by Louise Lynn
"They're supposed to be here in thirty minutes, so we might not have much of a choice."
Her mother looked at the spray paint and nodded decisively. "Well, we can get rid of the worst of it before then. At least this bit." She pointed at the most unpleasant word.
"Whoever did this is a sad individual," her father said and shook his head.
Hazel wished she could've helped, but her stomach reminded her that she did, indeed, need to eat. And Michael was already in the studio setting up for their clients.
Hazel settled in her office and made it halfway through an oatmeal bran muffin when Sheriff Cross showed up.
"I would've come sooner, but I had to drop Violet off at school," he said and took a seat opposite her. "The spray-paint was outside when you arrived?"
Hazel nodded and offered him a muffin.
He selected one but didn't take a bite. "I'll talk to a few other people who got here before you did. But considering the message. . ."
"It was probably the killer."
Sheriff Cross clenched his jaw. "In all likelihood. Which means I'm going to assign a deputy to watch you until we catch this guy. Or girl."
"Are you sure you can spare someone right now?" It seemed like a waste of police power to put one person as her guard, but then again, if the killer was targeting her, she didn't want to be the next victim either.
Sheriff Cross smiled, and his eyes crinkled around the edges. "I'm the sheriff, so I know what sort of police resources I can spare. And it's worth it to protect you."
Hazel felt her cheeks go warm and took a sip of coffee. "I was actually thinking about that. Maybe I'll stay at my parent’s house until this blows over. There are more people so it's safer. Plus, they have neighbors that are actually close by," she said.
She loved her cabin near the lake for its seclusion, but at a time like that seclusion came at the price of her safety.
“That’s a good idea. And I wanted you to know we’re looking for the car you described. Without a make and model though, it’s going to be difficult to narrow down a dark newer sedan."
Hazel figured that much and picked off a piece of her muffin to nibble on while she thought. "Has Tyson Bridger given you any footage from the Manor that night?"
Sheriff Cross nodded slowly. "He did. How did you hear about it?"
"I dropped by the other day to go on the tour. He said he knew for sure that Jay did it, but—"
Sheriff Cross let out a heavy sigh and pulled a flash drive from his pocket. "I was actually going to show it to you anyway, but I didn't expect this whole business to come up. You have a good family. Lots of people looking out for you, you know," he said and handed her the flash drive.
Hazel smiled. "I know."
Her hands trembled as she waited for the files to pop up on her desktop. As she opened the one Sheriff Cross pointed at, she was greeted with a grainy video taken outside of the Manor.
Jay Turner was yelling at Brandon Sizemore, who yelled back. There was no sound, so it was impossible to hear what they were fighting about. Then Jay pushed Brandon against the house and the video fizzled out.
"This looks like the fight I saw," Hazel said and frowned.
Sheriff Cross furrowed his brow. "Are you sure? Most of the stuff he gave us was completely useless. Brandon was in a few of them, but none were incriminating. This shows the actual assault, however. And the worst part is or—maybe it's the best part—is the timestamp."
Hazel looked at the little white the numbers in the corner. "One ten a.m. And your medical examiner thinks he was killed around one thirty?"
Well, that didn’t make sense. The fight she saw happened much earlier than that.
"Yeah, so it looks like Jay Turner lied about his alibi. And his nephew was trying to cover up for him."
Hazel tugged at the hem of her black skirt. "That means you're going to arrest him?"
Sheriff Cross gave her a level look. "We don't have any physical evidence yet. Just this video, but I am going to bring him in for questioning. I can hold him for seventy-two hours that way. Time to get a warrant on his place. And maybe get his nephew to talk. This isn't how I wanted it to turn out."
Hazel agreed. "Me either."
Celia was going to be furious. But what else could she do if Jay really had done it?
Then Sheriff Cross reached forward and gave her hand a quick pat before rising to go.
Hazel grabbed his fingers, and her breath caught in her throat.
What was she doing?
No.
She knew what she was doing.
He'd stepped up last time, and she'd sounded like an idiot. So, now it was her turn to do something bold.
