Marshal on a Mission

by Ryshia Kennie

  The streets gradually began to fill. Slow pace or not, it was time to go in and get dressed before someone she knew spotted her in the grungy but comfy robe that was the epitome of ugly.

  Inside, Harper strolled to the kitchen table and picked up the exterminators’ phone numbers. There were four new emails in her inbox. She supposed she’d better check them in case of pressing business in Atlanta. Sitting down, Harper opened her email, and her eyes were immediately drawn to one subject line that blared at her in all caps:

  GET OUT OF THE HOUSE

  With trembling fingers, she opened the email. No message in the body of the email, only the ominous warning from a sender: loser@life.

  * * *

  HARPER WALKED BY the front door of the Baysville Police Department three times before resolutely squaring her shoulders and marching in. Behind the charming brick facade of the station, the interior was utilitarian and stark. The designer in her was aghast at the yellowed linoleum floors, cheap metal chairs and institutional-green walls of the lobby, but taxpayers were paying for a service, not a pleasing office aesthetic.

  At the counter, a bored woman handed her a clipboard. “Write down your name and reason for coming.”

  Dutifully, Harper printed her name, then paused. Reason for coming? They were going to laugh her out of the station if she wrote “disturbing email.” This had been a terrible idea. Growing up, other kids had merely looked at her strangely if she mentioned the thing she’d seen that night. Worse, she hated that look of pity as they scooted away from her. As though she was a sort of magnet for disaster. It had been high school before her friendships had returned to normal, and that was due in large part to making the cheerleading squad and becoming friends with the popular Kimber Collins. Harper had learned to fit in with her peer group, keep her mouth shut and act as if all was well in her world.

  “Never mind,” she told the city employee, handing back the clipboard.

  She blinked at her behind thick glasses. Before the woman could ask questions, Harper flashed a fake smile and turned away.

  “Excuse me, miss, are you sure about this?” the woman called out.

  The few others slouched in the lobby waiting area looked up from their cell phones. Harper ignored them, too, as she waved a hand, the phony smile still in place. She looked and felt like an utter fool. All she wanted was a quick exit and...

  Oomph. She crashed into a solid object and began tumbling backward. Hands gripped her forearm.

  “Whoa, there. You okay?”

  Dark, amused eyes flashed before her face. Bryce Fairfax.

  Harper’s face and neck heated. “Fine,” she mumbled. Maybe if she hurried, he wouldn’t recognize her. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.

  “Harper Catlett, Presley’s little sister,” he said, flashing his infamous grin that had had all the girls swooning in high school, including Presley. Truth be told, Harper had secretly crushed on him, too, although he was a good nine years older than her.

  His smile faded. “Sorry to hear about your mom. I imagine you’ve been busy with her estate and settling loose ends.”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  His grip loosened but still remained. “What brings you to my station? Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Well, no. It’s not important.”

  Bryce tugged at her arm and guided her back into the station. She fell into step beside him, wishing like hell that she’d never come.

  “I’d do any favor for Presley’s little sister. Did you know that in high school, she used to tutor me in algebra? If it wasn’t for her, I might have failed that class. As it was, I managed to slip by with a D-minus.”

  His self-deprecating laugh eased some of her tension. Bryce was as charming as ever. He had a knack for drawing people to him, especially women. He’d kept his athletic physique, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and forehead only made him look more interesting.

  “Yes, I knew about the tutoring. Presley was so smart. Wish she’d been around when I struggled with math classes.”

  Bryce shot her a sympathetic nod. “Such a tragic accident.”

  “If it was an accident...” Harper clamped her mouth shut. No sense reminding anyone about her so-called mystery monster.

  His brows rose, but he didn’t respond as they passed through the lobby and into the bowels of the station. From here, the slamming of iron doors and loud voices emanated from the county jail connected to the back of the building. It was disquieting. Any moment, she expected an escaped convict to pop out of nowhere, looking for a hostage.

  At the end of a narrow hallway, she followed Bryce into his private office. She’d expected more from the police chief’s office, although she shouldn’t have been surprised, given the rest of the station’s decor.

  Bryce slid behind a massive desk constructed of dark-stained plywood. A simple nameplate on his desk displayed his name and title. “About what you said back there—” he clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly, all business “—are you saying that you believe Presley’s death wasn’t accidental?”

  “Not at all. I mean, I was only a child when it happened. What do I know?”

  His dark eyes pierced her, as if trying to read her mind. “I remember the rumors. You claimed to have seen something—or someone—by Presley’s body right after she fell.”

  She swallowed hard. “Like I said, I was a kid. One with a vivid imagination and who had awakened from a bad dream. A bad combination.”

  “Describe what you saw, again.”

