by Lauren Carr
Through the window, Cameron saw a slender blonde in a purple leotard with a matching wrap-around skirt step into the waiting room.
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Elizabeth gestured at the sign above the door. “We opened in August and some classes are already full.”
The blonde threw open the door. “Tracy Thornton, are you causing trouble again?”
“It’s Tracy Gardner now.” Tracy took her into a hug. She introduced them to Cameron. “Maddie, what happened to Broadway?”
“Oh, New York is such a jungle,” Madison said while bouncing on the balls of her feet, which were bare. “Back stabbing. Dog eat dog. I decided I’d rather be a big fish in a small pond. So I came back here. You?”
“Tracy owns Prime Event Catering,” Cameron said with pride.
“That’s you? One of my parents used your catering for her daughter’s wedding. She recommended you for our year-end recital in May. Do you have a business card?”
Always prepared to promote her business, Tracy whipped out a card from her phone case. “But you need to get booked right away. My schedule is quite busy.”
Madison handed the business card to Elizabeth. “Be sure to put this in the recital folder. Don’t let me forget to call her early next week.”
Elizabeth took the card and noted the reminder. “I can get the next class started with warm-ups if you want to catch up with Tracy for a minute.”
Madison’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth dropped open before she shook her head. “No, I’m coming in right now.”
“Would you like me to run to the store for some aspirin after you start the next class?”
“That’s okay. I’ll tough it out,”
As Elizabeth ran inside, Madison rubbed her temple. “I woke up with an awful migraine this morning.”
Cameron nodded her head. “I can’t imagine anything worse than trying to teach dance to a class filled with children with a migraine.”
“If I learned anything in New York, it was how to tough things out.”
Seeing Izzy step out of the bridal shop to check on them, Cameron urged Tracy to say good-bye to her friend.
“How’s J.J.?” Madison asked before they could step away.
“He’s fine,” Tracy said a low laugh. “As a matter of fact, we’re here to pick out a bridal gown for his fiancé. He’s getting married the last weekend of March.”
Madison’s face fell with disappointment. “Well, tell him I said hi.” She went back into the studio.
“I take it she’s one of J.J.’s old flames,” Cameron said while they hurried back to the bridal shop.
“They dated off and on for about a year when we were in high school,” Tracy said with a roll of her eyes.
They found the bridal shop’s manager shaking her head at Poppy, who looked dejected.
“They don’t have her gown,” Izzy told Cameron and Tracy with a frown.
Taking note of the wall-to-wall dresses and gowns around them, Cameron asked, “Have they looked?”
“She should have ordered it two months ago for a March wedding,” the manager said.
“What do you have?” Cameron asked.
“Nothing with gold lace,” the manager snapped. “Nothing like what she is describing.”
“Gold lace?” Cameron turned to Poppy.
“It’s a mermaid gown, but has a huge detachable train,” Poppy said. “It’s my dream gown.”
“Every woman has a dream gown,” the manager said. “The thing is, when it comes to ordering their gown, they have to come back to reality.”
“No.” Poppy shook her head. “Ever since J.J. and I have gotten engaged I’ve been dreaming about my wedding. I can see everything like I’m there. It’s always the same gown—one of a kind.”
“Custom designed.” The manager folded her arms across her chest. “That’s impossible.”
“Don’t you have some puppies you need to go kick?” Cameron asked.
With a huff, the manager stormed away to find a more reasonable bride-to-be to deal with.
“Is it always the same gown that you dream about?” Izzy asked.
“Always,” Poppy said. “Look, I’m not a big dream person, but this dream is so real. It’s like I’m there. And before I go down the aisle, I look in the mirror—and I’ve never felt so beautiful before—I feel like a princess—there’s this woman behind me in the mirror. In my dream, I know her. And I feel …” Tears came to her eyes. “I feel like she’s my mother.” She wiped a tear away. “But she’s not. No way.”
Cameron felt her heart skip.
