A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “And the other print—the one in the house?”

  “Found it right inside, behind the front door. We think the killer was smart enough to remove his shoes when he entered the house, but one of his prints had already been tracked in. We lifted it with gelatin strips.”

  “And?”

  “Matched it to a men’s size eleven Adidas.”

  “What size shoe does Roy wear?”

  The answer seemed obvious. It had to be. And it was.

  “Depends on the shoe. Sometimes ten and a half, sometimes eleven.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “He let us into his house the first time we stopped by to talk to him. Said he had nothing to hide. We checked all of his shoes. Most of his tennis shoes were Nike brand. We didn’t find a single pair of Adidas.”

  “Of course not. He probably threw them away. What now?”

  “The specific shoe we’re trying to match is older. It’s not sold anymore. We’re waiting on some vendor lists to see if we can track purchases in the area during the time the shoe was produced. I’ll be honest it’s a longshot.”

  “If Roy lied about seeing Evie the day she died, he’s probably lying about everything else.”

  Bo pressed his hands against the top of his jeans, stood. “Care to find out?”

  “Do you mean together?”

  “Like I said before, I’d rather keep you close.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Roy Ferguson lived in a single-wide trailer about a mile past the main entrance to town. The model home was newer, though its exact age mattered little to Quinn. She’d never cared much for trailers no matter how grand the illusion of a house-like façade. Mobile. Modular. Manufactured. A trailer was still a trailer. Prefabricated housing with a permanent chassis under its skirt. How anyone made a conscious choice to live in a manufactured dwelling, when they could save their pennies and spring for a house, eluded her. Squeeze two sides together and voila—the birth of a double-wide. Or piece together a third and make it a triple.

  It didn’t seem right.

  Two things caught Quinn’s eye as Bo drove onto Roy’s weedy, unpaved driveway—the Doberman pinscher sleeping inside a rectangular patch of sunlight on the unfinished porch, and the back of Roy’s truck. It was packed, like he was going somewhere. And his truck door was open, like he was leaving soon.

  Bo looked at Quinn. “Hey, don’t worry about the dog. He’s a barker, not a biter. Hasn’t tried to bite me before, anyway.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look nervous.”

  “I’ve never met Roy,” she said.

  “Haven’t you? I’m surprised.”

  “I was supposed to after I returned from my trip to Hawaii, but from the sounds of things, I wouldn’t have met him then anyway.”

  “Do you believe Evie wanted to get back together with Roman?”

  “Ruby says she did,” Quinn said. “I know she loved him. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”

  A man emerged from inside the trailer. In the looks department, he wasn’t anything like Quinn expected. “That’s him? That’s Roy?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “But he’s ... bald ... and ... looks like he’s been abusing steroids for years.”

  “You’re being a tad judgmental, don’t you think?”

  “You don’t agree?” she asked. “Look at him. He’s got ’the glow.’”

  “The ... what?”

  “The steroid glow. Look at his skin. He looks like he bathes in marinara.”

  Bo shook his head, laughed. “Is there anything else wrong with him, or are you finished?”

  “It’s just—Evie had a type. And this guy doesn’t fit it.”

  “A type, meaning Roman?”

  “Every girl has a type, the kind of guy she’s attracted to more than others. It’s not like we plan it—it just happens. Evie’s dated the same kind of guy since high school.”

  “And what kind of guy would that be?”

  “The tall, lanky, shaggy-haired, outcast kind. Low-key and reserved, like Roman. Roy looks rough and spirited, like Evie—like the kind of guy who’s lived twice the life most people do in his twenty-something years. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were at the wrong house.”

  “You can tell all this without even meeting the guy?”

  “You’ve talked to him. Am I wrong?”

  Roy gazed through Bo’s windshield, his eyes partially open, squinting, as if he knew the conversation was about him. He hoisted a duffel bag over the side of the truck, wiped his hands on his pants, and walked over. Bo put the window down. Roy folded one arm over the other, rested them on the sill.

  “Do you need something, detective?”

  Bo pointed in the direction of Roy’s truck. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yep, I’m leaving.”

  “When?”

  “Stopped home to get a few things loaded on my lunch break. I’m headed out in the morning.”

  “For how long?” Bo asked.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “You know exactly what it is to me.”

  “And you know I’ve said all I have to say.”

  Steroid use aside, Roy was handsome. There was a certain charm that drew her in like it must have drawn in Evie. The more he talked, the more she found herself wanting to listen, to hang on his every word. It made sense now why her friend had fallen for him. He was nothing like Roman. He was like Evie. Maybe Evie thought that’s what she needed. Someone different. Someone new. Not another guy who reminded her of her past failure, or the love she’d lost.

  Roy glanced at the passenger seat, grinned, focused on the chain hanging around her neck. “Nice necklace. You must be Quinn.”

  Nice to meet you didn’t seem the appropriate return sentiment, given the chance she may have been staring into the face of Evie’s killer.

  She forced a smile and tried to keep her tone as aloof as possible. “Where are you off to?”

  “Just a little road trip to Wendover. Boss gave me the next five days off. I’ve been itching to hit the blackjack tables.”

