Never Forget Me: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 7)

by Dan Padavona

  Scout glanced at Thomas and nodded.

  As the conversation shifted, Thomas studied Chelsey, who squirmed and chewed a nail. She was hiding something from him.

  17

  Raven yawned and jostled the fog out of her head. She parked three houses down from Albert Slater’s white two-story, her Nissan Rogue squeezed between a 4x4 truck and a Jeep. She checked the time. Ten o’clock. Slater still hadn’t emerged from the house to begin his day.

  Last night, she’d stayed awake until midnight after Osmond Bourn drove from a roof repair to a club in Syracuse. He’d stopped home to change while his wife, Rosemary, was shopping at the grocery store. At the club, Bourn exchanged back slaps with friends while Raven acted nondescript, sipping a drink as she studied Bourn from the corner of her eye. Twice, he disappeared upstairs to the VIP lounge, and Raven wondered if the contractor was having sex. She hadn’t noticed call girls hanging around the club, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Bourn returned each time after ten or fifteen minutes. His shirt and slacks appeared neat and ironed, not wrinkled, as if he’d slipped them off. Bourn was an enigma. What was he up to?

  Raven checked her messages and set the phone aside. She needed to stay alert. If Chelsey threw another infidelity or workers’ compensation case her way, Raven would lose her mind. Raven was thinking about whether she should eat her sandwich or save it for later when the curtains parted on Slater’s window. She sat up and peered over the steering wheel. Slater’s second wife, Janet, wiped a smudge off the glass. Did Janet know Slater refused to pay his first wife alimony and child support? Janet wore a bathrobe over her pajamas. As she watered a tropical fern in front of the window, she peeked up and down the neighborhood and vanished into the living room.

  Tapping her nails against the camera case, Raven waited for Slater to show his face. Had she made a mistake? She’d sworn he’d used his right hand to lift himself into the minivan at the grocery market. But the van had partially shielded Slater, and now Raven wasn’t sure what she’d seen. She checked the battery level on the camera, confirmed the battery held a three-hour charge, and switched from a standard lens to a zoom. As the lens snapped into place, the front door opened, and Slater poked his head outside.

  Raven fumbled with the camera as Slater opened the mailbox with his right hand and searched for mail. After finding the box empty, he disappeared inside before Raven snapped a picture.

  “Damn you.”

  Even if she’d caught Slater opening the mailbox with his right hand, it wouldn’t have mattered. She needed photographs of Slater carrying a heavy object or working with the hand he claimed he’d injured. Still, she found it curious he hadn’t favored the injured hand. If he was in half the pain he claimed to be in, he would have used his left hand.

  The phone rang. Raven snatched the phone and switched it into silent mode, cursing herself for forgetting. She stared at Slater’s house, worried she’d drawn attention.

  “Hello?”

  “Where you at, sis?”

  LeVar. Raven dragged her fingers through her hair.

  “Outside Albert Slater’s house, wasting my morning.”

  “Didn’t catch him in the act yet?”

  “No. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be following Osmond Bourn?”

  Though Chelsey didn’t allow LeVar to run investigations, she let him follow suspects, provided he kept himself safe and only took pictures.

  “He gave me the slip.”

  Raven set the camera down.

  “What?”

  “Dude drove to a residence on the west side of Wolf Lake for a deck repair. One second, he was chatting with someone on the phone. The next, he was halfway down the block, driving at the speed of sound.”

  “Any idea what the call was about?”

  “Uh, how would I know? I think Bourn is on to us.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “Doubt it. But we’ve had eyes on the guy for several days now. Chances are he noticed.”

  Raven groaned. “All right. Call the office and tell Chelsey what happened. It’s time for Plan B.”

  “You really intend to go through with your plan? What if Bourn is dangerous?”

  “It’s just a little flirting. The second I convince him to take me to the motel, you catch him on photo. Case closed.”

  “I guess.”

