Violet Dawn

by Collins, Brandilyn

  Vince stepped inside, his gaze cruising the room. Edna San’s “quarters” stretched long and wide, immaculately clean. Gold-colored drapes closed off all the windows, casting a rich glow across the white carpet. No piece of dirt or lint on the floor that he could see. No noticeable footprints. The gold comforter and pillows of the queen-size bed looked crisp and smoothed. Not so much as an indentation from someone sitting on the edge. The furniture was heavy and ornate, of polished cherrywood.An armoire and two matching dressers, all drawers closed. On the far wall hung a full-length mirror with a gold filigree frame. No immediately visible prints on the glass. To his right an overstuffed armchair and small end table complete with lamp faced a marble fireplace. Two books lay on the table.

  “Are the curtains typically closed like this?” Vince gestured toward the windows.

  “Yes.” Francesca stood with her arms folded and tight, as if to protect herself from the emptiness of the room. “I close them at night when I prepare Ms. San’s bath. She doesn’t like the summer sun coming in so early in the morning. It wakes her up.”

  Frank began taking photos of the room from various angles. They ventured next into the bathroom, Vince’s eyes roaming, his brain cataloging every piece of information as Frank jotted notes.

  The bathroom was enormous, with white tile, dual sinks with gold fixtures, and a Jacuzzi tub big enough for two. One corner housed a large shower. The toilet was in a separate room. A makeup counter and mirror ran the length of one wall. Vince and Frank walked to the tub and studied the water. Vince held the tape recorder in one hand and tested the temperature with his other. It was cold.

  He straightened. “Do you put anything in the water for Ms. San? Bubble bath? Oil?”

  “Some bubble bath, yes. Here, I’ll show you.” Francesca strode to a closet and withdrew a lavender bottle, handing it to Vince.

  He set down the tape recorder and opened the bottle, sniffed it, then gave it back to her. Looked to the tub once more. Any bubbles were long since gone, but it seemed to him if Edna San had taken a bath in this water, the tub would be sporting more of a ring. “Ms. Galvin, what was she wearing when you last saw her?”

  “Red pants and a white silk blouse.”

  “And you indicated if she had taken the bath, she’d have left these clothes on the floor?”

  “Yes, actually here.” Francesca pointed to about three feet of tile between the tub and wall.

  “What about her closet?”

  “We passed it, right before the bathroom.” She turned and walked to a door, opened it wide.

  “Zowie,” Frank said under his breath as he peered inside. “Place is big enough to park a truck.”

  Vince retrieved his recorder before he and Frank stepped through the door. He spotted a hamper to his right and opened the lid. He saw some items, but no red pants and white blouse. He looked around at the racks and racks of clothes and shoes. Everything looked pristine and ordered.

  They spent some time photographing the bathroom, tub, and closet. Then on to a thorough search of the house, Vince leaving the tape recorder on the kitchen table. They looked at the alarm system, making notes of how it worked and where the central keypad was located. Just in case they had to send out techs later that day, Vince asked Francesca for a plastic grocery store bag and tape. These he used to seal off the keypad, ensuring that any fingerprints upon it wouldn’t be tainted.

  As they searched the rest of the house, Vince questioned Francesca about Edna’s son and daughter. Grant Wyman, son from Edna’s first marriage, lived in Hillsborough, located in the Bay Area of California. Daughter Arela Clifford, product of Edna’s second marriage, lived in San Diego. According to Francesca, their relationships with their mother were strained.

  Vince’s poker face remained intact but the word seared. Why had God chosen his son, one so close to him, to take away?

  Next they checked the french doors off the kitchen. No sign of forced entry there. Neither had any other door or window been forced.

  They stepped through the french doors onto the tiled patio in back. Near the edge, some fifteen feet away, Vince spotted something glinting in the sun. He walked over, Frank on his heels, and stooped. It was a stud earring, made for a pierced ear, with a golden heart. In the middle of the heart lay a small red stone.

  Francesca bent over beside them, peering down at their find.

  Vince looked up at her. “You recognize this?”

  She shook her head. “It’s certainly too cheap to be Ms. San’s. And it isn’t mine.”