  “Before you go, I have a few more questions,” Bo said.

  Roy turned his hands up. “Like I said, man, I’m done talking. Either arrest me or get off my property.”

  “Technically, you’re renting the trailer. This isn’t your property. It belongs to Max Howard. He’s a friend of mine, which means I have every right to be here.”

  Roy’s front door opened again, and this time a long, curly, blond-haired woman stepped out. Janae Burgess. Two years Quinn’s junior. Given her hair used to be brown, it took a moment for Quinn to recognize her. Janae saw Bo’s truck and halted. For a moment Quinn thought she was going to backpedal into the house. Quinn opened the truck door, hopped out.

  “Janae.”

  The bottom of Janae’s low-cut Maxi dress swished down the steps toward Quinn. “Oh. My. Gosh. Quinn Montgomery, is that you?”

  “It’s me.”

  The dog jolted to a standing position, barking incessantly. Roy yelled a series of commands, and the dog went inside. Janae closed the door.

  Quinn grabbed Janae’s arm, pulled her to the side, whispered, “What are you doing with Roy?”

  “Hello to you too.”

  “I’m serious, Janae.”

  “We work together. Why?”

  “You’re aware he was dating Evie, right?”

  “Of course I am, Quinn. Geez. I’m not trying to make a move on him. I’m married.”

  Janae lifted her hand, flashing a less than spectacular diamond, the kind she almost needed a magnifying glass to see.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Like he said, we’re on our lunch break. We ran out to pick up sandwiches to take back to work, and on our way back, I said I had to pee. He said I could use the bathroom in his place since it was on the way, and here we are.”

  “You need to be careful, Janae,” Quinn warned.

&nbs
p; Roy’s conversation with Bo halted midsentence. He curved his body around, glared at Quinn. “Be careful of what? Be careful of me?”

  Quinn’s mouth shut. Bo mumbled a few words, tried smoothing things over, refocusing the attention on him. Charm aside, Quinn refused to hide behind her feelings. “You said the last time you saw Evie was on the morning of her murder.”

  “What about it?” Roy asked.

  “Then why did Mrs. Healy say she saw your truck on the road to Evie’s house the night she died?”

  He shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “You should know because you were there. You lied about it. Why? Were you angry after she ended things? Or was it because she chose Roman instead of you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “It’s hard to get bad news, isn’t it?” Quinn said. “Some might say unbearable even. A real jab to the ego. How did you feel when Evie admitted she preferred another man? Angry? Weak? Ready to kill?”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t lay a hand on her. I’ve never laid a hand on her.”

  “You went to her house, and then you told the police you didn’t. Admit it, Roy.”

  He eyed Janae, whose eyes were fixed on her hands like she’d rather be anywhere else than there at that moment.

  “Were you there?” Bo asked. “Lie to me again, and I’ll stick you in a room with Mrs. Healy and go over your statements again. I have no problem holding you as long as it takes to get the right answer.”

  “Fine. All right. I was there all of five minutes. Nothing happened.”

  “What time?” Bo asked.

  “Around eight thirty, I guess.”

  “You lied the first time I asked you, said you were at home all night. Why?”

  “I’m new here. Why do you think? Who would have believed me?”

  “Why were you there?” Bo asked.

  “Why does it matter, Bo?” Quinn said. “He was there during the timeline of her murder. He did it. He’s guilty.”

  “Quinn ...” Bo started.

  “See what I mean?” Roy said, hand outstretched. “May as well convict me right now.”

  Quinn looked at Bo, then Janae, who was making the most of her nervousness by designing a sequence of lines in the dirt with the tip of her wedged flip-flop.

  “I’m not asking you again,” Bo said. “What were you doing at Evie’s house?”

  “I left some of my fishing gear there the previous weekend, when we were still together. I called her and asked if I could come pick it up. She said yes, so I stopped by. That’s it. I picked up my gear and I left.”

  “What was Evie doing when you arrived?” Bo asked. “And what was Jacob doing?”

  “She’d just bathed Jacob. He was in his pajamas, in the living room, working on a new puzzle she bought him. Evie was in a robe, running water into the tub.”

  “The same tub she was found dead in,” Quinn spat.

  “You don’t even know me,” Roy said. “You have no right to accuse—”

  Quinn leapt forward, stabbing both hands onto Roy’s chest, shoving him backward. “Don’t talk to me about rights. My friend is dead because of you!”

  She felt herself being grabbed from behind, pulled off of him. “Let go of me, Bo!”

  “Quinn,” Bo said, his voice calm, “I need you to get back inside the truck and stay there. Let me handle this.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Bo. Don’t tell me ...”

  She allowed the last few words to trail off in a whisper. She was bitter. And she’d lost herself. She wanted to be right, wanted it to be Roy, wanted the madness of uncertainty to end. Bo looked worried. Concerned. Without saying another word, she opened the truck door and got in.

  Bo placed a call. Waited. A few minutes later, a police car rolled up. Two men got out. Quinn heard Bo say, “Escort Roy and Janae back to work, and then stay there. When his shift is over, make sure he gets home and stays home.”