"Dinner. We should go to dinner. After this is cleaned up. You know."
Sheriff Cross looked at her, and a gentle smile pulled at the edge of his lips. "I thought you'd never ask, Ms. Hart. It's a date. As soon as this is wrapped up, we’ll go to dinner," he said, picked up his muffin, and left.
The butterflies in her stomach took flight. It was nice to know she could still feel elated after the events of the last twenty-four hours.
Chapter 17
The morning went better than she anticipated. Her hands stopped shaking by the time the family arrived for their portrait, and the twin babies were a joy to work with. Giggly and bright-eyed, they smiled for every photo.
Then Anthony Ray settled on her lap for a nap as she went through the photos she’d shot and picked out the best ones.
Her parents had tried to clean most of the spray paint off. There were still some stubborn marks. For the moment, they’d gotten the worst of it, but her heart still clenched when she saw it on her door and window.
"You're better with little kids than you are with teenagers," Michael said with a smile.
She had the feeling he was trying to lighten the mood. "Well, they're not as rude as teenagers. Which do you prefer?"
"Babies," Michael said, though he seemed a bit sheepish about it.
"Nothing wrong with that. You're good with them. Is that what you think you want to do. Someday, I mean."
Michael shrugged. "I've talked to your dad about the wildlife thing, and it sounds amazing, but I really don't think I can outrun an elephant."
Hazel snorted. "He told you the story about outrunning an elephant, but he didn't mention he was in the back of a Jeep. Nobody can outrun an elephant on foot."
"Besides a cheetah," Michael said with a smile.
Hazel had to concede to that fact. "Okay. Besides a cheetah."
She let Michael take a long lunch and was ready to lock up the studio herself and head over to Esther's bakery when an unfamiliar man approached.
"Hazel Hart?" he asked.
He was tall and broad in the shoulders, though rounder in the middle. He was balding on top, but his broad nose and strong chin reminded Hazel of someone.
Her heart clenched. "Yes. And you are?"
"Richard Sizemore. I'm Brandon's dad. I heard you were doing a photomontage for the memorial?" He glanced at the remaining spray paint.
"Yes. It's almost done, but I heard it wasn't until Friday."
He nodded, and she noticed his eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Probably best not to question him now. Though, she wondered how much he knew about his son. How many secrets Brandon was keeping from them.
"Yes. Actually, I have a few photos I thought you might want to include," he said and handed over a flash drive.
"I’ll return it at the service. And I'm very sorry for your loss." She put the little plastic stick into her pocket.
But the man didn't move, and Hazel knew from experience that meant he wanted to say something yet didn't know how to word it. She waited patiently, and Anthony Ray meowed from inside the door.
"I heard you and your cat found him," he said and his voice broke at the last word.
Hazel nodded stiffly. "We did. He’s an intuitive feline. He helped the police on another occasion, so the sheriff thought he might be able to hel
p again."
The man's hands balled into fists, Hazel could see how they were related. Brandon must've gotten his size from his dad. "I also heard you were looking into his death. Have you found anything yet? The sheriff said they had a number of leads, but they wouldn’t give us a name. I know someone killed my son. He had a scholarship to Sacramento State. He didn't deserve this."
"I can't really say. Do you know of anyone who would've wanted to hurt Brandon?"
Richard Sizemore let out a breath. "Honestly? I’ve heard his best friend’s name brought up a few times, but there is no way Travis could've done this. Break Brandon's neck? Have you seen that kid? His arms are like toothpicks. Plus, Brandon thought we didn't know, but we’d seen a few of their text messages to each other. I don't think Travis would hurt him."
Hazel nodded slowly. She didn't think Travis could've done it either, but that didn't mean that Jay Turner hadn't done it for his nephew.
But why would Travis have covered it up? He claimed he cared about Brandon. Why shield his killer? Unless Travis didn’t know.
"You have someone else in mind?"