They were Poppy’s family. Before the Thorntons, Poppy had no one—except her Appaloosa horse Gulliver. Poppy’s father had gone missing when she was a child and was presumed dead. Her stepfather had raped Poppy when she was a teenager. Poppy’s mother disowned her after she killed her abuser in self-defense.
Since then, Poppy had been on her own—traveling across the country—just her and Gulliver—until she happened onto Russell Ridge, where J.J. hired her to breed and train his champion quarter horses.
“What does this woman look like?” Cameron asked.
“Long blond hair,” Poppy said. “Blue eyes. Very pretty. She blows me a kiss before I go down the aisle … to marry J.J.”
“Well, if that’s the gown you’re meant to wear, then we’re going to keep on looking until we find it.” Izzy pushed herself out of her seat.
Cameron felt her cell phone vibrate on her hip. While the bride-to-be and bridesmaids continued talking, she pulled the phone from its case. The caller ID read “Tony.”
“Maybe Jessica can help,” Tracy said in reference to her sister-in-law. An heiress, Jessica was married to Murphy, J.J.’s identical twin brother. “She knows loads of fashion designers. Maybe she’ll know who designed that gown. Maybe you saw it in a magazine—”
Poppy was shaking her head. “No, I dreamed about it before I even looked at any bridal magazines.” She clenched her fists. “I have to find it. It’s important that I wear that gown.”
“Then let’s keep looking,” Izzy said. “There’s more than one bridal shop around. You’re only getting married once. If that gown is the one you’re meant to wear, then darn tootin’ we’re gonna find it. Right, Cam?”
They turned around to find that Cameron had slipped outside onto the sidewalk.
“They got a hit on the guy’s fingerprints,” Tony told Cameron. “He was a vice president at the nuclear power plant in Shippingport. His fingerprints were taken for his security clearance. Name is John Davis. Fifty-three years old. Lives in Chester with a wife, Kathleen Davis. Has four kids.”
“John Davis from Chester, West Virginia,” Cameron repeated as Tracy led Izzy and Poppy from the shop.
“John Davis?” Tracy asked. “What about him?”
Tony was still talking in Cameron’s other ear. “Looks like he was dead before the fire. There was no smoke in his lungs. Vivian found stab wounds. She counted thirty-two times to the neck and chest. He had defensive wounds to his hands and arms, too.”
“Stabbed thirty-two times,” Cameron noted. “Defensive wounds. That points to a crime of passion and someone he knew.” She told Tony to text her the address and she’d meet him there before disconnecting the call. “Do you know him?”
“Sure,” Tracy said. “We know his family. He’s a bigwig at the nuclear power plant. He travels a lot, so I don’t know him that well. But, Kathleen Davis, his wife, is president of the Chamber of Commerce. She’s the director of human resources at Mountaineer. I went to school with Heather, their daughter.” Cringing, she looked at Poppy out of the corner of her eye. “J.J. dated her off and on for about a year.”
“I thought Murphy was the Romeo twin,” Cameron said.
“J.J. had his moments,” Tracy said. “What about Heather’s dad?”
“He’
s the murder victim whose case I caught this morning. I need to go tell the family.”
Tracy reached into her purse. “Dad should go with you.”
“Is that my phone or yours?” Joshua crooked his neck to look under his armpit down to his coat hanging on a hook in the foyer.
“Yours.” Perched at the top of a second ladder, J.J. pressed the button on the nail gun to drive a nail into the new crown molding. The physical labor from renovating the house and doing chores at his horse farm had added muscles to his slender frame.
Positioned on ladders at opposite ends of the wall, the father and son wore thick jackets in the drafty house. Working almost every day on the renovations, J.J. would go for two or even three days without shaving. His auburn hair had grown shaggy to the top of his collar.
Joshua, on the other hand, had a more public career as Hancock County’s prosecuting attorney. That meant court appearances and occasional interviews with the media. He could only escape the razor on the weekends. For that reason, he kept his silver hair and ultra-short beard and mustache neatly trimmed.
