by Fiona Grace
Mia suddenly knew where she’d seen the man. This was the detective on YouTube who interviewed Donnie Browder all those years ago—Detective Charlie Waite. He was older, heavier, but she recognized him just the same. He reemerged from the garage and approached Mia. He pulled off his gloves, revealing a wedding band.
“How’s she doing, Janey?” Charlie Waite said to the EMT.
Janey walked back, checked Mia, and removed her mask.
“You’ll be fine,” she said and started packing up her equipment.
Mia took a deep breath, relieved to be given the all clear.
“She says she was only in there for thirty minutes,” Janey told Waite. “It takes longer exposure for CO to reach a critical level.”
“All right then,” Charlie said. He petted Tandy, who accepted his presence readily. “I’m Detective Charlie Waite of the Swampscott PD, and you are?”
“Mia Bold.” She got to her feet and brushed off her jeans. Tandy got up too and started acting less stressed, sniffing the lawn and getting back to his usual pursuits.
“Is that your car in there? The white Lexus?” Waite said.
“No, that belongs to the woman inside, Cindy Moore,” Mia said, shaking her head. She felt an urge to cry and swallowed hard. “I guess she’s dead?”
“Oh, she’s dead, all right,” Charlie Waite said. “This is a small town. Everyone knows Cindy. Anyone who doesn’t has seen her posters. They’re all over town. You aren’t from around here, Ms. Bold. Are you a client of hers?”
Mia shook her head. “I work for a podcast. We’re supposed to be filming here tonight.”
“A podcast, huh? Have I heard of it?”
“Bell, Book, and Candle, out of Salem.”
“Out of Salem, huh? Isn’t a podcast like a radio show?”
“Yes, but we’re filming a sample episode for a cable network,” Mia said.
“What’s the show about?” Waite said.
“We investigate haunted phenomena,” Mia said.
“Ghost hunters, I see,” Waite said. “So you’re here to film a haunted house? I guess you picked this one because of the Browder incident?”
“Yes.” Mia nodded. “Actually, I’m familiar with your history on the case.”
“Then you know the gruesome details,” Detective Waite said. “So what does that make you, Ms. Bold? Some kind of tragedy tourist?”
“No!” Mia said, shocked that Detective Waite would accuse her of such an awful thing. “My show, we investigate hauntings, that’s all.”
Listen, Ms. Bold. I’d like you to come down to the station for an hour or so to help me with my report.”
“But I have to get back to—” Mia began to say.
“Maybe I phrased that wrong. I need you to come to the station now, so cancel your plans. Are we clear?”
“Of course,” Mia said, alarmed by the way the detective was acting.
At that moment, the forensics van arrived. The technicians stepped out of the vehicle, dressed in disposable crime scene coveralls.
“Just wait here for a moment,” Detective Waite said and disappeared to speak with the technicians. Mia petted Tandy and when she looked up again, Waite was making a phone call. He was in a heated exchange for a moment before hanging up.
Suddenly, Mia’s predicament cut through the fog of shock. She had just been found alone with a dead body. That meant she was about to be dragged into a situation with the Swampscott police. And the Middletons were in town. After a few moments, Detective Waite headed back to Mia.
“Are you okay to drive?” he said.
“I think so,” Mia said, feeling numb. She went to her car and let Tandy in the back. But as she slipped into the driver’s seat and placed the key into the ignition, she realized she was shaking. The image of Cindy Moore erupted in her mind, eyes closed in her clean and pressed suit and heels.
Had she seemed like the type who would kill herself?
Then Mia remembered the muddy footprints.
Had someone else been there with her? Maybe someone had killed her? But why did they murder a real estate agent? And why did they use the same method as the Browder family?
Detective Charlie Waite pulled up beside her and flashed his lights, signaling her to follow him. As Mia pulled behind him, she knew that she was in deep trouble.