The man looked around. "I know it's going to sound crazy, but his ex-girlfriend, Amber, I saw them get into fights before. She used to punch him in the arm all the time. Brandon said it wasn't a big deal, but they left bruises. And I know she was mad about the breakup. She kept coming to the house and sitting out there in her car in the dark. I had to tell her to go home on more than one occasion."
Hazel felt as if she just taken a dip in the icy waters of Lake Celeste. "What kind of car does she drive?"
"A black BMW that her parents bought her. She's a spoiled brat."
A black BMW was most likely a sedan.
"You told the sheriff this?"
The man nodded stiffly. "Yeah, he gave me the same line he always does. They’re working on it, and I'm just grieving. I know I'm grieving, but I'm also angry. And you—I read about what you did with that violin virtuoso last month. If someone can catch my son's killer, it's probably you."
Hazel wasn't sure if that felt like an accolade or a new weight on her shoulders. She’d already promised Travis she’d help clear Jay’s name, and a lot of good she’d done so far. "I’ll do everything I can, but I'm only working with the police in an unofficial capacity."
"You’ve found killers before. Please, do it again. For Brandon," he said and turned away.
Hazel watched him go, and lead filled her stomach.
Amber drove a dark sedan and had stalked Brandon the same way someone had stalked Hazel the night before.
That wasn't a coincidence.
Lunch could wait. She needed to tell Sheriff Cross right away.
Chapter 18
"Is this the car you saw last night?" Sheriff Cross asked and pointed at the BMW.
Hazel took several steps back and squinted at it. In the bright sunshine, Hazel wasn't sure she'd ever recognize the car. And she wasn't about to ask if Amber could drive it to her place at night and park a hundred feet away, so she could peek out of her window and see.
"Maybe. It was dark, and the car was a good hundred feet away from the window. And it was shrouded in even more shadows. So. . . ."
Sheriff Cross nodded.
"She's here?" Hazel asked, though she knew it was a bit unnecessary. If Amber's car was parked in front of the Sheriff's Office, the teenager herself was probably present as well.
Sheriff Cross frowned and looked up at the clear blue sky. The air was brisk, but the sunshine warm and bright. A far cry from what his mood appeared to be. "Yeah. Even though her parents said she wasn't supposed to talk without a lawyer present, Amber said she wants to talk but only to you." He looked Hazel in the eye.
She wasn't sure what that expression meant. "Why me?"
"I don't know. All she said is she wouldn't talk to anyone but the photographer lady." A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and Hazel pouted.
Of course, she was the photographer lady.
"Well, I guess I'll talk to her then," she said and walked toward the Sheriff's Office.
Sheriff Cross touched her arm gently. "You don't have to do this."
"I really don't mind. I’m not scared of her. Well, unless she actually did break Brandon Sizemore's neck. Then I would be scared of her."
Amber sat in one of the rooms in the back. The Sheriff's Office had been built sometime in the mid-1960s and hadn't ever been updated since. There was a large mirror on one side, and Hazel wasn't sure if it was like in the movies with some sort of viewing room behind it.
She hadn't asked.
Amber slouched in a metal chair near a table and was doodling on a pad of paper. "Finally. You know they took my phone? Is that legal?"
Hazel shrugged and sat. "I don't know. Probably, as long as they don't look at it without your consent. Unless they got a warrant. I heard you wanted to talk to me."
Amber rolled her eyes and tossed her blonde hair behind her shoulder. She was wearing another oversized sweatshirt and ripped jeans like she had that day at the park, and the sweatshirt itself said Sacramento State on it. It was much too big for her. "Yeah. Well, my parents told me not to talk to anyone, but I think this is all really stupid. You guys think I killed Brandon, right?" She blinked her heavily mascaraed eyelashes.
"I can't speak for Sheriff Cross, but your name has come up a few times. Some people seem to think you're capable of it."
Hazel didn't mention that Brandon's father was one of those people.
