by J. C. Kenney
“Probably just kids causing trouble, but the chief wants to send a message that we won’t put up with stuff like this.” Jeanette tipped her cap to us. “See you around.”
After Sloane and I finished, we took a circuitous route back to my apartment. I wanted to tease her that she needed the longer route to work off the calories she’d ingested, but I couldn’t. It was too perfect a day to be snarky.
Besides, as a professional trail runner, Sloane was in top physical condition and burned through calories like an airplane burned through jet fuel. Some extra sugar and carbs from time to time never seemed to hurt her race performances.
Instead, we went over the game plan for Sloane’s move. As we talked, she held out her left hand so the half-carat solitaire engagement ring could catch the sunlight.
“At times, I still can’t believe we’re getting married.” Her goofy grin warmed my heart. She’d had a crush on my brother since we were kids, but it wasn’t until the last year that their relationship had gotten serious.
“And I can’t believe Luke had it in him to come up with such an amazing ring.”
“I know, right? Your bro is full of surprises.”
“And we’ll stop right there before we get into TMI territory.” We exchanged a high five. Thanks to years of practice, we made perfect contact without even looking at each other.
As we parted ways a little while later, I took some time to soak in my idyllic surroundings and incredible luck. I’d made a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave the literary agency I had been working for in New York to come home. The decision was working out better than I could have ever dreamed.
I had family and friends close by. I was my own boss, with a book on the best-seller lists. I even had a boyfriend, even if we only saw each other on weekends. As I unlocked the door to my apartment and got back to work, I had a feeling some exciting things were in my future. I couldn’t wait to find out what they were.
Chapter Two
By the time my head hit the pillow that night, I’d finished edits on the thriller manuscript and sent it to my client with my comments. The manuscript would sell quickly, in days rather than weeks or months, so I couldn’t wait to get it back with her final edits. I’d also spent the afternoon on the phone with editors at various publishing houses who were reading manuscripts I’d submitted.
I actually woke up before my alarm went off Friday morning, so, after a breakfast of mixed fruit and an English muffin, I put on my walking shoes and grabbed Ursi’s collar. “How about a trip to the park, missy?”
Ursi looked up from her food bowl, licked a paw, and trotted to the front door.
All righty, then.
Winchester-Cobb Memorial Park wasn’t a park. Yet. It was a fifteen-acre parcel of land that had been part of Thornwell’s one-hundred-twenty-acre estate. Sloane inherited the property and donated the fifteen acres to the City of Rushing Creek so it could be developed into a park. She made a single request when she donated the land and the funds to build and maintain it.
She asked for the park to be named after her father and my father.
The city graciously accepted the donation and assembled a steering committee to oversee design and construction of the park. Mayor Cannon asked me to serve as the committee chair. It was a kind offer I couldn’t refuse and was the first step in rebuilding the fractured relationship between us.
As steering committee chair, it was my job to serve as the liaison between the city parks department, which was overseeing day-to-day construction, and the community at large. Given that the park was being named in part after my father, who’d been my hero and mentor, I took the role seriously and visited the park at least once and often twice a week.
My visits typically consisted of saying hi to whoever was working on the site that day and making sure we were on schedule. I jotted down notes so I could report back to the committee on progress and any issues that might have arisen since the last meeting. I also took pictures and posted them on social media. I wanted to build excitement for the park’s opening, which was scheduled for the second weekend in October. Just in time for the annual Rushing Creek Fall Festival.
I glanced at my watch when we arrived. It was a little after seven. The only sounds were the chirps of cardinals among the rapid hammerings of a woodpecker. “Doesn’t look like we’ll be talking to anybody today, girl. Come on. Let’s take some pictures.”
From the park’s main entrance, we headed toward the area where a gazebo was to be constructed. I envisioned the structure as a draw for special events, like concerts and weddings, as well as a destination spot for family portraits and graduation pictures. I hoped to host book-related events there, too.
When the gazebo’s construction site came into view, I halted so abruptly that Ursi yelped when her harness brought her to a surprise stop.
“No. No. This is all wrong.”
The scene was equal parts confounding and panic-inducing. A dump truck was parked on a gravel path that led to the cleared area where the gazebo was to be built. The truck’s bed was raised, and a full load of mulch, twenty cubic yards, had been dumped right where the structure was supposed to go.
I pulled up the construction schedule on my tablet. Three truckloads of mulch, sixty cubic yards in all, were scheduled for delivery today. They were supposed to go to the playground, though, not the gazebo.
“Come on, girl.” Ursi and I double-timed it to the playground construction site to see if there was anyone who might have seen something. Nobody was to be found. After a park-wide search confirmed we were alone, we went back to the mulch pile.
A peek inside the truck’s cab yielded no answers, so I called Luke. I figured that, since he was the superintendent of the parks department, he’d know if there was a change of plans that hadn’t been communicated to me. While I was waiting for him to pick up, Ursi began straining against the leash. Evidently, she was finding the mulch pile irresistible.
