by DB Kennison
Good art is subjective. Bad art can be positively deadly.
The Randi Lassiter Series, Book 1
Randi Lassiter is twenty-nine, divorced, and remarkably content with her nonexistent social life. Mainly because she moonlights for an attorney, nabbing adulterers—like her ex—with her camera.
When she stumbles across a mutilated body, it takes fast talking to convince the arrogant detective she’s not a suspect. One look at him, and she pegs him as a guy who uses his sexy smirk to separate women from their panties.
When Detective Jon Bricksen is named the lead investigator of the first murder this microscopic town has seen in forty years, he questions his decision to leave the death and violence of Milwaukee behind. Randi’s cleavage—and her questionable sleuthing skills—aren’t making his job any easier.
Theirs is a partnership of aggravation until her small-town network results in critical progress. Forced into an uneasy alliance, they battle a growing attraction—and a killer who’s out to make them the stars of his next piece of deadly performance art.
Warning: Prepare for a thrill ride of disturbing plot twists, profanity, dirty thoughts, and filthy behavior. Who knew small-town life could be this exciting?
Still Life
DB Kennison
Dedication
To Michael, my husband and best friend, your unwavering support and belief in me got me through to the end. Thank you for having my back.
To Alex and Abby, you remind me every day that anything is possible when you set your mind to it. I aspire to be a better person because of you both.
To Jon and Larissa for the obvious.
To all the other special people in my life who helped me get a finger on the bottom rung—you know who you are.
Prologue
Something cold touched Randi Lassiter’s cheek and she picked a strand of what she hoped was spaghetti out of her hair. She tried hard not to move, being extra careful to stay locked in position next to the dumpster. God forbid she should sway off balance and touch something else. She didn’t want to make things worse for whoever had to straighten all this out. Probably some hard-assed detective who wouldn’t believe a word she had to say and would toss her ass in jail anyway.
It was difficult to know how long she had been kneeling in the dark, waiting for CJ to return. Her thighs were burning and her feet had gone numb. But she understood how important it was not to disturb anything—at least no more than she already had.
Chilled to the core, not even a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans could help her now. Randi went to hug herself but stopped when she remembered that something was on her hands. It smelled like marinara sauce, but what if it was something else? What if it was blood? She thought about taking out her ponytail and letting her hair drape over her shoulders for warmth, but the thought of red streaks in her blonde hair, as well as congealed liquid between her fingers, changed her mind. She was already fighting back the bile that rose in her throat. Not an option then.
The silence was freaking her out. A tremor rumbled somewhere deep inside, vibrating along her bones. Her muscles twitched in a spasmodic crescendo so violent she feared a full on convulsion. Her eyes betrayed her will and tears trailed down her cheeks. Randi sought some kind of distraction, but the only thing that came to mind were the strange circumstances behind how she ended up in such a shit situation.
Chapter One
Randi knew people liked to talk and knew full well what they said about her. She was the one who peeped in windows for money. But it was her job, one of them anyway, and to her that made it okay. She was good at it too, though this skill did not come naturally. It was hard earned by way of painful personal experience—a singular, useful gift from her son-of-a-bitch ex, Stuart Lassiter. Thanks to him, the lessons she’d learned she now used in her own private investigation business.
The Monte Bello Motel, also known as Bells, was a single-level ten-room motor inn with an adjacent restaurant on the outskirts of town. Not a total sleaze hole, but it wasn’t the Ritz either. It was quaint, clean, and cheap, which meant it was popular. Randi often wondered if Stuart and the women he’d screwed throughout their four-year marriage had ever come to Bells. Probably.
The assignment tonight was a rush job for a divorce attorney who happened to be a friend. Her client had hoped for a quick divorce but after a failed settlement negotiation the lawyer realized she was going to force the husband’s hand by slapping him upside the head with evidence.
After their first recon at Bells, Randi and her cohort CJ had learned that getting good photographic evidence was nearly impossible, except for shots that could be obtained from the rear room window. This plan had a “yuck” factor of ten according to CJ.
“Okay, you know it’s been sheer luck I haven’t seen anyone do the nasty yet.” CJ was performing her bitch and moan routine as Randi stuffed equipment into a backpack in the faint light of the overhead car dome. She let her friend gripe. Once she got it out of her system she’d be on board.
CJ had a phobia about seeing other people naked and having sex. It wasn’t so much the naked part—CJ was a lapsed nudist—it was the sex that bothered her. Because they lived in a small community, there was always a good chance they’d know one or both of the involved parties.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the photos.” Randi pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail and slung the backpack over her shoulders.
“You bet your sweet ass you get to take the photos. I’m not watching Sanke banging away at anybody!” She scooped the stepladder up out of the trunk. “It would be disturbing on so many levels. Not to mention he should be home, not here on a Sunday night.”
“People have sex on Sundays, CJ.”
“How does that work exactly? Church, brunch, time with family and then he leaves for a sexual hook-up?”
