by Lauren Carr
Suellen was on the sofa in the living room, looking out at the birds feasting on their late-afternoon snack.
“I’m having trouble locating Keith Black,” Cameron said. “Do you have any idea where he would have gone after that concert? Maybe he had family?”
“He never talked about his family,” Suellen said with a firm shake of her head. “I remember him saying that he’d dropped out of high school and hit the road on a motorcycle at the age of sixteen.” She offered her a slight grin. “Of course, that could have been a lie. Keith loved to tell stories, but he would never give away too much about himself. I noticed that.”
“You are very observant, Suellen.”
“It was Harrison Calhoun who attacked Dylan after he broke up the group. Keith was more or less a let-it-be type of guy, drifting from one town and gig to another.”
“So you could see Harrison Calhoun killing Dylan?” Cameron asked. “The same Harrison Calhoun whose wife called you right after the cold case was mentioned on television and told you not to say anything? The same Harrison who got into a fight with Dylan right after the concert—a fight that you and Cat had to break up?”
In silence, Suellen nodded her head. “But Harrison was not one to hold a grunge. Sure, he was furious in the heat of the moment, but after a couple of drinks and some time to cool off, he would have been fine.”
Cameron looked at J.J., who was studying the crime-scene pictures from the folder. He had the same quizzical expression that his father always had on his face when studying a case, and his eyebrows were furrowed in the same way, too.
“Well,” Cameron said, “I’m going to be talking to Harrison and Cat tomorrow. Maybe I can get some answers to our questions.”
“You found them?” Suellen asked.
“In State College. She’s a music teacher. Harrison owns a public-relations company.”
“State College is a long drive away from here,” Suellen said. “You should take J.J.”
J.J.’s head snapped up from the autopsy report.
Cameron started to shake her head. “I was planning to spend the night in a hotel,” she said. “Tomorrow night, after I talk to the Calhouns, I’m going to meet a journalist who’s researching Wendy Matthews’ disappearance.”
“Change your reservations to a two-bedroom suite,” Suellen said. “J.J. will be good company for you.”
“Suellen, I—what if you have another seizure?” J.J. asked.
“Poppy and Izzy will be here to check on me.” With a wave of her hand, she turned back to Cameron. “You won’t mind having a civilian with you, will you?”
Cameron would not relish three and a half hours of stony silence in her cruiser, but she offered Suellen a forced grin. Across the room, J.J. had the same look on his face.
“It’ll give you two a chance to become better acquainted,” Suellen said.
“Yes, I know.”
As she trotted into the study, Cameron heard Joshua speaking in the voice that he used when his parental patience was growing thin. Leaning back in his chair, Joshua had his bare feet propped up on the windowsill and was looking out at the lush green backyard, which included a huge lilac bush that Cameron guessed was older than she and Joshua were.
He was talking to, or rather getting chewed out by, one of his children. Cameron had a good idea of which one.
“I know,” Joshua said. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”
Clutching her tablet to her chest, she sat down on the sofa next to Admiral, who sat up to make more room for her.
Joshua let out a deep breath. “And she’s right.”
Obviously, J.J. did not like it when his father said that.
Joshua dropped his feet down from the windowsill, spun around in his seat, and switched his cell phone to the other ear. “Now you know full well that when it comes to murder investigations, everyone is considered a suspect until they’re cleared. Even baby-faced orphans. I assume that you read about Baby-Faced Nelson in your criminology class! I’ve had more than one murder case in which the killer ended up being a cutie-pie who knew how to use his charm to make everyone think that he was incapable of hurting a fly. But in reality, cutie-pie was a sociopath capable of mowing down a whole nightclub with an AK-47. So don’t tell me that Cameron’s a monster for suspecting Noah. He’s been squatting in that barn for probably a year, doing Lord knows what—”
Cameron heard J.J.’s response when Joshua held the phone away from his ear, and it made her cringe.
Shaking his head, Joshua held up his finger in a sign for her to wait. As soon as there was a break in the conversation, he said, “Cameron needs to question Noah about the Brady murder.”
“Not without me!”
“Okay, you can be there to advise him!”
“Good!”
“Good!” Joshua said. “Anything else?”
“Tell Cameron not to pick me up before eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” J.J. said. “I’m meeting a client in the barn.”
“What are you and Cameron doing at eight o’clock?” Joshua asked.
“We’re going to question witnesses about the Matthews case,” Cameron and J.J. said in unison.
Using hand gestures, Cameron told Joshua that it was a three-and-a-half-hour drive. Joshua closed his eyes and shuddered. “Sounds like fun.” With that, he disconnected the call.
“Sorry,” Cameron said.
“Why did you say anything?” Joshua asked.
“This potential sociopath is hanging out with our daughter,” Cameron said.
“Noah’s not a sociopath. He doesn’t even match Clyde’s description.”
“That’s what J.J. said.”