***
Mia pulled into the Swampscott Police Station next to Detective Waite’s Ford Explorer. The station was exactly what you’d expect in a quiet little seaside town. The old building was made of brick and wood with the upper wooden siding painted a pale gray blue. The neighborhood was quaint, you could even say sleepy. An American flag was hoisted high on a flag pole in front of the building where a display of autumn gourds and dried corn stalks decorated the front entrance. The place looked more like an old city building than a police station. Mia checked her makeup in the mirror and wiped away a little smear of mascara as Charlie Waite approached her old Toyota.
“Go ahead and bring your dog in with you,” Detective Waite said. Tandy’s ears pricked up as Mia opened her door, stepped out, and pulled the seat forward. Tandy ran around the front of the station sniffing and marking his territory.
As Mia followed Charlie Waite inside, she checked her phone. There was a flood of texts and messages from Sylvie, Brynn, and her mother. But before she could read them, Detective Waite stopped her.
“Turn that off, please,” Detective Waite said.
Mia did as she was told and switched off her phone.
Detective Waite held the door open and Mia walked inside the foyer.
“Come on, boy,” Mia said and whistled for Tandy, who slipped through the door. Their footsteps echoed against the gray tiling as they passed the intake window where a cop was leaning back in her chair.
“Hey there, Charlie,” a thin woman in uniform said.
“I hope you’re having a good day, Ruthie,” Waite said.
“Same old, same old,” Ruthie said and buzzed them inside.
Mia heard the lock click into place behind her. Waite led her down a corridor and into an office with a lot of security cameras and a pair of officers monitoring them. The officers petted Tandy as he walked past, wagging his tail. Waite tossed the keys to the Ford Explorer onto the desk of a fellow officer.
“Thanks, Tom,” Waite said, steering Mia toward his office.
“So, what happened?” Tom said, glancing at Mia with interest.
“Cindy Moore’s dead,” Detective Waite said. Mia caught out of her peripheral vision that something passed between them.
“That’s a shame,” Tom said, suddenly losing all curiosity while keeping an eye on Mia, who was growing more uncomfortable with every step.
Detective Waite must have been on the phone to his people while we were driving to the station, Mia realized. Even she had to admit, Cindy Moore dying the same way as the Browder murders was incredibly suspicious. And once the police checked Mia’s Google search history, they’d find all her research centered around the Browder murders and Charlie Waite.
Tandy looked up at her with big eyes as if he were reading her thoughts.
Yes, boy, we’re in trouble, she thought. Mia prayed she would get through this police report without the unnerving possibility of being tangled up with the police while trying to cope with Middleton madness.
Detective Waite led Mia into an office and offered her a chair before slipping behind his desk. There were pictures of his family covering every spare space. Mia sat down and Tandy settled down beside her.
“Are those your kids?” Mia said, pointing to some picture frames with little children on the beach playing.
“My grandkids,” Detective Waite said. “My kids are all grown. You?”
“Kids? No,” Mia said. “At least not yet.”
Waite slipped a sheet of paper down in front of her.
“Do you mind writing down what happened?” Waite said. “I’ll just go get us some coffee.”
“Sure,” Mia said and scri
bbled out what she remembered from the moment she arrived at the Elmswood House.
Charlie returned with two coffees, but instead of settling at his desk he nodded toward one of the interrogation rooms.
“Do you mind if we discuss this in a conference room?” Waite said. “Officer Brent here will watch your dog, won’t you, Tom?”
“Sure,” Tom Brent said and called Tandy over to pet him.
This was a sign that things were taking a turn for the worse. Interrogation rooms had one-way glass where suspects were brought for observation. They also had hidden camera to record every word and reaction during an interview. That was where you took someone when you thought they may have committed a crime.
Detective Waite let Mia into the interrogation room. Then he settled heavily in a chair facing Mia across a white expanse of table. He pushed a coffee over to her and Mia pushed her statement across the table.