  “You can’t do—” Roy started.

  “Be glad I’m not arresting you yet,” Bo said. “You just admitted to lying. I’m going to have a visit with Mrs. Healy, and then I’ll decide what to do with you. Until then, you’re either at work or you’re at home. Period.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Quinn buried her head in her hand. “I don’t like it, Bo.”

  His eyes left the road long enough to glance her direction. “Don’t like what?”

  “Everyone still thinks Roman is to blame for what happened. It’s not right. You’re creating a false sense of security. What if he slips past those police officers?”

  “By ’he’ you mean Roy?”

  “Roy just said he was there right before Evie’s murder. Mrs. Healy said she didn’t see any other vehicles pass by her house, which means, Roy was the last person seen coming and going, just like she said.”

  Bo pulled the truck to a stop in front of Quinn’s parents’ house. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Healy now. And no, I’m not taking you with me this time. I want to see if she tells me the same story she told you.”

  “If you learn anything new, will you call me?”

  He nodded. She stepped out of the truck. Before the door closed, he added, “I probably won’t see you tonight.”

  She tilted her head to the side, confused. Why was he telling her this? They hadn’t made plans. “Oh ... kay.”

  “What I mean to say is, Simone’s back in town. We’re, ahh ... going out later.”

  Quinn tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Say something. You look like an idiot standing here!

  “How about we talk more tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yeah, okay. Have a good time on your date.”

  Have a good time on your date?

  Nice.

  She shut the truck door, started walking. Bo’s truck idled in the background, not moving, just sitting there. Why hadn’t he left yet? What was he doing? Watching? Waiting? Had he expected her to say something more?

  It was impulsive and none of her business, but she pivoted and walked back to the truck anyway. He looked like he’d anticipated the move, which she found irritating. When the window came down, she blurted, “Do you love her?”

  Once the words left her lips, she experienced an immediate sense of regret. “I mean ... nothing. Forget I asked. Never mind.”

  Bo tapped a pair of nervous fingers on the dashboard. “Would it bother you if I did?”

  He was avoiding, answering a question with a question. Two could play. “I take it that’s your way of saying yes?”

  He looked at her. “Why do you always assume things?”

  “You didn’t say no.”

  “I didn’t say yes either.”

  “Which is it then?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know, Quinn. You’re putting me on the spot here.”

  “You’re right. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She was certain he muttered a few final words before putting the truck in gear and pulling away. Standing there, watching the tailgate fade in the distance, she felt a curious feeling of unrest. Only this time, it wasn’t just for Evie.

  CHAPTER 33

  Marissa Lewis hummed the tune of Blake Shelton’s “Bringing Back the Sunshine,” the rhythmic beat of her sneakers dancing their way down the asphalt street. She’d thought about driving to Quinn’s “mandatory” work meeting, but unlike the early-morning chill she’d felt earlier, the sun was now beaming through every crack and crevice in town. And, as if that wasn’t enough, there was almost no wind, which in Cody, was a rarity. She hadn’t seen a day this glorious in over three weeks, and with winter nudging its icy finger through fall’s door, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity for one last stream of sunshine.

  It was hard to believe her last year of high school was in full swing, the days passing by like the turn of a page. At sixteen, she was the youngest student in her grade to graduate, thanks to skipping two grades a few years earlier. In eight month
s she’d get her diploma, and then ...? She had plans. Big plans. And they were all coming together with the exception of one—her career. Evie was dead, and she was ... well, screwed, her opportunity to learn the landscaping business dashed now that Quinn was taking over the place and Evie was no longer there to mentor her as she’d promised. She’d worked too hard to be brushed aside by some know-nothing. Thinking about it now, she dispersed a series of repetitive curse words into the air.

  Thanks a lot, Evie.

  “Bye, bye, high school and hello, college dormitory,” her mother had said to her during a recent conversation. “It will be here before you know it. Aren’t you excited?”

  Excited?

  The mere thought of leaving town to endure even more years of school surrounded by kids who were at least two years older soured her stomach. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay. She belonged here. And that’s why she did what she knew she had to do—she came up with a back-up plan. A foolproof plan B. The future of her career may have been up in the air, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be leaving Cody.

  Marissa had been so tied up in her thoughts, she almost missed the faint sound of rubber tires behind her. It was only when the charcoal, matte-finished auto rolled alongside that she brought her eyes down from the sky and looked around.

  The car lulled to a stop. The passenger-side window lowered. Well, began to lower. The rate at which the window came down seemed like slow motion, the clumsy, hand-pumped cranking causing Marissa to bite down on the corner of her lip to keep from busting out laughing.

  Window successfully most of the way down, the guy said, “Hey there, you need a ride?”

  Marissa snickered, thumbing at the guy’s car. “In that old thing?”

  “Oh, come on. This car’s a classic. I’d rather drive this any day over zipping around in a cheap, dime-a-dozen sedan.”

  “Do you see me zipping? I’m walking. It’s good exercise. You should try it sometime.”

  “Where is your car anyway?”

  “At home. It’s too nice of a day to spend it behind the wheel.”

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.