Sometime in the middle of the night, a hellacious bolt of lightning lit the room followed by a roll of thunder so loud it shook the inn. It startled me awake.
“Here comes the storm,” Gabe mumbled. “Juliette said there are emergency flashlights, candles, and matches in the bedside table drawers. I guess losing power is a pretty common occurrence.”
It was the most frightening storm I’d ever witnessed in my life. The lightning was so intense it made me flinch, and the roaring thunder made me nestle tighter against Gabe. There was no way in hell I could sleep through a severe storm of that magnitude, so I just held onto him for dear life and prayed it would end soon. The electricity did go out which made it more uncomfortable in our room without the air-conditioning and ceiling fan circulating above us.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said to Gabe as he tried to shimmy away from my body heat.
“I was just going to open the balcony doors to let some fresh air in.”
“Okay, but come right back.”
Gabe stopped and headed back to the bed long before he reached the balcony doors. “The rain is too strong and blowing in this direction.”
“Damn.”
Gabe returned to our bed and kicked the blankets to our feet before pulling me into his arms. It took forever for the storm to wind down and move past us. “Now we can get some fresh air,” my husband said.
Gabe climbed out of bed and opened the balcony doors. The breeze felt incredible, and it carried harmonious, singing voices into our room. I sat up quickly, prepared to go out on the balcony so I could hear them better, but a blood-curdling scream sliced through the serene moment.
I reached for my phone on the bedside table to see what time it was. “Surely they’re not starting the murder mystery at five after two in the morning.”
“I don’t think the scream was part of an act, Sunshine,” Gabe said, walking quickly to his discarded clothes on the floor.
“All of these people are probably paid actors,” I grumbled as I got dressed too. “There better be a real dead body down there and some seriously strong coffee.”
“Damn,” Gabe said. “I don’t have any cell phone service.”
I looked at my phone and saw “no service” in the upper left corner. “Me either.”
“I bet the landlines are down too.”
We grabbed the flashlights from the bedside table and headed out into the hallway at the same time as everyone else who looked as exhausted and shocked as we felt. The only two people missing were Petal and Georgia. Another scream rang out into the night, making most of us jump in alarm.
“Damn that woman,” George said, looking and sounding none too concerned. “What’s wrong? Did they cut Georgia off at the bar?”
I didn’t care what George said. Her anguish wasn’t a result of being denied a drink. If Georgia was accounted for, then where was Petal?
“WHERE’S BRITTANY…I MEAN Petal?” Henry abruptly asked as if he’d just taken a headcount and realized his lover was missing.
“Everyone go back to your rooms,” I said firmly. “I’ll go down and help Georgia. Do not come down these stairs unless I tell you to.”
“I’m coming with you,” Henry said. “She’s my—”
“I need you to stay here, Henry.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Josh said, stepping up beside Henry and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Go on downstairs, Gabe. We’ll be fine.”
I aimed my flashlight in front of me and jogged down the stairs. I could hear muffled conversation up above but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the pounding of my heart. I was just glad they were listening.
“Help! Somebody help her!” Georgia wailed pitifully from somewhere on the main floor. “No. No. No. No. No,” she kept saying over and over again. Following the sound of her anguished voice, I had a strong suspicion help would arrive too late for Petal, aka Brittany. I also wished I had my gun with me.
Georgia’s grief-stricken voice was joined by two others I recognized. When I entered what appeared to be a library, Georgia was kneeling in the center of the room with Geneva and Juliette on either side of her. It appeared that the women were trying to console her. They either hastily set their flashlights on the floor or dropped them because the three beams of light were aimed in opposite directions.
“We need to call the police,” Geneva said to Juliette over Georgia’s head.
“Landlines are down,” Juliette replied. “I can’t get cell service either.”
“Neither can I,” I added. All three women jumped to their feet and screamed in fright.
“Whoa,” I said calmly, aiming the flashlight away from their frightened faces so I wouldn’t blind them. “It’s me, Gabe.”
“Go back upstairs,” Geneva said. “You don’t need to see this.”
“Geneva, I’m not a professor; I’m the police captain for the Blissville Police Department. What’s happened?”
Juliette picked up the flashlights and handed one to Geneva before guiding a sobbing Georgia over to the sofa. Once they moved away, I got my first look at Brittany. Her blue eyes and painted mouth both registered the shock and horror she’d felt in her final moments. Her still, petite body was draped in a silvery silk gown marred with blood from stab wounds caused by the knife lying on the floor beside her in a pool of blood. I counted five bloody gashes in her gown. I wouldn’t know if there were more on her back unless I rolled her over which I was not authorized to do.
“Have any of you touched the body?” I asked.
Geneva shook her head. “Juliette and I just arrived seconds before you did. We heard the screaming in our room and came to see what happened.”
“Geneva, will you go to the kitchen and see if you can find a pair of latex gloves for me?” I’d seen plenty of chefs wear gloves similar to those I wore at crime scenes. I hoped Pierre kept a stash in his kitchen. “Are there any other employees on site we can send for help? We need to get the sheriff’s department here as soon as possible.” I could estimate the time of death based on the stage of rigor mortis, but the coroner would be able to determine a more exact window of time.
