
ter.”
His face creased with confusion. “That’s weird.”
“We agree. We’d really like to find Sara. She could be hurt . . . or worse.” Bree let her voice trail off. At this point, if Sara had survived the initial shooting, she could very well be dead. Or if the shooting had been staged for Alyssa’s benefit, then Sara was likely involved in Brian’s murder. At minimum, Sara was a thief, and the matchbox in her backpack tied her to the murder scene.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“Information on your sister,” Bree said. “Her friends. Places she goes. Things she does. Last time you saw her, et cetera.”
“Wait here.” He closed the door in their faces. Thirty seconds later, the sound of wood being split ceased. Two more minutes passed until it resumed. The door opened. “Daddy’s splitting wood out back. You can ask him your questions.”
Bree stepped toward the open door.
He blocked her with his body, anger glittering in his eyes. “You can go around.”
“Of course.” Bree backed down the steps without turning her back on Rowdy.
Once they rounded the corner of the house, Bree fell into step beside Matt.
“I wish Brody was here,” he said.
“Me too,” Bree admitted. She’d seen criminals more frightened of a K-9 than a handgun pointed right in their faces, a reaction she totally understood.
The snow crunched under their boots as they walked around the house. As soon as they turned the corner, a huge pit bull began to bark. The big brown dog lunged at the end of the chain attached to a tree.
Bree jumped. Sweat broke out on her back. She breathed.
Really? Another dog?
She resumed walking, refusing to look in the dog’s direction again, no matter how much it barked and howled. Outside, she hoped she portrayed a calm and authoritative officer of the law. But the dog, the junk-filled yard, the snowy ground, even the man splitting wood—all brought back memories of her childhood that she didn’t have time to process right now. She was running out of mental compartments to stow all her baggage.
See Her Die Page 18