by J. M. Madden
Voila.
I was in.
The living room was neatly presented. With the exception of the large pool of dried blood staining the pink, plush carpeting, it didn’t look like anyone had died here. Aside from a sofa and two armchairs, there was a glass coffee table with magazines spread across the top and an entertainment center against the wall, flanked with shelves on both sides. The shelves contained books on the left and music CDs on the right. The CD collection included oldies like Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald. A few opera CDs and Broadway hits were thrown into the mix, as well as a deluxe edition of Bon Jovi’s greatest hits, which would have seemed like it didn’t belong if it wasn’t for the CDs being lined up in alphabetical order.
I flicked the first of two switches on the living room wall. The light came on. I flicked the second switch, expecting the fan to come on. It didn’t. I walked over to the ceiling fan, tugged on the chain. Nothing. No fan. It didn’t make sense. Wren said there had been a breeze blowing on her from the fan, but now it appeared to be broken.
I took my phone out of my pocket, dialed Will’s number. When he answered, I said, “I’m at your mother’s house.”
“You are?” he replied. “How did you get in?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I would have taken you over there myself. All you had to do was ask.”
“I didn’t know if you were up for it. I didn’t want to push you.”
I also did better when I poked around on my own. Less distractions.
“Did you know your mother’s ceiling fan was broken?” I asked.
“Yeah, that just happened.”
“How long ago?”
“A week, maybe. She asked me to come take a look at it, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Wren said the fan was going when she was here.”
“It couldn’t have been.”
“Then why did she say it was?”
“She probably assumed it was the fan because my mother always had it running, day or night, even in winter. After dinner we usually gathered in the family room, talked about what we had going that week. This last Sunday was different though. After my mother dropped the dual boyfriend and moving bombshell, we all left early.”
Where had the breeze come from then? I surveyed the room, spotting only one other possible source. There were two windows in the living room. Perhaps June had left one or both of them open before going to bed. Perhaps it was how the killer got in.
“I need to check a few things out,” I said. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
I slid the phone back into my pocket and crouched down, looking at the panes of glass, the wall, the floor, the entire area surrounding the window. If the killer gained entry this way, I couldn’t tell now. It had been scrubbed clean by forensics.
I crossed in front of the bookcase again, this time noticing something I hadn’t before. One of the books was out of place. While aligned with the others, the order was wrong. Bryon, Christie, King, Keats. Keats came before King, not the other way around. From one OCD woman to another, assuming she was as persnickety as her house suggested, there was no way June would have botched the order.
I slid the infraction off the shelf. There was a small tear on the front cover of the book jacket, and it looked dented, almost like it had been warped from being left in the rain. Given the other books were in pristine condition, this seemed off. And there was something else, a dark patch about the size of a quarter in the center of the book. It looked like dried nail polish.
Or dried blood.
“Hello?” came a sound from the hallway.
The rugged male voice was a familiar one. Too familiar. I froze.
The scene had already been processed. What was he doing here again? I slid the book inside my messenger bag.
“Don’t bother actin’ like you’re not here,” he continued. “I saw your car parked in front of the neighbor’s place, and she told me you left her house twenty minutes ago.”
He poked his head around the corner, looked at me.
“Hey,” I said.
Cade’s finger was in the air, wagging like a disciplinary stick. “Are you kiddin’ me right now?”
I smiled. “Nope, not kidding.”
My weak attempt at humor fell flat.
“What if I wasn’t alone?” he scolded. “What if Shorty was with me?”
“A couple years ago, we broke into a house together. Two houses, actually. Or have you forgotten you used to bend the rules now that you’re an esteemed member of the community?”
“Things were different then. The situation was different. It wasn’t like this.”
He was right. Being here put him in a bad situation. He’d been working hard to gain the trust of his fellow officers since taking the chief’s job, and here I was threatening it. I didn’t mean to, of course. I was just doing my job, same as he was.
He tipped his head toward my messenger bag. “What’s in the bag?”
“Nothing important.”
“Why are you lyin’ to me? You know you can’t remove things from a crime scene.”
“Why not? You’re finished processing this place, aren’t you?”
“Don’t matter.”
He held out his hand. Maybe it shouldn’t have shocked me, but it did.
“Are you expecting me to hand it over to you?” I asked.
“I’d like you to.”
I pressed a hand against the bag. “No.”
“No?”
“You don’t even know what it is or why I took it.”
“Don’t matter what it is. If you took it, there’s a good reason.”
“There is, and when I’m finished, I’ll put it back.”
He stood inside the doorway, blocking me from passing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Give me the bag and I’ll let you pass.”
He’d let me pass?
Is this what life was going to be like now?
