by Dan Padavona
The deputies followed Thomas to the door. Kane Grove PD, who provided backup in Barton Falls when the county sheriff’s department was overwhelmed, had contacted Thomas an hour ago. Tina Garraway, a reporter for channel seven in Syracuse, never arrived for work today. The station manager sent a reporter to check on the missing woman. Garraway’s car was in the driveway, but she didn’t answer his knocks. So the reporter phoned Kane Grove PD, who discovered Garraway shriveled and dead in the bathtub with the water running.
As Thomas led his deputies to the doorstep, a young officer touched his cap and opened the door for them. The medical examiner was already here. Virgil Harbough worked beside Claire Brookins in the bathroom while a team of forensics specialists pawed around the house for evidence. Lambert took one look at Garraway’s pruned and bloodied corpse and turned away. The stench was enough to flip Thomas’s stomach over. Something between rotten eggs and carrion.
“Lambert, check outside the house.”
“You figure someone did this to her? It appears she fell and drowned.”
“I agree, but let’s cover all the bases. Collect anything you find, no matter how trivial. Eight years ago, I responded to a shooting in Los Angeles. One dead teenager, no witnesses. As I searched through the backyard, I discovered a gum wrapper. The shooter chewed gum while he waited for his target to return home. Moron left his prints on the foil wrapper. That’s how we solved the case.”
Lambert nodded and disappeared. The deputy wanted out of the bathroom, and Thomas saw little reason for three people to crowd Virgil and Claire.
“What happened here, Virgil?”
The medical examiner turned to Thomas.
“From what I can tell, Tina Garraway slipped in the tub and smashed her head against the faucet. The tub is as slick as a greased pan. There’s some fancy soap that smells like flowers all over the basin. I tell my wife to wipe down the tub after she uses her soap.” Virgil shook his head. “Never listens. One of these days, one of us will step into the bath, fall, and crack a head open just like this poor woman did.”
Claire remained silent, a hint she wasn’t positive Virgil was right. Thomas caught her eye, but she looked away.
“If you inspect the faucet, you’ll see a clump of hair and flesh around the edges,” Virgil said, gesturing at the faucet with a penlight. “Notice the chunk missing from her forehead? That’s where she struck the faucet.” Virgil sighed and stood. His knees popped as though he stepped on eggshells. “Such a shame. I watch her on the evening news. She’s talented.”
Thomas hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “If it’s all the same, I’ll check the home and search for forced entry, anything that suggests someone was in the house with her.”
“It always pays to be thorough. But this is an all-too-common household tragedy, and easily preventable. A five-dollar rubber bathtub mat from Walmart prevents falls and saves lives.” Virgil stared wistfully out the window. “But they grow moldy, and people toss them out after a few months. No matter how many times you tell people to be careful, they don’t listen.”
Thomas checked the windows outside the house while Aguilar searched the interior with a Treman Mills detective. The panes appeared intact, though the dining-room window was open to the screen. Not unusual. Most people aired out their houses at night after the temperature cooled. But Thomas filed the observation away and kept searching.
He stopped at the back door and twisted the knob. The mechanism made a broken clicking sound, as if someone had messed with the lock. He dusted for prints and noted the faulty mechanism.
Lambert finished in the yard. The deputy bagged a sandwich wrapper, a plastic top to a fountain drink from a fast-food restaurant, and a cigarette butt.
Aguilar stepped out of the house. “No sign of a break in. Maybe Virgil is right about Garraway falling.”
“Seems that way,” Thomas said. “Let’s meet the neighbors. See if anyone noticed a stranger hanging around the house last evening.”
The deputies split up, Aguilar crossing the street while Lambert turned down the sidewalk.
Thomas walked to the house on the left. Before he knocked, a woman with a road map of wrinkles across her face opened the door. She cupped a chocolate-colored poodle in one arm, the dog’s eyes darting at Thomas. With her free hand, the woman clamped a cigarette between two fingers. She took a long drag on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.
“Evening, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Shepherd with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Mandy Russell.”
“You live alone, Ms. Russell?”
“Nope. William is at work. He gets home after ten.” Russell took another drag on the cigarette. “Something happen to the reporter lady next door? She’s a mean one.”
“Ms. Garraway died last night.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“How’d that happen? Heart attack?”
“We’re still investigating. Did anyone visit Ms. Garraway’s house last evening?”
The poodle squirmed in the woman’s arms. Russell set the dog down, and the poodle scampered into the living room, where it peeked around the corner at Thomas.
“Not that I recall. She don’t get visitors. I doubt she’s ever had a friend.”
“I take it you don’t get along.”
“She don’t speak much. Just comes and goes without a wave. Garraway yelled at Mocha last evening on account of her barking. Mocha don’t bark that loud, and she’s usually quiet. Don’t know what got into her last night. But a friendly neighbor would give the dog a few minutes before she raised holy hell. Not Garraway. She told me to quiet the dog, so she could sleep. It wasn’t even nine yet.”
“So you spoke to Garraway a little before nine.”
“She spoke. I listened.”
“Was that the last time you saw her?”