“He’s right.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I just said to J.J., and now I’m telling you that Noah is not a sociopath,” Joshua said. “You met him for five minutes. I’ve spent two mornings shoveling horse manure and cleaning up that barn and taking care of those animals with him. Serial killers and serial killers in training abuse animals that depend on them. Noah loves every one of those animals, and they all love him.” He tossed a report in her direction. “I read the report from Atlanta about his background.”
“His mother was a prostitute and a drug addict,” Cameron said, recalling what Sheriff Sawyer had told her.
“Noah grew up on the streets and was bullied by gangs and his mother’s pimps and customers,” Joshua said. “People have not treated him well. He’s got a paying job at the orchard, and he certainly doesn’t waste his pay on wine, women, and song. He’s got a fake ID, so he could rent a room in town. But I think he stays in that barn because he feels safe there.”
“Not unlike Poppy,” Cameron said. “Comanche likes him.”
“I’ve seen him give that horse apples right out of his hand,” Joshua said. “My family comes from a long line of farmers, and my relatives always said that animals can sense things in people that humans can’t. If your dog doesn’t like someone, you can’t trust that person, because that dog knows something that you don’t.”
“I know that Clyde said the killer had long blond hair,” she said. “But other than that, Noah kind of looks like the composite drawing of Monica’s killer, and we have no idea where he was or what he was doing at the time of the murder.”
“A defense attorney will rip your case apart on hair color alone,” he said. “Plus Clyde, your only witness, has seen that kid every day since the murder, and he’s never fingered him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m getting mixed messages from you, darling.”
A wicked grin crossed Joshua’s face. “You know what I’m saying. I don’t think Noah’s your guy, but don’t take my word for it. You need to do your job and eliminate him as a suspect.” He chuckled. “Now that you’ve ruined my day”—he gestured at his cell phone, which he had just u
sed to talk to J.J.—“tell me how I can ruin yours.”
“Well, I found Silas Starling.” With a sigh that was part exhaustion and part disgust, Cameron stood up, crossed the room, and plopped down into Joshua’s lap behind the desk. “Luckily, he lives close—in Moon. He lives in an old house that was left to him by his grandmother.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her shoulder. “What’s disgusting you more—the cases that are dogging you or the thought of being trapped in the car with my son for seven hours?”
“I think that given enough time, J.J. and I will warm up to each other.” Cameron peered down at him. “After all, he is the product of your loins. That means that he has to have that Thornton charm in him somewhere. I just have to beat it out of him. No, it’s all the amateurs foisting themselves into my case—actually, my cases. Suellen insisted that J.J. go with me to track down Dylan’s killer.”
“J.J. can be helpful,” Joshua said.
“The blogger I’m meeting tomorrow night in State College, Karrie, wants me to let her in on what I uncover about the Wendy Matthews case.”
“But that isn’t really your case,” Joshua said.
“But Silas Starling is a common denominator in both disappearances,” Cameron said. “Wendy’s disappearance case is cold. When I manage to make contact with Silas, I’ll talk to him about Dylan’s murder, but since I have no jurisdiction over the Wendy Matthews case, I’ll have no grounds to question him about it. So—” She noticed that a sly grin was crossing Joshua’s face. “What?”
“You have no grounds to question Silas about the Wendy Matthews case, but the journalist can question him, and she can testify in court about anything he says to her.”
“What about the journalists’ shield law?”
“If she waives it, which it sounds like she wants to do, then there won’t be any problem.” He chuckled. “I’d take her along if I were you.”
She returned his sly grin. “Unfortunately, I plan on stopping by his house on the way out tomorrow morning. I’m not meeting the journalist until tomorrow night.”
“You’ve contacted him for an interview already?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Like I said, Silas Starling is a common denominator in both Dylan’s and Wendy’s disappearances. That puts him high up on my suspect list. So I plan on making it a surprise visit.”
He chuckled at her way of thinking. It was so in sync with his. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Besides sexually?” She flashed him a wicked grin. “You can help me with Clyde Brady.”
“You want me to stick my nose into the Monica Brady murder?”
She sighed. “I’m worried about Clyde. I’m afraid that maybe, old age and grief are getting the best of him. Today, he chewed J.J. out because one of the colts was running loose—”
“Horses aren’t supposed to run loose,” Joshua said.
“But Gulliver can,” she said. “So anyway, Clyde—”
“Why is Gulliver allowed to run loose?”
“Because he doesn’t go anywhere,” she said. “So when Clyde pulled up in his—”
“Doesn’t he get into stuff?” Joshua furrowed his eyebrows.
“He gets into the feed room and helps himself to a midnight snack,” she said. “Then he feeds the rest of the horses—”
“The rest of the horses?”
“Except Captain Blackbeard, which makes Captain very angry.”
“Why doesn’t J.J. have those horses locked up?” Joshua asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.
“He does,” Cameron said. “It’s just that Gulliver keeps letting himself and the rest of the horses—except for Captain Blackbeard—out.” She let out a groan. “Are you going to listen to me?”
“I have been listening to you, and so far it sounds like there are some very peculiar animals at this farm.”
