Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3)

by Heather Sunseri

  I crossed to her and wrapped my arms around her while she continued to face the window. “I’ve not been able to properly tell you how sorry I am about Steven.”

  When I stepped back, she turned. “You’ve helped make sure I can be here for Danny. Thank you for that.”

  “And I will continue to do so. Have you heard from Myra today?”

  “She called earlier and told me that my fingerprints were not on the picture frame they found at my house.”

  “The frame with a picture of me?”

  “Yes. How did that get there?” Penelope shook her head, clearly confused. “I’ve never even seen it. And you haven’t even been to my house since you went out west.”

  “I have no idea how that got there.” I decided not to elaborate for now, since I would only be speculating. “Did the police say if someone else’s fingerprints were on the photo?”

  “That’s another strange thing. They said it was 100% clean. Someone had wiped it free of any prints.” She stared out the window again. “Speak of the devil.”

  I approached the window and looked out. Detective Fish was walking up the sidewalk toward the front door. Seconds later, we heard the doorbell.

  Penelope and I looked at each other.

  “Is she here to arrest me?” Fear swam in her eyes. “What if they’ve decided that it’s just easier to blame me for stabbing my husband? I mean, I don’t remember anything. All I know for sure is that I had one glass of wine, and I blacked out.” The tears tumbled out. “We’ve seen this happen before. It might not matter how sure I am that I didn’t do this. I mean, it was my kitchen knife. I’m sure my prints were on that.”

  I grabbed her shoulders. “Look at me. You didn’t do this.” I said definitively. “You’re going to be strong for Danny. Maybe they’re here because they have good news.” Even I heard the skepticism in my voice.

  Penelope and I made our way downstairs just as Detective Fish entered the house. Behind her, Barb Kaufman and Lily Thomas each carried a casserole dish—the staple at any wake.

  I knew Lily had moved back to Paynes Creek in the past year while I was away, and she was now living with and engaged to Cooper Adams, who happened to be Luke’s partner. I could almost see the wheels turning in Lily’s head as she watched the detective look around the room until she spotted Penelope and me.

  “Mrs. Champagne,” Detective Fish said. “We’re sorry to barge in like this. But we need to speak with Miss Day.” She looked to me.

  “Why?” Penelope asked, almost in a defensive stance in front of me.

  “I can’t comment on the ongoing investigation. When I have information I can share, I will.”

  I squeezed past Penelope, then maneuvered to stand in front of her. “Don’t worry about me. Spend time with your family. Hug Danny. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I gave her a tight squeeze, then turned and followed Detective Fish outside.

  Once outside, Detective Fish led me away from the house and toward her car.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Chief McCracken has been kind enough to offer me an interview room at his station. You can ride with me, and I’ll bring you back.”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll drive myself.”

  Detective Fish turned. “Miss Day.”

  “If you’d like my cooperation, I’ll drive myself, Detective Fish. Or you can arrest me, and I’ll lawyer up.”

  She considered that. “Fine. I’ll see you at the station.”

  I hadn’t noticed another car pull up. But when I turned to walk to my own truck, Marla Manfield was standing next to a cherry red sports car in a short gray skirt and matching suit jacket. She wore three-inch black heels and carried what appeared to be deviled eggs. Aunt Leah always said a funeral wasn’t complete without them.

  “Well, well, well,” Marla said. “Where’s my microphone and camera when I need them? I should have known you’d be messed up in this case, too, Faith. Seems we can’t have a murder in Paynes Creek without you being involved.”

  “Who are you?” Detective Fish asked.

  Marla walked closer, her heels clicking across the blacktop. As she balanced her egg plate in one hand and blinked her heavy, fake eyelashes, she stretched out her other hand in greeting. “Marla Manfield. Senior Assistant Producer for Marla at 5:35 and the popular podcast, Inside Crime Kentucky. I cover all of the—”

  “True crime,” Detective Fish finished as she shook her hand. “I recognize you now.”