Chad Sanke was vice president at CJ’s community bank. Randi could picture the shade of red CJ would turn if she bumped into him after seeing him “banging away.”
“Can we keep this short and sweet tonight?” CJ said as they hurried around the building, lowering her voice as they neared the alley. “There’s a Hallmark movie I want to watch later.”
“Whatever.” Randi looked at her watch—11:35, still plenty of time.
“Well, you’re always snapping way too long, trying to get that perfect shot. And you shouldn’t be wasting time watching others have sex when you could be having some of your own.” CJ looked over her shoulder and waggled her eyebrows.
Randi pointed a threatening finger. “We’re after solid evidence. There can’t be any room for doubt or they’ll argue they were doing something else, like practicing CPR. Besides, we are not discussing my love life at the moment!”
“CPR? Really? Fine,” CJ giggled. “We can talk about it later. “Over pie.” She had a Cheshire cat’s smile plastered across her face as she twirled in a circle, dancing with the ladder. “Let’s get this shit done.” She waltzed a few additional steps and plunged into the shadows, leaving Randi to follow.
Entering the alley thrust them into a dismal world where words are scant and whispered. As visibility waned, her sense of smell took over. It smelled filthy and damp, the disgusting, organic smell of worms that had evacuated after a heavy rain and gotten squished on the sidewalk. But it hadn’t rained in over a week, and she didn’t want to think about what might have created a similar aroma. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as the rank odor of rotted food wafted from the nearby dumpsters. She tried mouth breathing, but her stomach lurched and she forced her mind back to watching people
have sex. The result was only slightly better.
Randi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard a loud clang down the passage. There was a rustle of plastic film along with the clink of metal and glass. She held her breath. No doubt some critter was scavenging through the restaurant trash bags in search of its next meal.
“CJ?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Use the flashlight already.”
“I don’t have the flashlight. You do!”
“No, you do!”
“Guess again, Sneaky-Pete.”
“Shit!” The note of frustration lingered between them for a moment.
“You want we should go back?” CJ offered, a little too eagerly.
Randi weighed the timing between a trip back to the car against Chad Sanke’s foreplay limit. They couldn’t risk losing the event. There was a haze of light over the motel roof and a glow from the mansard sign on the café. That was it for light. It would have to do.
“Let’s keep moving. Just take it slow, our eyes will adjust.” She felt far from convinced as the words slipped through her lips.
The night was broken by a lengthy blast of a train horn coming from the industrial park blocks away. There were no crickets chirping, no dogs barking, no breeze, even the unknown scavenger had gone quiet. The only other sound came from somewhere out front. Randi heard the rhythmic creak of the aluminum stepladder CJ carried as her less than svelte hips moved to and fro. When she reached out to verify her friend’s location, she unintentionally goosed her.
CJ let out a high-pitched squeal as she turned and slapped at her. A second loud clunk came from the dumpster, and the women each shushed the other. Randi waited a few seconds, holding CJ in place by her shirtsleeve. Her heart pounded hard inside her chest.
Silence.
Randi let go of her friend, and she felt the woman round on her.
“Christ, Randi!” CJ said a little too loud. “Did you need to do that?” The ladder creaked as she readjusted. “What? You don’t think I’m freaked out enough just sneaking around in the dark, you have to run your hand up my ass like some pervert?” She detected laughter in CJ’s voice and fought back her own.
Randi bit down on her lip in an effort to maintain control. “Sorry.”
She followed CJ’s shuffling as she moved ahead a couple of feet but maintained enough distance to avoid another bit of unintended slapstick. “We should be getting close.” Randi glanced up at the outline of an unlit street lamp at the end of the alley. It grated on her that they were struggling; leaving the flashlight behind had not been the most brilliant of moves, very unprofessional. Now she just prayed to get through the assignment undetected.
Randi heard CJ set the ladder up under the window. “We’re here.” This was the fourth time in six months that Lassiter Investigations had been to Bells taking pictures through a small bathroom window, which meant they were all too familiar with the layout. And thanks to no forethought regarding the motel’s design, as long as the bathroom door was open each window afforded a clear view into the bedroom.
Without a word, Randi climbed the ladder to the top. CJ handed the camera up and then grabbed the ladder to keep Randi steady and upright. They had this move down to a science, although Randi heard CJ mumble something about “the frigging Cirque de Soleil.”
Peering into the window, Randi lifted the camera into position. The first few recons they’d used cell phone cameras until a job was botched due to a ringing phone. She splurged and went for the early upgrade. The Nikon was bulkier, but the tradeoff in features was worth it. She was adjusting the settings when the bathroom light suddenly flashed on, blinding her.
Shit! She ducked. She rocked back on the ladder, wobbled to the left, overcorrected to the right, and barely found enough of a balance to bend down without sitting directly on CJ’s head. She could feel CJ’s shoulder supporting her at the back her thighs. Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down… The jingle ran through Randi’s head as she seized the solid brick wall with her fingertips.
Holding her breath, she clung to the sill with one hand. Through the thin construction-grade glass, she heard the toilet seat lift and a steady stream splash into the bowl. Sanke.
