by Dan Padavona
“I just need to sell my house, Darren.”
“A blindfolded monkey throwing darts could find a buyer for your house. What’s the holdup?”
Chelsey told Darren about the poor picture quality. “Then there are the insane reassessments. The taxes alone will drain my bank account, if I can’t offload my house.” She swiped a hand across her lips. “And I need to raise rates.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Because people are used to our pricing structure. If I raise prices ten percent, I might drive away business.”
“Stop me if I’m wrong, but Wolf Lake Consulting caters to onetime customers, correct?”
“What do you mean?”
“If someone hires you to investigate a cheating spouse, they don’t return a year later to have you monitor a new spouse.”
“I guess not.”
“Raise your rates, Chelsey. You’re worth it. Since most of your customers are brand new, they’re unaccustomed to paying a lower price.”
“We have repeat business. Insurance companies, businesses who run background checks on new employees.”
“If anyone can stomach a price increase, it’s an insurance company. I have a clean driving record, and my car insurance increased by fifteen percent last year. They’re not crying poor.”
Chelsey merged onto the highway, putting Treman Mills in the mirror. “I’ll think about it, Darren.”
“If you don’t, you’ll lose the business. You’ll never forgive yourself if you abandon your passion.”
23
Scout typed on her laptop while she waited for LeVar to arrive. A door closed inside the house. She flinched and covered her heart.
Ever since last night, when someone stalked the grounds outside Wolf Lake Consulting, Scout had jumped at every noise. Scout didn’t blame Chelsey for accepting a ride home with LeVar. Anyone alone inside the converted house would have been scared.
A car motored down the lake road outside her window. She peeked through the pane. Dusk poured out of the western sky, and the first stars sparkled overhead. An Alpha Romeo rumbled over the macadam at highway speed. It was the second time she’d spotted the car tonight. Perhaps a wealthy tourist had rented a house on the lake.
She watched the headlights fade into the night. Then the driver executed a three-point turn and reversed direction.
Scout grabbed her phone off the nightstand and clicked a photograph as the Alpha Romeo sped past. The car disappeared around the bend, and she heard the pitch of the engine fall. This time, the car didn’t return. Either the driver was lost, or someone was canvassing the neighborhood.
A knock on the front door pulled Scout out of her thoughts. LeVar’s voice traveled from the living room after her mother invited him inside.
“Scout should be ready by now,” Naomi said from the hallway. “She’s researching another case on the internet.”
Scout closed the laptop and dragged herself off the bed and into the wheelchair. She considered grabbing a sweatshirt from the dresser, but the weather forecast called for a warm night. Her mother rapped her knuckles on the bedroom door.
“Scout, are you decent?”
Scout palmed her face and shook her head. “Yeah, Mom. Riding around naked in a wheelchair isn’t all it’s built up to be.”
“We’re coming in.”
LeVar sauntered into the bedroom with a mischievous grin on his face and a snarky joke hidden behind his lips. His gaze traveled around the room before landing on Scout.
“So you’re researching cases without me. I’m offended.”
Scout sighed and said, “Just online sleuthing.”
“For a second there, I thought you were going rogue and taking my place at Wolf Lake Consulting.”
Scout’s mother leaned in the doorway. “Where are you headed tonight?”
“A woman hired the firm to figure out who keeps breaking into her house. I thought we’d cruise past her place and scope out the neighborhood, see if any of her neighbors raise red flags.”
“No high-speed chases and gunfire?”
“We’ll keep The Fast and Furious scenes to a minimum. And if we spot the prowler, we’ll call Thomas.”
“What time will you return?”
Scout gave her mother a sidelong look. “Mom, I’m fifteen, and it’s summer vacation.”
“And you’ll be home by eleven, if I say so.”
LeVar hooked a thumb in his belt loop. “Listen to your mother.” He turned to Naomi. “I’ll bring Scout home by ten. How’s that?”
