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

by Heather Sunseri

  At the same time, was Ethan somehow involved in the murders that were occurring now? And was he tied to the mysterious, yet harmless things that kept happening to Faith?

  “I hope Faith never learns of how Ethan was treated inside prison,” I said. “Deep down, she already feels responsible for the fact that he was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.” I knew she’d struggled over the years to reconcile her guilt for her role in sending Ethan to prison for twelve years.

  I started the truck, preparing for the four-hour ride home, when my phone buzzed. “Luke Justice,” I answered.

  “Luke, it’s Agent Thomason. You and Coop still at the penitentiary?”

  “We’re leaving now.”

  “Good. Forensics came back on the Champagne case.”

  “From the semen?” I asked, then lowered the phone and put it on speaker. “Coop’s listening now.”

  “Tests revealed that the DNA belongs to a John Paul Matisse.”

  “Matisse?” I glanced at Coop. “His name came up today. He was Ethan Gentry’s cellmate. We planned to locate Matisse as soon as we get back.”

  “Well, we’re already a step ahead of you, but we’ve got a problem.” She paused. “He skipped parole shortly after he got out last fall.”

  Coop and I traded looks. “And has anyone been looking for him?” I asked.

  “I think they’d tell you that they have, but…” Agent Thomason’s voice dropped off.

  “But no one has done shit,” Coop said in frustration.

  “You have a photograph of him?” I asked.

  “Sending it now. This was taken when he was released.”

  My phone buzzed. With a slide of a finger and a couple of clicks, a man I’d seen very recently was staring back at me. I turned it toward Coop.

  John Paul Matisse was who Coop hired to fix his fencing. He was the same man he said was hired by the builder who renovated the barn apartment where I was living. He’d been hiding right under our noses doing honest work, so why skip his parole?

  Coop sucked in an audible gasp, then pulled his own phone from his pocket and made a call, also on speaker. “Chief, send some officers to my farm. You’re looking for a man named John. Assume he’ll be armed and very dangerous.”

  “You got a last name? A description?”

  “His last name is Matisse, but I don’t think that’s what he’s been going by. Luke is sending a photo over to you now.”

  “You think this is our guy?” the chief asked.

  “His DNA was at the scene of the Champagne murder. He’s been doing some work out at the farm, and I’ve been under the impression that he lives somewhere in Paynes Creek. Show his picture around at the station. See if anyone recognizes him.”

  “He was at the funeral,” I said. “I saw him there. I just assumed he knew Penelope and Steven.”

  “Chief, Luke and I are on our way back from Eddyville. Call us if you find anything.” Coop hung up.

  “Agent Thomason, you still there?” I asked.

  “Yes. Detective Fish is putting out BOLOs. She’ll coordinate with Chief McCracken.”

  “The Spotted Cat is on our way. We’ll stop there and interview Ethan Gentry if no one locates Matisse before then.” I hung up with Agent Thomason and dialed Faith, just as Coop called Lil beside me.

  “Hi,” Faith said when she answered. “You on your way back?” Her peppy tone sounded forced.

  “Yes. Where are you?”

  “I’m heading home to do some work.”

  “Is the agent still with you?” I asked, trying to hide the concern from my voice.

  “He’s been following me around all day. I’ve pretended not to see him, but yes, he’s there.”

  “I just sent you a picture. Look at it.”

  “Okay, hold on.” She paused for a moment, putting me on speaker. “He looks familiar.” She paused again. “He looks very familiar. Who is he?”

  “His name is John Matisse.”

  She was silent for a few beats. “I’ve seen him. He was at the grocery store the day I had that little spat with Miss Shepherd. And even then, I thought he looked familiar. Like I’d met him before, but I couldn’t place where. I just assumed I’d seen him around town. Why?”

  “You remember everything. Look at him again. Study him.”

  “He looks like… No, it couldn’t be.”

  “What are you thinking? Who does he look like?”

  “He resembles one of the farm hands Darren hired back at the ranch in Colorado. I believe he helped with maintenance work around the property. He lived in one of the small houses on the back of the ranch, but I only saw him a few times. His name was John.”

  “He also goes by J.P. or maybe even John Paul.”

  “His hair was different. It was blond. And he had a ridiculous mustache.”

  “Could his hair have been bleached?”

  “Of course. I didn’t pay him any attention. I was there doing my own thing. And then you showed up, and I left shortly after. I—” She stopped talking. “Who is he?” Realization dawned. “You think he killed Steven? And Darren?”

  “Listen to me. Go home. Stay inside. I’m going to alert the agent to stay close to you and to be on the lookout for Matisse. I’m on my way back.”

  “You can’t just keep me in the dark, Luke. Tell me who this is.”

  “He was Ethan’s cellmate. His DNA was discovered at Penelope’s house.”

  “The semen,” she said.

  “Yes. We haven’t put everything together, but based on what you just told me, I have every reason to believe he’s the one whose been following you around the country.”

  “Why? You said he was Ethan’s cellmate. Do you think Ethan put him up to this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. You and I will discuss that. Just wait for me at home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I didn’t want to tell her I was planning to speak to Ethan on my way.

