“I’m constantly surrounded by tragedy. Half my family is in prison. The other half is dead. My closest friend is a murder suspect, and you just told me last night that my friend from Colorado was mounted in his living room.”
He crooked a finger under my chin. “You are not your brother. Or your uncle. I have been attracted to you since the moment I set eyes on you.” He pressed his lips to mine and pulled back again. “There hasn’t been a day since I met you that I haven’t thought about you.”
“And yet, I’ve done nothing but pull away from you. I’ve run every chance I’ve gotten. Are you a glutton for punishment? I don’t deserve you.”
He framed my face. “Listen to me. I am here, and I’m not going anywhere. I know that you’ve been through a lot the past year. But, like I said, we’re figuring things out. Let it happen.”
“Let it happen, huh?”
His eyes pierced mine. “Let us happen.”
Not knowing what else to say, I turned and poured two cups of coffee. I handed Luke one, then went to the fridge to get the creamer. When I saw Luke had my favorite creamer, I couldn’t help but smile. “You remembered.” I flipped the cap and dumped a splash into my cup, then grabbed a spoon.
“Where should we go on our date?”
I paused mid stir, set the spoon to the side, and turned, holding my cup of doctored coffee. I gave myself a second to think by taking a sip.
“It’s just a date, not a marriage proposal,” Luke added when I didn’t answer right away.
I swallowed, savoring the French vanilla flavor. “When?”
“I originally said Friday, but tonight would work, too.”
“I’m supposed to babysit tonight. I told Aunt Leah I would watch Oliver while she went to church after the funeral.”
“Tomorrow night it is,” Luke said, taking a drink of coffee. “I know exactly where I’d like to take you.”
I stared at him over my coffee and tried not to overthink it. It was just a date, like he said.
Then suddenly, he glanced at his watch. “I have to get ready.” He stepped to me and slid a hand to my waist again. “We could inspire each other to have a good day if you join me in the shower. Surely, you’d enjoy a real shower instead of that tiny one in the Airstream.”
A real shower sounded heavenly. I smiled and drilled a finger into his chest. “Or, I could go after you and take my time with it, since you look like you’re in quite the hurry.”
His face fell. “I was hoping to take you to get whatever you’re planning on wearing to the funeral, then dropping you off at Aunt Leah’s.”
“Why? The funeral isn’t for another—” I grabbed his wrist and turned his watch toward me. “—six hours.” But realization dawned quickly. “You think whoever is doing this might come after me.”
“You’re tied to it,” he shrugged. “I don’t know why or how, yet, but damn if you’re not.” Frustration leaked through in his voice.
I knew he was right—that I was somehow in the line of fire. And I’d seen Miss Shepherd’s body last night. And I saw Steven’s. “I promise I’m going to take this seriously. Can you put a local cop at the end of my driveway or something? Or an agent? Is that asking too much?” I felt so guilty using up resources from the local police or sheriff’s office.
“You’d accept that?”
“Yes.” In the past, I’d tried to hide from whoever had been watching me. I was tired of running and hiding. I didn’t need to promise Luke I wouldn’t run. I was promising myself.
“Good, someone is already on the way. Not a local, though. A fed. He’ll be undercover. But if you see anything out of the ordinary, call me. Unless it’s an emergency, then—”
“Call 9-1-1. I know how it works.” This time I placed a hand on his cheek. “I’ve tried to go it alone in the past. I’m not going to do that, now. My aunt and my nephew need me. I have no intention of bringing harm their way.”
He leaned his head against mine. “Thank you for not fighting this.”
My brows tilted inward as a thought that had been niggling at me rose to the surface.
“What?”
“You said this was tied to the Whiskey Mafia. Is there any way my brother or uncle is tied up in this? Or Ethan?” The thought of my own family wanting to hurt me sent a shock straight to my heart, especially when Finch and Uncle Henry were in prison because they’d gone too far in protecting me. But Ethan? Maybe this was his sick way of trying to torment me—revenge for putting him in prison. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought Ethan wanted to hurt me, of course.
“Ethan has an alibi for Friday night, during the time when each of the murders occurred. But we’re examining every angle.”
“Good,” I said, nodding as I tried to imagine my brother and uncle getting involved in a gang. While that seemed highly unlikely, I knew they would do what they had to do to survive in prison.
I didn’t think they’d want to hurt me. But if they did, they’d have to have a contact on the outside.
Luke let out a heavy sigh and wrapped his arms around me. “I promise I will put a stop to whatever this is.”
“I know you will.”
Leaning into the crook of my neck, he whispered, “But the offer still stands.”
I angled my head up in confusion.
He pressed his lips to mine before saying softly against my skin. “My shower is so much better than yours. You could join me.”
TWENTY-FOUR
LUKE
Coop and I met the SAC at the Kentucky State Police post in Frankfort at 9 a.m. I had told Special Agent Thomason and Coop everything I knew last night on a conference call while Faith slept. But until we pulled all the facts together, I couldn’t know exactly what we were dealing with.
A young state trooper in a stiffly pressed, gray uniform greeted the three of us when we walked through the door. “Special Agent Thomason?”