He read the statement with interest, as Mia looked at the one-way glass and wondered who was watching them. Maybe Tom Brent, the cop he’d given the weird look to. The interrogation room was bleak and designed to put pressure on the suspect.
“How do you know Cindy Moore?” Detective Waite asked.
“One of my producers arranged for us to film at the Elmswood House. I just met Cindy yesterday,” Mia said.
“Did you arrange to meet her today?”
“No, I mean I was trying to find her. We were supposed to be filming tonight.”
“So why’d you show up early?” Charlie Waite said casually. But when Mia looked at his eyes, they were hawklike, steady, and piercing.
“Pardon me?” Mia said. “You mean to the Elmswood House?”
“That’s right. It says here you were going to film in the evening. So, why’d you show up in the afternoon?”
“Well,” Mia began reluctantly, “I was confronting my fears.”
“Your fears?” Charlie said gruffly. “What kind of fears?”
“We visited the house before and I had a bad reaction. So I wanted to get that reaction under control before—”
“Before you started your ghost hunt? What are you going to be hunting exactly? The poor dead wife and kids of Donnie Browder?”
Now Mia’s discomfort moved up an octave. The questioning was borderline hostile. Was this a knee-jerk cop thing, or did Detective Charlie Waite believe she was involved with the death of Cindy Moore?
The phone rang and Detective Waite picked up the phone.
“Uh-huh, really? I see. Well, what time? Ballpark is fine. Okay.” Waite hung up the phone and stared at Mia. “I’ve just had some interesting news.”
“Yes, what’s that?” Mia said.
“Cindy Moore died last night, around eleven p.m.”
“Oh my God,” Mia said. “Her body was in the house all that time? That’s awful.”
“Where were you last night, Ms. Bold?” Detective Waite said coldly.
Mia felt her stomach drop. There it was. Waite wanted her alibi. She thought back and realized she was home alone the entire night. There were no witnesses and no record of her whereabouts. She had plenty of time to drive to Swampscott and kill Cindy Moore.
“At home—alone,” Mia said.
“Did you text anyone? Email them?”
“I did some research early in the evening before going to bed.”
“On what exactly?” Waite said.
“Um, my dad. And stuff I needed to know for the shoot,” Mia said.
“What stuff?” Waite said, leaning forward and staring at her.
Mia knew there was no point hiding anything. Detective Waite was going to find out one way or the other. She looked him in the eye and folded her hands.
“The history of the Elmswood House,” Mia said matter-of-factly.
“How much do you know about the Browder family murders?” Waite said.
“I know that Donnie Browder killed his wife and children by carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Yep. The exact same way Cindy Moore died,” Waite said.
“Yes, it does seem strange,” Mia said.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” Waite said.
Mia turned her coffee cup in a circle.
“I saw you interview Donnie Browder on YouTube,” Mia said.
“Huh,” Waite said and scribbled something in his pad. “What did you do after all that research?”
“I went to bed and read a book.” The moment the words came out of her mouth she recognized the weakness in her alibi.
“Strange? Do you want to know what I think? I think you have an unhealthy fascination with the history of this house. Now I find you at the scene where a woman has died in the exact same way as the notorious murder that took place on the premises? Tell me, what am I supposed to think?”
Mia’s heart began to race and she could feel herself perspiring. There was something about the way Detective Charlie Waite looked at her that made her afraid. To him, she was just some random nut job who knew way too much about that house and the Browder murders. Once they found her history of incriminating Google searches, they would have a pretty good case.
She wished she had never come near that Elmswood House.
“Listen, Mia,” Waite said in a foreboding voice. “Believe me when I tell you, I’m going to find out exactly what happened here. But you could save me a lot of trouble. Now, is there something you want to tell me?”
Mia suddenly felt like a deer in the headlights. Maybe Detective Waite was just searching for answers, but she was starting to feel bullied. How could a day that started off in an attempt to face her fears spiral into such a total nightmare?
