by Dan Padavona
She drew in a breath. The boy in the photograph was a younger version of the sheriff. Chelsey Byrd was dating Sheriff Shepherd.
Kaylee froze when the front door opened. Laughter trailed down the hallway.
She glanced around, a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing semi. Kaylee noticed a closet along the wall and slipped inside. As she closed the door, the teenage boy rounded the corner, trailed by a woman who’d been inside the Honda Civic.
“I can’t believe I forgot my wallet.”
“Raven, if your head wasn’t screwed on tight, you’d forget that, too.”
“Up yours, LeVar.” The woman pawed through her desk drawer and snagged her wallet. “Got it.”
“Hurry. Chelsey wants to get back to the office by three.”
They were halfway through the entryway when the boy stopped and stared across the office. Kaylee stepped deeper into the shadows.
“Did you hear something?” LeVar asked.
“Yeah, my stomach screaming for a steak.”
“Hold up.” As Kaylee held her breath, LeVar stalked through the office, stopping to ensure the windows were closed and locked. He stared at the monitor on Chelsey’s desk. “Why am I seeing a password prompt?”
Raven scrunched her brow and followed LeVar to the computer. “That’s weird. The screen turns black after five minutes.”
LeVar moved to the other two computers and shook his head. “All three display password prompts.”
“Maybe your fat feet jostled the mice when you stomped through the office.”
LeVar chewed the corner of his mouth as he scanned his desk. “Weird.”
“Can we go? I’m starving.”
The boy’s eyes locked on the closet door. Kaylee touched her pocket and located the switchblade. She removed the knife as the boy swung his gaze between the windows and the closet. When Kaylee was sure LeVar sensed her hiding inside the closet, he threw up a shoulder and turned back to his sister.
Raven glared at LeVar. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
34
Inside the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department, Thomas put Scout on speaker phone. The teenage girl had called after searching through Wade Tenny’s background. The deputies sat in two chairs across from the desk, Aguilar scribbling on a notepad while Lambert listened with intensity in his eyes.
“Scout, you did great work linking Georgia Sims to Harding Little and Tina Garraway. Chelsey says Wade Tenny also graduated from Treman Mills High. What else can you tell us about him?”
When Scout replied, her voice quivered with anxiety. “Um, Wade Tenny played varsity basketball with Harding Little. I didn’t find him in pictures with the others, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t friends.”
“Don’t be nervous, Scout. You know everybody here.”
“Hey, Scout,” Aguilar said, grinning.
“Good afternoon, Deputy Aguilar.”
Lambert mouthed, “Why is she so nervous?”
Thomas grinned. Scout wanted to work in law enforcement so badly, she probably treated this like a job interview. “What else did you find?”
Scout took a breath. “Wade Tenny played football. He was a linebacker, and Harding Little played wide receiver. They were outstanding athletes. I searched newspaper articles online. Little and Tenny both made the all-state basketball team. Little set a school record for receiving yards against Ithaca High, while Tenny led the team in tackles during his senior year.”
“So there’s a fair chance Tenny and Little were more than mere acquaintances.”
“The best athletes gravitate toward each other.”
“Anything else of note?”
“Chelsey never found a redheaded girl who fit your description. I searched three different yearbooks and couldn’t find her, either. That was a long time ago, Thomas. Maybe the woman who visited Tenny colors her hair.”
“Or I’m wrong, and the woman never attended Treman Mills High. Might be a new girlfriend.”
“Tenny works for an accounting firm,” Scout said, though Thomas had already looked into Tenny’s work history. “The firm has a website, but I never found a woman with red hair in the company pictures. She might be Tenny’s client.”
“If so, we’ll find records at the accounting firm. Thanks for searching, Scout.”
“Anytime.”
After the call ended, Thomas clasped his hands on his belly. “Little, Garraway, and Sims were friends during high school. And it’s a fair bet that Tenny hung out with Little.”
“Let’s interview the families again,” Aguilar said, adjusting her back. “This time, we’ll ask about their friends at Treman Mills High. Could be they kept in contact after graduation.”
