Deadhead: Bedhead Book 3

by Kayt Miller

  The pasta that was burned dry in the pan. “Okay. What happened next?”

  “I told her I’d heard she was back in town.” Tayler leans back again. “And that she needed to go back home and leave Quinn alone.”

  “How did she respond to that?”

  “Like a bitch.” Tayler shakes her head. “I shouldn’t say that. The poor girl is dead.”

  Once again, I keep my mouth shut. She’s talking, and the more she does, the more we learn.

  Tayler’s eyes are glassy, like tears are close to the edge. When she looks up at me and blinks, one lone droplet hits her cheek. “She wasn’t a nice person. I didn’t like her, but I didn’t kill her. She was very much alive when I left.”

  “You didn’t tell me what she said to you after you asked her to leave Ames.”

  Wiping her cheek, she sighs. “She told me to worry about my own fucking problems, that it was none of my business and that Quinn was fat and pathetic.”

  I wince at the last quote. “Did she say anything else?”

  “Sh-She said I was lucky someone like Luke Green would give me the time of day because she’d heard I was, erm, a cold fish.”

  A cold fish? I’ve heard the expression before, but it’s strange hearing it from a twenty-one-year-old. “So she knew about your relationship with Luke?”

  “I guess.” She shrugs.

  That’s interesting. Kara had been gone for a while. “How do you think she found out about the two of you?”

  “She may have seen us together. I don’t know.”

  “What do you think she meant by ‘cold fish’?”

  “I took it to mean in, um, bed.”

  “Sexually?” I ask without thinking. “Why would she say something like that?”

  “I have no idea.” Tayler’s head moves from side to side. “Seriously. No idea.”

  “What else was said? By either of you?”

  “Not much. It was awkward. I could tell she wanted me to leave. She just stood there glaring at me with her hands on her hips, so I just shrugged, opened the door, and left.”

  “What time did you leave the victim’s apartment?”

  “I don’t know, but I couldn’t have been there more than ten minutes or so. I mean, it was pointless. I knew the girl wasn’t going to listen to me.”

  Then why go there? “Where did you go next?”

  “Home. I got into my pajamas and did some homework.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I think I opened my books at around ten thirty or eleven. I sent Luke a text at about the same time, so I can check that and let you know.”

  I’m sure we’ve already requested her text messages and phone records. That’s one of the first things they would have done yesterday along with the warrant to search her apartment.

  “Okay, well, thanks, Tayler. You were really helpful.”

  “Can I go now?” Her voice breaks a little at the question.

  “You’ll need to wait until the arraignment to see what the judge says.”

  “Oh shit.” The tears start to fall in rapid succession. I reach behind me and pick up a box of tissues we’ve got in the room for just this type of thing.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Tayler.”

  “H-How do you kn-know?”

  “If you’re innocent, our investigation will find the real killer.” At least I hope so. I believe her, which means someone else bludgeoned Kara Becker, and it’s our job to find them.

  I watch as Tayler’s escorted from the interrogation room back to the holding cell. Once she’s out, Dan and the captain step in.

  “Her story checks out,” Dan mumbles. “We were able to track her phone movements through pings, and her timetable was right.”

  “That’s good.” I probably shouldn’t be expressing any feelings about this one way or another, but the captain is well aware of my friendship with Tayler.

  “That doesn’t mean she didn’t whack her with a golf club,” Dan retorts. “Her little visit coincides with the time of death the coroner gave us.”

  I sigh. “Well, I believe her.”

  Chapter Five

  Gage

  Some nights last forever. Like tonight. I’m dog tired, and there’s nothing going on in the city of Ames, Iowa. Hell, no one is even speeding. I guess that’s due to the fact that it’s the middle of the week and it’s after three in the morning. No matter, it’s my job to patrol whatever part of town they assign me.

  Deciding to pull into a convenience store to grab another cup of coffee, I park the car near the front entrance, unbuckle my belt, and am about to step out of my cruiser when my personal cell phone rings. Reaching over, I pick it up from the passenger seat. I don’t recognize the caller. Hitting the green dot, I say, “Golden.”

  “Um,” a soft voice says, “Officer Golden?” I can barely hear her, she’s whispering so softly.

  “Yes. This is Officer Golden.”

  “Um… it’s Daisy. Daisy Buchanan from—”

  “What is it, Daisy? Are you okay?”

  “S-Someone’s inside Kara’s apartment.”

  I buckle my belt and start my cruiser. “They’re trying to break into her place?”

  “Yeah. Well, I think so.”

  “Okay. Make sure your door’s locked. I’m three minutes away.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hang up and call it in. “10-66. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Backup needed.”

  I wait for a response from dispatch. “10-4. 10-66. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Officer requests backup.”

  I listen for a beat more until she says, “ETA five minutes.”

  I flip on my cherries but leave the sirens off. I’d prefer whoever’s trying to break into Kara Becker’s place to not hear me coming. As soon as I get within sight of the complex, I turn off the flashing lights before I pull in.

