by Dan Padavona
He toweled dry and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Scrapes crisscrossed his face, and a purple bruise rose off his arm where he’d landed after a tumble in the woods. Every bone, every muscle in his body pleaded with him to get off his feet and rest.
In Mike’s bedroom, he dug a Nazareth lacrosse sweatshirt out of the dresser and found sweatpants that fit. He stole a pair of socks, but couldn’t bring himself to confiscate underwear until he located a package of briefs in shrink wrap.
His stomach rumbled. As much as he desired food, he’d only slept three hours. Drawing the curtains across the window, he locked the bedroom door. He collapsed on the foot of the bed and closed his eyes.
Shawn fell asleep a moment before the police siren shrilled out of Wells Ferry.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saturday, 2:15 p.m.
By the time Darren and Raven stumbled into Wolf Lake Consulting, they were covered in a fresh layer of mud, their clothes soaked through and bodies dragging from lack of sleep and another fruitless search of the woods. Darren’s shoulders hung as he followed Raven into the office. Chelsey took one look at them and shot off her chair.
“What happened to the two of you?”
“I tripped over a root and tumbled down an incline,” Darren said, massaging his back.
“And I grabbed his arm and followed him down,” said Raven.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a full shower at the end of the hallway.” Chelsey wiggled her nose. “I don’t have any clothes that will fit Darren.”
“I might have something he can wear,” Raven said, plunking herself down in a chair.
Chelsey ran over to her, waving her hands in the air.
“Nuh-uh. You’re getting mud all over the workstation.”
Raven released a long breath.
“I’ll wash my hands in the sink.”
“You can shower first, Raven,” Darren said.
He felt as if he’d run a marathon. Failing to find his cousin left a hollowness in his chest.
“You sure?”
“I’ll go after you.”
“If you insist.”
The bathroom door closed down the hallway. Darren glanced around the office, afraid to touch anything. He was a walking mud puddle, the silt and dirt ground into his hair.
“You look like hell, Darren.”
“Thanks a million.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
He touched his stomach.
“I scarfed a protein bar before we left the cabin.”
Chelsey rolled her eyes.
“No, I mean real food, not something that comes in a wrapper.”
Darren rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“I barbecued chicken breasts for dinner yesterday.”
“Come with me,” she said, pivoting on her heels.
He followed Chelsey from the office to the kitchen. She stood on tiptoe and removed a plate from the cupboard. Next, she opened the refrigerator and poked her head inside.
“I bought two pounds of sliced London broil for sandwiches.”
“Two pounds? Are you feeding an army?”
“I figured we’d end up working late. It beats running out for fast food.” She removed a plastic box of spinach and set a tomato on the counter. “We have condiments in the fridge—brown mustard, honey mustard, mayo. Pick your poison.”
A smile formed on his face.
“You thought ahead.”
“I told you. I’ve been down this path too many times. Nature of the business. Now eat before you lose another pound and blow away.”
When the kettle whistled, Chelsey poured steaming water into a mug and set it on the counter. Then she scooped a green, powdery substance into the water, sprinkled a touch of cinnamon, and whisked the concoction together. Darren wondered if she was actually going to drink the strange brew. Instead, she pushed it in front of Darren and looked at him expectantly.
“What the hell is that?”
“Matcha tea.”
“Am I supposed to drink this tea of yours?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“It looks like the scum you peel off swamps in the summer.”
“Darren, you need healthy energy. If you don’t drink my tea, I’ll plug your nose shut and pour it down your gullet.”
“Easy,” he said, holding up a hand. He muttered to himself. “When did the world give up on coffee?”
Chelsey returned to the office and left Darren alone to build his sandwich. As he sipped his tea, he had to admit it wasn’t half-bad. The taste was little funky, but he suddenly felt wide awake without the typical caffeine buzz. He chose two slices of oat bread, slathered on far too much honey mustard, loaded a quarter-pound of London broil, and sprinkled spinach over the top. After slicing the tomato, he longed for diced onion. Opening the crisper drawer in the refrigerator, he gaped when he found a halved onion. If he wished for a sizzling filet mignon, would he find that too?