“Go ahead. But don’t go potty. It’s a mulch pile, not a litter box, and I don’t want to clean up after you.” Once I unhooked the leash, she trotted to the edge of the pile and started sniffing and digging, as if she was a dog.
A growl escaped my throat when I got Luke’s voice mail. “Hey, bro. We’ve got a problem at the construction site. Call me ASAP.” After leaving the message, I texted Sloane in the hope she could tell me where her fiancé was.
I wanted the mess cleaned up before it threw the construction schedule out of whack. We were on a tight deadline, and the last thing I could afford was to lose a day because of a silly mix-up.
I was going through my project documents, trying to figure out where the snafu might have come from, when Ursi hissed and let out a growl that would make a mountain lion proud. By the time I looked up, her back was a feline version of the St. Louis Arch, and her tail was a bushy, black-and-orange feather duster.
“What’s wrong?” I went to her and bent down to figure out what had her freaked out. Seconds later, I sprang back upright as my blood ran cold.
Ursi had uncovered a human finger.
Forcing myself to maintain some semblance of calm, I grabbed a decent-sized piece of mulch and scraped smaller wooden pieces from the finger. It only took a few scrapes to reveal an entire hand.
“Oh, God.” I fell to my hands and knees and vomited. The hand wasn’t fake. Or warm.
Something told me it was attached to an entire body.
With trembling fingers, I dialed 9-1-1. I broke out in goose bumps when I told the dispatcher I needed to report a dead body.
Discoveries like this weren’t supposed to happen in Rushing Creek, Indiana. Sure, we had crime like petty thefts, drunk and disorderly conduct, and the occasional domestic violence report. But a capital crime like murder? No way. Especially only eleven months removed from the town’s first murder in thirty years.
I was sitting on the ground
in a daze when an officer dressed in the familiar indigo uniform of the Rushing Creek Police Department approached me. It was Matt Roberson, the police chief, who also happened to be my former brother-in-law.
He squatted down to look me in the eyes. “I’m here in response to your call. Can you show me where the hand is?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, and had a calming effect.
“Ursi was digging and found the finger.” My hand was shaking like an autumn leaf in the wind as I pointed toward the mulch pile. At the mention of her name, my kitty trotted to me and curled up in my lap.
Matt used a pen to push away more wood chips. He pulled on a rubber glove and placed his fingers on the wrist for a few seconds. Evidently unable to find a pulse, he said a few words into his radio. Chief among them was the word coroner.
I held Ursi when Luke jogged up to us. “I came as soon as I got your message.” He ran his hands through his hair. “The work order was clear. I can’t believe they screwed this up. I’m calling Parke Landscaping right now.” He took out his phone.
“Don’t do that.” Matt got up. “This is an active crime scene.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “It’s just a delivery snafu, Matt. Anybody seen Georgie? He was supposed to tell the driver where to dump the load.” He started scrolling through his phone.
“Don’t.” Matt took the phone from Luke. “My office received a call this morning from Parke reporting one of their trucks was missing. And Allie found that.” He pointed at the exposed hand.
Luke’s eyes went wide as the color drained from his face. “What the… ?”
“You got a shovel in your truck?” Matt asked. When Luke nodded, Matt told him to get it. “I want to ID the victim as soon as possible.”
As Luke sprinted to his truck, a Rushing Creek police cruiser pulled up next to the dump truck. Jeanette popped the trunk and took out a role of police tape and a handful of stakes. “What have we got, Chief?”
“Unidentified vic under this mulch. We need to clear enough to remove the body.” Matt took a few of the stakes. “After we cordon off the area, take Allie’s statement.”
The scene was more surreal than a piece of M. C. Escher artwork. I was sitting in a police car, telling my friend about discovering what looked like a murder victim, while my brother and brother-in-law worked to uncover the body. The only normal thing in the scene was having Ursi curled up in my lap, asleep.
While we talked, a rescue vehicle rolled to a stop next to us. Two firefighters jumped out and, after some discussion, joined the shoveling effort.
“Is this really happening?” A hot tear rolled down my cheek. “It can’t be real. Tell me it’s an elaborate prank pulled by some high school kids.”
“I’m sorry, Allie.” Jeanette handed me a bottle of water.
When I finished my report, we sat in silence as the work continued. A few minutes later, the firefighters fetched a gurney from an ambulance that had just arrived. They lifted the uncovered body onto the gurney and placed a white sheet over it. Pieces of mulch dropped to the ground as they adjusted the sheet.
I squeezed Jeanette’s hand and closed my eyes in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. “I’ve never seen a dead body like this. After last year, I thought I was tough. God, I was so wrong.”
“You weren’t wrong. Everybody reacts to a crime scene differently.” Jeanette handed me a tissue. “Especially ones like these, which we don’t see very often.”
With a sniff, I dabbed at my cheeks. “Am I allowed to know who it is?”
“Of course.” Jeanette got out of the car.
While she went to find the answer, I tried not to think, but my overactive imagination took the reins and spurred my brain into a full gallop. Who was the victim? How did he or she die? Was the death painful? Did I know the person? What would drive someone to take another person’s life?
