Once Stalked (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 9)

by Blake Pierce

  “I just told you,” Riley said. “I changed my mind. I told her to stop showing it.”

  Roston flashed that insincere smile again.

  “That’s odd. I checked on it this morning. It’s still an active listing.”

  Riley managed to keep her jaw from dropping.

  “It shouldn’t be,” she said. “I’ll have to talk to her about it.”

  A short silence fell.

  “When did you last see Shirley Redding?” Roston asked.

  “I actually haven’t met her,” Riley said. “We’ve just communicated by phone and text messages. But why are you asking me about this? What does it have to do with the Hatcher case?”

  Roston’s smile vanished.

  “That’s what I’m trying to work out,” she said. “Shirley Redding was found dead this morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The shock of Agent Roston’s words hit Riley hard. She couldn’t believe she had heard right.

  “What did you just say?” she asked.

  Roston sharpened her gaze, staring straight into Riley’s eyes.

  “I said that Shirley Redding was found dead this morning,” Roston said.

  Riley was completely dumbfounded for a few moments. The real estate agent? Dead?

  Finally Roston asked, “Don’t you want to know where it happened?”

  Riley tried to steady her breath.

  She said, “From your manner, I must assume that it was on my property.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  Riley struggled to grasp what had happened. In her gut, she knew that Shirley Redding’s death must be the work of Shane Hatcher. The Realtor must have turned up at the cabin again. Perhaps she had caught him by surprise. Or maybe he just refused to hide again, as he had threatened.

  But she didn’t dare say that.

  “Why wasn’t I notified as soon as she was found?” Riley asked.

  “That’s why I called you this morning,” Roston said. “That’s why you’re here.”

  Riley’s anger began to rise again. Roston had been manipulating her during this whole conversation.

  Riley sputtered, “Why—why didn’t you just tell me that right away?”

  “I needed to find out as much as I could,” Roston said in a flat voice.

  “Why?” Riley asked. “Do you suspect me of murder?”

  Roston didn’t reply.

  No, Riley thought. It’s not me she suspects.

  Riley knew that Jennifer Roston also suspected Shane Hatcher. But she wouldn’t want to say that yet. Riley had never told anyone that Hatcher had even been to the cabin. But Roston had taken bits and pieces of information and put them together with her own observations of Riley’s subtle evasions. And now Roston was dangerously close to connecting the dots in this awful picture.

  “How did it happen?” Riley asked.

  Roston leaned across the table toward Riley.

  She said, “Shirley Redding was scheduled to meet a prospective buyer at the cabin early this morning. When the buyer got there, he saw her car but couldn’t find Redding. He walked around a bit and spotted the body in a rocky gully not far from the house. He called the local sheriff, who called us.”

  A silence fell between Riley and the younger agent.

  Then Roston said, “I’ve got to consider the possibility of murder. I need to you to tell me whatever you can to help me put all this together.”

  Riley felt ready to explode from a whole range of emotions—anxiety, fear, and shame.

  Right now the strongest emotion she felt was anger.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Riley said through clenched teeth.

  “Are you sure?” Roston asked.

  Riley rose to her feet.

  “Don’t play games with me, Agent Roston,” she said. “From now on, I expect you to be direct and open with me. No manipulation, no deceptions, no trying to play with my mind. Do you have any questions for me? Any specific questions? If so, come out with it.”

  Roston stared at her for a moment.

  Then she said, “Who murdered Shirley Redding?”

  Riley fought down a last impulse to tell the truth.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know if she was murdered. And neither do you. Do you have any other questions?”

  Roston just stared at her, saying nothing.

  “All right then,” Riley said.

  Riley turned and left the room. She headed out of the building, struggling to bring her nerves under control. She knew where she needed to go next.

  *

  It was a three-and-a half-hour drive from Quantico to the cabin that Riley had inherited from her father. The trip up into the Appalachian Mountains gave her some time alone to slow down her racing emotions and think things through.

  She kept turning the question over in her mind …

  What did Roston actually know?

  Did she know that Shane Hatcher had been living in the cabin?

  Riley couldn’t imagine how.

  Nevertheless, it seemed that the young agent’s instincts were telling her that Shirley Redding’s death probably wasn’t an accident. And if it was murder, a killer had to be at the cabin. Roston’s suspicions had led her to think that it could be Hatcher.

  Pretty good instincts, Riley thought with dismay. She’ll make a first-class BAU agent.

  Riley kept trying to hope that the young agent was wrong—that Shirley’s death had been an accident, pure and simple. And as angry as Riley felt about Roston’s manipulations, she couldn’t really blame her. She was acting exactly like Riley herself might under similar circumstances.

  Riley sighed. She wished she could simply admire Roston for her work.

  She also wished she hadn’t left the meeting room so hastily. Many things now puzzled her, and now she felt that she should have asked questions of her own.

  She remembered something Roston had said …

  “I’ve got to consider the possibility of murder.”

  Riley wondered—was there any real reason for considering that possibility? And was Roston the only one thinking along those lines?