  Harper shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the request. “It sounds so silly now. I thought I saw a stick-thin person wearing filthy rags and staring at me with huge eyes.”

  They were like the alien eyes that people drew after supposed encounters with UFO creatures, unnaturally large and black. But she didn’t elaborate on the details. Even now, the memory unnerved her. Harper rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

  Another cop entered the room and shoved a piece of paper across the desk to Bryce. The man was tall and exuded authority in the firm set of his shoulders. He shot her a curious glance, his gray eyes quickly assessing her. She had the feeling he’d overheard some of the conversation. Probably pegged her as a wacko. A nuisance taking up the boss’s time.

  Bryce nodded at the cop. “I’ll call him back in a few minutes. Stay a moment while I finish up here. I have some questions for you on this matter. Harper, this is Officer Andrews.”

  “Hello,” she said politely.

  “Harper Catlett was born and raised here in Baysville,” Bryce told Andrews.

  The chief turned his gaze back to her. “I can assure you the case was thoroughly investigated by this office and the fire department. No signs of forced entry, no evidence of foul play.”

  Great. Now she’d insulted him. “I’m certain everyone here did an excellent job,” Harper hastened to agree. “I’ll never forget your father was the first firefighter to respond at the scene.”

  “Must have been tough on you and your mom. And now she’s passed away, too. Lots of bad memories here for you in Baysville. I imagine you’re itching to sell the old house and get back to Atlanta.”

  “You know I live in Atlanta now?”

  Bryce gave an easy chuckle. “You forget how news travels in a small town. Kimber mentioned it after your mom’s funeral.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She and Kimber had kept in close touch over the years.

  “Sorry I missed the funeral—I had to testify in a case south of here. I did make it late to visitation one night, though. Fifty-two years old. That’s way too young to die.”

  Just like with her father, death had crept up sudden and silent—in the form of a heart attack. Harper would always wonder if mourning over Presley’s death had been a contributing factor in her mom’s early demise.

  “So w
hat brings you here today?” Bryce asked, cutting through her reverie.

  “Right.” She removed her cell phone from her purse and punched in the password, conscious of two sets of eyes on her. “It may seem like nothing now, but I was a little concerned this morning when this email popped up on my laptop.”

  “Some kind of cyberthreat?” Bryce asked. “I assure you, we take everything seriously.”

  Harper’s brows knotted with worry. The threatening email was gone. Had she accidentally deleted it? Quickly, she scrolled through her email trash folder. Not there, either. “I, um, it seems to have disappeared,” she explained reluctantly.

  “That’s too bad,” Bryce said smoothly. “What did it say?”

  “To get out of the house.”

  Silence greeted her words.

  “Anything else?” Bryce asked.

  “No. That’s it, except for some strange noises in the house. Probably mice,” she admitted sheepishly. “In the light of day, in front of two cops, all this doesn’t sound so bad.” Harper rose. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Good to see you again, Bryce. Nice to meet you, Officer Andrews.”

  Bryce also rose. “Come back anytime. Let us know if it happens again.”

  His words were kind, but she felt as though he was impatient to return to work. With a quick nod and smile, she hurried to the door, glad to make an escape.

  Halfway down the hallway, she turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Officer Andrews bore down on her. “Would you like to file an official report?” he asked.

  “No. Forget it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  She blinked at his earnest kindness.

  “Especially since you believe a family member may have been murdered in that house.”

  He had overheard her conversation with Bryce. “I didn’t exactly say that,” she protested.

  “Not in so many words. I don’t know if Chief Fairfax mentioned it, but there’s been a long string of unsolved murders in Baysville. Would it make you feel safer if an officer searched your house sometime this afternoon or evening?”

  Harper hesitated. Yes, she wanted to scream. On the other hand, what would people say if they observed an officer in her home? The hell with appearances, she decided. She was only going to be here a short while. Might as well be able to get a sound sleep in the evenings.

  “Yes, that would be great, actually. Thank you.” She withdrew a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address and phone number. “Whoever you send, just tell them it’s the last house on the left at the end of King Street.”

  “Got it,” he said, tucking the paper in his uniform shirt pocket. “I’ll have no trouble finding your place.”

  Was his kindness merely a scam to put a move on her? She rejected the suspicion immediately. Doug had really done a number on her mind for her to be so suspicious of a local cop doing a favor.

  Harper made a quick exit, pausing at the lobby entrance. She turned around and caught both Bryce and Officer Andrews standing in the hallway, regarding her soberly.

  A string of unsolved murders, Officer Andrews had said. They weren’t dismissive of this threat at all. Harper didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried about their concern for her safety.

  Copyright © 2019 by Debbie Herbert

  ISBN-13: 9781488046148

  Marshal on a Mission

  Copyright © 2019 by Patricia Detta

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