Suddenly, there was a knock on the interrogation room door. It opened and Mia looked up in shock.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Standing in the doorway was Detective Clayton Landry of the Salem PD, a formidable cop with a razor-sharp mind. Mia was astonished at his appearance in the Swampscott police station. Then she remembered that Detective Waite had called someone while they were at the Elmswood House. No doubt he’d checked up on her during his drive to the station.
“To answer your question, Ms. Bold, Charlie here called me to verify your identity,” Landry said. “He knew I’d be familiar with you and Bell, Book, and Candle.”
“I didn’t tell you to come down here, Clayton,” Waite said, disgruntled.
“No, but I thought you could use my help,” Landry said. “After all, Swampscott and Salem have a long-standing agreement to help each other, don’t we?”
“That’s true,” Waite said reluctantly. “Well, since you’ve come all this way, have a seat.”
Mia was relieved to see the familiar Salem detective. Even though she’d had brushes with the law in the past, and even been pulled in by Landry for questioning, she’d found him to be both rigorous and fair. He had always told her the truth and she trusted him. And at this point, it was clear she needed some help.
She examined Waite’s reaction. He was clearly surprised to see Detective Landry too, which Mia supposed was a sign in her favor.
“Thanks, Charlie,” Landry said and stepped into the interrogation room. He was dressed sharply in a gray fitted suit with a scarlet muffler thrown over one shoulder of a camel coat, as if he’d been caught off duty. He faced the Swampscott detective, who he obviously had some kind of history with, and smiled. His gray eyes, striking against his tawny skin, gave nothing away.
“Is that how they dress down in New Orleans?” Detective Waite said. “You look like you walked out of a fancy magazine.”
“I was at a reception at the Salem Athenaeum,” Landry said as the two cops shook hands. “I took an Uber over here.”
“You didn’t need to drop your plans and come all this way,” Waite said, testily. “I just needed one little piece of information.”
“No trouble,” Landry said. “Mia? How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” Mia said, hands folded in her lap
. The starkness of the room had done its work. She wanted to be anywhere but the bleak, featureless box of the Swampscott interrogation room. Waite didn’t realize it, but Mia wanted to find out what happened to Cindy Moore as much as he did. And to do that she needed to get out of this room. If anyone could free her, it was Detective Landry, but Mia wasn’t sure of his motivation. Ironically, he had put her through similar interrogations in the past.
Detective Landry took off his camel coat and folded it carefully over a chair before taking a seat at the interrogation table. He looked at Charlie Waite like a chess player waiting for the next move.
“So, you wanted to know about Bell, Book, and Candle?” Landry said.
“Yes, Ms. Bold here claims to work for that outfit,” Waite said.
“That’s correct. Bell, Book, and Candle is a production company that set up shop in Salem a few months ago. They’ve filmed at a number of locations, including the Black Cat Inn and the House of the Sea Witch. Good for the tourist trade. I’m sure you already realize they’re ghost hunters.”
“Uh-huh, well, we’ve got a situation here,” Charlie Waite said as he pushed his chair back from the table.
“What kind of situation?” Landry said.
“One of our local real estate agents, Cindy Moore, turned up dead today and Ms. Bold here was at the scene,” Waite said.
Landry took that in for a moment. Then he glanced at Mia.
“You found her?” Landry said.
“I did,” Mia said. “It was awful.”
“How did she die?” Landry said.
“The labs aren’t back yet but it looks like carbon monoxide poisoning,” Waite said.
Landry weighed the situation, choosing his words carefully.
“Not to disrespect the dead,” Landry said in a measured tone. “But carbon monoxide poisoning is a pretty common way for people to commit suicide. Is there some reason you think this death is suspicious, Charlie?” Landry said with a measured tone.
As Mia observed the two of them, she realized that Landry was treating Waite like he was a dangerous snake.
Detective Waite leaned back in his chair casually, but despite the appearance he was cultivating, Mia could sense the tension in the air. She’d already seen how tricky Detective Waite could be.