“That’s fine, LeVar. But please, no hero stuff tonight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Naomi followed them to the curb, where LeVar hoisted Scout out of the wheelchair and buckled her into the front seat. Feeling like a toddler strapped in by a parent, Scout was thankful the deepening darkness hid her blushing cheeks. LeVar hugged Scout’s mother and reiterated his promise to return by ten o’clock. Scout’s heart fell. That left little time to investigate.
They crossed through the village and passed Wolf Lake Consulting, the lights doused and nobody working in the office tonight. LeVar’s speakers thumped to a hip-hop classic, “Illmatic” by Nas.
He turned his head to her as she fiddled with the phone. “What are you looking at?”
Scout frowned at the blurry image. There hadn’t been enough light when the Alpha Romeo drove down the lake road.
“Did you notice a red Alpha Romeo driving up and down the lake road tonight?”
“Nope. But I’d dig driving a car like that. Maybe someday when I’m rich and famous.”
“Not many famous law enforcement officers.”
“But I’ll be the first rapper to moonlight with the FBI. Or vice versa.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s so special about this car?”
Scout slid the phone into her pocket. “Probably nothing. You know I spend too much time staring out the window.”
“In a creepy sort of way, yes.”
“The car drove by twice tonight.”
“Might be a new neighbor or someone visiting.”
“That’s my guess. What’s the story with the woman we’re helping?”
LeVar checked the intersection for traffic and turned at the stop sign. “Her name is Georgia Sims. She’s a resident advocate at a shelter for abused women.”
“Sounds like a reliable person.”
“When she returns home, she finds lights on that she’s positive were off. Someone went through her clothes. And the same person killed her fish.”
“Any suspects?”
“Not yet. Chelsey thinks it might be the spouse of a woman she counsels. Some angry husband who blames Georgia for turning his wife against him.”
By the time the Chrysler turned into Georgia Sims’s Treman Mills neighborhood, the night had turned inky black. Middle-income homes lined the road, a few with privacy fences. A cat scurried across the road, causing LeVar to brake. He read the numbers on the houses until they found a single-story home with two lights shining inside. The house appeared bluish-silver beneath the moon and stars.
“Is this the place?”
LeVar shifted into park but kept the engine running. “This is the one.” He craned his head toward the driveway. “Doesn’t appear anyone is home. Chelsey mentioned Georgia Sims works evenings. Ready to check out the neighborhood?”
“Sure.”
LeVar waited for a Subaru to pass before pulling off the curb. As they cruised around the block, LeVar lowered the music, not wanting to draw attention. “I stopped by the state park today.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Darren says you’re doing a great job.”
He paused, as if prompting her to question him.
“Seems like you have more to say.”
“He wondered the same thing I did. With all the investigative work you do, why haven’t you applied for a student intern position at Wolf Lake Consulting?”
Scout turned away and st
ared out the window.
“Chelsey doesn’t want me there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You saw her reaction at dinner the other night.”
“Chelsey’s a little stressed this week. I’m not sure what’s going on. It could be the weird hang-up calls she’s receiving.”
“I’m too young to help the firm, and I’m not physically fit for PI work.”
“Your strength is up here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “What did Agents Bell and Gardy say when they visited?”
Scout pulled her hair back. “The BAU employs consultants, and many don’t work in the field.”
“Hell, yeah. If the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI could use someone with your brain power, why not a local private investigation firm?”
“Can we talk about something else?”
LeVar parked outside a sea-blue contemporary with a wooden dog cutout on the lawn. “Give me a profile. Let’s see what you got.”
“A profile?”
“Of Georgia Sims’s stalker. Tell me who the creep is. Someone from the neighborhood? An old boyfriend who can’t take no for an answer? An abusive husband angry with Sims for convincing his wife to leave him and move into the shelter?”
Scout scratched her arm and shifted in her seat. She felt LeVar’s expectant stare as she searched the darkness for hidden dangers.
