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

by Heather Sunseri

  “Do you know where this John Paul Matisse is now?” I asked.

  Alan shook his head. “I’d say you’re in a far better position of finding that information than I am. Why are you asking about Gentry and Matisse, anyway? You think they might have something to do with what happened to the warden’s wife? I have a hard time imagining Gentry getting involved in anything like that. He was a model inmate here, never even got into a single fistfight that we know of.”

  “Didn’t you just tell us that these men will sometimes do desperate things to break free of the gang?” Coop asked.

  “And we can’t really discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation,” I added.

  Alan just shrugged off our generic response. “That’s why y’all get paid the big bucks. But if I can help, I’m here.”

  “You have any idea why the Whiskey Mafia would want to kill Betty Parish? What would they gain from murdering the warden’s wife?”

  “Besides revenge?” Alan asked. “I mean, the warden did make it his mission to shut down the Whiskey Mafia’s cell phone business this past year.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked “I knew that the Warden stepped up random searches for contraband. The warden seemed to think the Whiskey Mafia was pretty upset about something confiscated during those raids.”

  “Well, he did more than that. He stopped allowing certain people to visit inmates here because he thought they were the source for the Whiskey Mafia’s inventory of cell phones.”

  “Can we get a list of those visitors?” Coop asked.

  “Sure, I have it here somewhere.” He fingered through a stack of papers on his desk, eventually coming up with a printout of about thirty names.

  Coop and I scanned the list. “Ethan Gentry and John Paul Matisse are both on the list,” Coop said.

  “What about recent visitors?” I asked.

  Alan sat at his computer, an older PC that seemed to struggle to wake up as he jerked his mouse around. “I think I can find that.” He typed in a password, and with a few clicks of the mouse, he brought up another list of names.

  I scanned the list over his shoulder. That’s when I saw a name listed as having visited Byron Mills two days before the death of the warden’s wife and again yesterday.

  Alice Jones.

  THIRTY

  FAITH

  My day had begun perfectly. I had no idea where Luke and I would end up, but I liked where we were when we first woke up.

  I tried hard not to let Rhonda Blake’s public fit from last night dampen my mood, but, of course, I had no control over how past memories affected my life.

  Minutes after Luke dropped me at my home, leaving an agent posted at the end of my drive, Chief McCracken called to postpone our meeting until after lunch.

  With the added free time, I took a moment to call Myra. “Hey! You busy?”

  “Just leaving court. I have a minute.”

  “I thought you might be able to help me with something.” As I sat at my kitchen table, Gus came out of hiding, stretching and yawning from her latest extended nap, and hopped up into my lap. “Can you find out who owns a business? Like an LLC?”

  “Of course. It’s public record. You have your computer handy?”

  “I do.” As Gus kneaded her claws into my legs, I reached for my laptop and opened it up.

  “Do you know if it’s based in Kentucky?” Myra asked. The sound of a honking horn blared in the background, followed by the siren of an ambulance.

  Once the siren had moved past, I answered as I typed. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, if the company was formed in Kentucky, we should be able to find it on the Secretary of State’s website. There’s a business filing section. Just look for a button or link that says ‘search for an organization by its name or identification number.’”

  “Found it,” I said when I spotted the search link. I typed “EJG, LLC” into the search bar. The company name popped up on my screen in the search results, and when I clicked on the company, additional information about the company appeared.

  “None of this makes sense to me. What am I looking at?”

  “What were you hoping to see?” Myra asked.

  “This is the company on file at a local lawn and landscaping service. They’ve been paying for the mowing of my farm. I thought Ethan was behind it, but he told me he had nothing to do with it. I want to know who’s been paying for the service.”

  “Who is listed as organizer? Or registered agent?”

  “The only name I see is Mac McQueen.”

  “That’s an attorney in Lexington. Probably set up the company for a client. In other words, he’s acting as representative, and keeping the actual owner of the company confidential.”

  “That’s right,” I said, surprised. “He was Ethan’s public defender. A sleazeball who wore suits that looked like they were thirty years old. I mean, no offense to the memories of my grandfather, but McQueen’s suits reminded me of the suits my grandfather wore to church in the eighties.” I stroked Gus as I remembered McQueen from the trial. “That man didn’t do Ethan any favors.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Myra agreed. “Why would Ethan use him now?”

  “I’m not sure that he is. Ethan denied being behind it. But someone is going to great lengths to make it look like Ethan is involved.”

  “I know McQueen. Let me see if I can find anything out. You going to be around later? I need to stop over and see Penelope later today. I can stop by your place around five.”

  “I’ll pick up something for dinner,” I said.

  “And wine,” Myra said.

  A uniformed officer sat at Penelope’s desk when I entered the police station. “Can I help you?” he asked. He seemed put out. Maybe because he was sitting at a desk?

  And he clearly didn’t know who I was, which was refreshing.

  “I’m here to see the chief,” I said.

  “And you are?”

  “Faith Day.”

  Without acknowledgement, he buzzed the chief and told him I was here.

  Chief McCracken appeared almost instantly. “Faith, come on back.”

