by Barb Han
Another round of rapid-fire knocks jarred her out of her reverie. She shoved the memory deep down and hurried to the door, tripping over a lump on the floor. She glanced down to see the orca shredded, white stuffing all over the carpet. Coco had gotten into the trash again. It was Carrie’s fault for not taking it out before bed last night.
“Hold on. I’m coming.” She stepped over the strewn pieces. Those needed to go to the outside trash. Coco had had a field day with the animal.
She wondered if Jerk Face neighbor had decided to stop by. Beating down her door to let her know that her trash had blown into his yard again seemed like something he’d do.
She glanced out the window as another round of banging practically split her head in two.
Sheriff Sawmill?
Carrie opened the door as her stomach sank. This couldn’t possibly be good.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” she said as she opened the door and stepped aside to allow passage.
“Sorry to disturb you so late, ma’am.” He tipped his hat with a look of apology. And exhaustion. The man looked beyond tired.
She glanced at the clock that read half past five a.m.
“Everything all right?” She held on to Coco’s collar to keep the dog from jumping up on him.
He took two steps inside the door and stopped. “We need to talk and I’d like to do it in my office.”
His words set off all kinds of warning bells. Her first thought was of her employees. “Did something happen to Eric or Harper?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did Nash do something?” She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d harassed someone else.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he responded.
“Is this about someone I know?” she asked, realizing the answer was pretty obvious.
He bowed his head. “I’m afraid so.”
“If it’s not my employees then who?”
“We’d be more comfortable having this conversation in my office.” The sheriff’s feet were in an athletic stance and his hands were clasped in front of him.
More warning sirens blared. Carrie noticed that Coco was trying to position herself in between her and the sheriff, growling.
“It’s okay, girl.” Carrie bent down to scratch Coco between the ears. “Whatever’s going on I want to help. I just need a few minutes to let my dog out and get my purse.”
Carrie coaxed Coco to the back door. She spun around to ask a question and almost walked into the sheriff.
“Sorry, ma’am. I have to keep you in my sight.”
“What on earth do you mean by that? What’s this about?”
“We’ll have a chance to go over everything at my office.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” Her mind started spinning with possibilities. She thought about the card Dade had given her with his cell number on it. He’d be up and already working.
“Not if you don’t mind answering a few questions,” he stated.
Carrie let her dog out while she stood in the door frame where Sheriff Sawmill could watch her. An uneasy feeling pounded her. Why would he need to keep her in sight?
“Sheriff, can I ask another question?”
“Yes, ma’am.” There he went with that ma’am again. He was treating her formally, which gave her even more pause.
“Can I refuse to go with you?” She most likely knew the answer to the question before she asked, and yet she needed to hear him say the words anyway.
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Sheriff Sawmill said with a curious look.
“Do I get to know why you want to talk to me in your office before we leave my residence?” Her balled fist was on her hip, and her mind raced.
The sheriff bent his head down as though out of respect for something... What?
And then he released a breath and looked at her. “Brett Strawn was found dead in his home a few hours ago.”
“Are you sure?” Air whooshed from her lungs and tears welled in her eyes. The sheriff must be mistaken. His information had to be wrong. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
* * *
IT WAS PITCH-BLACK on the way to the sheriff’s office. Carrie’s mind raced, unable to accept the news that someone she’d cared about was gone. Brett might not have been the man Carrie was in love with, and he’d been hard to deal with since the breakup, but she didn’t wish him harm.
A swarm of media people circled the sheriff’s vehicle as he parked in his reserved spot. She put her arm up to shield her face from the cameras as she wove her way through the crowd and inside the door.
Bright lights made it feel like daytime inside the building. Janis’s desk was empty, as Carrie suspected it would be this time of morning. The wall clock read nearly six in the morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or more.
A deputy met them in the hallway, and the sheriff turned to Carrie. “I’ll let Deputy Kirkus take it from here.”
Sawmill stepped aside to allow passage. She stood there, momentarily stunned, because the sheriff’s office was to the right, but Kirkus was motioning for her to walk past it. She followed him down the hall toward a room at the end of the hallway, the farthest from an exit. Suddenly, she was glad that she’d thought of picking up Dade’s business card and sliding it inside her purse before she left her house. She had a feeling that she was going to need a friend and a good lawyer.
A dark thought struck. Did the sheriff think she was somehow involved with Brett’s death? The idea that she could have information was beyond anything she could imagine. Surely, this was protocol in an investigation and didn’t mean what she feared.
Sheriff Sawmill might not be in the small rectangular room with them, but she would bet that he was listening. There wasn’t room for much more than a table and a few chairs. Sawmill, no doubt, stood behind the two-way mirror on the long wall facing her. Any hope that she was being looked at as a witness died with the knowledge eyes watched her from the other side of that mirror. She was a suspect, as impossible as that sounded, and she wanted to scream that there was no way she would hurt anyone. Instinct told her to keep quiet instead.
“Where were you between the hours of midnight and 2:00 a.m.?” Deputy Kirkus asked, bringing any thought she’d had that this might be a misunderstanding crashing down around her.