Cade’s obstinate attitude signaled the inception of what had the potential to evolve into a great divide between us. I flashed forward to a year from now, saw myself sitting in a stuffy office, taking only the safe cases, like cheating spouses and premarital background checks. Sure, I took jobs like that on occasion, when I had nothing better to do. But the gritty, tough-to-solve cases, made me tick, gave me purpose, filled my lungs with fresh air.
Without them, I’d suffocate.
I yanked the strap off my shoulder, clutched the bag with both hands, and drove it into his chest. “Here. Take it.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.
His lips curved into the kind of smile that on almost every other occasion made me weak in the knees.
Not today.
“Oh, come on, Sloane. Don’t be pissed.”
“You said you’d let me pass.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Talk to me, or lecture me? I’m your girlfriend, not your child.”
“I don’t want you to be angry.”
“Too late.”
He turned to the side. I walked past. He reached out, cupping a hand around my wrist. “Let’s talk this out.”
“Let go of me, Cade.”
“Dammit, woman. Why can’t you understand what I’m tryin’ to do here?”
“Let. Go.”
He released the hold he had on me, and I bolted, hearing the sound of his fist slam against the living room wall as I sprinted out the back door.
NINE
Recently I’d started seeing a shrink. Not often, just enough to keep the panic part out of the attack. Having my life dissected was on the top of my list of things I swore I’d never do, but as it turned out, Elodie was no average therapist. She was considerate and unassuming. Two words I never thought about when the word “therapist” came to mind.
I was angry.
And bitter.
And hurt.
Too hurt to talk about my feelings in a ra
tional way, so I didn’t make an appointment. Instead I considered what Elodie would say if I was in her office at this very moment. She’d listen, even if it meant my constant jabbering took up the entire hour. Then she’d ask a few questions to get at the real root of the problem, which, in the end, would not be about Cade but about myself and my own sensitivity about what was happening. Then I’d put myself in his place, try to see things from his point of view. Hurt and anger was a two-way street, and if I was being honest, really honest, we both had cause to feel the way we did.
Cade had never been angry with me before. Not like this. In the past, the way I handled disgruntled men was either to avoid them or run. I cared too much for Cade to do either. So I returned home, but I didn’t go in. I sat in front of the house in my car, trying to find a way past what was happening.
I believed Wren was innocent.
I also believed if I kept pursuing it, I might end up with a vacancy in the boyfriend department.
The front door opened and closed. Shelby, who had been peeking out the kitchen window every five minutes for the past half hour, walked to the passenger side of my car and got in.
“So … how’s it going?” she asked.
“It’s … going.”
“You comin’ in sometime, or …?”
“Eventually. I’m just trying to sort a few things out first.”
“Right. Well, my dad’s doing that too.”
I faced her. “How can you tell?”
“He talks to himself when he’s frustrated. He thinks I can’t hear him rambling on, but I can.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You shouldn’t have to be involved in this, in what’s going on with us.”
A tear splashed down her cheek. Embarrassed, she wiped it away.
I took her hand in mine. “Hey, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Leave? I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiled. “You’re like a mother to me, Sloane. I mean, my mother wasn’t really ever a mother, so …”
The first time I met Shelby, she’d run away from home and broken into my house after a feud she’d had with her father. Since that time, she’d gone from rebellious teen to the beginnings of what I was certain would become an outstanding young woman.
“No matter what happens between your dad and me, I will always be here for you.”
“Wait, are you guys breaking up?”
More tears.
Open mouth, insert foot.
“We’re fine, Shelby. I love your father.”
It was the first time I’d said the words aloud. Not only did it shock me, it had blown her mind too, judging by the way her eyes had expanded when she heard the words.
“Good. You two should get married.”
I laughed. “Married? Slow down. One thing at a time, okay?”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m glad you’re helping Mrs. Bancroft.”
“How do you know about that? Did your dad tell you?”
I couldn’t imagine he had, especially since it seemed like he was trying hard to keep my involvement under wraps. Telling a teenager was like telling the whole town, even if said teenager was his own daughter.
“I … uhh … may have heard him talking on the phone just now. Mrs. Bancroft isn’t a murderer. You know that, right?”
“I do. At least, I think I do. Your dad might not share my same feelings though.”
“Yeah, he does.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“He was on the phone with Hooker a few minutes ago, talking to him about some book he wanted to bring in for him to look at. He said if there was a way to prove Wren’s innocence, he wanted to make sure it happened.”
Quaid Hooker was the local coroner and a long-time friend of Cade’s. He was also the person I planned on taking the book to myself before Cade snatched it from me.
The front door opened again, and this time, Cade walked out. He pretended not to see us having a powwow in in my car and headed straight for his own vehicle. Three quarters of the way there, he changed his mind and pivoted, heading in my direction. From the short distance between us, I could see the outline of the book tucked beneath his shirt.
Nice try.