  I know I should wait for backup, but if I don’t get up there, the suspect could be gone. I jump out of my car and head toward the entrance. Pulling my weapon from my holster, I open the door and press my back to the wall next to it. Peeking inside, I see no one. I do the same both entering and exiting the stairwell. As quietly as possible, I make my way down the hallway toward number 213. When I get close enough, I notice the police tape has been pulled down and her door is ajar. “Gotcha,” I mutter to myself.

  At Kara’s door, I lean back against the wall and listen. I hear someone inside. How could I miss it? They’re so loud with what sounds like doors opening and closing and drawers slamming shut. Whoever’s inside isn’t worried about getting caught.

  Just then, I catch movement to my left. Glancing that way, I see my backup has arrived. Officer Finch is back—hurray—and he’s not alone. He’s with his training partner, Sergeant Jane Montgomery. At least one of them knows what they’re doing.

  With a wave, they both turn and place their backs against the wall. Using my fingers, I count to three. On three, I move quickly, kicking the door open and entering Kara’s apartment with my gun drawn. When I see our perp, I recognize him immediately. Dylan Forrester.

  “Stop. Police,” I shout. When he turns, I yell, “Put your hands above your head.”

  But the idiot just stands there like a deer in headlights.

  “Now,” I say in my most commanding voice. When the guy finally does it, I sigh in relief but only for myself. “Don’t move. Keep your hands above your head.”

  That’s when the rookie swoops in, grabs one of Forrester’s hands, and brings it behind his back to cuff him.

  “Are you aware that this is a crime scene?” I ask with gritted teeth.

  He nods. “I n-needed something.”

  “What? What did you need?” This kind of shit makes me crazy. Respect the police tape, asshole.

  He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

  I’m not going to bother asking him anything else right now, so I read him his Miranda rights and watch as Finch and Montgomery take him to the stairs to their car. Then they’ll take the
guy down to the station for questioning. I’ll need to follow them down there soon so I can ask him some questions of my own. Namely what was Tayler Sorenson’s ex-boyfriend doing in Kara Becker’s apartment?

  Before I head out, though, I need to check on Daisy. She sounded terrified on the phone. I raise my hand to knock on her door, but before I can make contact, it’s pulled open and a very disheveled Daisy Buchanan stands before me.

  “Did you get him?” she asks timidly.

  Why do I think she already knows the answer to that question? She seems to be aware of everything that’s going on at Kara’s place.

  “He’s in custody.”

  She sighs with relief. “Okay. Good.”

  I’m not sure why, but I ask, “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “No.” She opens the door the rest of the way. “Come on in.”

  Stepping into Daisy’s apartment, I notice something has changed. “You got rid of the boxes?” The ones that were blocking the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck are gone.

  “Oh, yeah. I finally went through it all.”

  I can’t help my next question. “How long had they been there?”

  “A while.” She shrugs. “I’ve just been, erm, busy.”

  Which reminds me. “What do you do, Daisy?”

  She blinks at me, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her without her giant glasses. Her eyes are large, yes, but the big eyewear must magnify them some. But now I can see her eye color. I was right to say gray, but in her incandescent lights, I’d say her eyes were more steel gray. No matter, she looks… pretty. Very pretty.

  She blinks several times before she speaks. “For a job, you mean?”

  “Yes. What do you do for a job?”

  “Oh, um, I work from home.”

  “You do? What do you do?”

  “Research.”

  Wow, getting information from this girl is like pulling teeth.

  “What kind of research?”

  “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” Daisy’s got her hands on her hips and a scowl on his face.

  I chuckle. “I guess not.” I mean, what’s the big deal?

  “Fine.” She scoffs. “I work for my dad.”

  “Your dad?” I thought she didn’t like her father. At least that’s the impression I got the last time we spoke.

  “He writes articles and papers. You know, ‘publish or perish,’ as they say in academia.”

  I’ve never heard that expression before. I may have to do a little search later. “So, you research for your father.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah.”

  I want to ask her if that’s a full-time gig, because if not, I’m curious how she affords this place. It isn’t cheap.

  Deciding to return to the topic at hand, I say, “So, the guy who just broke into Kara’s place. You see him before?”

  Daisy gives me one nod. “He’s been here a few times that I’ve seen, so probably more.”

  “Was he living here?” She probably won’t be able to answer that question, but Dylan can.

  She shrugs, and that’s all I get from her.

  It doesn’t matter if he lived with her. He’s suspect number two, which will help Tayler out immensely. Now we just need to find out what Dylan was up to.

  Another good question: How long has he known Kara Becker, and if he killed her, what would be his motive?

  Chapter Six

  Daisy

  The second I saw that guy going into Kara’s apartment, I knew it was my chance to see Officer Golden again. The thought of it made me both nervous and excited. And scared. I mean, not a soul has stepped foot in my place for almost two years.

  Except my dad.

  But he doesn’t count.

  For anything.

  Since he’s paying my rent, he thinks he can dictate who I can have in my apartment, which is nobody, because he wants to keep what I’m doing here a dirty little secret. He’s also got a key to the place, so I can’t very well say he can’t stop by—especially when he’s here to pick up his “research.” And by research, I mean his articles, books, and anything else he’s published in the last six years. Yes, I’ve been doing all of his writing since I graduated high school.