“That’s correct,” Agent Thomason answered. “And this is Special Agent Adams and Special Agent Justice.”
“I’m Trooper Melrose. Right this way.” The trooper with the buzz cut ushered us down a hallway and into a room with a long metal table. Two boxes sat on top of the table and a large evidence board lined an entire wall along with a map of the United States.
Someone had already put a photograph of Darren Murray over Colorado. Above that picture, but off the map, was a photo of Faith. Black string tied to thumbtacks connected the two. Red string also stretched from Faith to two photographs over Kentucky—Penelope and Steven Champagne. Below the married couple was a photograph of the recently deceased Paula Shepherd.
I turned at the sound of someone else entering the room. Chief McCracken, in his full, navy police uniform, walked in holding a Styrofoam cup of black coffee.
“Hey, Chief,” Coop said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I invited him,” I said. “I wanted him to be involved in case the latest murder in Paynes Creek can be tied to our investigation.”
The chief held out a hand to Agent Thomason. “Mac McCracken, Paynes Creek PD.”
“Clarissa Thomason, FBI Special Agent in Charge out of the Louisville office.”
“I’ve heard good things about you, Miss Thomason. And these two are some of the finest agents I’ve met. You’re lucky to have them.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
Coop nodded as well. “Thanks, Chief.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Next, Detective Fish walked in and greeted everyone, then took a seat at the head of the table. “My partner got pulled away this morning, so he won’t be joining us.”
Coop circled the table and sat on the far side. Agent Thomason and I sat across from him.
Chief McCracken walked over to the evidence board and stared at the photos over Kentucky while he spoke. “I thought this case was bad enough with the tragic murder of Steven Champagne and an unfortunate set of circumstances that nearly led to the arrest of a well-respected employee of my police department. But i
t seems my town has an even more serious problem.”
“Yes,” Detective Fish said. “And you still have a conflict of interest.” She turned to me. “As does the FBI.”
Agent Thomason sent me a look of warning not to react. “What makes you say that?” she asked the detective.
I stayed silent for now. While I had complete respect for the process of pooling resources among the various law enforcement entities, I wasn’t going to let some detective judge my ability to do my job.
“I don’t know Special Agent Justice well enough to speak to his professionalism. What I do know is that he trampled through my crime scene, uninvited, with a woman not employed by the police who ended up being a material witness in my investigation.”
Agent Thomason reached out a hand to stop me when I started to speak. And before she could answer Detective Fish, Chief McCracken spoke. “I thought we already cleared that up. Miss Day works on a contract basis for the PCPD. She’s an excellent forensic analyst and photographer. I allowed her to go through the scene before you guys were even called to the scene. If that was off base, I apologize.”
I had to give it to the chief. He had stretched the truth a bit, but in his own diplomatic way, he seemed to disarm the detective.
“Detective Fish,” Agent Thomason said. “Did you find that Miss Day or Agent Justice compromised the integrity of your crime scene?”
“I’m told they were extremely careful with the scene, but—”
“But?” Agent Thomason asked.
“Miss Day is now a material witness or, at the very least, a person of interest.”
I cleared my throat. “Detective Fish, I do not take offense to you questioning my credibility, but I think you should hear us out before you continue. I think you will find, like you and I talked about last night, we are all after the same outcome.”
“Agent Justice is right,” Agent Thomason said. “I have consulted with my counterpart in Denver—the SAC from the Denver office. We agreed to create a task force comprised of various levels of law enforcement, as well as subject matter experts well versed in prison gangs—specifically, the Whiskey Mafia.”
“A task force,” Detective Fish said. She seemed to think about that. “I think that’s probably a good idea if we confirm that these murders are linked.”
“Great.” Agent Thomason swiveled in her chair to face the evidence wall. “Then let’s stop wasting time. Who wants to go first and walk me through what we currently know?”
The chief stepped forward. “I will, since I have details of the most recent murder. And I’m already standing.”
“Yesterday evening,” Chief McCracken started. “At approximately 7:15 p.m. during the visitation of Steven Champagne, Paynes Creek resident Paula Shepherd was discovered deceased in the parking lot of the Miller & Lusk Funeral Home.” Chief McCracken opened the manilla folder he’d carried into the meeting and pulled out photographs from the crime scene. “It appears the murder was actually committed inside the back seat of her minivan.”
The chief used thumbtacks to attach two photographs to the evidence board. “I’m no blood spatter expert, but I have taken a few classes on the subject over the years.” He pointed to the back of one of the seats and one of the windows in the first photo. “You can see spray here and here that suggests an initial wound that caused projectile bleeding. By the massive amounts of blood inside the vehicle, the medical examiner surmised at the initial examination of the crime scene that Shepherd’s neck was sliced, and her carotid artery was severed. She, of course, will confirm that when she completes the autopsy. No weapon was found at the scene.”
The chief pointed at smeared handprints on the back of a seat. “There are bloody handprints here and around the door handle.”
“Were you able to get clean prints that might have belonged to the assailant?” Detective Fish asked.
“We were able to lift prints, but so far, the bloody prints have all come back as belonging to Shepherd herself. We’re still waiting on others.” He turned back to the photos. “She couldn’t have been conscious long, since her carotid artery was hit, but she did manage to open the vehicle’s door. She was discovered on the blacktop just outside the vehicle.”
