“The beginning...? Well, I told you about my relationship with Brock Dennison, the beloved TV anchor, the golden boy, everyone’s best buddy. And how he handled it when I broke it off with him. What I didn’t tell you was that Brock started dating my best friend, Kestra, a few weeks ago.”
“The murder victim.”
“That’s right.” She extracted a tissue from her purse, using it to blot her tears. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but another part was holding her at arm’s length. Why had she kept this from him?
After a long lapse of silence, Logan’s patience was wearing thin. “So what about this murder, Mallory? Tell me what happened to your friend? I want to hear about the love triangle.” He grimaced as he said this. “Please, explain that, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“How about at the beginning.”
“Okay.” Mallory’s brow creased as she took in a deep breath. “Kestra was my best friend. We were roommates during the last couple years in college. In fact, she shared my studio during the year of my internship. But then she got her own place over on the west side. But she still came over a lot. And I let her keep a key. And because my apartment was closer to her work, she sometimes came there to change her clothes for a date or whatever.”
“But the love triangle?” Logan knew he was pushing, but he also knew he needed to get back to the station before his shift ended. “What was up with that?”
“First of all, there was no love triangle. That is just journalistic hyperbole. I was completely done with Brock. I knew it. He knew it. Kestra knew it. But Brock went after Kestra about a month ago. And, even though she knew he was a jerk, Kestra was just blown away by his attention. She couldn’t believe that Brock Dennison wanted to date her. She called me to ask if it was okay, and I went ballistic. Not because I cared about Brock. Because I cared about Kestra.” She clenched her fists. “I knew something was fishy—I actually thought Brock was using her to get to me. But worse than that...I was afraid she’d get hurt.”
“And she did get hurt. Murdered.” He studied her closely, gauging her reaction.
“That’s not what I meant. I was worried she’d get her heart broken.” Mallory’s face seemed to pale and her hands began to tremble. “And maybe I was worried she’d get physically hurt, too. But I never imagined she’d be killed. And Brock’s threats to kill me—at least I assumed they came from him—weren’t until later. After he and Kestra were dating.”
“But you believe her death is related to Brock?”
“I do.”
“Just tell me what happened,” he said quietly.
“Kestra was murdered in my studio apartment on Wednesday night.” She paused as if trying to get her bearings. “Just two nights ago I came home from work. I’d seen her car parked down below so I wasn’t even that surprised when the apartment door wasn’t locked. I called out for her as I put a small bag of groceries in the kitchen. When she didn’t answer, I assumed she was in the bathroom.
“That wasn’t unusual. But I didn’t hear the shower or anything, so I tapped on the door. It was partially opened. When she still didn’t answer, I pushed it open and there she was, partially dressed and lying in a pool of blood on my bathroom floor.” Tears began falling down her cheeks. “Someone had—had slit her throat. Her eyes were still open. So I knelt down in the blood. I—I picked up her wrist to feel for a pulse. Nothing. She was dead. It was so horrible. Blood was everywhere...even on me after I checked her. And on my phone when I called 911.
“I—I went into shock while I waited for help to arrive. I’d never seen anything like that in my life. It was so horrifyingly gruesome! I feel sick every time I think of it. But I can’t help but think of it.” She crumpled into sobs and Logan took her in his arms, trying to comfort her.
“I’m sorry to make you talk about it,” he said quietly. “But I need to hear your side of the story. I need to hear the truth.”
And so she continued to tell him about the police arriving, and how she was taken in for initial questioning that night. “The police told me they needed my help to find the murderer. And I believed them. I answered all their questions and told them everything I knew. Everything I could think of. Then I spent the night at a friend’s house. But I couldn’t sleep. I’m sure I was still in shock. And I kept running everything through my head and by morning it seemed to be clear. And there was a death threat on my car windshield. Threatening messages on my phone. Like that one this morning. I knew that somehow Brock was involved. He had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. So I called the detective and told her that I had more information and that I wanted to help them to get her killer.”
“Brock.”
“Well, I knew that it couldn’t be Brock by himself. I wasn’t stupid. Everyone knew that he’d been on live TV when Kestra was killed. A rock-solid alibi. But I still knew he had to be involved. So I went in to tell Janice Doyle. She’s a detective I thought I could trust. I told her all about Brock.”
“And did she believe you?”
“At first I thought she did, but then Detective Snyder started questioning me pretty intensely. He seemed to have come to his own conclusions...mainly that I was involved in the murder. He suggested it was a crime of passion—a jealous girlfriend getting even. All kinds of crazy pieces he’d been gluing together. It got really intense and I’m sure I said some pretty stupid things.”
She sighed. “I was tired and frustrated. And angry that they wouldn’t believe me. That they actually thought I could have murdered my best friend and was trying to implicate Brock! It was totally ridiculous and backward...and yet they were serious. I honestly felt like the whole world was going nuts. No one seemed to hear me. No one believed me.”