  What about the local police? The sheriff had called the FBI to report Shirley Redding’s death. Why had he considered it an FBI matter?

  Even if the sheriff thought that the death had been murder, wasn’t it odd that he had immediately called the FBI?

  That was hardly standard procedure.

  And if a full-scale investigation was in the works, where would it lead?

  Steady, Riley told herself. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.

  Anyway, as of now, Riley felt sure that Roston had no proof about Riley’s actual relationship with Hatcher.

  And Riley knew that she had to keep it that way.

  Riley drove through the little Appalachian town of Milladore, then up into the surrounding mountains. After a few miles, she turned off onto a winding dirt road. At the end of the road was her father’s cabin—a small wooden structure that was normally out of sight from the outside world.

  But Riley saw right away that the world had encroached here today. Three police vehicles were crammed into the small open area in front of the cabin. Riley knew one thing for certain—the police had not found Shane Hatcher here. He was surely long gone by now, hiding God only knew where.

  As Riley parked, a big medical examiner’s vehicle pulled out and drove away. Riley guessed that Shirley Redding’s body was inside. A local cop greeted Riley as she got out of her car.

  She showed her badge and introduced herself.

  The cop looked a bit surprised that an FBI agent had shown up.

  “Show me where it happened,” Riley told him.

  The cop led Riley down a path that led away from the house. As they walked, Riley studied the ground carefully. She could see one set of footprints from a woman’s shoes in the soft earth. Of course, Riley knew better than to expect to also see Hatcher’s footprints. He was far too skillful and
cunning to leave any trace of himself.

  At the end of the path was a steep gully, where several cops were at work. The cop who had met Riley introduced her to the sheriff, whose name was Ben Garland. He was late middle-aged and considerably overweight, and he was chewing a plug of tobacco.

  He shook hands with Riley.

  “Glad you could make it,” he said. “Sorry about the circumstances, though.”

  “Why did you contact the FBI?” Riley said.

  Sheriff Garland shrugged.

  “Well, I knew your dad. At least a little. He used to hang around the VFW down the mountain in Milladore, back before he got banned from the place for making trouble. I’m a Desert Storm vet myself, and we had a few drinks together.”

  Garland chewed his tobacco a bit, as if ruminating over the memory.

  “He wasn’t a great talker, your dad,” he said. “But he did mention you from time to time, said you’d made a decent career for yourself at the FBI.”

  Those words caught Riley’s attention—“a decent career.”

  Riley’s father had never once in her life told her that he was proud of her, much less that he loved her. She could imagine him over drinks at the VFW mumbling about Riley’s “decent career.” It was probably as close as he’d ever gotten to bragging about her.

  “Anyway,” Garland continued, “I knew this place belonged to him, and figured you must be the next of kin. I didn’t know how to reach you directly, so I put in a call to the FBI.”

  The situation was becoming clearer to Riley. The sheriff hadn’t put in the call because he considered this an FBI case. It had been purely to get in touch with Riley—and Jennifer Roston had intercepted the communication and confronted her with it.

  But Riley still didn’t know whether Garland believed Shirley Redding to be a murder victim.

  “What can you tell me about what happened?” Riley asked.

  “Well, what have you been told so far?” Garland asked.

  “I understand that Shirley Redding came up here to show the cabin to a prospective buyer. After he arrived, he found her body down in the gully.”

  Garland nodded. Then he led Riley over to the edge of the gully. It was about a twenty-foot drop to a stream below. A couple of cops were still down there examining the big rocks along the embankment. Riley knew that sometimes more water rushed through here right after snow melted. But right now the stream was peaceful.

  Garland led Riley down a precarious path toward the stream.

  He said, “The way I figure it, she came this way trying to get down to the water. There’s watercress growing down there, so she was probably after that. But she wasn’t used to this kind of territory, and she wasn’t wearing the right shoes for it, so she tumbled headfirst.”

  “What was the cause of death?” Riley asked.

  “Well, her neck was broken,” Garland said. “Some contusions from the fall. That’s all we know of at this point. The medical examiner still has to do an autopsy. But my guess is that she died pretty much instantly.”

  Now Riley understood that the sheriff didn’t suspect foul play. But she didn’t feel relieved.

  Standing at the bottom of the gully, she could clearly imagine Shirley Redding’s crumpled body lying here, her dead eyes possibly wide open staring skyward.

  Riley felt a spasm of guilt.

  Ever since she’d talked to Agent Roston, her mind had been occupied with concerns about herself and whether her connections with Hatcher were about to catch up with her.

  Now, for the first time, she was confronted with the reality that someone had died a violent death right here.

  Shirley Redding had doubtless been a nuisance—nosy and erratic and unstable.

  But she hadn’t deserved to die like this.

  And Riley herself was at least somewhat responsible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Riley stood staring at the spot where Shirley Redding’s body had been found. She managed to suppress a shudder.

  Then she told Sheriff Garland, “Thanks for reaching out to me. I really appreciate it. I’d have had to hear the news about a death on my property without knowing anything about it.”