  “That’s right,” she smiled, her bleached white teeth blinding everyone. “You’ve heard of me?”

  Marla at 5:35, I thought. She gets a whole five minutes each day to report on some murder that stirs up the true crime nuts, and then she directs viewers to listen to her podcast where she discusses the murder in greater detail. I had to give it to her; it was a clever marketing gimmick.

  “I’ve heard about you,” Detective Fish said. “The guys like to watch.”

  I couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up out of my throat.

  Marla narrowed her eyes at me, then shifted her gaze back to Detective Fish. “I’m sorry, and you are?” Her condescending tone had me laughing again, mainly because Marla was going to change her attitude when she realized she had the audience of the lead investigator on Steven’s case.

  “Detective Glenda Fish, Kentucky State Police,” the detective said with an almost amused look on her face.

  Yes, ‘amused’ was definitely the right word for the situation.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon.” She lunged toward me and thrust the plate of deviled eggs into my arms. “Be a doll, Faith, and hold these a sec.” She pulled a notepad from her purse and lifted a pen. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  I looked down at the deviled eggs I now found myself holding, then over at a shocked Kentucky State Police detective. I wasn’t sure she had any idea what had just happened.

  “Ms. Manfield,” Detective Fish started. I was sure she was about to shut down this questioning by a member of the media.

  “Call me Marla, please,” Marla said. “I have so much respect for what you do, Detective Fish. I would just love to have a KSP detective on my podcast. But for now, can you tell me a couple of things about the Champagne case? Like, do you have any leads on who might have killed Steven Champagne?”

  Suddenly realizing that I hadn’t eaten today, I reached under the plastic wrap and grabbed one of the deviled eggs. As I took a bite of one of them, Detective Fish glanced over at me, then back at Marla.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Marla said. “It’s because of her, right? I totally get it. You don’t want to talk in front of one of your suspects.”

  I popped the other half of the deviled egg in my mouth.

  “Ms. Manfield, I cannot comment on an ongoing investigation.”

  “Can you at least confirm—”

  Detective Fish quickly lifted a hand, effectively cutting Marla off.

  I grabbed another egg and took a bite.

  “Ms. Manfield, I need you to go on about your business. I cannot, and I will not, jeopardize my investigation by speaking with the press before I’m ready. When KSP is ready to make a statement, your station will be informed just like every other news outlet.”

  “Fine,” Marla said, but it was one of those “fines” that most certainly didn’t come from joy. She stuffed her pad of paper and pen back into her purse. It was then she noticed that I was eating her eggs. She reached out and snatched the dish from me. “I hope you are a suspect. It would surprise no one in this charming little town given your and your family’s past.”

  Marla stormed off toward the Farmer house, and I silently wished for her to break a heel. Or get it caught in a crack in the sidewalk so we could all enjoy watching the crystal egg tray fly across the sidewalk.

  “You okay?” Detective Fish asked beside me.

  I looked at her. Her face had softened. Gone was the tough cop attitude she had moments before Marla had arrived.

 
; “I’m fine. Let’s just get this done. I’ll meet you at the station.”

  SEVENTEEN

  LUKE

  The area under Alice Clay’s right eye was a muted rainbow of colors when Coop and I arrived at the hospital, and her eye was just a slit with all the swelling. She had a small laceration high up on her cheekbone. And one of her arms was in a sling.

  We were told by the on-duty nurse before we entered her hospital room that she was also suffering from bruised ribs and a slight concussion.

  “Did you see your attacker?” Coop asked.

  She laughed, then gestured with a sweep of the hand at her body. “This? Oh, I just fell.”

  Coop and I traded looks.

  “Alice,” I said with a note of sympathy. “We were told you asked for us?”

  She picked a piece of lint or something off of the hospital blanket and threw it on the floor. “I have a message for you.” Her eyes found mine again.

  “Okay. Who is this message from?”

  “That’s not important. The message is, ‘Stop poking around in Whiskey Mafia business or one of your girlfriends will be next.’”