  “Wait,” she said. “There’s something else. Marla Manfield is up to something—trying to produce some true crime documentary or some such nonsense. She was pitching a thick pile of bullshit to Mrs. Farmer earlier today and claimed she had a source that was feeding her information. Said you knew about it already, but—”

  “She mentioned something at the visitation, but I blew her off. I’ll follow up on it.”

  I hung up and called the agent currently assigned to Faith. I caught him up on what was going on and ordered him to park close to Faith’s trailer. And to not even blink until I got there.

  THIRTY-TWO

  FAITH

  At home, I tried not to think about Ethan’s creepy cellmate following me around the country. Instead, I distracted myself by sorting through photos of my travels.

  I felt a semblance of safeness, knowing that an armed FBI agent was sitting less than thirty yards from my front door. I also had a baseball bat propped against my kitchen counter. Though I had spent years working for the police, I was never one to keep a gun around. I knew how to shoot, though. Uncle Henry had made sure of that.

  But thanks to Ethan, I knew how to swing a baseball bat, too. I trusted my aim with the bat better than my aim with a gun.

  I wanted to keep my wits about me, so I sipped on sweet tea, but if my anxiety didn’t ease soon, I was going to need something stronger.

  As I stared at some of the landscapes and wildlife photographs from my time in Colorado, including an incredible shot of a mother elk and her calf taken behind Darren’s house, I thought of Darren and how kind he had been to me.

  There had been nothing romantic between us, but we had become friends. And he had encouraged me with my nature photography, which was a welcome break from my usual crime scene photographic work.

  While I took photographs of his ranch for him to use in his business, he also persuaded me to talk to some art galleries in Colorado. And a couple had shown interest in my work. I had Darren to thank for that.

  I massaged my chest as my heart squeezed with grief.
r />   Was the man named J.P.—Ethan’s cellmate—to blame for Darren’s death? Why was he even in Colorado? It just didn’t make sense that he was following me. Could Ethan be behind this? I started to call Ethan but thought better of it.

  Instead, I continued to process and edit the photos, cleaning up minor imperfections by adjusting the color balance and enhancing the saturation of several of the images. I placed watermarks across the strongest photos and sent thumbnails to a gallery I’d talked to while I was in Antonito. While they had shown the most interest, I skipped town before I’d actually sold them anything.

  I chose some of the less-than-gallery-worthy shots and uploaded them to a stock photo account. I’d been doing this on a regular basis since last fall. During my time in Florida, I had managed to sell some compelling sunsets I’d captured in various beach spots throughout the Florida Keys to a Miami gallery.

  If I were being honest with myself, I didn’t need the job with the Paynes Creek PD, nor did I want it any longer. Before my cross-country road trip, I’d never thought I could be any good at artistic photography, but if I’d learned anything over the past year, it was that I needed to take more leaps of faith.

  Sure, a job with the Paynes Creek PD would have given me more security and stability, but did I really want to work in forensics any longer?

  I once thought that taking photos of crime scenes and other people’s suffering helped me mask my own bad memories, but now that I had mixed some good memories in with the bad, I realized I could battle the hyperthymesia in more positive ways.

  I owed this revelation to several people over the past year.

  Darren had shown me that my photography could be a therapeutic outlet, even if I’d never gotten the chance to thank him for it.

  Meeting Oliver for the first time made my heart nearly explode with love and the desire to be something he could be proud of. I was already filling my memory bank with happy moments of playing with my nephew and helping Aunt Leah. My life was taking on more meaning than just trying to squash out dark memories of the past.

  And then there was Luke. Though I knew we were still getting to know each other in many ways, and I had spent way too much energy trying to push him away since last fall. Despite that, he kept showing up. I was starting to realize, and accept, a deep feeling of gratitude that he never gave up on me.

  He came to Florida, Colorado, and he called me constantly while I was on the road during the past year.

  Luke Justice knew me better than anyone has ever known me.

  I looked up from my computer at that thought. How had I missed that? I must have known it on some deep level, or Myra wouldn’t have known to call him when I needed him.

  The honor of knowing me that well had gone to Ethan once upon a time, but after that dark day all those years ago, he had relinquished that designation. When I lost Ethan the same night I lost my mother, I was certain I was destined to live out a cold existence, trapped in a world of my worst memories playing on automatic repeat inside my head. There was no getting rid of those memories, thanks to the curse of hyperthymesia. But did I have to live that way forever? I’d spent my entire adult life thinking I did.

  Until now. Because now, knowing that I had reasons to be someone different—someone stronger—I felt hopeful.

  I was in love. A tear fell down my face. A happy tear of recognition that I had people in my life that were worth the risk of loving.

  I picked up my phone and called Drew Kaufman, a call I had been putting off.

  “Hey, Drew,” I said when he answered. “It’s Faith Day.”

  “Faith!” He sounded delighted to hear from me. “Lil said you might be calling.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about rebuilding a house on the farm. Would you be interested in meeting to discuss my options?”