Her tears were flowing freely again. “I spent the whole day at the police station—and all it did was turn me into their prime suspect.”
“But they let you leave?”
“Oh, sure. I told them where I was going, gave them the address, phone number, everything. They know they could have me picked up.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that. And they advised me of my rights while I was being questioned. But I thought, why should I care since I’m telling the truth? Before I left Portland, Janice Doyle strongly suggested I get legal counsel. But why? I mean I’m innocent. Why do I need a lawyer?” She looked at him with teary eyes. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Last night, after a long day of questioning, the police told me I was free to go. And I was a total mess,” she admitted. “All I could think was that I wanted to come home. I wanted my parents. I’d called home the night before, but when no one answered I didn’t want to leave a message. I was so upset, I knew my mom would fall apart, too. So I left a message on my dad’s work phone. I totally forgot they were gone.” She burst into more tears and, with no words to say, he just let her cry.
“I’m not usually such a crybaby,” she finally told him. “But I feel so lost...so alone. A rumor started a while back—I’m certain from Brock—that I was angry at Kestra for stealing my boyfriend. I heard two coworkers whispering about it, but other than some irritation, I wrote it off as nothing. Of course, it was a natural conclusion that, because of my envy, I must’ve murdered Kestra in a jealous fit of rage.” She shook her fists in the air. “That is such a lie! If I wanted to kill someone I’d kill Brock.” Her fists fell to her lap. “But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Wow.” Logan set down his pen. “That’s a lot to take in. A lot for you to have gone through. And so recently, too.”
She barely nodded.
“So, really, who do you think killed Kestra?”
She locked eyes with him again. “I think it was Brock. Oh, not with his own hands since we all know that wasn’t possible.”
“Due to his alibi of being on the
news?”
“Yes, but I still feel certain he was involved.”
“I guess I don’t understand why, Mallory. If he was going out with Kestra, and you said she seemed happy in that relationship, what motive would he have for killing her—or having someone else kill her? And so brutally, too?”
Her brow creased. “This was my biggest question, too. Why? I mean Kestra was still into him. As far as I knew, he hadn’t gotten rough with her yet. She was still singing his praises. It makes no sense.”
“So, why, then?”
Mallory’s expression grew intense. “What I really think happened—and this is what I told the police just yesterday, but I know they don’t believe me—but what I really think happened is that Brock meant for me to be killed.”
Logan watched her closely, studying her intently. She seemed utterly sincere, and yet this accusation seemed even further out than the one that Brock had hired someone to murder his girlfriend.
“You see, Kestra was killed around 6:30 in my studio apartment. Normally, I get home from work around six—and that’s after a nearly twelve-hour day—so I’m pretty worn out, and I usually take a nap as soon as I get home. Brock knows all about this. Then, if I’m planning to go out or anything, it’s usually later. But if you want to find me between six and seven, I’m usually in my apartment. The news is usually on, and although I like to think I’m watching it, I’m usually snoozing.”
“So where were you on this particular Wednesday?”
“At the Rose Garden.” She let out a long sigh.
“The Rose Garden? Did anyone see you there?”
“No...and that’s just what the police asked me. And Detective Snyder is like, what a convenient alibi, she says she’s off walking in the Rose Garden, all by herself, yeah, right. But it’s true, I was. It was a gorgeous summer day and I’d heard how pretty the roses were looking last week, and instead of going directly home, I treated myself to an evening stroll through The Rose Garden. Bad timing... I know.”
Now she explained how the security cam by her apartment had something tossed over the lens to block it. And the knife that had been used to kill Kestra was from Mallory’s kitchen, and according to police, it had a few of Mallory’s prints on it. “But wouldn’t everything in my house have my prints on it?”
“Seems like it.”
“Even so, I think they’re building their case around all that. Circumstantial evidence.”
“But the police didn’t keep you in custody.”
She shook her head. “I almost wish they had.”
“For safety?”
“Yeah.”
“So you think Brock sent someone to your apartment to kill you.” Logan suddenly remembered something. “Hey, those photos of you and Kestra in the newspaper, I couldn’t help but notice you’re both brunettes, similar hairstyles, similar look.”
“Yeah.”
“So maybe the murderer really did mistake Kestra for you?”
“That’s my theory. I’m guessing Kestra came by to change clothes for something she was doing in town later that night. I think she’d let herself in...and then...well, you know the rest.”
Logan put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you, Mallory. To lose your best friend and then be accused of her murder. What a nightmare.”
“A nightmare that won’t end,” she said sadly. “I really wanted to talk to my dad about it. I should probably go ahead and call him now. Except I hate to ruin his vacation.”
“Well, I have to inform him about the arson fire. I already left him a message, but I didn’t go into details about—” His words were interrupted by a loud bang that made them both jump and Mallory grabbed him by the arm, cowering next to him.
“Was that a gunshot?” she whispered.
