by Amy Vansant
“Nice try. I know you. We found two bodies in one day so I know you think there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
“There is. I told you about Jamie.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “That’s Stephanie trying to get you wound up.”
“Probably. But still, sort of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“No. Even if we knew The Puzzle Killer was out and about, these don’t have her signature.”
“No. True. But maybe she’s trying to lie low.”
“Stop it. It isn’t Jamie and it isn’t some other serial killer. They’re probably both accidents. Leave them alone.”
Charlotte straightened. “Fine.”
“But be careful anyway,” he called as he rolled away.
She waved goodbye and he raised a hand as he rolled around the curve of the road and disappeared.
Coincidences.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
She said the words in a gruff, old-timey detective growl in her head and made herself giggle.
But seriously...
She had to look into these two deaths. If Jamie was killing again, it could be in preparation for coming after her, Declan or even Frank himself. Surely, even Frank would agree the possibility warranted a little poking around.
Charlotte jogged up her driveway and bounced inside to get her lockpick kit and gloves. The house where they’d found the man who ‘fell off the roof’ sat on the other side of the neighborhood, a quick golf cart ride away. It wouldn’t be right not to take a little look around. Jack, the unpleasant neighbor, probably still stalked the rolling fairways, so it was the perfect time to get a second look at poor old Ted’s house.
She hopped into her golf cart and wheeled it a few streets away. So as not to make her presence too obvious, she parked in front of the suspicious neighbor’s house and pretended to walk down the street before bouncing toward Ted’s.
The ladder from which Ted might have fallen lay on the ground beside the house, no doubt to keep it from killing again.
If only stopping Jamie was as easy as lying her on her side.
The FDLE had crisscrossed crime tape over the front door and Charlotte stared at it for a moment, wondering how long it would stay before Penny Sambrooke sneaked over and tore it away. Pineapple Port’s founder hated anything that made her development an undesirable place to live, and evidence of possible murders was probably high on her list of no-nos, positioned somewhere above empty houses and beneath tacky lawn ornaments.
Charlotte moved to the back yard. The brick had disappeared, she assumed into evidence.
I guess that was blood on it. I knew it.
Crime tape crisscrossed the back door as well. There was no way to open the back screen door to get to the inner door without breaking the tape.
Shoot.
She stood on the back porch, considering her options. Above her head hung a pot filled with red and hot pink geraniums, a festive touch for a bachelor. She tapped the pot and it swung, creaking.
Hm.
Plucking her gloves from her pocket, she climbed on the porch railing to remove the pot from its eyehook and used the wire hanger to tear away the crime tape before letting the pot drop to the porch. It cracked, dirt spilling on to the doormat. The crime tape fluttered to the ground.
What a shame. Hurricane winds have knocked down the geranium pot and it tore the crime tape on the way down.
Charlotte opened the back door and picked the inner door’s lock. Slipping inside, she closed the door behind her.
Ta da! Let’s see...
The kitchen appeared as clean as a model home’s. Even the well-worn coffee pot sparkled. Apparently, he’d cleaned it before heading outside to work on the roof, so early in the morning.
Or, he chose not to have any.
Or, someone killed him before he had a chance to make it.
She flipped the hopper open to find fresh coffee inside.
Never made it.
She wandered into the living room. The sparse décor left few surfaces for clutter and dust to accumulate. That Ted had been a bachelor for a long time, there was no doubt. Dark furniture sat clumped in front of a large television set. Not a single frill or feminine flair adorned the walls. A pillow with a Marine insignia sat in the corner of the worn plaid sofa.
Charlotte opened a closet to find even it uncluttered and organized, brooms and mops lined along the back wall like a detail of soldiers.
She moved to the door leading to the garage and entered to flip on the light. An enormous red box of tools sat to her immediate left, like a giant wheeled tower. Its presence gave some credence to the idea that Ted really had climbed on his roof to prepare for the hurricane. A man with a toolbox that large probably did his own fixing.
A small car filled most of the space in the tight garage, piles of paper towels and toilet paper squished against the far wall, so close to the driver’s door she wondered how he’d gotten out of the car.
Another hoarder.
Charlotte took a deep breath.
I was afraid of that.
With Jamie possibly on the loose, she remained the most likely suspect for any murder, but Charlotte wrestled with the fact the day’s deaths had looked like accidents. Jamie liked to make sure everyone knew when she killed someone. To disguise her kills as accidents wasn’t her M.O. That meant one of two things: Either she had changed her style to remain hidden during her time on the lam, or, it wasn’t her at all.
The idea of another killer proved both frightening and comforting. No one wanted more murderers roaming around Charity, but Charlotte didn’t want confirmation Jamie had escaped, either.
A third troubling thought had been germinating in Charlotte’s brain. The golf course couple stockpiled water. She’d been hoping Ted wasn’t a hoarder, too, but the mountain of paper goods in his garage dashed those dreams.
Her conversation with Darla confirmed Gloria’s devious little mind had locked on hoarders.