The sandwich wasn’t the best he’d ever built. But it was heaven in his famished state. He closed his eyes and chewed.
After he finished, he cleaned and dried his plate and set it in the cupboard. He marveled at Chelsey’s setup. Working at Wolf Lake Consulting was like working from home, only better because he was surrounded by friends. He scoffed at the dirt he tracked across the floor.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chelsey said from the doorway. “I’ll run the vacuum while you shower.”
“I’m making a mess of your kitchen.”
“It’s just dirt. I don’t mind.”
“How did your interview with Kemp go?”
She gave him a diplomatic smile.
“The investigation is off to a good start.”
Yeah, right. The last time Darren saw Kemp, he tried to attack the Wells Ferry PD officers. Kemp wasn’t just scared, he was out of his mind with grief. Darren gave Chelsey credit for speaking to Kemp alone. The woman had guts.
Before Darren could make an excuse for his cousin, the front door opened.
“Where’s everybody at?”
“In the kitchen, LeVar,” Chelsey called out.
Raven’s brother leaned his shoulder against the jamb and grinned when his eyes fell on Darren.
“Bruh, you remind me of Pig-Pen in the Peanuts cartoons. You planning to plant a garden in your hair?”
“You’re a million laughs, LeVar,” Darren said. “If you must know, I spent the last three hours slogging through the forest.”
“Try searching on your feet next time. It’s faster.”
“How did you do on your exam, wise guy?”
“Aced it.”
“So you’re confident you’ll pull an A this semester?”
“One hundred percent.”
Chelsey hooked her arm with LeVar’s.
“Since you’re well on your way to being a topflight investigator, maybe you can help us find Shawn Massey. Darren’s cousin is missing, LeVar.”
LeVar’s eyes fell.
“Oh, damn. I didn’t realize. Sorry for busting on you, man. I didn’t know he was family. You must be worried sick.”
“No worries,” Darren said, dropping a hand on LeVar’s shoulder. “Besides, the next time I traipse through the woods in the middle of a thunderstorm, I’m taking you with me.”
“Aight,” LeVar said uncertainly.
The shower gurgled at the end of the hallway as Darren and LeVar trailed Chelsey into the office. If Raven stayed under the spray another minute, she’d shrivel into a prune.
Chelsey loaded a digital map of the wilderness outside Wells Ferry and zeroed in on the marina. She ran a finger along the terrain as Darren and LeVar squeezed beside her.
“Here’s the town park where you found Shawn’s phone, and here’s the marina.”
“He’s moving north,” LeVar said.
“Could be by design,” Darren said, rubbing his chin. “Or he might be lost.”
Chelsey tapped a fing
ernail against the screen.
“He’s from Wells Ferry. Even if he stumbled upon the marina by chance, he’s not lost anymore. He knows where he’s going.”
Darren swiped dirt from the corner of his eye.
“We canvassed the area between the marina and the park where the river overflowed. I assumed Shawn would work his way back to his house.”
“Not if he’s worried the killer is watching the place,” said LeVar.
“Dammit. We should have searched north of the marina.”
“You had no way of knowing, dawg.” LeVar scrolled the map. “What’s north of the marina?”
“Nothing but forest for a mile before the residences pop up along the lake shore. Mostly seasonal cottages.”
“Seasonal cottages,” Chelsey repeated. “Shawn might have a friend who lives north of the marina. Someone the killer doesn’t know about.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday, 2:30 p.m.
Chelsey waited until the bathroom door closed. The shower ran as she turned her attention to Raven, who wore a pair of Chelsey’s jogging pants and a Broken Yolk T-shirt. A towel held her hair in place while it dried. Raven gave Chelsey a curious glance.