The original crown molding that encompassed the ceilings in the old mansion had elaborate wood carvings. Tracy had insisted on keeping them. Unfortunately, during the two decades since the house had been abandoned, the roof had sprung leaks that resulted in whole sections of the ceilings and walls needing to be replaced.
Envisioning a gorgeous spring wedding as a huge marketing event to show off the trendy, elegant farm-to-table restaurant, Tracy had talked J.J. and Poppy into setting their wedding date to double as the grand opening.
Tracy’s proposal had been based on the mansion needing only a little “fixing-up.” It wasn’t until the siblings had committed to the venture that they discovered that their restaurant venue was a money pit. J.J. suspected this was the reason Suellen Russell, the partner who had left her estate to him, had built her home at the other end of the farm.
In the six months since forming their partnership, the Thornton men, including Tracy’s husband, had spent every weekend, and many evenings, working on restoring the Russell mansion. A new roof, plumbing, electrical.
With two months left to the big day, they were racing the clock to complete the restoration and plan an elaborate wedding. It still needed to have a commercial kitchen installed and the dining rooms decorated and furnished.
This Saturday, father and son were replacing the intricate crown molding, which had been contaminated with mold, in the rooms on the ground floor. They could hear the winter wind whistling across the farm, through the huge century old trees, and the house.
After four hours of work, they were ready for a break and some lunch. The coffee maker they had plugged into the wall and rested on a folding table was empty.
Once J.J. had secured the molding, Joshua climbed down from his ladder and fetched the phone from his coat pocket. “Maybe Tracy is calling to get our lunch order so that she can bring us some food.”
“I doubt it.” J.J. leaned back while descending his ladder to check on the position of the molding. “More likely, she’s decided to have us take out the wall between the sitting and living room to create a more open dining experience.”
With a laugh, Joshua read the caller ID. The call had been from Tracy. Rather than checking the voice mail she had left, he hit the button to return her call.
“I’m serious,” J.J. said. “She was talking about that last night. I told her, ‘That time has now past.’ She told me, ‘We’ll see about that.’”
“Hey, Dad, where are you?” Joshua could tell by the background noise that she was driving.
“J.J. and I just finished putting up your crown molding. Did you ladies pick out your dresses already?”
“No,” she said. “John Davis was murdered last night.”
“Davis? John Davis?”
“Kathleen Davis’s husband. Heather’s dad.”
“Where—”
“Cameron just got the ID. She’s on her way there. I’m taking Poppy and Izzy back to the farm and then going to their place. I thought you might want to go over, too, to help Cameron break the news.”
Joshua looked down at his stained and torn jacket. His work boots were muddy. While he wasn’t exactly presentable, he decided the Davis family wouldn’t notice under the circumstances. He was aware of J.J. watching him with a slight grin when he hung up.
“Son—”
“You have to go.” J.J. narrowed his blue eyes—identical to those of his father.
Joshua looked around the room at the work benches, tools, walls that needed painting, and hardwood floors that needed restored—and only one man left to do it all—alone.
“Hunter–”
“His shift isn’t over until five o’clock.” J.J. took a long drink of water from a thermos and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. Go.”
Joshua remembered why he was leaving while putting on his coat. “Heather Davis’s father was killed last night.”
The news hit J.J. “Are you serious? Why would anyone kill him? The guy’s a workaholic at Shippingport.”
“Cameron is the lead investigator.” Joshua zipped up his coat. “Tracy is going over to their house now to meet Cam. She thinks I should be there. I’ve worked pretty closely with Heather’s mom at the Chamber of Commerce. I might be able to help ease the news.”
“I doubt it,” J.J. said. “Finding out that your husband got whacked? That news can’t be eased.”
Chapter Three
On a hilltop overlooking the town of Chester, nestled along the Ohio River, Chester Hill sported spacious contemporary houses.
