I flagged down a server and placed our order. Marcus and I shared some happy memories of Steven and Penelope while we waited. When our sandwiches were ready, I paid, and we were almost out the door when Luke stopped me. “Marcus, I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I quickly said, since we both had our own cars.
Marcus paused a moment, studying Luke. “You’re one of the feds. I saw you at Penelope’s house.”
My eyes shot to Luke’s, but I stopped myself from speaking.
Marcus continued. “A police officer supervised Mom and me while we gathered some clothes and toys for Danny, and some clothes for Penelope.”
“You’re Penelope’s brother?” Luke asked.
“That’s right.” Marcus straightened. He kept his voice low, but I heard the undercurrent of anger just below the surface.
“I’m really sorry for your family’s loss.”
“Are you?” he took a step closer, his eyes level with Luke’s. “Why were the feds at my sister’s house?”
Good question. I looked from Luke to Coop and back to Luke, searching for an answer I doubted they would provide.
“We are not a part of the murder investigation,” Luke assured Marcus.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Luke and Coop both remained silent. I’d seen that silence from federal agents before. Translation: “We don’t have to answer your question.”
I placed a hand on Marcus’s forearm, and I watched as Luke looked from my hand to my eyes. I angled my head, studying the expression on his face. Was he jealous?
He seemed to recover quickly and looked again at Marcus. “I didn’t know Steven very well, but I know your sister, and I know she means a lot to Faith. I’m very sorry for what she’s going through.”
Marcus dropped the subject, deflated.
“I’ll be right behind you,” I told Marcus again.
When Marcus nodded and left, I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d remained calm. I curled my fingers into a fist as I squared my shoulders and faced Luke. “You could have let us walk out the door. Why did you feel the need to make this situation worse?”
“Worse? I’m doing you a favor,” Luke said.
Cooper, who had remained silent during the exchange, turned and ordered a couple of Diet Cokes from the bartender.
“Oh yeah? What’s so important?” I asked Luke.
“A KSP detective called me to the scene this morning. Wanted to know why an FBI agent overstepped his jurisdiction yesterday by entering his crime scene.”
The muscles in my neck stiffened. “And what did you tell him?”
“That it wasn’t his jurisdiction at the time. That I happened to be close when Chief McCracken needed someone who was impartial to be present while his officers walked the scene.”
“Did they buy that?”
“Not really, but this detective—Detective Fish—knows the SAC in the Louisville office really well, and decided not to press the subject further.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“They know that someone with me photographed the scene, but they didn’t press that issue further, either. Simply asked if they could take a look at the pictures. Have you had a chance to look through them?”
“Not yet. But I will later today. And I’ll send a copy over to the chief, like I promised.” I glanced toward the door. “I gotta go, if that’s all.”
“Wait.” He slid off the stool and grabbed my hand.
I looked down at where he played with my fingers, then up and into his eyes. I pulled my hand away and took a step back, but continued to look at him.
“Did you get settled in at your farm?”
I crossed my arms and shifted uncomfortably. Why did he act like he deserved to know every detail of my life?
“Settled enough.”
“If you’d like, I can come over and help later. We can look through the photos together.”
I couldn’t help but angle my head. “Why would you do that? This isn’t your case. And you barely know Penelope.”
Coop glanced over his shoulder, trading glances with Luke.
“What? Do you two know something?”
“We overheard one of the detectives speaking on the phone with someone we suspect was the commonwealth’s attorney.”
“And? What were they talking about?”
“Penelope has refused to speak with the police without an attorney present. I’m guessing you had something to do with that.”
Though I hesitated, I nodded. “I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“I don’t disagree. However, the police don’t seem to have a lot to go on right now other than how the scene appeared. And the scene appeared…”
“To suggest that Penelope killed her husband after trying to kill herself by slamming a bottle of Ambien,” I said softly, looking around the restaurant as I did. “I realize that.” I couldn’t hide my irritation as Luke stated the obvious. “That’s why I’m meeting an attorney at the hospital.” I looked at my watch. “I’ve really gotta go.”
Coop turned around on his stool. “Who did you get?”
“Myra Harlowe.”
He nodded. “Good choice.”
“You know her?” Luke asked.
“I know of her.” Coop opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.
“What? Just tell me,” I said. “This is a bad situation. If either of you can help Penelope, you have to tell me.”
“They will probably charge her sooner than later,” Coop said. “If it were a federal investigation, we’d probably wait until we were more confident that the evidence was good enough to convict, but locals and the state police will go on appearances and evidence at face value to make an arrest, and then work like hell to prove it.”
“And based on face-value evidence,” Luke added. “As of right now—”
“Outside of clear motive, she appears guilty,” I finished for him. “How long do you think she has?”
“They’ll probably charge her as soon as she’s released from the hospital. They might wait if they don’t think she’s a flight risk.”
“She has a child!”
“That will probably buy her some time, unless they truly think they have evidence that proves she did it.”
Penelope picked at the club sandwich halfheartedly. I was sure it was the first thing she’d eaten in thirty-six hours.