  Vince looked back to the earring. Most likely a woman’s piece. Then again, these days men wore some pretty odd things.

  Frank shot Vince an excited glance. “I’ll get a bag from my car.” He pushed to his feet and hurried into the house. A moment later he returned with a paper evidence bag and gloves. Vince donned the right glove, then laid a long edge of the bag beside the earring. With his index finger he nudged the piece of jewelry inside.

  A careful search around the patio and grass did not turn up the backing to the earring.

  Shortly before ten o’clock the two men walked out the front door to search the immediate grounds, including the beach area, four-car garage, and a storage shed. They found nothing more. Following this, with Francesca along, they looked through her one-bedroom house.

  No sign of Edna.

  The woods remained. Not to mention a large lake.

  Vince stood outside Francesca’s house with hands on his hips, eyes scanning the deeper forest, his mind going a dozen directions. Francesca started on her way back to the main house, just in case someone with information about Ms. San should call. Frank waited for her to be out of earshot, then turned to Vince.

  “Want me to run a background check on her now?”

  “Yeah, go ahead. Also, call Sarah Wray at Simple Pleasures and find out the name of the girl working there yesterday. Just don’t tell Sarah why you’re asking. Run the girl’s name too. Use your cell phone for now. Might as well keep this thing under wraps as long as we can.”

  “Okay.” Frank pulled out his phone and started dialing.

  The media tended to listen to police scanners, including the folks at the Kanner Lake Times. Especially the folks at Kanner Lake Times. Jared Moore had to find something to fill his six-page weekly paper. His assistant, Leslie Brymes, a childhood friend of Tim’s, was particularly nosey. Came with the territory of being young and ambitious.

  As Frank talked into his cell, Vince’s eyes roamed the forest. Where was Edna San? Had she just walked into the woods at night with her dog? Maybe, but after finding that earring, Vince wasn’t willing to take any chances. As soon as Frank’s background checks were done, they’d need to call dispatch for search and rescue. One handler and a dog, plus one observer, should be able to cover the twenty acres in about an hour. In the meantime, in case this was foul play, they might as well go ahead and call Fairchild Air Force Base to put their thermal imaging chopper on standby. With its heat-seeking scanner, the helicopter could detect a body once it started to decompose —

  His gaze fixed upon a black-brown object on the forest floor some distance away. What is that?

  He strode toward it, eyes trained on the lump. As he grew closer, it took shape.

  A dog. Lying on its side.

  He hurried to it and bent down. Flies buzzed around his face.

  The Doberman lay dead, shot between the eyes.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Paige sat on her stool behind the counter, watching the store customers with pretended calm. Sarah was in the back room, searching for a box to package an item. Paige could only hope no one would notice her frozen muscles. The sleepless night and fear of discovery nauseated her. Every sense felt on edge. The store’s soft track lighting was too bright, voices too loud, the feel of the wood beneath her too hard.

  Edna’s body on the sheet, thumping down her deck steps. The blackness, the smell of rat droppings in the crawl space.

  How could she live day af
ter day with this terror of being caught?

  A family wandered into the store — a couple trailing a bored-looking son of perhaps eleven and a daughter around thirteen. After a quick glance around, father and son announced they would wait outside. The girl drew Paige’s eyes. She had long brown hair, a pixie face, and sported turquoise-colored braces.

  “Good morning.” Paige forced a smile.

  “Hi.” The woman glanced at Paige, then turned away to browse. Paige remained on her stool, vibrating with tension, and watched the woman feel the soft texture of a green woven throw blanket, pick up a painted goblet.

  Who killed Edna San? The question bounced through Paige’s head. It could be a woman, but she doubted it. Wouldn’t a man’s strength be needed to carry the body to her hot tub?

  Was the man a tourist? Or did he live here?

  Was he watching her?

  “Excuse me. Could you tell me about these candles?”

  Paige jumped at the voice. “Oh, sorry. Of course.” She slid from her stool and walked around the counter, feeling the weight of her body with each step, the guilt that surely emanated from her. If this woman knew what her hands had done only hours before, she’d grab her daughter and run. Paige hoped her scraped palms wouldn’t be noticed.