  Raven shifted her back, struggling to get comfortable. She’d sat in the Rogue for over two hours. “Are you worried about your sister, LeVar?”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Well, don’t. I’m a big girl. I can handle a cheating spouse like Osmond Bourn.”

  Just then, the mailman strode across Albert Slater’s lawn and stuffed a handful of envelopes in the box.

  “I gotta go, LeVar. Meet you back at the office.”

  She ended the call with LeVar in mid-sentence. After the mailman entered the neighboring property, Slater shoved the screen door open and fished inside the mailbox. His wife yelled something indiscernible from the house.

  “I’ll get to it in a second,” Slater yelled back. “Get the hell off my back.”

  Slater grabbed the mail as Raven clicked the shutter. Then he clutched the handle and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows. He’d used his right hand.

  “I got you, Slater.”

  Raven followed Slater past the window, her eye glued to the camera. The zoom lens kept Slater in sharp focus until he disappeared into the dining room. She scanned the photos. Did she have enough evidence to prove fraud? Maybe not. She’d better catch him again before returning to the office.

  The garage door opened. Slater appeared inside. Clear plastic bags of returnable cans and bottles lined the rear wall of the garage. A work bench stood in the center. Both vehicles sat in the driveway, leaving ample workspace in the garage. Slater poked around the shelves as Raven focused the camera and clicked the shutter. He removed a paint brush and stuffed it in his back pocket. Next, using his injured hand, he grabbed two quart-size paint cans by the metal handles without wincing and carried them to the work bench.

  Raven fired off dozens of photos and grinned. She had all the evidence she needed.

  Janet Slater barged into the garage in her pink bathrobe and slippers. The woman’s dark, wet hair clung to her cheeks.

  “I told you not to open the garage while you carried the paint cans,” Janet said, her face inches from her husband’s. “What if someone sees?”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

  Slater’s face turned beet red. Janet pulled him deeper into the garage, where they argued out of earshot. As the debate continued, Slater’s hands curled into fists. Raven didn’t have time to react.

  Slater cocked back with his supposedly injured hand and slapped Janet across the face. The wife pinwheeled her arms and toppled backward. Her back struck another shelf, and tools spilled across the cement floor.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed. Tears streamed down the wife’s face. “I swore if you hit me again, I’d leave you.”

  Slater raised his hands in placation.

  “Now, now, Janet. There’s no reason to overreact. You just made me a little angry. We can work this out.”

  “To hell with you.”

  Janet stumbled into the house.

  Slater tugged at his hair. He balled a fist and punched the wall, opening a hole in the plaster. Raven was too stunned to take pictures.

  The front door banged open. Janet, still dressed in her bathrobe, hurried toward a blue Acura parked behind Slater’s minivan. She fumbled with the keys as Slater shot out of the garage. Fury twisted his face.

  “Janet! Janet! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  My God. He’s going to kill her.

  Raven popped out of the Rogue as Slater intercepted Janet in the driveway. They wrestled for control of the keys. Slater backhanded Janet, wh
o crumpled against the car. A red welt grew across her cheek. Slater swung again as Raven drove her shoulder into his side. She took him down to the blacktop as he scrambled beneath her.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Raven wrenched the man’s arm behind his back. “Didn’t your momma tell you never to hit a lady?”

  Slater yelled as Raven clamped his other arm behind his back and pinned it with her knee.

  She turned her head to Janet, who struggled to her knees. “Call the sheriff’s department and tell them I’m here. My name is Raven Hopkins.”

  Janet looked between Raven and her flailing husband. She shook her head with uncertainty. “I can’t.”

  “He hit you, ma’am, and it wasn’t the first time. You want him to get away with it? He’ll do it again.”

  Janet chewed her lip. Her eye was puffing shut.

  “Did you know your husband doesn’t pay child support or alimony?”

  “Who is this bitch?” Slater growled.

  Janet pushed herself to her feet and removed the phone from her pocket. “Is that true, Albert? What about the three hundred we set aside every month for child support? You spend it on yourself, don’t you? You selfish prick.”