“Sure, Gabe,” Geneva said, sounding relieved to have something helpful to do. Some people responded well in a crisis, and it appeared both Geneva and Juliette had the gift. “I’ll be right back.”
Until she came back with the gloves, I stayed away from the body. I shined my flashlight around the room looking for signs of a struggle or evidence left behind. I noticed a set of French doors were hanging wide open and the wood floor in front of them was wet.
I cautiously approached in my bare feet, hoping to see if there were footprints in the moisture on the floor I could at least photograph, but there were none. There were no other obvious clues I could see in the dark. None of the books or knickknacks on the shelf appeared disturbed, and none of the furniture was knocked over to indicate a struggle had ensued.
I quickly made my way over to Georgia and knelt in front of her. “Georgia, I know you’ve suffered a terrible shock, but I need you to tell me what brought you downstairs and everything you saw when you entered this room.”
Georgia rubbed her face to wipe the tears, but they kept coming. I wanted to tell her to take her time, but we had a killer among us. I whispered encouraging words to her, hoping it would help calm her down a bit. She tried talking to me but only sobs escaped every time she opened her mouth.
“Here, Gabe,” Geneva said, rushing back into the room. “Will these gloves work?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“I need you to guard the door like your son guarded the basket during his career. No one else comes in here until the sheriff arrives. After I’m done talking to Georgia, I will send her up to her room.”
“Should I go talk to the others? Surely they’ve heard the commotion and realize something tragic has happened.”
Josh. One of the people
upstairs with him could be the killer. I wanted—needed—to see for myself he was safe, but I trusted him to be smart and take care of himself. I couldn’t leave the body unattended until help arrived.
“You can tell them there’s been an accident and they need to stay in their rooms until they’re told otherwise. And, Geneva, is there anyone here who can leave to go get the sheriff?” I asked. “Another employee who lives on site perhaps?”
“We have several employees who live in the converted carriage house. I have no way of calling them with the phones down.”
“I can get dressed and drive to the sheriff’s department,” Juliette said. “Geneva and I are the only ones who have easy access to cars because everyone else’s, including the guests, are parked in the lot behind the barns.”
“Honey, you be careful,” Geneva said. “You’ll be driving toward the wicked storm that just passed through.”
“I’ll be fine,” Juliette said, rising from the couch. She crossed to Geneva and embraced her tight. “I’ll be back with help as soon as I can.”
The exchange between the two women seemed to take Georgia’s mind off her tragedy long enough for me to position myself in front of her so she couldn’t see Petal’s body.
“Let’s try this again,” I said softly. Georgia tried to lean around and look behind me, but I stopped her by gently placing my hands on her biceps. “Look at me, Georgia. Petal is gone, so we need to focus our energy on finding out who killed her.”
Georgia focused her eyes on me. “Brittany,” she said softly. “Her name is—” Her words broke off on a choked sob. “Her name was Brittany Blake.”
“Georgia, tell me everything you remember, starting with what time you went upstairs, why you went up early, and what happened afterward.”
She told me they had no interest in playing silly games and getting to know anyone. She thought it was half past eight when they went upstairs to their rooms. “We were all getting along so well if you know what I mean.” I nodded for her to continue. “I had battled a nasty headache all day, and I don’t sleep very well away from home. I took a sleeping pill at around ten o’clock. Brittany was lying in bed with me while the men played poker in the other room.”
“How do you know what time it was?” I asked.
“Channel Four news was on, and their broadcast is always an hour earlier than the other local stations,” Georgia replied. “I woke up at some point during the storm. I noticed George was sleeping soundly beside me instead of Brittany. When I looked in her room, only Henry was in their bed.”
“What made you go to her room?” I asked. I thought it was kind of strange.
“I wanted to make sure she was okay because she’s terrified of storms. She can’t sleep through them and tremors like a Chihuahua. Brittany likes to distract herself with television, but I quickly realized the power was out, so I thought she might’ve wandered down here to the library to get a book to read.”
“Do you recall if the French doors were already open when you came in?” I suspected they were since there were no signs of footprints in the water droplets on the floor.
“I did notice they were open because I saw the faint flashes of lightning from the storm that moved past and I saw Brittany’s body lying in the shaft of moonlight coming through them. I-I saw all the blood and the knife beside her and screamed.”
“You didn’t hear any other sounds in the house when you came downstairs? No movement anywhere?”
“None,” Georgia said then sniffled. “Who would want to do this to her?”
A certain brother and sister duo came to mind, but I shoved the thoughts aside. I could worry about interviewing suspects later. Wait. This wasn’t my jurisdiction. My responsibility was to secure the crime scene and make sure no one left. Whichever deputy arrived on the scene would handle the interviews. I would state the facts as I knew them and not interfere with their investigation.
“Georgia, why don’t you go upstairs and be with your husband and friend right now.”
“Do I tell them what happened to Brittany?”
“It’s not possible to keep it a secret, and they’d rather hear it from you than a virtual stranger. Please don’t share any details about how she died and ask them to stay upstairs until law enforcement arrives.”