  The daughter sidled up to Paige, staring openly. Paige’s heart skipped a beat.

  “You have such pretty eyes.” The girl regarded her with a mixture of awe and wistfulness.

  The words hit Paige in the chest. She’d heard the compliment many times before, but on this fateful morning it was the last thing she’d expected. The ancient ache rolled through her, sudden and swift. This young girl, with life stretching ahead, with a mother and father who loved her enough to take her on vacation, put braces on her teeth — did she know what she had? Paige felt herself smile, and before she knew it, she’d reached out to touch the girl’s hair. “Thank you.”

  The girl grinned back, pleasure f lushing her face. For a moment they locked gazes, until the hurt in Paige’s throat forced her to blink away. She turned toward the girl’s mother.

  “These are oil lamp candles.” Paige laid her hand against one of the largest, the color of sea green. “Beautiful, aren’t they? They’re one of our most popular items.” She pulled out the wick, feeling the eyes of the girl upon her. “You pour the liquid paraffin in here, put the wick back on, and light it. You can also choose to add any of these oils for fragrance.” Paige pointed to small bottles. The girl picked up one labeled Jasmine. “The candles look like ordinary wax candles, but they never burn down. No smoke, no dripping.” She nodded to the girl. “Go ahead and open the bottle to smell, if you like.”

  The phone rang. Paige turned, searching for Sarah, who appeared from the back room, square white box in hand. “I’ll get it, Paige.” She hurried to the counter and picked up the receiver.

  Paige continued talking to the mother and her daughter, answering further questions, chatting about their vacation in Kanner Lake. Sarah’s voice faded to the background. Until a vague something caused Paige to glance over her shoulder at Sarah’s face.

  Had she heard her own name spoken?

  Sarah’s eyes cut to hers with alarm. Then abruptly she turned her back, bent over the phone. Her voice lowered.

  Apprehension washed through Paige like acid.

  She forced her gaze back to the mother and daughter, barely hearing their words. By rote she answered, mouth upturned, as if the world had not suddenly tilted on its axis.

  Sarah hung up the phone. Paige dared not look at her. A young man who’d been perusing the store asked Sarah to help him choose a bracelet for his girlfriend, and she walked over to help.

  Paige felt Sarah’s eyes graze her profile as she passed.

  Mother and daughter wanted three candles in various sizes and colors. A bottle of liquid paraffin. Fragrances of vanilla and lavender. Paige helped gather the items, place them on the counter. A smile pasted on her face, she wrapped and boxed the candles and accessories with the hands that had chained Edna San’s body and dragged her into the lake. Then everything had to be tallied, placed into a bag. The bill paid. As she thanked the two customers, smiled one last time at the girl, Paige’s ankles began to shake.

  She sat on the stool, wondering if her rapid heartbeat could be seen through her shirt.

  An eternity passed as the young man Sarah was helping wavered between selections.

  Paige cast furtive glances toward Sarah’s substantial figure. The woman’s summery pants outfit of lime green and peach breathed of freshness and her ever-present sense of fun, but Paige sensed she was troubled. It was in her distracted answers to the customer, the thrust of fingers into her gray curls.

  Finally the man made his choice. Paid for the bracelet. And left.

  Paige felt frozen to her seat.

  Sarah leaned against the counter to face her with a concerned expression, one hand playing with her chunky necklace of peach and green squares.

  “What?” Paige forced innocent lightness into her tone.

  Sarah eyed her. “Well, I’m not supposed to say anything, but now I’m worried about you. Is everything all right? Because a policeman just called, wanting to know your name.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Sunshine filtering through the closed curtains awoke Black Mamba. He found himself on his side, legs drawn up tight. In slow focus, his eyes sought the digital clock radio next to his bed: 10:06. How nice to sleep in on his day off.

  Slowly he uncoiled himself, rolled onto his back.

  For a few minutes he stared at the ceiling, sensations of the night an intoxicating susurration in his head. He reveled in the whispers, the memories of texture and smell, skin against skin as fingers encircled throat. The expression of terror, the proud brought low.