  Slater wiggled beneath Raven. She pressed down with her knee and flattened him against the driveway.

  “Please, Mrs. Slater. Call the sheriff’s department. Don’t let this creep push you around.”

  Janet stared holes into her husband as she dialed.

  18

  Chelsey clenched her jaw and cursed beneath her breath after the tax assessor refused to bargain. She put the phone down and rocked back in her chair, wondering how she’d make ends meet. Thomas wanted Chelsey to hire Scout as a paid student intern. Chelsey loved Scout and supported the teenager’s dream to work in law enforcement someday. But Wolf Lake Consulting would close its doors within the year if she didn’t raise enough revenue to offset the unexpected costs. She couldn’t take on another employee.

  Wolf Lake Consulting had entered a vicious circle. The only way to pull the firm into the black was to take on more cases. But Chelsey needed another investigator to keep up, and that wasn’t an option. What if she raised rates? That was one idea worthy of consideration.

  As she mulled over her options, the bell jingled on the front door. Chelsey’s head popped up, her senses on full alert. With LeVar and Raven in the field, she was alone in the office. Her firearm lay inside her desk. She edged one hand toward the drawer before a woman turned the corner and peered around the office.

  “May I help you?”

  “Are you Chelsey Byrd?”

  “That’s me.”

  The woman let her head fall back.

  “Thank goodness. I’m Georgia Sims. We spoke on the phone.”

  Chelsey rose to her feet and offered her hand.

  “Of course, Ms. Sims. Please, have a seat.”

  Georgia Sims dyed her blonde hair pink. The curls flopped over her forehead and shoulders in shambles, as if she’d run a nervous hand through her hair all morning. In the window light, her face appeared gaunt, parched, and prematurely aged, the product of too many makeup applications during her youth. Dark circles ringed her eyes, offsetting the high cheekbones and button nose. Chelsey imagined the woman had been beautiful and popular as a teen.

  Chelsey removed the folder she’d started for Georgia. She tore a blank sheet of paper off her notepad and clicked a pen.

  “Let’s start at the beginning, Ms. Sims. You said you work at a shelter for abused women?”

  “I’m a resident advocate, yes.”

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “Seven years. Before that, I held two office temp jobs, both in Syracuse.”

  Chelsey recorded the woman’s age and background. Georgia Sims graduated from Treman Mills High and earned her bachelor’s at SUNY Oswego.

  “What made you decide to work with abused women?”

  “I wanted to help others and become a better person.”

  Chelsey filed the comment away for now. Georgia seemed genuine. Had she been a different person years ago?

  “What’s your day like?”

  “I work evenings, actually. Four until midnight. When I arrive at work, I speak with the women at the shelter and ensure they have everything they need. Many need to talk, so I spend most of my time listening. They deal with so much frustration and fear every day. Sometimes all I do for eight hours is listen to their stories.”

  Chelsey scribbled a note.

  “Why do you believe someone wants to kill you?”

  Georgia wiped clammy hands on her pant legs.

  “When I come home, I find lights on that I’m positive I’d turned off. Sometimes the refrigerator door is open, and that’s not a mistake I’d make. If I leave the refrigerator open a crack, an alarm beeps for the first minute and warns me to shut the door.”

  “I see. What else?”

  “I’ve found my clothes rumpled inside my dresser, as if someone went through my stuff.”

  “Could be a stalker. Has anyone threatened you?”

  “No, but when I returned home Monday night, all my fish were dead in the tank. I’d cleaned the tank over the weekend and changed the filter, and I only buy high quality fish food. The water temperature seemed fine. I’m positive someone killed my pets to send a message.”

  “Do you have a dog or cat?”

  “I don’t.”

  “What about security? Do you have a camera outside your house?”

  “I keep meaning to purchase a system, but money is tight, and my job takes up most of my time. That’s why I owned fish instead of a dog or cat. Fish don’t require companionship. But I loved them, anyway. Why would someone kill my pets?”