Lambert bobbed his head. “Did they have a common enemy?”
Thomas arranged the papers on this desk. “How does this mystery woman fit in?”
“It’s as you said. She might be Tenny’s girlfriend or a client from the accounting firm. Scout and Chelsey checked the yearbooks, and nobody matched the woman’s description.”
“Something doesn’t feel right. As far as I can tell, she was the last person to see Tenny alive. Hold on a second.”
Thomas clicked through his computer files and located the footage from Georgia Sims’s bedroom. After the video loaded, he angled the monitor so everyone could see. A moment later, a shadow crossed the doorway. A figure dressed in black edged into view, then dropped to the floor and crawled beneath the camera’s view.
“The intruder knew where the camera was all along,” Lambert said, pointing at the screen.
Thomas reversed the video and froze the footage when the stalker appeared. His legs hopped with nervous energy beneath the desk. “All this time I figured our intruder was a thin male. What if that is our mystery woman?”
Aguilar set her forearms on the desk. “The woman from Tenny’s house?”
“Exactly.” He drummed his fingers on the desk as he stared at the freeze frame. “She murdered Tina Garraway in the shower, pushed Harding Little into the gorge, and killed Wade Tenny.”
“When did we decide Tenny was murdered?”
Thomas held up a finger and dialed the medical examiner’s number. Virgil Harbough answered.
“Do you have the autopsy results, Virgil?”
“You must be clairvoyant, Sheriff. Ms. Brookins and I are staring at the results right now. Hold on while I switch to speaker.”
After a second, Thomas asked, “What did you find?”
“We examined Mr. Tenny’s stomach contents,” Claire said. “He consumed chocolate, as Detective Sandoval theorized.”
“So he had an allergic reaction?” Aguilar asked.
“Tenny died from asphyxiation, but he didn’t choke or die from anaphylactic shock.”
“Tell the sheriff what you discovered,” Virgil prompted in the background.
Claire took a composing breath. “After viewing the corpse, I became suspicious of poisoning, just as Virgil theorized after we discovered the body. I ran tests and found traces of strychnine.”
“Strychnine,” Thomas repeated. “That’s a pesticide, correct?”
“Correct.”
Lambert set an ankle on his knee. “Tenny was working in the yard before he died. What if he came into contact with a pesticide and got it on his hands before he ate?”
“A small amount on his hands would make him sick, but it wouldn’t kill him. Your victim was poisoned.”
Thomas thanked Claire and Virgil and ended the call.
Maggie’s voice carried through the office as she spoke on the phone at her desk. The administrative assistant had worked for the sheriff’s department since before Thomas interned under Sheriff Gray.
Thomas stared at Lambert and Aguilar.
“Call the media and give them a description of our mystery woman.”
“I’m on it,” Aguilar said, rising from her chair.
“And get a hold of Georgia Sims. She knows
our killer.”
35
LeVar pulled the Chrysler Limited into the parking garage across from the Level 13 club. He chose a space on the second level with an unobstructed view of the street. Then he swept the binoculars across the sidewalk where a crowd of leggy women in low-cut shirts mingled with guests. They belonged to the Royals, though most of the women had joined after LeVar left gang life. The same bouncer worked the door, palming wads of greenbacks before he allowed anyone to pass.
“You read me, Raven?”
Several seconds passed before Raven confirmed receipt over the radio.
“I’m crossing now, LeVar.”
LeVar cocked his head over the wheel. Dressed in a miniskirt and a black leather jacket she’d borrowed from Chelsey, Raven strolled across the street with a bag slung over her shoulder.
“Keep the radio on at all times.”
“I remember.”
“And if Bourn gives you the wrong vibe, signal me.”
Raven didn’t answer. She took her place in line and waited as the throng of guests gained entry. The bouncer leered at Raven when she reached the front. LeVar wanted to march down there and slam his fist against the oaf’s face for ogling at his sister.