  I shifted on my feet, and I could almost feel the rage pouring from Coop as he opened and closed his fingers into fists.

  “Next for what?” I asked.

  Alice groaned as she sat up straighter in the bed. She leaned forward, scooping her matted hair to the side, and pointed to her back. “Pull the bandage back.”

  I stepped forward and examined the large gauze square covering a section of her upper back. Carefully, I pealed back the taped upper edges to reveal the injury underneath.

  My eyes shot to Coop’s. He walked around to the opposite side of the hospital bed and stared at the intricate pattern left by the cuts on Alice’s back.

  Coop didn’t have to tell me he’d kill anyone who even thought about carving up Lily like a pumpkin, because I felt the same way about either Lily or Faith.

  I gently pressed the taped edges to her back again, then returned to my position in front of her. “Skull and crossbones. Why that?” I asked.

  I had studied the various symbols and tattoos of the Whiskey Mafia briefly yesterday after Coop and I received our new assignment. Clearly it didn’t take long for word to get back to someone that the Feds were poking around in Whiskey Mafia business.

  “What kind of bullshit special agent are you, anyway?” Alice said. “It means death, dipshit.”

  “Death for you?” Coop asked.

  Alice smiled. “I’ve delivered the message I’m supposed to deliver.” She leaned her head back against the pillow, and looked toward the window, effectively ending our conversation. A look of melancholy fell across her face, and she offered no more information.

  “I suppose she got that drawing etched into her back when she fell, too?” I said to Coop as we entered the Lexington FBI field office across town. How could Alice pretend that it didn’t bother her to have her back sliced up like that?

  “And what the hell kind of threat was that?” Coop asked.

  “One we have no choice but to take seriously.”

  “Of course, but what the fuck?”

  We rounded the corner and found Special Agent in Charge Thomason sitting in the conference room with two other agents.

  “Hello, Agents,” Agent Thomason said when we entered. “Special Agents Stocker and Crain were just giving me an update on the forensic evidence tested at the Betty Parrish scene.”

  Special Agent Coy Stocker, a relatively new agent from Texas, stood and shook our hands. “Howdy, boys.” Though he’d tried, he was unable to lose his accent. While many Americans thought Texans and southerners had the same accent, I’d come to know better since moving to Kentucky.

  His veteran partner, Special Agent Jennifer Crain, leaned back in an armed chair at the head of the conference room table. She tapped a pencil against an open notebook and appeared ticked off. She barely lifted her head in acknowledgement of our entrance.

  “Are we interrupting? Should we come back?” I asked.

  “No,” Agent Crain said. She leaned forward and used her pen to point to two empty chairs. “Take a seat. Maybe the two of you can help us.”

  I glanced around at each of their faces. “We’ve definitely walked into something.”

  Coop and I circled the table and sat in the empty seats.

  “We think we’ve come up with a plan for getting more information,” the SAC began. “But first, tell us what you learned from Alice.”

  “Alice told us she had a message for us,” I said. “Didn’t specify who the message was from, exactly, but clearly implicated the Whiskey Mafia. Someone from their crew knocked her around pretty good. Asked her to warn us to back off or else.”

  “Or else what?” Agent Stocker asked.

  “Or our girlfriends would be next,” Coop said.

  Agent Stocker slid a glance toward his partner but didn’t linger there long.

  Agent Thomason swiveled in the conference room chair and eyed us over a pair of readers. “Next for what? A beating?”

  I kept my eyes on hers. I wanted to see her reaction. I needed to know that the person giving me orders had our backs and cared. “Her back was sliced up in the pattern of a skull and crossbones.”

  Her face paled slightly. “The shape of one of their signature tattoos?”

  I nodded. “It was covered up with gauze. The doctors had put a large amount of what I assumed was some sort of antibacterial ointment. The cuts were deep enough that the branding will definitely scar, but not so deep that the wound needed stitches.”