“What’s with the secretive stare?”
“I didn’t want to say this in front of Darren. But I haven’t ruled out Shawn and Kemp Massey. Either might have killed Megan.”
LeVar shared a look with his sister.
“Half the town is searching for Shawn. Are you suggesting he’s the murderer?”
Chelsey exhaled.
“I’m unsure what to believe. Shawn had motive and opportunity. He’s the only person the police placed inside the house with Megan. And he was upset with his mother and intended to confront her.”
“Maybe they argued, and things spun out of control.”
“In other words, he’s not running from the killer. He’s running from the police.”
LeVar rocked back in his chair.
“Not buying this theory.”
“Why not?”
“The park. Darren found Shawn’s phone, and someone crushed the screen and removed the battery.”
“He’s right,” Raven said, shifting her chair to face Chelsey. “Grinding the phone under your shoe might be an act of rage. But removing the battery takes forethought. Whoever found Shawn’s phone wanted to ensure we didn’t trace its location.”
Chelsey tapped her nails on the desk.
“Didn’t Thomas find a second set of tracks in the park?”
“He did. The prints appeared larger than Shawn’s.”
“So an adult male chased him.”
LeVar leaned forward.
“What about the father? What makes you suspect he killed Megan Massey?”
Chelsey pushed the hair out of her eyes.
“Kemp Massey hated his wife.” Chelsey recounted the attorney’s claim that Kemp tried to kick Megan’s door down in a fit of rage. “When I interviewed him this morning, he couldn’t recall any of Shawn’s friends. Either the guy is out of touch and aloof, or he doesn’t want us to find Shawn.”
“Because he’s the killer.”
“Possibly. There was something off about the guy. He’s evasive.” Chelsey turned to Raven. “What’s your take on Kemp Massey?”
Raven lowered her voice and shifted her chair closer to LeVar and Chelsey. Darren was still in the shower.
“Thomas held Kemp back after he lunged at the Wells Ferry PD officers. The guy has a short fuse.” Raven chewed a nail. “And there’s something else. The police found blood in the bathroom sink at Kemp’s house. He claims he cut himself repairing a hinge.”
“I noticed the bandage. Seems like a convenient coincidence. Kemp Massey slices his finger open around the time someone stabs his wife. Could be he injured himself during a struggle.”
“But the report says Shawn called his father at home to warn him about the killer.”
“Shawn called Kemp Massey’s cell, not the land line. Kemp could have been anywhere when he took that call.”
“So we’ll keep Kemp near the top of our suspect list,” said LeVar. “But don’t forget Kemp Massey hired us to find Shawn and clear the kid’s name, not solve a murder case.”
“Solving the case might be the key to finding Shawn.”
“Understood. Who else belongs on the suspect list?”
Chelsey minimized the browser and called up a photograph of Hanley Stokes. Black, greasy hair trailed down to the convict’s shoulders. A scar cut above his left brow.
“Hanley Stokes. Megan Massey represented Stokes after Wells Ferry PD busted him.”
“He’s the drug pusher, right?”
“Correct. Stokes’s sentence ended. He’s on the street again.”
“And now Megan Massey is dead. Another coincidence?”
“If Stokes blamed Megan for failing him, he might have sought revenge.”
“Huge risk,” LeVar said, shaking his head. “Most convicts get out of prison and stay under the radar before they murder defense attorneys.”
“Speaking from experience?” Raven asked with a mischievous grin.
“You watch The Sopranos too often.” LeVar pressed his lips together in consideration. “All hell breaking loose the minute Stokes hit the street can’t be a coincidence. He’s involved somehow. Keep him on the list.”
“How about a boyfriend?” Chelsey asked. “Megan Massey was a good-looking woman. Hard to accept she never dated after the separation.”
Raven unraveled the towel and swung her hair over her shoulder.
“Kemp claims he stayed out of Megan’s personal life. We asked him who Megan dated. He doesn’t know.”