Earlier this evening, Levar and Raven had followed Bourn from his palatial home to Level 13. LeVar still didn’t trust Raven’s plan. She planned to cozy up to Bourn inside, get him to buy her a drink or two, then flash the Flamingo Motel room key.
LeVar worked the tightness out of his neck as Raven passed the bouncer and disappeared inside. Now he couldn’t see her. He’d only hear her progress while she pushed through the crowd and searched for Bourn. Electronic music pulsed through the speaker.
“Target acquired,” she spoke into the radio.
LeVar pictured Raven leaning over the bag and speaking from the corner of her mouth.
“Be careful,” he said to himself.
A cacophony of raised voices, thundering beats, and clinking glass burst over the receiver. It was impossible to decipher the noise. LeVar placed the radio on the dashboard and glared across the road at the concrete facade. Somewhere inside Level 13, Raven walked among 315 Royals gang members and a middle-aged contractor, who wasn’t who he claimed to be. The Royals members knew LeVar’s face, but Raven had moved to Wolf Lake before LeVar rose to prominence with the Harmon Kings. He convinced himself she was safe inside the club. So why did he need to wipe the sweat off his palms every few seconds?
Too much time passed without a word from Raven.
“Say something,” LeVar willed the radio.
The clamor continued. For all LeVar knew, Raven might be unconscious on the floor, while a security member who’d linked LeVar to his sister searched her belongings. If Raven didn’t speak in the next two minutes, he’d have to enter the club. No chance he’d pass the bouncer after what happened last time he visited Level 13. He’d need to sneak in through the kitchen entrance and hope nobody spotted him before he reached the dance floor. Between the deep shadows of the club’s first level and the secret rooms upstairs, there were too many places to hide a body.
He was ready to go after Raven when her voice came over the radio. She was talking to someone, flirting with a deep-voiced guy. It had to be Osmond Bourn.
LeVar leaned toward the speaker and monitored the conversation. It didn’t take long before Bourn purchased a drink for Raven. A shared laugh. She giggled at a joke.
“So, are you married?” Raven asked, shouting over the music.
“Why do you assume I’m married?”
“All the good-looking guys are taken, so I figure I’m wasting my time flirting with this gorgeous Adonis.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Flirting? And here I thought you just wanted a free drink.” More laughs. “So, how are you single? A woman like you shouldn’t need to pick up guys at a club. You’ve been turning heads since you walked through the door. You’d have to be blind to not be interested.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it. You’re beautiful. And check out those guns.” LeVar flinched before realizing Bourn was referring to Raven’s arms. “You push serious weight in the gym, am I right?”
“I love to train.”
“We should hit the gym together sometime. I belong to a private club in downtown Syracuse. Say the word, and I’ll get you in.”
Raven had Bourn wrapped around her finger.
And that bothered LeVar. It seemed too easy. During all the times Raven and LeVar had spied on Bourn, he never cheated on Rosemary.
The banter continued as Raven steered the conversation toward a potential rendezvous. Again, too easy.
“I’ve got a room at the Flaming Motel,” she said, jangling the key.
“That place is a dive.”
“Tell me about it. But it’s perfect if you don’t want anyone to see what you’re up to.”
“And what are we up to, baby girl?”
“Drive me back to the room, and you’ll find out.”
“What about your car?”
“I rode an Uber.”
Raven closed the deal. Bourn called out to some guy named Carl as he led Raven out of the club. LeVar lifted the camera, focused on the door, and waited for Bourn to appear with Raven on his arm. He fidgeted as customers filed inside. Again, he imagined someone overpowering Raven and dragging her upstairs. A chill rolled down LeVar’s back.
Then the door opened, and Raven staggered onto the sidewalk, laughing. Bourn propped her up. Raven was a hell of an actor. Even LeVar bought that she was fall-down drunk. Distortion over the radio drowned out the conversation. Something about a valet bringing Bourn’s SUV around. Which was another conundrum. Everyone at Level 13 treated Bourn like a god. Who the hell was this guy?