  “Which we assumed was the point,” Coop added.

  “Did she say who did it or why?” Agent Thomason asked. “Or who beat her up, for that matter?”

  “No. Just said she was supposed to warn us to ‘stop poking around in Whiskey Mafia business.’ And to be honest, she didn’t seem all that torn up about the beating or the cutting.”

  “That mark is reserved for the top members in the organization,” Agent Crain said.

  “More than that,” Agent Stocker added. “It’s the mark the top members give a woman… or a man… when they want the woman marked as territory.”

  “Territory?” I asked.

  “Property,” he added. “And those members get to decide when that property gets thrown out or destroyed.” He looked between Coop and me. “And if they were to mark one of your girlfriends, they’d be claiming her as their own. And they’d have ultimate decision over whether she got to live or die.”

  Agent Thomason pointed a finger between Coop and me. “That’s not going to happen. You hear me? We will put agents on both of your girlfriends if we need to.”

  Agent Crain stood and paced. “The two of you clearly got close to something.”

  “It appears so,” I said. “What bothers me, though, is we didn’t talk to many people the other night. We only mentioned the gang angle to one person—Ethan Gentry.”

  “He’s the owner of the Spotted Cat, right?” Agent Crain asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “We spoke to him the morning after the murder.” Agent Crain liked to tap her pad of paper with her pen while she brainstormed. “His alibi was airtight, but we didn’t get much else from him.”

  “I’m finding he’ll answer direct questions,” I said. “But he was pretty tight-lipped about the Whiskey Mafia. Planning to interview him again, though.” I planned to confront him about the phone call to Faith. As much as I wanted to pin an actual crime on Ethan, a prank phone call just didn’t seem his style. Not to mention, when I took Ethan down, it would be for something larger than harassing Faith with heavy breathing on the other end of a phone line.

  “He’s the one that was put away for a pair of murders he didn’t commit, right?” Agent Stocker asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. I wanted to go into why Ethan wasn’t exactly innocent, and that there was a significant chance prison changed him for the worse, but I kept that to myself for n
ow. Besides, I wasn’t sure these agents even knew my tie to Ethan Gentry’s stepsister, a fact I didn’t wish to broadcast while she was getting attention in another murder investigation.

  “Are you sure you didn’t mention Whiskey Mafia when you confronted Alice and the two clowns she was with Sunday?” Agent Thomason asked.

  “Positive,” Coop said.

  “My guess,” Agent Crain started. “They know more about the murder than they were willing to tell you. We’re confident the Whiskey Mafia ordered the hit on the warden’s wife. They’ve all but admitted responsibility for it. We just don’t know who carried it out.”

  “Might be time to put more pressure on Alice,” Agent Crain said. “We’re told she might be released today. She’s clearly got an inside track into this group.”

  Coop and I traded uncomfortable looks. We’d have to make sure Faith and Lily were on high alert as we went further down this path.

  “Prepare for a hostile witness,” Coop said.

  “Can both of your significant others handle themselves?” Agent Thomason asked. “Watch out for suspicious people?”

  “Unfortunately, neither are strangers of crime occurring in their presence,” Coop said. “But having extra protection around from time to time would certainly be appreciated. Luke and I can’t keep eyes on them twenty-four/seven.”

  Given my and Faith’s tumultuous relationship, it was going to take more than a warning from me and an agent following her around. I’d have to work on stabilizing our relationship, and fast.

  “Let’s get back to our original discussion,” Agent Crain said.

  I assumed Agent Crain was referring to whatever they’d been discussing before Coop and I walked in.

  “In light of what Special Agents Justice and Adams have told us, we have no choice but to get someone on the inside.”

  “The inside of what?” I asked.

  “Before you arrived, we were discussing sending Agent Stocker undercover. See if he can get information about the top of the food chain. Specifically, who ordered the killing of Betty Parrish. If we can find that out, we might get closer to who was ordered to carry out the hit. And both would be punished accordingly.”