  It all started rather harmlessly. One night, back when I had a relationship with him, Dad and I were eating dinner, and we began talking about Ernest Hemingway. Since he’s one of my favorite authors, I’d done quite a bit of reading on him. More than my dad had, apparently, because we spent the entire meal arguing the secret meaning behind The Old Man and the Sea, my favorite story of Hemingway’s. My dad got angry with me and told me to “prove it.” So I did. I wrote a paper on Hemingway’s story along with my theories on the symbolism he used throughout and backed it up with thorough research.

  After I handed him the paper, he read it and smiled. “Send me your file, would you?” By that, he meant he wanted my digital document file. I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed he was going to edit what I wrote. Little did I know he changed my name at the top of the paper to his and submitted it to a prestigious journal on American literature. He won an award for that article. Not only that, it helped him finally get tenure, something he’d been working toward for years. Now he’s seen as a “leading authority on Hemingway”. I want to scream whenever I see that printed because Dad hates Hemingway. F. Scott Fitzgerald is his favorite. My name, the one he insisted upon, should have been your first clue. And it makes my skin crawl because Daisy Buchanan, from The Great Gatsby, was a bitch.

  So that’s how it started. In exchange for my apartment and a little spending money, I write for him. Even while I was getting my own degree, I kept writing for him. My most recent project, the one I’m currently writing, is an entire book about Hemingway. It’s also my chance to get away from here, from my dad. This will be my last project for Dr. Dorian Buchanan. After this, he’s on his own, and I’ll be set free. Because I’ve got plans of my own, and they don’t include my father.

  You see, I’ve got a few secrets of my own.

  After Officer Golden—Gage—leaves my apartment, I contemplate going to bed, but since I’m not tired, I opt to start going through the containers that hold all of the newspapers and magazines that have been stacked around my place ever since my mom left. They really are hers; she asked me to keep them for her until she got back from her “little trip.” She’s been gone five years, ever since the day she found out dad was using my writing for his own advancement. I guess that was the last straw for her. I’m not surprised. They hadn’t been getting along—not for a while.

  I don’t blame her, really. Dad’s career always came before anything else. I suspect she was tired of being second or even third fiddle. We used to be a family. Before my dad became obsessed with his career, the three of us used to do things together. We used to laugh. But something happened to Dad along the way that changed him. Maybe it was his own need to outdo his father, the late great Dr. Rochester Buchanan. Who knows?

  Interestingly enough, they aren’t actually divorced. Dad’s tried to get her to sign papers, but she’s never in a place long enough to have anything delivered.

  Long story short, that’s why I have her stuff. She asked me to hold on to all of it for her, and that’s what I’ve done for years, but I’m tired of it. Of all of it. I’m tired of being a tool they both use. For Dad, I do his work, and for Mom, I keep her crap.

  Well, no more.

  I look over at the tall stack of magazines I’ve pulled from two plastic bins. I step closer, trying to decide where to start. I know some of these are worth money. Take the very first Vogue magazine published in 1892. It’s one of my mom’s most prized possessions. I won’t toss that, but most of the other stuff, yes, definitely.

  I sigh looking at the stacks. I wish she were here to do this. Not only that, more than anything, I miss her. I want her back, and I guess I thought holding on to all her things would help draw her back. But living like a hoarder isn’t good for an
yone. God, how many times has my dad threatened to come in here while I was gone to toss her stuff away? Maybe I should have let him do it. At least she’d be angry with him instead of me. It’d put the onus of guilt on the man who caused this mess in the first place. That is if she ever comes back. I thought it was my duty—no, my responsibility to hold on to her things. If she didn’t want to see me, she’d at least want her precious Vogue magazine. But, like the clothing hanging on the rack next to my kitchen and the crates with her miscellaneous housewares, it’s all got to go.

  I’ve lived like a hermit long enough. While I leave my apartment to get groceries and things of that nature, I mostly stick around home to make sure… well, I never know when my dad’s going to let himself into my place, so I like to be here, just in case.

  Now I’ve got something else to keep me tethered to my apartment. I mean, what if something happens at Kara’s place? If I’m away, who’ll call Gage?

  A small smile crawls across my face because Gage Golden is... well, I think he may be perfect.

  Chapter Seven

  Gage

  I make my way back to the station after talking with Daisy. I want to observe Dylan Forrester’s questioning.

  The first person I see upon entering is my captain. “Good job tonight. You caught the kid trying to break into Kara’s place. Name’s Dylan—”

  “Forrester. I know him.”

  The captain chuckles. “I’m not surprised.”

  I don’t know what he means by that. Probably because I know the other players in this drama too. “He’s Tayler Sorenson’s ex-boyfriend. The one who was stalking her.”

  Captain Billings scratches his chin. “So the two of them are working together.”

  “The two? Which two?”

  “Sorenson and Forrester.”

  What the hell is he talking about? “Doubtful since Sorenson pressed charges against him and has a no-contact order on the guy.” Choosing to move on, I ask, “Who’s questioning him?”