A teenage boy with spiked hair pulled Bourn’s SUV to the curb. Bourn dropped a twenty-dollar bill in the valet’s palm and slapped the kid on the back. As the valet held the passenger door open, Bourn helped Raven inside. She laughed harder now, her head bobbing and her shoulders bouncing.
“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we?” LeVar said.
After Bourn closed the door, LeVar turned on the engine and backed out of the parking space. His tires squealed as he raced through the parking garage, following the one-way arrow to the exit. The machine swallowed his credit card. He waited for the receipt to print while Bourn merged with traffic and accelerated into the city. Several seconds passed until the machine returned his card. The gate lifted. He threw the Chrysler into drive and cut in front of a sports car.
Horns chased LeVar down the road. Someone flashed brights in his mirror. He didn’t see Bourn’s SUV, only a never-ending string of traffic lights and intersections in the distance. Raven kept laughing over the radio, though she sounded groggy now.
“We’ll have some fun tonight,” Bourn growled.
“Where the hell are you?” LeVar said, hoping Raven would ditch the act and give him a hint.
“I got my first car there,” Raven said.
“At the auto mall?”
“Yeah, when I was seventeen.”
LeVar pumped his fist. “Good girl.”
He cut down a side street and sped toward the auto mall. When he reached Schuyler Avenue, he spotted Bourn’s SUV three blocks ahead and motoring toward the interstate. LeVar stomped the gas pedal and closed the distance. Streetlights whipped past in a blur. He lowered the window and let the night air heighten his senses.
Bourn’s SUV climbed the ramp to the highway. LeVar stayed a half-mile behind, not wanting to spook the contractor. The Flamingo Inn was a twenty-minute drive away. LeVar wished Raven would call off the charade and end the date. They had enough evidence for Rosemary that her husband was a lying cheat. But Raven was trapped in his SUV.
After Bourn’s SUV descended a hill, LeVar killed his headlights. Despite the danger of driving at highway speeds without his lights on, LeVar needed to hide from Bourn’s mirrors.
Five miles up the road, Raven stopped talking. No more
girlish giggles, no flirting. Something was wrong.
LeVar tapped the radio and ensured it still functioned. Cranking the volume, he listened to Bourn’s engine in the background. The contractor flipped the stereo on. A Frank Sinatra song drifted through the SUV.
The turn appeared too fast. LeVar’s tires shrieked as he yanked the steering wheel. The rear tires skidded across the median, the green mile markers hurtling toward his windshield before he regained control. His heart pumped into his throat. Pulling off the shoulder, he fought the urge to turn the headlights on and give himself away. Bourn’s taillights were red cat’s eyes on the horizon.
LeVar pushed his speed as fast as he dared to in the dark. A mile up the road, Bourn left the highway and entered a rest area.
The teenager stared as the SUV turned into an angled parking space. “What the hell are you up to?”
Bourn’s SUV was the only vehicle at the rest stop. No tractor trailers, no travelers rushing to the restrooms. Did the contractor need to use the bathroom? Was Raven sick?
Concerns fluttered through LeVar’s brain like frantic birds. Coasting into the rest stop, he parked a few hundred feet behind the SUV and waited. Nobody moved inside the vehicle. Frank sang about making it in New York, and the engine kept purring beneath the starlight.
LeVar studied the SUV through the binoculars. Bourn sat casually in the driver’s seat. Beside him, Raven’s head bobbed until she slumped against the door.
It hit LeVar. Bourn had drugged Raven.
The act was over. He needed to get Raven out of that vehicle before Bourn raped her.
Or worse.
36
LeVar didn’t know whether to call Thomas, or sneak out of the Chrysler and rescue Raven.
He did both.
Edging the Chrysler’s door open, LeVar stepped into the night. Gravel crunched between his sneakers and the blacktop. Keeping his eye on Bourn’s SUV, LeVar ran from the car to a trashcan and crouched down. Rotten meat scents wafted from the can, and something sticky congealed to his sneakers. The SUV slept a hundred feet away, Bourn still sitting in the front seat as Raven leaned against the window and door. Good. The creep hadn’t attacked Raven yet.