“It’s someone from Georgia Sims’s past. But not a boyfriend.”
“Tell me why.”
“The fish. Killing the fish means it’s personal. This isn’t some random stalker. The unsub hates Sims and wants to destroy her life.” Scout hesitated while she organized her thoughts. “And it’s not an old boyfriend. Why go through the woman’s clothes without stealing something?”
“Like a memento?”
“Exactly. Our unsub violated Georgia Sims’s personal space and wanted her to see. The unsub is obsessed with Sims, but not in a twisted romantic way. Also, the stalker continues to toy with Sims. No attacks yet. Just on the pets.”
“So we’re looking for someone out of her past, and this guy is arrogant and egotistical.”
Scout turned to LeVar. “Who says it’s a guy?”
24
Kaylee grasped the top of the chain-link fence and boosted herself up. She swung one leg over the bar, then eased down the other side until she was close enough to the ground to jump. She’d parked the car in the grocery store parking lot, where it blended in with a mass of vehicles. Now all she needed to do was sneak past an abandoned warehouse.
At end of the warehouse parking lot, the macadam blistered and sprouted weeds. She encountered a second fence. The wooden barrier divided urban decay from the perceived safety of Georgia Sims’s neighborhood. Kaylee pulled gloves over her hands, just like the criminals did on television shows. Excitement surged through her body. Dressed from head to toe in black, she was one with the night. She located a broken board and slipped through the fence, emerging into a yard with a ranch house before her and a raised deck off the back. She checked for witnesses and hurried from tree to tree until she crossed onto her enemy’s property.
Lights shone inside Georgia’s home, but her car wasn’t in the driveway. Kaylee knew Georgia’s schedule. Her rival worked until midnight at the shelter, leaving her house unattended all evening. Kaylee was about to pick the lock on the back door and enter through the kitchen when the hairs tingled behind her neck. Was someone watching her? Kaylee sensed a trap, though nobody moved inside the house.
She slipped a hand into her pocket and removed her latest toy—a palm-size device that detected hidden cameras and listening devices. Oh, the wonderful things one could purchase on the internet. Kaylee flipped the switch and aimed the antenna at the house. Labeled as a bug detector, the device searched for GPS signals. As she swept the antenna to the right, the device emitted a high-pitched beep. She paused, wondering if the device was defective. She aimed the antenna to the left, then brought it back to the right.
There. Another beep.
The whore was on to Kaylee. She’d placed cameras around the house.
Kaylee stayed close to the walls and circled the house until she’d located two cameras. One stood above the front entryway. The other was somewhere inside the bedroom. Georgia was an idiot if she believed she could fool Kaylee. When Kaylee was certain the neighbors hadn’t noticed her, she slid the stocking over her head. The hosiery made her face itch, especially on humid nights.
The dining-room window stood open to the screen. She removed a multi-tool from her pocket and slipped the knife between the screen locks and the frame. After jostling the knife, she popped the screen off its tracks and pushed it open.
She stood inside the dining room. Aware of the camera over the entryway, Kaylee avoided the living room and kitchen and turned down the hallway. Gloom thickened here. The doors stood open to the study and bathroom. She didn’t understand why a ditz like Georgia owned a study. Kaylee stuck her head inside and snickered at a half-completed painting balanced on an easel in the corner. The painting depicted a grinning dog amid a maze of sunflowers. She was tempted to destroy the painting or draw something lewd on the canvas, but she didn’t want to waste time.
Inside the bathroom, she pawed through the cabinets, hoping she’d find Georgia’s medications. Except for an ibuprofen bottle, there were no pills inside the cabinet, no anti-anxiety or depression medications.