I put the window down.
He looked past me at Shelby. “I’ve got an errand. I’ll be back soon. Why don’t you order some pizzas or somethin’ so neither of you have to cook tonight?”
Shelby nodded. “Okay, Dad. Cool.”
He stuck his hand through the window, handed her a fifty-dollar bill.
“Sweet! Can I keep the change?”
“Don’t push it.”
He turned, tipping his cowboy hat to me like he was saying adios to one of his buddies, and then got in his truck and drove away.
“Well,” Shelby said. “That was weird.”
TEN
Three hours and two cold pizzas later, Cade finally returned home from his errand. Shelby had left to go to the movies with some friends, and I was sitting on the bed wearing one of Cade’s T-shirts with my hair wrapped in a towel, Googling the address of the man Wren said June had been secretly dating. Cade entered the room, and we stared at each other, neither one of us willing to break the impenetrable sound barrier and be the first one to speak.
I’d spent the last hour rehearsing all the things I wanted to say, but now, seeing him in the flesh, my brain reset and all the rational, memorized commentary dissipated, like a magic eraser had scrubbed my mind. It was, at present, hollow and empty.
Cade paused for a minute at the bedroom door. He seemed to sense my inward struggle and looked as if he was trying to give me time to decide whether I was actually going to talk to him or not. When I didn’t, he crossed in front of me without saying a word. He walked into the bathroom, grabbed his towel off the rack behind the door, and turned the shower on.
I remained on the bed, vulnerable and ashamed. He was pained. It was obvious on his face. And I was the cause of it. It wasn’t the first time either.
The tough girl tucked deep within my soul screamed for me to get up, go to him.
I didn’t though.
I’d never been any good at relationship confrontation.
My phone buzzed, and I realized I’d forgotten to remove it from the bathroom after I showered. Cade had left the door partly ajar, so I reached in. Before I could snatch the phone from the counter, Cade grabbed my arm, yanking me inside the shower with him.
“What are you doing?!” I yelled.
He tossed the soggy towel on my head to the ground with one hand while lifting my sopping wet shirt off my body with the other. I opened my mouth in protest again. He closed it by pressing his lips against mine, pushing me backward until my bare flesh collided with the tile wall behind me.
“I don’t ever want what happened between us today to happen again,” he said. “You mean everything to me, Sloane. What we have is more important to me than anything else.”
I cupped his face in my hands. “It’s me who needs to apologize, not you. This is your first big case since you took the job. Everyone’s looking at you, judging you. I should have been more sensitive. I’m sorry, Cade. I’m really sorry.”
He smiled then wrapped his arms around me. “No job is worth losing you. A job is just a job. You’re my life.”
ELEVEN
Thirty minutes later, I finally understood what my friend Maddie described once as the best sex of her life. Make-up sex. In all my years, I’d never experienced it before. I’d always been too proud to simmer down enough during an argument to ever get to the fired-up, passionate part.
My phone buzzed again.
A half-asleep Cade said, “Don’t answer it.”
Earlier it had been nothing, just a message from Shelby asking me to ask Cade if she could stay the night at her friend’s house. I attempted to grab the phone. Cade coiled his arms around me, making it imposs
ible for me to reach.
“No one calls me this late unless it’s important,” I said. “What if it’s Shelby?”
He released me. I glanced at the name lighting up my phone. Will. I answered it. Before I could get any words out, a long, screeching noise came from the opposite end of the line.
“Hello, Will?”
No words were spoken. The noise continued.
“Will, can you hear me?”
Cade sat up. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I don’t know. He won’t say anything.”
I placed the call on speaker. Tried a third time. “Will, are you there? It’s Sloane. Did you mean to call me?”
“Sloane … it’s … it’s happening again.”
The voice wasn’t Will’s. It was Wren’s.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t … I can’t …”
“Wren, take a deep breath and then tell me what’s going on.”
I listened while she exhaled then said, “Help me! I need help!”
Cade shot out of bed, pulled his jeans on.
“Wren, please. If you want me to help you, tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Will,” she cried. “He’s dead!”
TWELVE
I sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, absorbing what Wren had just told me. Cade slid his boots on and nudged my shoulder.
“Hey, get dressed,” he said, “and let’s get over there.”
He was taking me with him. I didn’t question it. I got up, got ready to go. He made a couple calls, and within five minutes, several of us were en route. The first to arrive, we entered the house, finding Wren covered in blood, sitting on the kitchen floor, cradling Will in her arms, their faces pressed together. She was sobbing.
I glanced around. What I assumed to be Will’s blood was smeared everywhere—on the wood floor, the cabinets, the leg of a chair tipped on its side. Even on the cell phone resting on the floor next to her.
“Wren,” Cade said, “can you tell us what happened here tonight?”