  “Any time,” the sheriff replied with a slight tip of his hat.

  Riley then retraced her way back out of the gully and toward her father’s cabin. The last time she’d been here, the whole area was covered with a layer of snow. Now the surrounding forest was bursting with spring life. Even so, Riley could see that little had really changed. The same pile of firewood was stacked near a tree stump.

  She walked up to the cabin and found that its front door was unlocked. That was hardly a surprise. Riley guessed that Shirley had unlocked it in preparation for showing the cabin to her clients.

  When Riley stepped inside, she was overcome with an eerie moment of déjà vu.

  Everything looked exactly the same as the last time she’d been here—the same wicker chair, the same medals hanging on the wall, the same wooden stool where her father used to sit skinning squirrels.

  Riley could swear that nothing had been moved the slightest bit.

  Hatcher had managed to spend his time here without changing anything, without leaving any hint of his presence.

  Riley shuddered at her memory of the last time she’d been here, shortly after her father’s death.

  She’d found Hatcher standing outside the cabin—a most unwelcome guest. He had come inside and sat right there, on that wooden stool.

  But now it was as if Hatcher had never been here at all. It was as if none of that had ever happened.

  For a few moments she tried to convince herself …

  Maybe it didn’t happen. Not the worst of it, anyway.

  After all, how could even she know for sure that Shirley Redding had been murdered?

  Wasn’t it possible that Sheriff Garland’s scenario was entirely correct—that the woman had stumbled and fallen while climbing down into the gully to get some watercress?

  Riley sighed with despair.

  Yes, it was possible. But her every instinct told her that Hatcher had murdered Shirley.

  And her instincts were very seldom wrong.

  Riley went outside and got into her car and began the long drive home.

  *

  Riley arrived home in time for one of Gabriela’s typically delicious dinners. But the mood at the table was uncomfortable. Jilly was perfectly pleasant, and chattered about yesterday’s volleyball practice. Gabriela asked Jilly questions about the game and about her homework.

  But April was sullen and nearly silent. She barely looked at Riley at all.

  April was obviously still angry about yesterday. Although Riley had rescued April’s boyfriend, she had refused to let Liam come and stay with them.

  Riley sighed. It seemed that she could never do enough, could never get everything right. She approached the topic gingerly.

  “Have you talked with Liam?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” April said, poking at her food with a fork.

  “Is he OK?” Riley asked.

  “Yeah.”

  An unpleasant silence followed. Jilly and Gabriela looked on with quiet concern.

  Riley asked, “Has Liam contacted anybody, like Child Protective Services?”

  “No,” April said.

  “Why not?”

  April groaned with irritation.

  “Because he says everything’s all right now. His dad says he’s sorry. He says he’s never going to drink again.”

  Riley didn’t know what to say. Of course she knew that this was an all-too-common pattern in abusive families. Liam’s father couldn’t be counted on to keep his word. But now was no time for Riley to change her mind. Letting Liam stay here would be complicated and might even involve legal issues.

  After another silence, April said, “I don’t feel like eating anymore. Could I be excused from the table?”

  “OK,” Riley said.

  April got up and went upstairs to her room.
>
  Riley, Jilly, and Gabriela ate in silence for a few moments.

  Finally, Jilly said, “You’re right, Mom. April told me what happened yesterday, and you made the right call about Liam. It wouldn’t do any good having him stay here. It would only make things worse. He’s got to deal with his own problems. April just doesn’t get it. But I do.”

  Riley felt a lump in her throat.

  “Thanks for saying that, Jilly,” she said.

  Jilly shrugged.

  “You made the right call,” she repeated. “You did the right thing.”

  Then Gabriela said to Jilly, “Maybe you should talk with April about all this. Maybe you can get her to understand.”

  Jilly nodded.

  “I’ll go talk to her after dinner,” she said.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence, but peacefully. Riley felt grateful for Jilly’s understanding and Gabriela’s good sense. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling miserable. She couldn’t shake off her sense of responsibility about Shirley Redding’s terrible death. And now she felt useless to her own family.

  Jilly and Gabriela handle things better than I do, she thought.

  What was the point in her even coming home?

  *

  Later that evening, when the girls had gone to bed and Gabriela had gone downstairs for the night, Riley opened the kitchen cabinet where she kept a bottle of bourbon. She poured herself a large glass, then carried the glass and the bottle to the living room.

  She sat down on the couch and took a long sip of the bourbon. The burning sensation was comforting as she swallowed. Rationally, she knew that drinking probably wasn’t a good idea. But she could feel a familiar despair setting in. How else could she numb herself against it?

  Her mind was crowded with awful thoughts.

  She could see the gully with green watercress in the flowing stream. In her mind, red blood rippled through the green. Then she saw Shirley Redding’s body, her dead eyes open and following wherever Riley went.

  Riley thought that if only she had gone about things differently.

  If only she’d done more research about Shirley and found out how erratic she was, she’d never have hired her.