Has Gloria graduated from pranks to murder?
Charlotte spent a few more minutes poking around and finding nothing suspicious, returned to her golf cart. She sat inside, running through her phone to see if there had been any other reports of accidental deaths.
Something thudded the back of her cart, shaking it, the knock so loud it made her jump. She twisted around to find Jack Canton staring at her, looking angry.
“You scared me,” she said, her tone not without accusation.
“Are you going to sit parked in front of my house all day?”
Charlotte frowned.
Boy, you are an unpleasant person.
“I was just leaving,” she said turning the key, but even though Jack headed back towards his house, she found she couldn’t leave it there. “This is a public street,” she added.
Jack turned and pointed to Ted’s house. “Whatever happened to him is a police matter. Get going before I call them and tell them you’re playing detective.”
Charlotte felt her face tingle with embarrassment. Had Jack been home, after all? Had he seen her break into Ted’s house?
“I am a detective,” she said, caught off guard. Even she didn’t totally believe it.
“Sure you are, girly.” He snorted a laugh and continued toward his house, but not before he pointed down the road, insinuating that’s where he’d like to see her go.
Charlotte grimaced and pressed the pedal.
What a jerk.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte stood at her bedside packing a suitcase for her hurricane retreat with Declan when she heard the sound of a car outside her house. She moved to the window to find Declan’s Jeep at the curb and heard a knock on the door.
“Come on in.” She heard Abby greeting someone, her toenails tapping a happy dance around the visitor.
She strode out to the living room. “I was just putting together some clothes— Why are you wet?”
Declan stood before her, soaked, his dark hair slicked back against h
is skull, his clothes spotted with what looked like mud.
“She’s here,” he said.
“Do you want a towel?” She bobbed into the bathroom to grab one. “Who’s here?”
“Jamie. I just chased her into a lake.”
She handed him the towel, laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I literally chased her into a lake. Car and all.”
“Your car is outside.”
“Her car went in the lake.”
Charlotte gaped. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning.”
Declan rubbed the towel over his head and took off his shirt. She loved it when he did that. She never tired of ogling his swimmer’s body. But something wasn’t right...
“There’s a reed sticking out of your armpit,” she said, motioning.
He plucked the grass from his body. Fishing in his pockets, he pulled out his phone, checked to see if it still worked, and then set it on the counter. “Can I take a quick shower?”
Charlotte scowled. “You can’t leave me hanging. What happened? Why didn’t you stop home?” She realized how her question sounded and waved her hands as if trying to wipe away the thought. “I mean, of course you can take a shower, but it’s weird you didn’t stop home.”
His eyebrows bobbed skyward. “Did you not hear the part where I told you Jamie was in town?”
“Yes. But we’ve known that since this morning.”
“No. We heard it might be true this morning. Now I’m sure. I’m officially your shadow.”
She sighed and held out a hand. “Give me your shirt. I’ll throw it in the dryer.”
He turned over the shirt and slipped past her into the hall and to the guest bathroom.
“You’re really going to make me wait until you’re out of the shower to tell me how you ended up in the lake?”
The sound of the water turning on served as his only response.
She shook her head and looked at the dog. “How can he do this to us?”
Abby ignored her and headed down the hall.
Charlotte tossed the wet shirt into her dryer. Abby sat herself outside the bathroom door like a sentry, until Declan reappeared five minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist and his shorts in his hand. Charlotte heard him toss his shorts and, presumably, underwear into the dryer with his shirt before he joined her in the kitchen.
“You’re killing me,” she said.
He kissed her. “Thank you for your patience. I feel much better.”
“Spill it. Take it from the top.”
He nodded and pulled a hand down his face, as if trying to compose himself before starting. “I was at the shop, closing things up for the storm, when I saw a car across the street that looked like this.” He grabbed his phone and opened it to show Charlotte a video featuring a partial view of a blue car and a woman, who was unidentifiable thanks to a large hat.
“That looks like Stephanie’s place,” said Charlotte.
“It is. She sent me this to prove her mother’s here.”
She pointed to the phone. “That woman’s Jamie?”
“Supposedly. Anyway, I saw this car across the street and it started to pull out as I was staring at it.”
“You could see Jamie inside?”
“No. But I recognized the car.”
Charlotte grunted and Declan raised a hand. “Hold on. It gets better.”
“No kidding. At some point you end up in a lake.”
“Right. Anyway, she pulls out, so I decide I’m going to follow the car to see if it is Jamie. She sees me and takes off—nearly kills herself pulling into traffic.”
Charlotte perked. “So now you can see her for sure?”
“No. She blows through a light and I follow and we go on this high-speed chase for a few miles, headed inland and on to country roads—”
“So you’re in a high-speed chase with someone who may or may not be Jamie?”
Declan frowned. “When you word it that way it sounds irresponsible, but yes. By then I’m sure it’s her. What are the chances of an old car identical to the one that visited Stephanie taking off like that?”
“Slim. Fair enough.”