Kaylee waited outside the bedroom door with the bug detector. The light flashed. The device beeped when she directed the antenna inside. Kaylee chuckled. Georgia had placed the camera between the snow globes on the bookshelf. Crouching below the camera’s view, Kaylee dropped to the floor and crawled across the carpet, like a predator dragging itself out of a Florida swamp. When she reached the bookcase, she felt between the snow globes until her hand closed over the camera. She was tempted to hurl the camera against the wall. Instead, she turned the camera around so it recorded the bookcase. With a snicker, Kaylee climbed to her feet.
She marched straight to the dresser and pulled the drawers open. Going through Georgia’s clothes gave Kaylee a rush, though she couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was the clandestine searching that excited her, the hidden look into Georgia’s life.
Damn, the woman was boring. Baggy sweatpants, bulky shirts, sweaters. Even the panties drawer appeared stocked from the discount shelves at Target. When had Georgia lost her sense of adventure? During high school, Georgia had worn low cut shirts and short skirts. She’d even donned fishnet stockings until some prudish teacher called her out and threatened to report Georgia to the principal.
Kaylee closed the drawer. Her eyes landed on a business card lying on the bedside table. Kaylee reached out with a gloved hand and picked the card off the table. Chelsey Byrd, Wolf Lake Consulting. How dare Georgia hire a PI? Kaylee’s face flushed with hatred. She wanted to rip the stocking off her head, slip inside the closet, and wait for Georgia to return from work. Then she’d stab the whore in her bed.
But she couldn’t act hastily. She’d screwed up with Tina Garraway. The sheriff knew someone murdered Tina, though he hadn’t connected Tina’s death with Harding Little’s. And Georgia’s PI—this Chelsey Byrd person—had entered the picture. Kaylee needed to ensure Georgia’s death looked like an accident. No more mistakes.
Returning the business card to the table, Kaylee snapped a photograph with her phone so she’d remember Wolf Lake Consulting’s address. As she turned away from the closet, a car motor pulled her attention to the front of the house. Wary of the entryway camera, Kaylee sneaked down the hallway and stood outside the living room. Headlights moved across the window with searching eyes. The car idled at the curb. Music played inside the vehicle.
Kaylee poked her head around the corner and studied the black Chrysler Limited. She’d encountered a car just like this one in Sheriff Shepherd’s driveway the morning she’d slashed the truck’s tires. Kaylee didn’t believe in coincidences.
She shut down the camera de
tector and stuffed it into her back pocket. The car continued to rumble curbside. That’s when she recognized the driver. The long dreadlocks and black skin marked the teenager as the boy she’d spied behind Thomas Shepherd’s house. The same boy who’d spoken with little ole wheelchair girl. Kaylee squinted. Partially concealed by darkness, Scout Mourning sat in the passenger seat. How cute. The boy had brought the crippled girl along for the ride, intent on catching a prowler. Did the teens work for Chelsey Byrd?
The damn teenagers refused to leave. The car remained outside the house, the boy peering at Georgia’s window. Suddenly worried the cameras had caught her, Kaylee whirled and hustled to the dining-room window. The screen stood open, inviting mosquitoes and moths into the house. As she climbed through the opening, a door slammed on the Chrysler Limited. The boy had seen her.
Kaylee’s foot caught on the sill. Something crashed to the floor behind her as she stumbled into the yard. A cat screeched. Footsteps rounded the house, coming fast.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees and sprinted through the neighbor’s yard. The fence waited a hundred feet ahead. Where was that broken board?
The boy was close now. She heard him in Georgia’s yard.
Kaylee found the opening in the fence and squeezed through. A jagged point tore her shoulder and drew blood.
Her chest heaved as she dragged herself to her feet. The warehouse loomed before her, its shattered windows black and soulless eyes. Beyond that, the welcome lights of the grocery market.
Kaylee stood with her back against the fence and listened. She’d lost the boy.
Certain her pursuer was outside Georgia’s house, probably inspecting the open window, Kaylee removed the stocking and stuffed it inside her pocket. She mussed her hair and swung her gaze across the abandoned property. That was too close.
The private investigators were a problem. She’d deal with them before she murdered Georgia.
25