With no answers to be had, I hugged Ursi and scratched her ears. In response, she licked my cheek. It never ceased to amaze me how so much of the time she played the role of a standoffish cat perfectly, but in the year and a half since I’d adopted her, she always knew when I was hurting. And was always there to give me love and support.
I drew strength from that. As Jeanette opened the door to the cruiser, I was going to need it.
“The deceased’s name is Georgie Alonso. Did you know him?”
My mind reeled as the news hit me like a kickboxing blow to my midsection. I knew Georgie Alonso. We had a history.
It wasn’t a good one.
“Yeah. We were in the same class in high school. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, so I’ll leave it at that.” I looked out the window. Another police officer had arrived. This one was putting on plastic gloves as he strode toward the dump truck.
“I want to go home. Will you take me? I don’t think I’m up to walking.” I’d reached my limit. The only thing I could feel was a tidal wave of exhaustion crashing down on me. I wanted some chamomile tea, my bed, and a lighthearted rom-com to read.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Matt has some questions for you and needs me to talk to the people at Parke Landscaping about the truck being taken. I can drop off Ursi on my way.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I handed Ursi’s leash and my door key to Jeanette. I broke out in goose bumps when she wouldn’t make eye contact with me during the handoff. Keep it together. I didn’t do anything wrong. I drained the water bottle, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.
With an unsteady gait, I made my way to Matt, who was talking to Luke.
My brother enveloped me in his arms. “It’ll be okay. Just be straight with Matt.” He hugged me. “I told him I’d break the news to Lori. I don’t want her finding out through the grapevine.”
Good Lord. I hadn’t had time to process how this would affect Georgie’s girlfriend, Lori Cannon. Three years behind me in school, Lorelei Cannon, known to one and all as Lori, had been quiet but always had a smile whenever I said hi.
She was a math whiz, too. We were in the same calculus class my senior year in high school. I always figured she’d end up working for some Wall Street investment bank on the East Coast. Guess I missed on that prediction.
Lori was the mother to Georgie’s five-year-old daughter, Brittany. And the only child of Larry Cannon.
The situation had just gone from bad to worse.
I crossed my arms and looked Matt in the eyes. He met my gaze, and we stood there, silent, for what seemed like forty years but was probably only four seconds.
“Jeanette said you have a few questions for me.”
“I do.” He flipped a page in his little cop notebook. “What time did you arrive at the park?”
“Sevenish.”
“Did you see anybody else or talk with anyone else before you called Luke?”
“No.”
Matt’s pen scratched on the surface of the paper as I recounted the efforts I’d taken to find someone. His silence as I spoke was unnerving.
“Any reason why you came to the park so early this morning?”
“I’m an early bird. You know that.” The hair on the back of my neck, which had relaxed, was back standing at attention. As the implication of Matt’s line of questioning dawned on me, my throat went dry. “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this, do you?”
“I don’t think anything, right now.” He flipped his notebook closed. “But I have more questions. Let’s go to the station so I can ask them there.” He put his hand on my arm to guide me toward his car.
“Wait a minute. Are you arresting me?”
“You have a history with Georgie, and you discovered the body. That makes you a person of interest. That’s all it does, though.”
Person of interest. I’d read enough books to know what that meant. As Matt opened the passenger door of the car, there was no doubt.
I was the main suspect in Georgie’s murder.
Chapter Three
I’d ridden in Matt’s cruiser once before. The circumstances between then and now were as different as ice cream and liver and onions. At least he was kind enough to keep the handcuffs on his belt and let me ride in the front seat.
My shoes scuffed against the black surface of the asphalt parking lot as he led me toward the municipal building. Once indoors, I leaned against Matt’s arm for support as he guided me past his office and the officers’ desks and into an eight-by-eight room containing a table and two chairs.
A blanket of icy fear enveloped me as Matt closed the room’s steel door and gestured toward the chair on the far side of the table. The chill from the aluminum seat seeped through my leggings, and a shiver ran through me. The painted cinderblock walls radiated the cold. I rubbed my forearms to generate some body heat.
“Is this the time when I ask for a phone call or to refuse to say anything without my lawyer present?”
“You’re not under arrest.” Matt sighed and massaged his temples as he took his notebook out of his pocket. The embossed Rushing Creek Police Department logo on the cover blinded me for a second when he flipped it open. With the pace of a turtle that seemed deliberate, he removed a pencil from the same pocket.
“Then why am I here?” I placed my palms on the wooden tabletop. The rough texture of the aged surface scraped against my palms and sparked a flame of indignation that elbowed the shock into the corner. “This is your interrogation room, right?” I pointed at a window covering on the wall to my right. “Let me guess. There’s a two-way mirror behind that curtain. Am I right? Do you have a camera hidden somewhere that’s recording us?”
“Calm down.” Matt popped a square piece of gum into his mouth. Over the previous winter, he’d managed to kick his cigarette habit with chewing gum, but it was rumored he replaced his Juicy Fruit with Nicorette when he was agitated. Evidently this was one of those times.