Marcus and Penelope’s mother, Annie, tried to engage Penelope in casual conversation while we waited for Myra Harlowe, but Penelope said little to nothing. And all I could do was pray in silence that Myra would be as good of an attorney for Penelope as I’d known her to be for others.
When my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize, I stepped out of the room and walked down the hallway.
After saying, “Hello,” I was met with the sound of background voice. The sound of a kitchen, maybe, or a restaurant.
“Hello?” I said again, but no one responded.
Then I heard a voice in the background call out what I thought was, “Hey, Ethan!”
“Ethan?” I said. A couple of heads popped up from behind a desk at the nurses’ station, so I turned and lowered my voice. “Answer me! What do you want?”
When the call clicked silent, I stared down at my phone. My pulse raced. Did he know I was back in town? What did he want from me?
I’d been getting phone calls like this for many months now. They started right after I left Colorado. Luke called me often during that time, but as most of our conversations ended in arguments, I stopped accepting his calls. And he would never call and sit silently on the other end.
The phone calls that came late at night from “unknown”—according to my phone—unnerved me and left me on edge the following days.
I had assumed my sister-in-law had been the one to sneak inside my trailer, light candles, and leave me small trinkets last fall, but she was arrested after trying to kill me. So, when I woke to burning candles in Key Largo, I knew someone was still stalkin
g me.
Aubrey was crazy, but when questioned about someone helping her, she’d laughed at the thought that someone else was tormenting me.
With Aubrey in prison, I immediately returned to the conclusion that Ethan was seeking revenge on me for testifying against him in our parents’ murder trial that found him guilty and sent him to prison. He said he didn’t hold me responsible for his twelve years of prison time. But nothing else made sense.
Luke, of course, insisted that he’d monitored many of Ethan’s movements over the past year, and that Ethan couldn’t have personally done the things I was accusing him of. At the same time, he also admitted that he couldn’t put a tail on Ethan a hundred percent of the time.
And now that I was back in Paynes Creek, someone yells his name on the other end of one of a mysterious phone call. How was I not supposed to suspect the man I put in prison wasn’t seeking revenge?
My frantic thoughts were interrupted when I spotted Myra at the end of the hallway talking to a nurse. When the nurse pointed in my direction, I lifted a hand and waved.
Now that I was back in Paynes Creek, I’d have to consider confronting Ethan. For now, my friend was in trouble, and the person she needed was here to help.
Myra walked to me and wrapped her arms around me. “Where’s Mrs. Champagne?”
I gestured toward Penelope’s hospital room. Two state police officers flanked the door. They had remained there with the door open the entire time Marcus, Annie, and I were with Penelope. “Do you want me to give you the rundown of what I know?”
“No, I need to speak to my client.” She touched my arm and laughed. “Sorry. That came out ruder than I intended. But the answer is the same: I need to hear from my client, not you.”
If I didn’t already know Myra and have a great appreciation for her directness that stemmed from a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder when she was thirteen, I would have taken offense. But under the circumstances, I just stuck out my hand and pointed to Penelope’s hospital room. “Well, then let me introduce you.”
It didn’t matter that I had been the one to call Myra. She was here to work for Penelope, and it was Penelope’s life that had the possibility of being turned upside down.
I led Myra into Penelope’s room and made introductions. Myra immediately shook Penelope’s hand and expressed her condolences on the loss of her husband, then turned to Annie and Marcus and offered the same. She knew all the right things to say. While she wasn’t always capable of expressing empathy immediately, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel concern for people who suffered. And I was sure she’d considered the situation on her drive to the hospital.
Immediately after expressing her sympathy, she looked to Marcus, Annie, and me, and said, “I need for the three of you to wait in the lobby while I confer with my client.”
Annie straightened. “I will do no such thing.”
Myra took a step back and looked at the floor, frightened by Annie’s reaction. When Myra regained her composure, she straightened again and squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult, but Mrs. Farmer, I’m here to see if your daughter and I can work together. And to do that, I need to speak with Penelope alone.”
“But I paid your retainer.” Annie said, then shot me a pointed look. “You told me this woman was the best.”
“I am the best,” Myra said before I could say anything to calm Annie. “But if your daughter and I don’t feel we’ll work well together, then I don’t want to waste her time or mine.”
“Well, I never,” Annie said.
“I’ve never understood that phrase,” Myra said. “You’ve never what, Mrs. Farmer? You’ve never met a busy attorney who was willing to do her very best to keep her client out of jail? You’ve never met a woman who disagreed with you?”
“That certainly can’t be the case,” I said, unable to hold my tongue. “I mean, Penelope is her daughter.”
Everyone looked at me. And then, for the first time since this whole ordeal began, Penelope laughed. Then she cried. For an entire minute, Penelope let out a mixture of hard laughs that ended with a steady stream of tears.
The laughter caught Annie so off guard that she couldn’t help but join in. She walked to her daughter, placed her hands on either side of her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.” She gave her a gentle hug, then pulled back and said. “Talk to this woman. Make sure she’s the right lawyer for you. I don’t think you’ll need her for long, because those incompetent asshole cops will eventually find evidence that proves you didn’t do anything to hurt your husband. I just hope they don’t waste so much time that the real killer gets away for good.”