He turned back to the board and tacked up another photo.
Coop and I each shifted when we saw it.
“Is that…” Detective Fish stood and stepped forward to examine the photograph but didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she turned to me. “That’s the symbol, right?”
“Have we seen this before?” Chief McCracken asked.
“We’ll get to that,” I said. “Finish your presentation.”
“This card—about the size of a playing card,” the chief confirmed. “—was found beside the body. My open-source research shows that the skull and crossbones is a common symbol among several secret groups throughout history. Who’s using it now, I couldn’t be sure. That’s above my pay grade.”
“Not above your pay grade,” Coop said to make the chief feel better. “Just not in your wheelhouse currently. I think Luke and I can help with that.”
“Good. Well, I’m about done. My officers are still processing the scene and talking to witnesses, but there was one eyewitness who first spotted the victim’s body: Mrs. Rose Kenny. She approached Miss Shepherd’s body. Said she knew almost immediately that Miss Shepherd was dead because she could see her ‘glassy eyes.’ She also said that an old red Chevy truck parked beside Miss Shepherd’s SUV pulled out of the neighboring parking place just as she approached the body.”
“Anyone else recognize the truck? Or know who drove it?” Coop asked.
“We issued a BOLO immediately, but so far, nothing. And that’s all I have for now.”
“Detective Fish, you’re up,” Agent Thomason said. Though she had made a point to tell all parties involved that FBI was not in charge, as Special Agent in Charge of the FBI in Kentucky, she couldn’t help but sound “in charge.”
Detective Fish didn’t act like she cared. She cleared her throat. “As you all know, my partner and I have been working the Steven Champagne murder case since this past Saturday when Chief McCracken and the Paynes Creek Police Department determined they were too close to the victim and the number one suspect at the time. We have aggressively followed the very few leads we’ve had. What seemed to be an open and shut case of a wife washing down Ambien with a bottle of wine, then stabbing her husband, has been anything but.”
“Have you cleared Penelope Champagne of any wrongdoing?” Chief McCracken asked.
Detective Fish shifted uncomfortably, then said. “I still believe you have a conflict of interest in the Champagne case, Chief.”
“Duly noted,” he retorted.
“But no, we have not completely cleared Penelope from any wrongdoing as her fingerprints were all over the murder weapon, and she’s been unable to recall what happened. However, one key piece of forensic evidence found at the scene on Saturday has suggested that someone other than Penelope was also involved in the incident. And after your presentation today, Chief McCracken, the murder of Steven Champagne can be connected to the murder of Miss Shepherd.”
She reached inside a personal satchel she’d brought into the room and pulled out a photograph. She stuck a thumbtack into the top of it, placing another photo of a card with the skull and crossbones symbol.
I stood and walked to it. “They’re calling cards. Someone is leaving a calling card at the scene of the crimes.”
“Yes, and this guy left another… let’s just say calling card… at the Champagne home.” The way she said this had us all looking up.
“A man?” Agent Thomason asked, deciphering the code.
“Yes, ma’am. Someone masturbated just outside the living room window at the Champagne house. From that window, a tall enough person would have an unobstructed view of the sofa where we believe Penelope Champagne consumed a large glass of wine the night of her husband’s murder.”
“An unbiased investiga
tor would pose the idea that it was someone there to help Penelope kill her husband,” Coop suggested. “That maybe the wife was having an affair, and it was just easier to get rid of the husband.”
“We thought of that,” Detective Fish said. “And haven’t completely ruled it out. But Steven Champagne wasn’t even supposed to be there. And phone records show that Penelope called Steven within an hour after he had reported for his shift. According to Steven’s partner, Steven got a call from his wife and that she wasn’t speaking clearly. Before the partner could stop him or catch up to him, he rushed to the ambulance and drove to their house. The partner, thinking more clearly than Steven, considered that Penelope could be suffering from a medical condition and followed Steven in her car.”
“But she arrived after Steven,” Coop said.
“Correct. Steven had been stabbed multiple times before the second EMT arrived, and he died quickly.”
“What condition was Penelope in?” I asked.
“According to the medical reports, she was unresponsive.”
“Unresponsive,” I repeated. “So, she called her husband. And when an EMT arrived, she was completely unresponsive. Not incoherent and violent?”
Detective Fish looked at me. “Correct. I’m not a medical expert, but I have to wonder if she had been physically capable of violently stabbing someone in the condition we found her in. But that doesn’t mean that she wasn’t part of a plan to kill her husband.”
“Maybe she planned the Ambien near-overdose as her defense,” Agent Thomason suggested.
“Maybe,” Detective Fish agreed. “But we found a powdery residue on the Champagne kitchen counter that suggests something was ground up.”
“Like the Ambien,” I said.
“Exactly,” Detective Fish confirmed. “Which would support the theory that someone wished to harm Penelope Champagne with a lethal dose of Ambien inside a bottle of wine. We’ll know more when labs come back on the contents of the wine bottle and what was left in the wine glass Mrs. Champagne was drinking from.”
Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3) Page 17