  “Actually, I’ve had a major delay in a current project. Would you be available tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” I smiled. “Want to come around nine?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  When I hung up with Drew, I realized that instead of dwelling on one pile of crap after another from the day—the meeting with the chief, seeing Marla speaking with Mrs. Farmer, hearing the news of another man possibly stalking me—I was thrilled to be moving forward and taking such a huge step forward in my life.

  I yelped when a loud, urgent knock sounded at my door. I darted to the door and peered through the window before opening it to a familiar face.

  “Hurry, put on your TV.” Myra barked as she rushed inside.

  Behind her was the young agent assigned to me. “You okay, Miss Day?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you. She doesn’t mean me any harm.” I gave him a wave while muttering “I don’t think” under my breath and rolling my eyes at Myra.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked as I closed the door. “You know that man had his hand on his sidearm?”

  “Hurry,” Myra urged. “Where’s your television?”

  “I don’t have one. I watch on my computer. What channel?”

  “Whatever station that witch Marla Manfield is on.”

  “Sit down and breathe,” I ordered, grabbing my computer, typing in the web address for Marla’s news channel, and clicking on the link for the live broadcast. “What is she talking about?”

  “You,” Myra said. “My paralegal just called and said she was about to come on with a major update on Steven’s case. Said they flashed your photo in the teaser. Do you know anything?”

  “I do,” I said as a commercial played. “But I don’t think what I know should have hit the news yet. And I don’t know why she would make me the focus of the piece.”

  When the commercial stopped, Marla appeared on the screen. “Good evening,” she started. “Welcome to Marla at 5:35, where I give you a preview of what’s coming this week on my podcast, Inside Crime Kentucky. Today, I’m coming to you live from Paynes Creek. Normally a quiet, peaceful community nestled among prime thoroughbred horse country, Paynes Creek has been shaken to its core after two grisly murders shocked local residents over the last week. While investigators have provided no new information to the public for days, my exclusive source insists that investigators need only look to one person to kick-start the investigation and close in on the killer.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  Myra motioned for me to hush.

  “Thirteen years ago,” Marla continued, “Scarlett and Eli Gentry, from right here in Paynes Creek, were murdered inside this home.”

  I gasped when Marla flashed a photograph of my childhood home that once stood yards away from where I was now.

  “And the reason for that double homicide rests with what happened between two Paynes Creek teens—Eli Gentry’s son, Ethan Gentry, and Scarlett’s daughter, Faith Day. I’m going to go deep inside the story of what happened all those years ago and show you how the shocking actions of two love-struck teenagers set in motion a series of events that would yield yet another tragedy more than a decade later, leaving two more innocent victims brutally slain in this formerly sleepy bedroom community.”

  “She knows,” I said mostly to myself. And she was about to twist what happened into some forbidden love story gone wrong.

  “You’ll be shocked to learn how the one person stuck in the middle of a murder-arson case all those years ago is once again at the center of this latest series of murders. Faith Day returned to Paynes Creek recently, allegedly to be near her infant nephew. She can be seen entering her aunt’s house just last week.” The screen shifted to a video of me walking up Leah’s sidewalk, then to a photograph of Aunt Leah holding Oliver outside of her church. “Did Miss Day return to be with family, or was her homecoming motivated by far more sinister reasons?”

  “Holy shit, she’s putting my nephew at risk.”

  “According to my source,” Marla continued. “Miss Day is as deeply involved in the latest killings as she was the night her own mother and step-father were
killed. So, whatever possessed Faith Day to come back to Paynes Creek, the result is the same: two people are dead. And my source, deeply intimate with the case, tells me these latest deaths have everything to do with Miss Day. Join me each day this week on my podcast, Inside Crime Kentucky, as I take you deep into a murder investigation haunting this lovely small town. We’ll be right back with the weather.” Marla’s segment faded to commercial.

  I reached my hand to the computer and slowly closed the screen. “I ran into her sucking up to Mrs. Farmer earlier today. She was making the pitch that if she and Penelope cooperate, she could get the truth of Steven’s story told. She even told them she would set up a scholarship fund for Danny.”

  “She really is a cold-hearted bitch,” Myra said. “What makes that woman think she can force her way into the middle of an ongoing investigation and—”

  I touched Myra’s arm. “She brought my nephew into it. I don’t care what she says about me. True crime writers and podcasters have talked shit about me for years, speculating on information they’ve read in some unverified source. But she brought that innocent baby into it. She even put a photo of Leah and Oliver on the screen. How dare that bitch!” I stood and walked to the kitchen counter. I placed both of my hands on the countertop, spreading my fingers wide, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  I faced Myra. “You want a drink? I want a drink.”

  “After that shitshow, absolutely,” she answered.

  “Wine or bourbon? I have both.”

  “Wine.”

  I poured Myra a glass of her favorite red that I had picked up after my confrontation with Marla, then poured myself three fingers of an expensive small batch bourbon poured over an oversized square ice cube.

  I carried the two drinks to the table, then returned and grabbed both bottles before sitting across from Myra.

  “I could throw a defamation lawsuit at her,” she said. “Force her to retract everything that was possibly incorrect. It could go a long way to making her appear to be less than credible. Destroy the book deal she’s hoping to get.”