“Thankfully.”
“Any unfamiliar vehicles in the neighborhood?”
“Nope.”
“Any idea why your dog was barking?”
“Probably a skunk or raccoon in the yard. They come out after sunset and claw at the garbage out back. Last week, I found the can tipped over and the bag all torn up. What a mess. Old food and trash everywhere.”
Thomas questioned Russell for another minute before leaving the woman with his card. He met Lambert and Aguilar in front of Garraway’s house. “Anything?”
Lambert and Aguilar shook their heads.
“The neighbor claims Garraway yelled at her last night because her dog kept barking.”
Aguilar shrugged. “Dogs bark. That’s what they do.”
“According to Russell, hers doesn’t.”
“Sounds like a parent who believes her child is incapable of misbehaving.”
“Agreed. But what if the dog sensed an intruder in Garraway’s house?”
“That’s a possibility. But I found nothing out of the ordinary inside the house. No signs of a struggle or a break-in.”
Thomas released a breath. Virgil was probably right. Garraway returned home after a long day at work and slipped in the tub. All the evidence pointed toward an accidental death.
So why did his instincts tell him this wasn’t an accident?
11
Scout kept the door open so the ticket booth wouldn’t overheat. Even with the windows cracked, the temperature skyrocketed when the sun beat down on the wooden structure. But it was a simple job. All Scout needed to do was wheel herself out of the booth when a car approached. If the driver had a park pass, she read the pass with a card reader. Otherwise, she collected nine dollars and handed the driver a ticket. The ticket was valid at any New York state park for twenty-four hours.
Between tasks, Scout read her iPad and researched the amateur sleuthing forums. There was a mysterious death outside Sacramento that interested Scout. A potential murder. Already, the forums buzzed with new information about the murdered man. It was common for the forum members to zero in on suspects as quickly as the police
did. Sometimes the forum administrators shared their research with local police departments and helped them solve crimes.
As Scout sifted through a message thread, a station wagon pulled up to the booth. The woman driving the car wore curly, dirty-blonde hair to her shoulders, and had perfect teeth to match her smile. Behind the woman, three children in swimming trunks bounced with excitement on the backseat. One girl wore a blow-up floatie around her waist, prepared for a fun day of swimming.
“Welcome to Wolf Lake State Park. Nine dollars, please.”
The woman pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet and told Scout to keep the change.
“Thank you and enjoy your day.”
As the station wagon drove away, the children waved through the back window. Scout swallowed the lump in her throat. It seemed like yesterday she was their ages, bulletproof and carefree, with her whole life ahead of her, able to run and play and swim all summer. Then the accident occurred, stealing her ability to walk and tearing her family apart. Blaming himself for the collision, her father became a recluse and drove his family away. If only Scout could turn back time and warn her father before the tractor trailer lost control and slammed into the back of their car. Mom and Dad would still be together. And Scout would be able to walk.
A gray Chevy Suburban approached the gate. A couple in their sixties stopped as Scout wheeled herself to the window.
“Good morning. Welcome to Wolf Lake State Park.”
“Here’s my pass,” the man said, handing her his card.
Scout zapped the card with the reader and waved them through. Before the man shifted out of park, his wife leaned over and tapped her husband on the shoulder.
“Give her a tip, Harold,” she whispered loud enough for Scout to hear. “The poor girl is in a wheelchair.”
Harold dipped into his pocket and came up empty. He tried the other pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill.
“Here you go, dear.”
“You already paid, sir.”
“That’s for you. By the way, it’s wonderful the park lets you work here.”
Scout pocketed the money and stared, dumbfounded as the Chevy Suburban motored into the park. She didn’t want anyone to feel bad for her. Yes, she missed swimming and running. She longed for the days when kids her age treated her as an equal. But she’d accepted her fate. And five dollars would buy her pastries from the Broken Yolk.
As she swiveled the chair around, Darren crossed the parking lot and waved an arm over his head. He wore brown shorts and a ranger hat. Scout couldn’t help but think of the Yogi Bear cartoon as he approached.
“How’s the first day on the job?”
“I like it, thanks.”
“Nobody gave you a hard time?”
“No. Why would they?”
“The entry price is two dollars higher than it was last year. Some people take it out on the booth workers.” Darren nodded at the iPad. “Keeping up with the sleuthing boards, I take it.”
Scout’s cheeks bloomed.
“Sorry. I only read my iPad when traffic is slow.”
“Please, you don’t need to apologize. Sarah has worked at the park for six years, and she finishes a half-dozen thriller novels over a summer while she runs the booth. As long as you watch for vehicles, I don’t care if you read or listen to music. What are you researching?”
Scout pulled the tablet out of the booth and opened a pair of news stories.
“I’m reading up on an unsolved murder in California. But I’m more interested in two unexplained deaths in Nightshade County.”
Darren cocked an eyebrow.
“That’s news to me. What’s going on?”
“Harding Little jogged off the cliffs outside Treman Mills and fell into the gorge.”
“Ouch. That’s gotta leave a mark. Did Thomas respond?”