“Forget about the nutty critters, and listen to what I have to say about Clyde!”
“You’re afraid that by the time you identify Monica Brady’s killer, Clyde, your only witness, will be mentally unable to contribute to the prosecution of the case.”
“Exactly,” Cameron said. “When he was chewing out J.J. today, he called him Josh.”
“That is his name,” Joshua said. “Joshua Thornton Jr. Some people who don’t know me call him by his proper name.”
“That’s what J.J. said. Clyde has been calling him Josh. But then Clyde referenced ‘that fancy school.’”
“Law school?”
“I think he thinks that J.J. is you.”
“Especially since Clyde had no idea who I was when I went out to feed the horses,” Joshua said. “I’ll stop by the Brady place tomorrow and poke around a little bit to see how Clyde has been holding up. There might be some evidence that he’s losing it around his house.”
After dinner, J.J. had gone outside to help Poppy bring in the horses so that they could feed them and bed them down for the night, but he’d found that everything had been done. Even Gulliver was in his stall.
Since the sun was in the process of going down, he climbed aboard the barn’s ATV and rode over the hill and down to Poppy’s camper. As the vehicle crested the hill, J.J. gunned the engine and raced down the dirt road to the campsite. There was a light on inside the cmper. When he turned off the engine, he heard soft meditation music coming from behind it.
Following the music, he made his way around the camper and to the front yard of the shack-like farmhouse. Just as he rounded the corner, the bridge of his nose collided with Poppy’s hand.
“J.J.!”
Seeing stars in front of his eyes, J.J. grabbed his nose.
Poppy rushed up to him and offered him a towel. “I didn’t see you there. I was in the zone, and when I get there, I block everything out. Is your nose bleeding?”
J.J. pressed the towel to his nose and leaned his head back. “Are there fireflies out?”
“No.”
“Then I’m hurt.”
She led him to a stump so that he could sit down.
“I guess I should have hollered before coming back here.” As the white stars disappeared, he saw that she had changed out of her riding pants and boots and into black yoga pants and a midriff-baring sports bra. “I guess you have a life outside of horses.”
“Don’t you have a life outside of law?” She turned off the music player.
“Touché,” he said. “You never struck me as the yoga type.”
“Not yoga,” she said. “Dance mediation. It’s a combination of yoga and dance. Want to try it?”
“No,” he said. “I came to find out if you’ve talked to Noah. I noticed that he didn’t help you bring in the horses.”
“I thought you wanted me to get him out of here before the police catch up with him,” she said. “The kid wanted to run off, but I promised him that you’re a good guy and that you’ll make sure that he doesn’t have to go back to Atlanta.”
“You shouldn’t have promised him that.”
“But you said—”
“I’ll do everything I can to help him,” J.J. said. “But I don’t know the nitty-gritty of what happened in Atlanta. I need to talk to his social worker there. Where is he now? Is someone watching him? He’s not sleeping in the barn, is he?”
“The orchards’ manager, Tom, took him home with him,” Poppy said. “He had no idea that the kid was living in your barn. He said it explains why the kid is always the first one here and the last one to leave—it’s because he never leaves. That’s probably why Comanche warmed up to him. They’ve both been alone in the world.”
“Like you,” J.J. said in a soft voice.
In a forced upbeat tone, she said, “After my stepfather, I learned how to protect myself from getting hurt again.” With a crooked grin, she cocked her head at him. “I find
that the best defense is to not let anyone get close enough to hurt me.”
J.J. tapped the tip of his nose. “I can attest to what happens to those who do.”
With a giggle, she blushed. With her long red hair and her small, slender figure, she resembled a wood nymph. She cocked her head at him. “What can I do for you, my friend?”
J.J. grinned at her reference to their agreed-upon friendship. “I need a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m going out of town with my stepmother for a couple of days,” he said. “I’m helping her with a murder investigation, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Suellen alone in that house.”
“You’d like me to keep an eye on her,” Poppy said. “Sure. I’d be glad to.”
“You can stay in the house. It has plumbing and electricity—” With a chuckle, he nodded toward the abandoned farmhouse whose wiring had proved to be too outdated for the electric company to turn on the power.
“J.J., I’ll do it.” Her hand was on his arm. “Don’t worry. When are you going?”
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there by seven o’clock, as soon as I finish feeding everyone.”
“We’ll pay you—”
She waved her hand at him. “Don’t worry about it.” She spun on her heel and went around to the front of the camper. “It’s a favor. We’re friends, and friends do favors for their friends.”
After thanking her again, J.J. started to walk back to the ATV. Before he could turn it on, she called to him from the open doorway of her camper. “You’re lucky, you know.”
Thinking that she was referring to his loving relationship with Suellen, he said, “I know. That’s why I want to take advantage of every day we have together.”
“I was talking about your stepmother,” she said.
J.J. raised his eyes and looked over at her. In the dusk, he could see only her silhouette.
“She likes you,” Poppy said. “I mean, she really likes you—not, like, in a creepy way but in a caring way. She wants to be your friend, too.”