  He would not have guessed how much he’d enjoy the deed.

  Today would bring further pursuits.

  He slid out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Blessed light streamed in, pooling on the hardwood floor. Mamba moved into the sun, basking in the warmth upon his shoulders. He remained there until thoroughly heated.

  As he proceeded to the shower, his thoughts shifted to his planned movement through Kanner Lake. Stealth was not difficult for him. When he wanted to move unseen, he could glide with the perfect quiet of a snake through swamp, hugging shadows with lithe grace. And in public, at his weekly job about town, he maneuvered unsuspected. Black Mamba did not appear a killer any more than the snake looked its name. The serpent mamba wasn’t really black. It was brownish gray, with a light-colored belly. Its name arose from the purple-black lining of its fatal mouth, which it displayed when threatened.

  This Black Mamba had his own threats to carry out today. A certain young woman was going to pay for the sin of killing Edna San.

  Shower done, he dressed, focusing on his tasks with the intensity of a hunter fixed on his prey. As he slipped outside to head for downtown Kanner Lake, hunger slunk through his stomach.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Bailey Truitt held the metal container of milk under her espresso machine and expertly whipped up foam. Her nose tickled from the biting smell of strong coffee blended with scents of cinnamon, pastries, and the unmistakable flowery perfume of real estate agent Carla Radling, who perched at the counter impatiently tapping her long red fingernails. Tap, tap, tap. Even over the gurgle of the latte in-the-making, the sound pecked at Bailey’s nerves.

  Lord, I’m so tired. Give me patience today. You know I need it.

  “Would you cut that out!” Wilbur Hucks groused, and Carla’s tapping stopped.

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Got Out of Bed on the Wrong Side.” Carla sleeked her shiny black hair behind her ears and frowned at him.

  “Hey, you two, no fighting at my counter.” Bailey eased a good-natured tone into her words. “Do I have to tell you that every morning?” She poured the nonfat, biggie double latte into a to-go cup and set it before Carla. “There you are, fuel for the day. Where are you off to?” />
  Carla slipped a protective holder over the cup, flicking an annoyed blue-eyed glance at Wilbur. “I’m meeting some clients at ten thirty to show them property on Priest River, and I have a ton of paperwork to do before then.” She stood up, gathering her purse and latte, and leaned close to Wilbur’s scruffy face. “And no, I don’t want to see your scar.”

  He drew back with all the indignation his seventy-seven years could muster. “I didn’t say a word about my scar this morning, you little pip-squeak.” He mugged a face. “But now that you mention it . . .” His hands went to his worn-out “I’d rather be hunting” shirt.

  “Oh no, I’m out of here.” Carla turned away just as the shirt began to reveal Wilbur’s potbelly. “Don’t scare the Ts off, Wilbur!” she called over her shoulder.

  “Don’t scare the Ts off, Wilbur,” he singsonged, wagging his head. With a “humph” he hunched over his black cup of coffee, forearms flat against the counter and roughened red elbows sticking out. “If anybody scares the tourists around here, it’s S-Man.”

  Bailey wiped down the espresso machine. “Come on now, Ted’s entertaining and you know it.”

  Wilbur snorted. “So are monkeys, but they’re locked in a zoo.”

  “Oh, Wilbur. You need a pastry this morning to sweeten you up.”

  “You say that every day. Just trying to take my hard-earned money, you are.”

  Bailey shook her head, her eyes roving over the coffee shop customers. Bev and Angie, both retired teachers, sat at their table by the door, discussing the day with serious intent. A colorful pair, as always. Bev’s blue-white hair looked a bit frazzled. Tuesday, Bailey knew, she’d visit Phoebe’s for her weekly shampoo and style. Angie’s purple pants and red top screamed in stark contrast against Java Joint’s yellow walls. Two tables down, Sidney Rykes, new shelf stocker at the IGA grocery store, read the Spokesman Review and sipped his caramel mocha. Catty-cornered from him, a young couple lingered over crumb-strewn plates with the languid postures of folks on vacation. Bailey heard snatches of their conversation. They were discussing which to do first, rent Jet Skis or go for a bike ride.