Declan leaned in. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
“True. Continue. Get to the part where you end up soaking wet.”
He snorted a laugh and took a deep breath. “Long story short, she led me to a lake, where she drove across the yard, down a pier and directly into the water.”
Charlotte gasped. “She drove the car into the lake?”
He nodded. “Looked like a rental. I can tell you she’s not getting that deposit back.”
“Wow. Then what? You drove in after her? No, I saw your car...” She motioned to the front yard.
“Right. I managed not to drive the Jeep in after her. I stopped and ran out, thinking I’d grab her when she surfaced, but she didn’t surface.”
“So you dove in.”
“Yep.”
He scratched at his neck, as if thinking about the lake made him feel dirty again.
“And?” she prompted.
“And she wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean she wasn’t there?”
“She wasn’t there. The car was empty. She must have gotten out and swum underwater. I didn’t see her surface because I was in the water at that point.”
Charlotte stared at him, mouth open, unsure of what to say.
“Are you disappointed?” he asked.
“Well, yes. I mean, I’m disappointed she’s not back in jail. But mostly I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt chasing her...”
He squinted at her. “But...”
“But...did you ever actually see her?”
Declan’s shoulders slumped. “No. But it was her. It had to be. I don’t think a random person would panic at the sight of me chasing them and drive into a lake.”
Charlotte placed her palms together as if praying and tapped them against her lips, thinking.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Nothing. Really. It’s just, that leaves me with four solid possibilities for two murders.”
“Two?”
She nodded. “The guy who supposedly fell off a ladder and another man at The Fairways who supposedly asphyxiated running a generator in his garage.”
“Supposedly.”
“Both suspicious, too.”
“Officially suspicious or Charlotte suspicious.”
She chuckled. “Right now, just Charlotte suspicious.”
“So who are your four suspects?”
“Well, both victims were hoarding supplies for the storm and the first was found shortly before Gloria arrived in town. The first thing she did when she got here was trick a bunch of vultures into defecating all over a woman’s pool patio, because her garage was full of hoarded toilet paper.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Worse, it was Darla’s idea to call in a hit woman to deal with the snowbird hoarders.”
“Not all the hoarders are snowbirds,” muttered Declan. “My neighbor was bragging yesterday he bought a whole pallet of water bottles he’s going to sell for profit.”
“Ugh. People like him make moments like this worse for all of us.” Charlotte felt her anger rising. “I might point Gloria in his direction.”
“Should we make sure she’s not killing people first?”
Charlotte smirked. “Fine.”
“Who else? I’m sure Gloria isn’t suspect number one.”
“No, I’m not doing them in order. She’s probably the least likely, unless she’s gone full-blown nuts since she moved away... which isn’t totally out of the realm of possibility.”
“Agreed. Next?”
“Well, Jamie, obviously, if she’s out and about.”
“And she is.”
“Said the Lake Monster. The problem is, besides hoarding, the thing the two victims had in common was that their deaths were staged to look like accidents cause
d by storm preparations.”
“How are you sure they weren’t just that?”
“There was a brick with blood on it at the first scene, and the man’s skull had more damage on it than it should after falling off a ladder onto the grass. If I hadn’t stumbled onto the brick, we wouldn’t have thought twice about the second victim, but with foul play in mind, there were signs he’d been trapped in his garage on purpose.”
Declan mused on this. “It’s always hard to believe anyone is dumb enough to run a gas engine in a garage.”
“And yet it happens every time there’s a storm.”
“Yep. Was anything taken from them?”
“Not that we saw. But Ladder-guy’s neighbor showed up in the crowd gathering outside the second scene.”
Declan scowled. “That’s weird.”
“It is. It looked like he happened to be golfing, but definitely not a coincidence.”
“So the neighbor is number three.”
“Yep. And he’s a real jerk too. I’m rooting for him.”
Declan sat on a bar stool and tapped his thumb on the granite top. “Why would Jamie kill those two? And why would she try to make them look like accidents?”
Charlotte sighed. “That’s what I’m wrestling with. She’s a known killer, and her appearance lines up with the deaths, but this isn’t her style.”
“No. So that leaves us with number four?”
“Number four is the mystery person. Someone we don’t know who likes to kill people and make it look like an accident.”
“Storm accidents,” muttered Declan.
Charlotte cocked her head. “That’s interesting. What if this is another serial killer who only kills before natural disasters?”
Declan laughed. “I think you think there are more serial killers in the world than there are. It’s amazing little Charity has one.”
“Is it? When Jamie collected bad guys here like they were baseball cards?”
“True.”
“And when are police more likely to chalk a death up to an accident? People fall off of ladders and asphyxiate before storms all the time.”
“And during a storm, with other tragedies happening, they’re more likely to rush on to the next thing.”
Charlotte nodded. “Exactly. It’s sort of brilliant.”
“But Jamie’s witness protection people were usually thugs and everyday-Joes who turned evidence on powerful people. Not really serial killers.”