  He ushered me into his office. Not much had changed since the last time I’d been here. The family photos were different, of course, but other than that, the office was the same as it was when Sam Reid ran the shop.

  I’d been here the day they arrested Chief Reid for obstructing justice and aiding and abetting. He’d helped my uncle cover up the crime he and my brother, Finch, had committed.

  I winced at the memories that flooded back.

  “Can I get you anything?” the chief asked. “Coffee? A soft drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. Honestly, I don’t want to take too much of your time.” I didn’t want to be inside that police station any longer than I had to. The pressure in my chest that started when I walked through the door had steadily increased with each passing step and was now almost unbearable.

  “Fine. I’m going to get right to it,” Chief McCracken began as he sat behind his desk and steepled his hands. “I don’t think I can use you at the moment.”

  I angled my head at the strange tone in his voice. I hadn’t even sat down yet. “I don’t understand. You don’t need a forensic photographer on your team of experts? Or you don’t want me on your team?”

  He dropped his hands and shifted. “Have a seat, Faith.” He gestured to one of his guest chairs.

  I didn’t want to, but I sat at the edge of one of his worn, faux leather guest chairs.

  “I think under the circumstances it would be best if we push this conversation to another time.”

  “Another time,” I deadpanned. “Why?”

  “Well, your name is being thrown around in the investigation of two homicides in Paynes Creek right now. And you’re tied to a third in Colorado.”

  “I had nothing to do with any of those murders. You know this.”

  “No one thinks you killed anyone, but there’s the issue of appearances. And with e
verything that’s happened… with your brother and uncle…”

  I gave my head a little shake, then looked up at him while letting out an exasperated sigh. I stood slowly and leaned across his desk. I badly wanted to tell him what he could do with the job I thought I needed. I wanted to scream that I had done nothing wrong—that I was being punished for other people’s crimes and mistakes. Instead, I said, “Thank you for your time, Chief McCracken.” I paused a moment, considering how being the bigger person was the right way to go. Then I thought better of it. I had no desire to let him off easy. I straightened and squared my shoulders. “I won’t accuse you of being a small, spineless man. I’m sure your decision is based on the small amount of information you’re capable of processing.”

  His faced flushed with color, and his features hardened. He opened his mouth to respond, but I spoke first.

  “I’m grateful you let the KSP detectives come in and take over the Champagne crime scene. I would hate to discover that my friend ended up behind bars, wrongly convicted, because you made decisions based on appearances.”

  I was planning to stop by Aunt Leah’s for a late lunch and playtime with Oliver. I knew that if anything could cheer me up, that sweet, innocent baby could.

  But I decided Oliver and Leah didn’t deserve my sour mood. I would have a tough time swallowing my bitterness over my conversation with Chief McCracken. And I didn’t want Aunt Leah to know that the chief was punishing me, at least in part, for what Uncle Henry and Finch had done. I’d rather burden that alone then project any more pain onto her.

  Instead, I drove to the Farmers’ house, where Penelope was staying because her own home was still being treated as a crime scene. While Penelope didn’t deserve my bad mood either, I knew I could hide it from her—that I had to. When I considered how heartbroken she was over losing her husband, I knew she’d be too distracted to notice my problems—problems that paled in comparison.

  When I parked in front of Penelope’s mom’s house, I noticed a familiar car out front but couldn’t place it. Because of the warmer temperature that day, Mrs. Farmer had her front windows open, and her front door was open, protected by a screen door.

  I heard ladies’ voices as I approached, and then I heard my name. I paused just before lifting my hand to knock.

  “I’ve done my research, Mrs. Farmer. And just like with the case of Faith’s mother, I believe she’s tied to this series of new murders.”

  My hands began to shake with fury at the sound of Marla Manfield’s syrupy sweet voice.

  “And you said this new murder victim… what was his name? Murray?”

  “That’s right. Darren Murray.”

  “And his death can be linked to my son-in-law’s murder?” Mrs. Farmer sounded weary and small.

  “That’s right. I spoke with my source today. He told me that FBI, state investigators, and even the Paynes Creek chief of police all feel that Faith Day is the only thing connecting these innocent people that were murdered in cold blood.” A moment of silence passed between the ladies.

  My fingers curled into fists as my blood heated and a cold sweat formed across the back of my neck.

  “I want to help you,” Marla continued. “And your daughter and your only grandson heal from this tragedy.”

  Mrs. Farmer sniffed loudly. “I don’t know, Marla. Shouldn’t we let the police finish their investigation first?”

  “I promise I will treat you and your family, and your son-in-law’s memory, with the care and respect he deserves. I’m not suggesting we interfere in the investigation, but that we help them get a different perspective on what might have happened.”

  I imagined Marla placing a warm hand over Mrs. Farmer’s and oozing fake, calculated sweetness.

  “You know me,” Marla continued. “If you don’t let me tell their stories, someone else will come along and twist their stories into something that does none of you justice. Wouldn’t it be easier to make sure your family is protected by someone—like me—who will treat them with compassion and respect?”

  I’d heard enough. I knocked loudly on the door. Mrs. Farmer let out a small yelp in response. When she approached the door, she blotted her face with a tissue. “Oh, Faith. What are you doing here?”