“Yes. There’s something else.” Scout handed the tablet to Darren. “A few days ago, the sheriff’s department and Kane Grove police found a television news reporter dead in her bathtub.”
Darren skimmed the article. “It says she slipped in the tub and smashed her head on the faucet. Sounds like an accident.”
“Two unlikely accidents in less than a week. Worthy of investigating, don’t you agree?”
Darren returned the iPad and gave Scout an unconvinced shrug.
“I’ll speak to Thomas. But nothing about either death convinces me foul play occurred.”
“You’ll see,” Scout said, winking. “This is what Agents Bell and Gardy with the FBI refer to as escalation. A trigger, usually a traumatic life event, pushes someone over the edge and turns him into a killer.”
“You watch too many crime investigation television shows.”
She laughed.
“That’s what Mom says.”
“Seriously, though. Is this really the job for you? As much as I enjoy having you at the park, I want you to speak to Chelsey about working at Wolf Lake Consulting.”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Scout said, looking away.
“Why not? You’re obviously qualified, you’re interested in investigative work, and, well, you provide cheap labor.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Welcome to life as a teenage employee.”
“But I’m too young. LeVar can’t apply for his PI license until he turns twenty-five.”
“You don’t need to become an official investigator. Chelsey might take you on as a student intern like LeVar.”
“I doubt Ms. Byrd wants me at Wolf Lake Consulting, especially after the gas station robbery.”
Earlier that spring, Scout rode with LeVar while he observed a cheating spouse during an infidelity investigation. As they watched the Flamingo Inn motel from across the street, a man pulled a gun and attempted to rob a gas station convenience store. Scout warned LeVar, who tackled the man from behind and pinned him to the blacktop until Deputy Aguilar arrived. Scout had been alone in the car. Had the robber turned the gun on LeVar, Scout would have been a sitting duck.
“That wasn’t your fault. If it wasn’t for you, the guy would have held up the clerk or shot somebody.”
Scout swatted at a curious fly.
“People see me as a liability. I get it.” She gestured at her legs. “It’s not like I can lend a hand or defend myself when something bad happens.”
“Like I said, you’re a great fit for Wolf Lake Consulting. I’ll put in a good word for you. So will Raven and Thomas. All you need to do is ask.”
“I don’t know, Darren. It sounds fun, but I really don’t think Ms. Byrd wants a teenager in a wheelchair working for the firm.”
“Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I’ll write you a glowing letter of recommendation.”
“Based on my performance on my first day? I’ve only worked two hours.”
“And there have been no riots, explosions, or murders. As far as I can tell, you have everything under control.”
Scout grinned. Maybe Darren was right. Working at a private investigation firm would give her the experience she needed to bulk up her college applications. College was a few years away, but it never hurt to start early.
A pickup truck turned into the park and coasted toward the booth.
“Looks like I have another customer. I’d better get to work.”
“Keep the park safe.” Darren tapped the radio on his hip and called over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll be at Lucifer Falls, working on the trail construction.”
Scout pushed herself toward the truck as the window lowered. She took the money and waved the hikers through.
To Scout’s surprise, Mom supported her working at the state park. But how would she react if Scout applied to work with a private investigation firm?
12
Kaylee pulled the skirt up her legs and admired herself in the mirror.
Two more skirts hung from hangers inside the changing room. She couldn’t decide which fit her better—the blue jean mini, the silk flower print, or th
e red cotton skirt that hugged the tops of her thighs like an indulgent boyfriend.
Why choose? She had the money for all three.
As she slipped out of the skirt and pulled her shorts over her hips, the door closed on the neighboring changing room. The woman’s breathing sounded labored, and Kaylee recognized her as the overweight slob who’d pawed through the plus-size racks. Kaylee was tempted to pound on the changing room door and tell the woman to pull herself together. Kendra had looked like her before she changed her ways and became Kaylee.
At the counter, Kaylee paid with a credit card that rewarded her with airline miles. All this spending would earn her a trip next winter. Someplace warm and tropical while her neighbors froze. The girl behind the counter sneered at the skirts as she rang them up. The little bitch was judging Kaylee, just as her classmates had.
“Is there a problem?”
The girl glanced up, alarmed.
“No, these are charming. They’ll look great on you.”
“Better than they would on your bony body. Do boys go for the cadaver look these days?”
The clerk’s mouth fell open. Kaylee’s stare burned holes into the girl until the clerk scanned the clothes and bagged them.
As she strutted back to the Alpha Romeo, with the bags hanging over one shoulder, she twirled the key ring around her finger and laughed. Intimidating the snobby clerk filled Kaylee with a volatile combination of vigor and giddy elation. She popped the trunk and tossed the bags inside. Behind the wheel, she marveled at the sleek interior and sensed the power awaiting her.
Two parking spaces away, a middle-aged woman with a milky complexion and a soft body climbed out of her minivan and gawked at the Alpha Romeo. Kaylee smiled at the woman, who’d already given up on life and surrendered to some domineering husband. The lady cooked his meals and tended after a couple bratty kids. The stick figure family on the back of the van confirmed Kaylee’s suspicion. Too bad, so sad.