Already on high alert and concerned about the same thing, he scoped the perimeter of the park until he spotted an old yellow pickup turning a corner. “Oh, that’s just Barry Jackson.” He tried to sound unconcerned as he pointed across the park and stood. “His ’55 Chevy backfires sometimes.” But even as he said this, he wasn’t so sure. It sounded more like a gunshot than a backfire.
He took her hand and guided her over to a clump of trees, watching over his shoulder as they went. Within the protective shadows of the trees, he gauged the situation. But seeing nothing out of the ordinary and sensing she was really on edge, Logan smiled uneasily. “You really need a break,” he said gently. “You know what they say about stress.”
“Huh?” She frowned.
“It’s a killer.” He pushed a strand of dark hair away from her eyes. He knew it was premature, but he suddenly felt like kissing her. Instead, he let his hand slowly trail down her cheek and around her chin. He was rewarded by a shy smile.
“You’re right. The stress is really getting to me,” she admitted. “But what can I do?”
“I’m not sure, but I do think we should move along.” Even if it had only been a backfire, Logan felt worried. What if it had been a gun? Perhaps just a warning...for now, anyway.
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get over to the station for a while. I need to finish my reports and talk to Rod—he’s my second in command. His shift starts today and goes until Monday. Then I’m back on again.” He explained how the 24/7, four days on, three days off shift worked. “Why don’t you come to the station with me?”
Mallory seemed uncertain.
“You could just hang out there while I do some office work. Probably take an hour or two.”
“Will that woman—uh, Winnie—be there?”
Logan frowned. “Most likely.”
“Maybe I’ll take a pass.”
“Okay.” He made an apologetic smile and a mental note to give Winnie a quiet but firm reprimand.
“You know, what I’d really like to do is get a few things in town.” Mallory ran her hands over her skirt, which looked more than a little rumpled. “This outfit is all I have to wear. I considered borrowing some of my mom’s things.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Except that your mom’s a lot shorter and wider than you.” As Logan attempted to keep the conversation light—for Mallory’s sake—his eyes were skimming the perimeters of the park. Despite their peaceful surroundings, something felt off. And the hairs on the back of his neck felt prickly.
“So maybe I’ll head over to Jorgenson’s Sporting Goods,” she said. “I could probably find a few things to get me through the weekend. I don’t need much since I’m supposed to be back in Portland on Monday morning, for further interrogation I assume. Not that I want to think about that right now.”
“I’m happy to drop you at the sporting-goods store.”
“I can walk. It’s just over—”
“No, I’ll drive you.” He gave the park another quick look before he led her to the truck.
“I could probably waste about an hour or more in there,” she said. “If there’s more time, I’ll pop over to the drugstore and pick up a few other things I left behind.”
“How about I meet you in front of the drugstore at three,” Logan offered as he opened the passenger door for her. “If that works.”
“Sounds perfect.” She looked at him with grateful eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without you today. You’ve been very kind and it’s hard to believe that it’s all in the line of duty.”
Still wary and watching, he hurried around to the driver’s side. “Well, some of it’s in the line of duty,” he admitted as he slid behind the wheel. “And the part that’s not is in the line of pleasure.”
She rewarded him with a smile.
“I know this feels like a never-ending nightmare to you, but I still believe that good can come out of evil, Mallory. When you love God and put your tru
st in him.”
“Really? You honestly believe that?” Her voice sounded hopeful. “I want to believe that, too, Logan. But it’s been so hard lately. Really, really hard.”
“Well, maybe I can just believe it for you. For now, anyway.” He longed to protect her as he started the engine. “Things are going to get better.” But even as he said this, he felt unsure. Before they got better, it was possible that they could get a whole lot worse.
It was hard enough dropping her off in front of the sporting-goods store—even though the street was busy with shoppers he knew by first name—the idea of allowing Mallory to return to her parents’ home where some deranged criminal was lurking in the woods, waiting for his chance to take her out...well, it was more than a little disturbing. As Logan drove to the fire station he knew he needed to come up with a better solution—before it was too late!
SEVEN
It didn’t take long for Mallory to gather up some suitable small-town clothes. A pair of jeans, khaki walking shorts, a couple of T-shirts, a flannel shirt and a sweatshirt. Not exactly city clothes—not for someone who wanted to be taken seriously as a career girl, that is. Although that might not matter so much anymore. For, as far as she knew, her career was over. At least she’d have something to wear during the time she was hiding out here in Clover. She found a few other things, too, including a pair of hiking shoes and some sturdy sandals.
“Do you mind if I put some of these on?” she asked the salesgirl helping her. “More comfy than this outfit, you know?”
“No problem, let me cut off the tags for you.”
Dressed in a light blue T-shirt, khaki shorts and sandals, Mallory felt almost like she belonged in Clover again as she headed across the street to the drugstore. She hadn’t been in this store for years, but remembered how she and her best friend, Leah, used to love studying the cosmetics counter as teens. Funny how her beauty routine had gotten much simpler once she was able to afford all that stuff. She picked out the few items she was missing, then made her way to the checkout stand.
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