Joshua met Cameron and Tracy at the Thornton home on Rock Springs Boulevard. Leaving her SUV in the driveway, Tracy climbed into the back seat of Cameron’s cruiser, and they rode together to deliver the horrific news that would change their friends’ lives forever.
“Poor Kathleen,” Joshua said as Cameron turned out onto the road. “How long ago did Lindsay die in that car accident?” he asked Tracy.
“Three years ago. They’ve been in a nasty custody battle for Luke ever since.”
“Luke?” Cameron made a left turn to drive her cruiser up the hill to where the Davis’s white ranch-style home with black shutters rested at the end of a long twisting drive.
“Lindsay’s son,” Joshua said. “Lindsay and her husband Derek were very heavily into drugs.”
“Lindsay wrapped her car around a tree,” Tracy said. “Thank God she didn’t hit another car and take others with her.”
“Derek’s addiction is so bad that he can’t function,” Joshua said. “After Lindsay was killed, the Davises easily won temporary custody. For the last three years, they’ve been fighting for full permanent custody.”
Cameron pulled into the driveway to park next to another unmarked Pennsylvania cruiser. Tony climbed out. “How did Luke’s father feel about them taking his son away?”
“According to what I heard from the family court lawyer,” Joshua said, “he wasn’t one bit happy.”
“Unhappy enough to kill?” Cameron asked.
In the rear seat, Tracy leaned toward the back of Cameron’s seat. “Didn’t you say John Davis was stabbed?”
“Thirty-two times,” Cameron answered Tracy’s reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Derek stabbed a guy in high school.”
Tracy’s old friend, Heather, happened to be visiting her mother and nephew when she answered the call of the door chimes. Any question about why a group of friends would drop in unannounced was overtaken by Joshua’s disheveled appearance. While exchanging greetings, Heather looked him up and down.
“I was helping J.J. do some work out at the farm,” Joshua apologized while scraping the straw and mud that had collected on the bottom of his boots off on the doormat. Before he could step inside, a white furball shot from the b
edroom wing of the house.
Twenty pounds of fur and teeth clamped itself around Joshua’s leg and held on while the dog’s seven-year-old master giggled.
“Luke, I told you to keep Munster in the bedroom,” Heather told the little boy, who delighted in the sight of Joshua trying to shake the little dog off his leg.
Having concluded that he liked Joshua, Munster opted to stop biting and proceeded to hump his leg instead. Heather joined Cameron and Tracy in trying to peel the dog off Joshua. Unhappy about his offer of love being rejected, the little dog snarled and growled while Heather held him tucked under her arm.
Amused, Tony offered no aid. Instead, he stood laughing at the scene.
“A man is being attacked and all you can do is stand there and laugh?” Cameron asked him.
“You have to admit it was funny.”
“Well, if it’s so funny—” Cameron snatched the dog out of Heather’s arms and tossed him in Tony’s direction.
Seemingly in midair, Munster latched onto the detective’s leg. While Tony fought to disengage the dog, Luke rolled on the floor with laughter. After his aunt detached the dog, she thrust him into Luke’s arms and ordered him to take the dog back to his room and close the door.
“Sorry,” Heather said. “Luke was begging for a dog and Dad just brought him home one day. Didn’t even talk to Mom about it. That little monster has been a terror since day one. That’s why we call him Munster.” With a grimace, she rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I woke up this morning with an awful headache.” She took a bottle of aspirin from her jacket pocket.” Mom’s on the phone.”
They exchanged glances filled with sympathy.
“Is there anything we can do—” Tracy offered. “You do look a little pale.”
“Oh, it’s just a sinus headache.” Heather picked up a bottle of water from the coffee table. “I was getting an aspirin when I saw your SUV outside.” She called into the study, located off the living room. “Mom, Mr. Thornton is here to see you.” She turned to Tracy. “What’s this about?”