Randi heard his muffled voice, followed by twittering laughter in the next room, and the bathroom light snapped off. She fought the urge to groan. The man hadn’t flushed the toilet or washed his hands. Just then Randi felt the camera slip from her sweaty fingers and leave her hand. The webbed strap around her neck kept it from slamming into the ground.
A burst of whir-SNAP-whir-SNAP-whir-SNAP cut the air as the camera took a succession of photos in the dark. The alleyway was illuminated by strobe-like flashes. Randi only hoped Sanke was too preoccupied to notice. A loud clunk sounded from deep in the dark. She imagined those photos would be of her sitting on CJ’s head, along with shots of whatever four-legged party was feasting at Café Dumpster. Maybe she’d have them framed for posterity and proudly displayed next to her PI license in her office. It felt like par for the course somehow.
Randi wiped sweat from her forehead and moved the camera back into position, making sure the flash was off, centering her attention on the people in the room. A moment later she was done.
CJ tugged on her pant leg impatiently. “Enough already, let’s go!”
The second Randi stepped off the ladder headlights arced across the alley in the direction of the return route. In the dim beams, they could make out a man and a woman along with three small children in silhouette. The road-weary family dragged themselves and their suitcases out of their minivan and began the tedious task of moving to their room around the corner. And they were moving at a snail’s pace.
“Crap, what now?” CJ whispered.
Randi thought for a moment how it would look to the family. Two women clad in black, carrying canvas bags and a ladder, walking out of the dark behind the motel they’d just checked into—not good.
“Avoid a confrontation. Don’t want to scare anybody. Leave the ladder behind and head to the restaurant. We’ll swing back and get it later. By then they’ll be sound asleep.”
“Works for me.”
Randi grabbed her backpack and took the lead, walking away from the minivan. They’d gone ten feet when Randi realized how hard it was to be on point and try to navigate through pure murk.
“Wow, it’s dark in this end,” she said.
“Welcome to my world. Do you want me to goose you? It really seems to be motivational somehow.”
“Bite me.” Impatient, Randi picked up speed. The dumpsters were midway and the only obstruction in the alley. They had twenty feet or so to go when her foot struck something. She reached down and felt cold, plastic film. Trash bag.
She froze in place as an animal growled.
“Holy shit!” CJ grabbed the back of Randi’s shirt and tugged.
“Get out of here!” Randi growled at the animal and kicked the bag. She heard it scurry away, claws scratching the pavement.
Randi could feel the trash bag against her ankle. She tried to sweep it aside with her foot. It gave way briefly and then rolled back into place.
Screw it. She would sidestep it. She took one long stride to the right and stepped ahead with her left foot. “Watch out for the bag of…” Randi emitted a small yelp as she plummeted forward.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, stay put. Give me a sec.” Randi struggled to right herself. She felt around for a firm place to put her hands and realized how expansive her lumpy little island of trash was.
“Shit!’”
“You want me to help?”
“No. Better to stay put or you might end up part of the pile.”
“Well, all-righty then.”
Randi’s right hand continued to rummage around for asphalt as her left clung to something unstable. She spewed a string of swear w
ords out under her breath like verbal diarrhea as her knees were getting bruised. The struggle was pissing her off.
“Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t banned cell phones.” CJ said nonchalantly. “Flashlight app would be pretty handy about now. Just saying.”
“Don’t start…” Randi stopped as her fingers got tangled in something other than plastic. Fabric. She had felt fabric. She moved her hand forward. Denim? Her hand lay on the heavy cloth as it draped across something long and tube-like.
“Oh shit!” She froze.
“What?”
Randi couldn’t respond. Her mind raced in a million directions, but struggled to latch onto something that made sense. No, she must be wrong…
“Don’t panic!” she said to herself just a little too loud.
“Huh?”
Randi’s hand returned to the fabric, fingers following the contour as if trying to read Braille, fully cognizant of every detail.
Her hand came to rest on the form she recognized a second earlier, a laced tennis shoe. But the part that had her confused was that it held a foot that was attached to someone’s leg. Those million directions were narrowing down to just a few.
“Randi?” An edge of concern crept into CJ’s voice after her prolonged silence.
Randi shook herself.
“I’m fine…fine. Just let me check something.” She worked to keep her voice steady and even. No need to panic. Yet.
Had someone fallen and couldn’t get up? Was this some drunk, passed out and sleeping it off in the alley? Neither of those scenarios seemed plausible. This was Mt. Ouisco, not some large city where homeless and indigent populations lived on the streets, where it wasn’t unusual to see a bum sleeping in the alley. Finding someone in the alley behind Bells just didn’t make any sense. A mannequin, maybe? Yeah, because motels always have one or two of those lying around. Sheesh.
Randi took a deep breath and plunged her hand back up the leg. She had a flashback to a game she had played at a Halloween party once where you blindly feel an everyday item like a grape or a carrot described as some kind of body part—an eyeball, a finger, a brain.