“Then we need to find out. What’s our next step?” Chelsey leaned back and tapped a pen against her lip. After mulling the question over, she tossed the pen on the desk. “I ran background checks on Hanley Stokes, and Kemp and Megan Massey. Nothing stuck out. Let’s run one more check on Shawn Massey, just to rule him out as our killer. I’ll get started on that.”
LeVar swept a hand through his dreadlocks.
“I’ll call Scout and ask her to research Shawn’s friends. Hopefully, we’ll figure out where he’s heading.”
“Good idea. Tell her to focus on friends who live north of the marina.”
“Bet.”
“What did I miss?” Darren asked. They all swung their heads around. LeVar snickered at the Adidas sweatpants. The cuffs ran halfway up Darren’s shins. Darren glanced down and scowled. “This is what you get when you borrow clothes from your girlfriend.”
“We’re planning our moves for this afternoon,” Chelsey said, biting her tongue to keep herself from laughing. “Darren, take Raven with you and speak with Polly Hart.”
“Why? Thomas already interviewed the girlfriend. She doesn’t know where Shawn is.”
“I’m more interested in Shawn’s state of mind last night. If Shawn killed his mother, he’d show signs of instability.”
“I assure you, Shawn didn’t kill Megan.”
“The police say he did. Let’s rule him out before we move forward.”
Darren furrowed his brow.
“All right, but it’s a waste of time. We should go back to the forest and search north of the marina.”
“And you will. LeVar will call Scout, and she’ll look into Shawn’s friends. If he has a friend in that area, she’ll find him. No sense wandering around without a plan.”
Darren exhaled through his nose. Chelsey could tell the state park ranger wanted to resume the search.
“If Scout doesn’t find anyone by dinner time, I’m going after Shawn again.”
Chelsey clasped her hands behind her head.
“We have work to do if we intend to find Shawn before dark.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday, 3:10 p.m.
Thomas hunched over a map inside the Wells Ferry Police Department’s conference room. He hadn’t slept this morning like he’d promised Chelsey, and the exhaustion
was catching up to him. He rubbed his eyes when the terrain features crisscrossed in his vision.
With a groan, he set the map aside and scrubbed a hand down his face. He sat alone at the table while his deputies broke for a late lunch in town. This was hostile territory. The officers on the other side of the glass shot him disdainful glances as they went about their duties. He pretended not to notice. What the hell was the issue between Wells Ferry and Nightshade County? Like two feuding families, the rivalry dated back so far that nobody remembered what they were fighting over.
The door opened, and Officer Barber strode inside without bothering to knock. He looked worse than he had this morning. Barber breathed through his mouth, his sinuses cemented shut. His eyes hung like a mournful dog’s. Red splotches on the officer’s neck suggested he’d spiked a fever.
“You should go home,” Thomas said, setting his elbows on the desk.
“And let the county run the investigation? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He tossed a folder in front of Thomas.
“What’s this?”
“Preliminary report from the forensics team. They collected sandy brown hair from the entryway, hallway, and kitchen.” Shawn Massey has sandy brown hair, Thomas thought. “The only other hair they found matched the victim’s.”
“So what are you saying?”
“That there were only two people inside that kitchen when Megan Massey died. Megan and her son, Shawn Massey.”
“The killer wore a ski mask. That would explain the killer not leaving hair at the scene.”
Barber clucked his tongue.
“Let’s be honest. If criminals were intelligent, we’d never catch them. Ninety-nine percent of the time, we apprehend crooks and killers because they did something stupid. They don’t think ahead, and they certainly don’t clean up after themselves to avoid detection. Stop overthinking the issue. Shawn Massey blamed his mother for wrecking the family, and he murdered her to gain revenge. Maybe the bitch deserved it. You ever see Megan Massey in court? Spiteful whore considered herself better than the police.”
Thomas ignored the diatribe and paged through the report.
“How long before the test results return from the lab?”