Georgia appeared to have aged at least fifteen years since the last time I saw her, but it happens when you stumble across your murdered lover slash friend in the middle of the night. She was wobbly on her feet when I helped her stand, and I was concerned she would hurt herself trying to get back upstairs.
“Let me help you, Miss Georgia,” Geneva said, reentering the room. “Henry is sitting with Josh right now. He knows something is wrong, but I was afraid to say too much.”
“Thank you, Geneva,” Georgia weakly replied.
After the ladies left, I returned to the body in the middle of the room. I was careful to avoid the pool of blood when I knelt by the body and slipped on the gloves Geneva brought me. I was glad I’d stuck my phone in my rear pocket out of habit because I was able to take pictures for evidence. I set the flashlight on the floor beside me, aiming it at the body, and picked up Brittany’s right hand. I noticed three things: her wrists were loose, so rigor mortis hadn’t started yet, there were no signs of defensive wounds, and there didn’t appear to be signs of foreign fibers or DNA from her assailant. I photographed her right hand to show those things then moved around to do the same with her left hand. Whoever attacked Brittany caught her by complete surprise, and it was within the last three hours. Rigor set in after three hours and lasted up to thirty-six hours. I checked the time on my phone. The time of death occurred sometime after eleven thirty.
Stabbing deaths were almost always personal, and I doubted this homicide was an exception, especially after the animosity I witnessed this week. I turned my attention to the knife itself but didn’t touch it. I recognized it as a brand Josh drooled over but refused to buy. I couldn’t understand why until I googled them and saw the price. Only professional chefs or extremely wealthy people would drop more than a thousand dollars for a set of knives. This wasn’t the kind of knife you packed around with you to kill someone; it was the kind you grabbed because it was handy.
I photographed the knife so we…they…could verify it came out of Tarlington House’s kitchen. An agonized male scream echoed through the house followed by the pounding of feet on the stairs. There was nothing else I could do in the library in the dark, so I quickly ran to the library door just in time to prevent Henry from entering the room.
“Let me see her,” he shouted. “I need to see her. Brittany!”
I muscled him out of the doorway and shut the door closed behind me, blocking her prone body from his view. “Henry, you do not want to go in there right now.”
“Yes, I do. Get out of my way.”
He tried to wrestle past me, but I was able to get him in a hold until he stopped fighting me. “Calm down, Henry. I can’t let you go in there. I don’t want you to see her like that, and I need to keep the scene as clean as possible for the cops.”
Henry went from trying to resist to clinging to me. “She can’t be gone. I won’t believe it.”
“Go back upstairs, Henry. George and Georgia need you, and you need them too.” I couldn’t begin to understand the relationship they all shared, but it was obvious there was genuine affection between the two couples. “Avoid talking to the other couples; the last thing an investigation needs is for all of you to start comparing stories and mixing up facts. I would pack a few essential items because there is absolutely no way they’re going to allow us to stay on site while they investigate a homicide.”
“She’s gone?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but she is.”
Henry nodded slowly then turned and went back upstairs, leaving just Geneva and me downstairs.
Once it was quiet, Geneva started to shake. “I can’t believe this has happened, Gabe.”
I put my arm around the older wo
man and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Geneva. I know it’s a terrible shock. Would you mind going upstairs to sit with my husband?”
“Of course.”
I hoped like hell it wouldn’t take long for the cavalry to arrive, but it took three hours. There were downed trees on county roads which delayed Juliette getting to the sheriff’s department. I identified myself to Detectives Holbrook and Bernard from the sheriff’s department when they arrived and showed them my business card. My badge was locked in the glove box of the minivan, but they assured me they didn’t need it. Luckily, the power and phone services were restored not long after they arrived. They were chilly toward me at first but warmed up after a quick call to the Blissville PD confirmed that I was indeed one of the boys in blue. It didn’t matter to them that I was from a different state or that I was a small-town cop instead of a deputy sheriff; we wanted the same thing—to catch Brittany’s killer. Had I been a federal cop, they might not have been as friendly.
I recalled for them the events from my perspective and emailed them the crime scene photos before permanently deleting them from my phone. As I suspected, we were permitted to pack a few essentials, and our bags were searched before they loaded us into a van and took us to the sheriff’s department to conduct interviews. Afterward, we would be permitted to stay at the nearest hotel until we were allowed to leave the area.
I was just happy to know my husband was safe and away from danger. I planned to use my influence to ensure he stayed that way.
“HOW ARE YOU TODAY, Mr. Roman-Wyatt?” Detective Holden asked me. I cocked a brow in response. “It’s a silly question, I know. It just tends to break the ice.”
“Honestly, Detectives, this entire situation is surreal. Gabe brought me here for a murder mystery weekend, but I guarantee this wasn’t what he wanted.” Both of the men snickered. “I’m never letting him make vacation plans for us ever again. I will inform him of this as soon as I’m allowed to see him.” We were separated and watched like hawks when we arrived at the sheriff’s department. I understood why, but I didn’t have to like it.
Ride or Dye (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #6) Page 14