“Mom,” Penelope said through sniffles. “Will you call the funeral home? I need to make arrangements to say goodbye to Steven.”
“Of course.” Annie leaned down and kissed Penelope’s forehead, then followed her son and me out into the hallway. When the door was closed, Annie looked at me. “You better be right about that woman.”
I smiled at her. “I am.”
NINE
LUKE
Coop and I pulled into the parking lot of the Thoroughbred Motel in Lexington late that afternoon.
“According to the information the SAC sent us…” Coop started. “…The Thoroughbred Motel ‘is a motel turned low-rent charity housing meant for former convicts as they attempt to integrate back into society.’” He read from his tablet. “Apparently, a self-proclaimed, reformed felon and his wife run the charity and motel, and they live in a nearby house.”
“Are we talking felons who have completely finished their sentences? So, not out on parole or any type of probation?”
“Correct,” Coop said.
“Well, I don’t have to ask where the warden’s wife died,” I gestured to the lower corner unit where red police tape blocked off the area around a portion of the building, and where a door was marked with a police seal. We weren’t here to examine the crime scene, but to walk the area and get a feel for the motel.
I parked beside a couple of older model sports cars—a Chevy Camaro and a mid-eighties Pontiac Trans Am with T-tops.
“It’s not every day you find a classic car with T-tops,” I said as I stepped out of my SUV.
“Nice,” Coop said.
The parking lot was quiet, but loud voices came from one of the open motel room doors.
Coop and I traded glances, then we walked toward the room with the open door. As we rounded the corner, we spotted a man and a woman lying on a bed. The woman was wearing a tank top and a pair of panties. The man wore faded blue jeans that were zipped, but unbuttoned. His chest was bare.
Another man—bald and wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans—sat backwards in a chair, facing the man and woman on the bed. He inhaled deeply from a joint he held between this thumb and forefinger before passing it to the woman. As he handed off the joint, I noticed the logo on the right breast of his tee was from the Spotted Cat.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said, announcing myself. “And lady.” I nodded to the half-dressed woman.
The man stood from the chair. “What the fuck?” When he stood, a tattoo peaked out from the sleeve of his Spotted Cat T-shirt. He started to reach behind his back.
I quickly drew my weapon simultaneously with Coop. “Don’t even think about it. Keep your hands where we can see them. We’re not here to pop anyone for misdemeanor pot possession.” I kept my weapon pointed at Mr. Spotted Cat, while Coop trained his on Mr. Bare Chested and Miss Tank Top.
I slowly pulled my identification from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. “I’m Special Agent Luke Justice, FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Cooper Adams. We’re looking for any information about the fatal overdose that happened two nights ago.”
“We don’t know nothin’,” Miss Tank Top spat. She tapped out the joint in a nearby ashtray like she was doing nothing wrong.
“Did you know the woman that was killed?” Coop asked.
“Nope. Didn’t know her,” she
said as if it was the most basic of questions.
“But you know about the murder I’m asking about?” I slowly holstered my gun, knowing I’d be quick on the draw at any sudden movements. Coop followed suit.
Miss Tank Top straightened. “I seen the cops, so yeah.”
“The woman overdosed on fentanyl. Do any of you know where she might have gotten a hold of such a drug?” I asked.
Mr. Bare chest stood slowly from the bed. He was at least six-feet-four inches tall, slightly taller than myself, and probably carried an additional fifty pounds of muscle over me. And I thought of myself as being fairly fit.
“Like she said, we don’t know nothin’. Now we’d like it if you left.” He walked around the bed and approached us slowly as he puffed out his chest.
I didn’t think he was carrying a weapon. And while I was positive this man was stronger, I was already preparing for whatever he might try with each step toward me.
He moved quickly, but I was quicker. He suddenly shoved Coop, then came at me with a strong arm. I grabbed it and twisted it behind his back, causing him to go down on his knees, then to his chest on the floor. Coop drew his weapon, and once again had it pointed at Mr. Spotted Cat.
Mr. Bare Chest screamed out. “What the fuck, man?”
“I believe you just assaulted a federal agent. Is that what you saw, Special Agent Adams?”
“I sure did,” Coop said. “And with the possession of illegal substance, that carries jail time for all three of you.”
“And if any of you have committed previous crimes, I imagine these new charges will get you a nice step up over the minimum sentence.”
“Yep,” Coop agreed. “No judge in this area is going to go lightly on former felons after they’ve assaulted a federal agent.”
“Wait, I mighta seen somethin’,” Miss Tank Top said as she moved to her knees. “I’ll tell you what I saw, if you’ll promise not to take us in.”
I loved it when witnesses saw things our way. “You tell us what you know,” I said. “If your information is worth a damn, I won’t bust any of you for that marijuana joint. And I won’t bust this asshole for assaulting me if what you tell me proves to be the truth.” I helped Mr. Bare Chest to his feet, then shoved him toward the bed.
Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3) Page 7