  Chelsey tilted her head to the side.

  “You work with abused women. Is it possible an angry spouse targeted you?”

  “I doubt it. We never allow abusive husbands to enter the facility.”

  “Don’t underestimate a predatory spouse. They’re aggressive and persistent.”

  “I don’t believe it’s someone’s husband. We employ multiple counselors, and nobody else complains of break-ins or stalkers.”

  Chelsey loaded the shelter’s website on her computer. “You’re open twenty-four hours.”

  “But visitors are only allowed during the day. We also have twenty-four-hour security on sight. In the seven years I’ve worked at the shelter, no abuser ever attempted to fight his way inside to get to his wife.”

  “Do all the women at the shelter live there permanently?”

  “I’d say nine out of ten do. Some come and go, choosing to live with a relative or friend. We prefer they live at the shelter. That way they receive counseling when they need it, and they’re protected. They require security before they heal.”

  Chelsey caught the tremor in Georgia’s voice. It was obvious Georgia didn’t feel secure in her own home.

  “Are you in a relationship?”

  “No.”

  “Any messy breakups in the last few years?”

  “I haven’t dated since I took the job.” When Chelsey lifted her eyes from the paper, Georgia clasped her hands in her lap. “Seeing what happened to these women made me lose faith in relationships.”

  “Not all men are abusers.”

  “I understand. But when you witness pain every day, it changes you.”

  “Any strange phone calls?”

  “None.”

  “Enemies who’d want to hurt you?”

  Georgia’s brow gathered together. Her face displayed a pained expression.

  “Not for a long time. I’m a better person now.”

  Chelsey stopped writing and set the pen down. “What happened?”

  “I made my share of enemies when I was young.” Georgia rubbed her thumbs against her eyes. “Scratch that. I was the enemy during my youth. Ms. Byrd, I believe someone from school wants to kill me.”

  Chelsey folded her arms and waited for Georgia t
o continue.

  “When I was a teenager, I hung around with the wrong crowd. Not the drinkers or drug users. The popular kids. You know that nasty girl who looked down her nose at everyone during high school?”

  “Sure, every school has a few.”

  “That was me. We treated outcasts like dirt and made our classmates miserable.”

  “You don’t strike me as a mean person, Ms. Sims.”

  Georgia’s laughter never met her eyes. “You didn’t know me then. The crazy part is, I knew we were wrong. For a while, I tried to play peacemaker and include other people in our group.” Georgia lifted her gaze to the ceiling and shook her head. “That didn’t go over well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I came within a hair of being an outcast, too. My friends,” Georgia said, making air quotes around friends, “told me to get my shit together and stop talking to losers. I listened. I was afraid and didn’t want to go through school alone. That was a mistake. I’d be better off if I had.”

  “I remember bullies from school,” Chelsey said. “Most of them grew up after graduation. Some are still around town, and they’re friends with the people they pushed around.” Chelsey checked her notes. “You graduated from Treman Mills High eleven years ago. People change, wounds heal. Just because you mistreated someone in high school doesn’t mean you ruined their life, let alone prompted them to seek revenge.”

  Georgia hesitated. “I’d like to believe you.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over past transgressions. You’d be surprised. People are forgiving.”

  “That doesn’t explain why my fish are dead or who goes through my belongings when I’m at work.”

  “I need to be honest with you, Ms. Sims.”

  “Please, call me Georgia.”

  “Okay, Georgia. And call me Chelsey. If someone wants to hurt you, I’m out of my element. This is a police matter.”

  “Treman Mills PD won’t do anything until I prove someone broke into my house. The officer asked me if anything was stolen. There wasn’t. I told him about the fish, and he assumed it was something I did.” Georgia dropped her face into her hands. “Who do I turn to? The police sent a cruiser past my house the other night. What good did that do? I need a PI. Please, Chelsey. You’re the only person who can help.”