  “I came by to check on Penelope and Danny.” I let my eyes focus on the person standing behind Mrs. Farmer—Marla. “I see you have company. Why don’t I just go upstairs and visit with Penelope? Is she up there?”

  “Yes, but…” she shifted from foot to foot. “Honey, why don’t you come in. Marla was just telling me how she would like to write a book and film a documentary about the tragedies in this town. She says she’ll set up a scholarship in Danny’s name in return for our story.”

  “Did she now?” I said, not taking my eyes off of Marla’s.

  “That’s right, Faith. I can offer you the same deal. Wouldn’t you like the truth of what’s happened to you and your friend upstairs to be told? Aren’t you tired of all the gossip and rumors being spread around behind your back? I can tell that truth.”

  I stared hard at Marla, carefully formulating what I wanted to say to her.

  Mrs. Farmer straightened and spoke before I did. “One thing is bothering me, though.”

  “What’s that, Mrs. Farmer?” I asked.

  “Marla said that another man was killed. A man you know. And that he can be tied to Steven’s death. Is that true?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that is true.”

  “Have you been keeping that from us? Your involvement in these murders? Marla also said that you had several fights in public with Miss Shepherd. And that the police know about this.”

  I wouldn’t call the fact that Mrs. Shepherd confronted me a “fight.” And “several” was quite the exaggeration.

  “I haven’t kept anything from you and Penelope. I only found out about my dear friend, Darren, the night of the visitation. I was giving your family room to grieve properly. And I was grieving for my friend while also grieving for Steven.”

  “Of course you were, honey,” Mrs. Farmer said.

  My eyes slid back to Marla’s. “Miss Manfield should have been grieving for this town’s loss, also, instead of coming to you with a way to profit off of Penelope’s suffering less than a week after her husband’s death.”

  “Don’t be insulting, Faith,” Marla said.

  “Yes, Faith. Marla is a guest in my home. And if I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that we all grieve in our own ways.”

  “Mrs. Farmer,” I said. “I have been a friend to Penelope and to this family much longer than Miss Manfield has. Please don’t mistake my directness for anything other than my love and respect for your daughter and Danny. Marla does not have your or Penelope’s best interests in mind. You are making a mistake speaking with her about a murder that’s still under investigation. She wants money and fame. Nothing else.”

  Confusion passed over Mrs. Farmer’s face. “Marla has told me more this morning than the police have told me all week.”

  “Maybe that’s because they’re working hard to figure out who’s been committing these crimes,” I said. “During an open investigation, their time is better spent making sure they have all the facts. Marla does not have access to those facts, so she’s hoping you and Penelope will give her the speculative and sensationalist opinions she wants to increase her ratings and her social media following.”

  “Faith, that’s enough. I think you are wrong about Marla. Like you, she’s from this town. She has given back to this community more than most.”

  I straightened at Mrs. Farmer’s firm tone. Was she really turning me away because she believed the lies Marla Manfield was spewing? Could she really be naïve enough to think this venomous snake was giving back to the community by threatening the integrity of the investigation into the attack on Penelope and Steven?

  “Mrs. Farmer—”

  “I’ll let Penelope know you stopped by.”

  I looked to Marla, who was grinning behind Mrs. Farme
r. “Marla, it was good to see you. I will be sure to let the FBI and investigators know that you have a source of information you haven’t shared with them. They’ll be interested to know that you’re trying to help in their investigation.”

  And hopefully they’ll arrest her for obstruction, I thought as I turned.

  But before I could walk away, Marla insisted on getting in the last word. “Oh, I guess your boyfriend didn’t tell you. I already told him about my source.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  LUKE

  “So, Alice is in tight with the Whiskey Mafia,” Coop said when we got back to my truck.

  “But we knew that from the branding on her back, right?”

  “Yeah, but why is she visiting men inside the prison if someone outside the prison branded her? I assumed this was a mating thing. As in, ‘no one gets to touch my woman’ kind of thing.”

  “Except the person who made the claim—for good or bad,” I corrected him. “But the threat to cut up our girlfriends seemed more like a direct threat to get us to back off the investigation.”

  Coop shivered at the thought. “Marking their bodies as a way to punish us.”

  I quickly put that out of my mind. I would not let Lil or Faith be touched by these scumbags. That was why they each had an agent watching them. “What did you think about the information we learned about Gentry and Matisse?”

  “Unfortunately, I think relationships, for lack of a better word, happen inside prison all the time. Sometimes people want companionship, but far too often, they’re forced into it.” Coop slid a sideways glance at me. “My guess? Mills obviously calls the shots inside the Kentucky State Penitentiary. When this kid—Ethan—who wasn’t even eighteen when he was tried and convicted, arrives all young and vulnerable at the prison, his safety came at a price. And Ethan accepted that price in order to stay alive. He’d just been sentenced to a life sentence, after all.”

  I wanted to hate the man who hurt Faith. Hell, I wanted to hurt him for it. But I couldn’t reconcile my dislike for him with the undeserved imprisonment for murder and the treatment he likely received while imprisoned. That had to change a man, and not for the better.