Amber pursed her lips, a pale shimmering pink, and crossed her arms. "Well, I've never broken anybody's neck. He was huge, and—fine. Listen. I get why you think I’m, like, a suspect and stuff, because I watch CSI. It's usually, like, a jealous lover or something, right? But really, I wasn't jealous. I mean, yeah, he broke up with me for Travis. Because Brandon was way gay. But so? I was mad because we already had tickets to the dance, and I had a dress picked out. He could have just waited until after the dance and broken up with me nice and quietly. Then I could've found a prom date in no time. Now, people at school are looking at me like I'm some kind of psychopath. I'm not." She flipped her hair again. It was something she must've done for emphasis, and Hazel raised her eyebrows.
So, Amber was doing this to get back in the school's good graces? For a popular kid, Hazel supposed that was a good motive. But it still didn't mean she hadn't killed Brandon.
"Is that all you wanted to tell me?"
Amber rolled her eyes. "No. I just—okay. So, I know it looks bad, but I didn't tell the police this earlier because I didn't want to get in trouble. But I saw Brandon before he went missing. That night." She swallowed heavily.
Hazel nodded. "Was this after Jay Turner and Travis left?"
Amber blinked. "Yeah. You know about that? They got in a fight, and then Travis and Jay stormed off and Brandon was upset, so I talked to him and stuff. I was still kind of mad at him, but I felt bad because he was crying," she said and wrinkled her nose as if that was the most disgusting thing she could ever imagine.
A boy.
Crying.
It was Hazel's turn to roll her eyes. "You know, boys are allowed to cry. They're humans. We all have the same range of emotions," she explained as if Amber were a three-year-old and not a teenager.
"I know. But he was always tough, so it was weird. It was late, and my friends were texting me and saying to go because we were having a sleepover at Shannon's house, and I left. Last I saw, he was going back into the Manor to get his jacket"
"It was still open?"
Amber shrugged. "I guess. That's the last I saw him, but then, I did see that black car drive back down the road. So, who knows? But I didn't do it. Tell the cops that. And I am sorry he’s dead. I didn’t want him to die. Believe me. I—I feel bad that I didn’t stay."
Hazel sucked in a breath through her nose and the fluorescent light above them flickered.
If Brandon was crying, maybe he really didn’t want Travis to break up with him. Poor kid. He
died a little over an hour later, and Travis had no clue. Hazel’s heart clenched.
As long as Amber was being so talkative, she might as well ask the obvious.
"Did you come to my house last night?"
Amber's gaze dropped to her lap. She picked at the pink nail polish on her fingernail. "I don’t even know where you live. And I did not spray paint your place either. That’s so immature."
Hazel shook her head. She wasn't sure if she believed Amber or not. Especially considering no one else said anything about Brandon going back inside the Manor. Or if the Manor was still even open. She thought everyone else had left at that point. Sheriff Cross said no one else had noticed Brandon after he went into the garden. So, the police figured his killer had confronted him there, close to the area he was killed.
But maybe that wasn't the case at all.
"There are rumors that you used to punch Brandon. Did you?"
Amber sneered. "Yeah, but only when he was stupid. You know how dumb boys can be."
"Dumb or not, that’s no excuse to hit someone," Hazel said and leaned across the table. "Do you know what happened to Brandon's phone? He had it that night, but it's missing."
Amber sat up straight. "His phone is missing? Oh, that's not good. I mean, there may be some incriminating photos on it of, like, him and Travis kissing. Maybe that mean guy took it."
"Mean guy? At the Rockwell Manor?"
Amber shrugged. "Yeah, that mean guy was yelling at everyone all night when anyone did anything. Especially when we took selfies. Or when Brandon bumped into that ugly vase."
Hazel’s eyes widened. "He bumped into a vase? Did it break?"
Amber pursed her lips. "I don't think so, but Brandon laughed, and got, like, this perfume on him, and he wiped it on his pants and left a big stain. I think he was snapping photos of that when the mean guy got really mad and was threatening to kick us out, but the sheriff came over and told him to calm down, so that was that."
Was the mean guy Tyson Bridger or someone else?
Hazel pulled out her phone and looked for the pictures of the Manor Violet had sent her from their visit the day before. She stopped on the picture of the Nara Era oil lamp. "Was this the vase?"