“I was asleep on my couch.” She watched his gaze travel over her, assessing her. Her mind zipped through possibilities, as she was still trying to wrap her thoughts around the fact that Brett was gone. It couldn’t be true, could it? She’d seen him earlier in the afternoon. Disbelief descended on her. There had to be an easy explanation for all this. Or there’d been a misunderstanding. “Are you sure it was him?”
The deputy nodded.
“So, you’re positive that there’s no chance there’s been some mistake and he’s okay?” She thought about the phone in her purse as she leaned back against the strap. She cupped her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. Brett couldn’t be...gone. Tears streamed, and she bit back a sob as reality slammed into her like hitting a tree at a hundred miles an hour.
“No, ma’am. I’m afraid not.” Deputy Kirkus’s voice was laced with respect in the way people spoke when they were talking about a deceased person, and that just splintered her heart even more.
“What happened to him? How was he killed?” He was young and healthy.
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Kirkus said. “Were the two of you in a relationship?”
“Yes. Well. Not anymore, but we were.” She didn’t see what their status had to do with his death. She wanted to ask what Kirkus was doing in there with her when there was a killer on the loose, but instinct told her not to. The deputy had the same look of disbelief she’d seen when she’d told her case worker that the doughnut shop owner, Mr. Berger, had been tryi
ng to touch her in places that made her uncomfortable. The eyes always gave away how a person felt about what they were being told, and even a skilled investigator like Deputy Kirkus was no match for Carrie’s experience at reading people. Being able to interpret the slightest shift in body language had helped her survive Mimi the drunk, a woman who could be nice until she opened a bottle of whiskey.
And that made dating Brett even more of a lapse in judgment. Even so, she didn’t want to think badly of him after hearing the news that was rocking her world.
“When did the relationship end?” Kirkus continued.
“A couple of weeks ago. Two weeks and two days to be exact,” she recalled.
“Who initiated it?” Kirkus’s questions were invasive and awkward coming from a near stranger. Carrie didn’t like the feeling of being interrogated even though she had nothing to hide.
“I did,” she admitted. “Why?”
“How did he take the news you wanted to see other people?” Kirkus asked.
“That’s not what I said,” she defended.
Kirkus sat straighter in his chair. “What was the reason for the split?”
Carrie shrugged. “I wasn’t having a good time with him anymore.”
Kirkus barked a laugh.
“That’s not what I mean. He became too possessive. We weren’t right for each other.” She glared at the unsympathetic deputy.
“You believe he left a flower on your car the other night,” Kirkus continued.
“Yes. But what does that have to do—”
“A part of you wanted him out of the way.”
“He showed up at my business ranting and making a scene. He grabbed my arm so hard...” She showed him the bruises.
“Mr. Strawn was an inconvenience to you, wasn’t he?”
“What are you accusing me of?” Carrie pushed to standing.
“I’m just looking for the truth.” Kirkus folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Will you please tell me what happened to Brett?” Carrie couldn’t bring herself to say the other words—words like killed and murdered. “I can’t help if you don’t give me anything to go on.”
“Mr. Strawn was electrocuted.” A physical shiver rocked Deputy Kirkus.
Her mind snapped to a job site, but how on earth would that happen between the hours of—what had he said?—midnight and 2:00 a.m.? “I guess I don’t understand. You said he was at home?”
She was still trying to absorb the information.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kirkus said with a small head shake.
Shock shot through her. A picture was starting to emerge. Brett had been electrocuted in his own home.
“How do you know he was...that it happened on purpose?” Where was Tyson, his pit bull?
“I don’t know too many people who would toss a hair dryer into the shower while they’re still in it.” His words were heavy and too straightforward. She figured some of that was from lack of sleep, given the dark cradles underneath his dull gray eyes. For someone in his midforties, Kirkus’s hair was a little too gray for his age, his physical demeanor a little too fatigued-looking.
“Wait. It happened in his bathroom?” Now her mind really was racing. Again, her thoughts jumped to some kind of freak accident.
“When was the last time you had contact with Mr. Strawn?” Kirkus leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He motioned for her to sit so she did.
“Yesterday morning. There were witnesses. He showed up to my shop angry and threatened me,” she said.
“You didn’t call him or text?”
“I didn’t. And I didn’t answer any of his attempts to reach me, either. It’s why he said he came to the shop in the first place.” She stared at Kirkus. Did he believe her? “Feel free to pull my cell phone records and check.”
“We will.” Kirkus softened his approach a little when he said, “This is a murder investigation, ma’am. I’m not trying to offend you. What can you tell me about Mr. Strawn’s other relationships? Was he seeing anyone else?”
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“What about fights? Had he been in an argument with anybody other than you lately?”
“I’d been avoiding him, so I couldn’t tell you.” She crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth.
“Did he owe money to anyone?” Kirkus’s gaze intensified on her.
“Brett owed money to a contractor.” She snapped her fingers. “His name was Jimmy something. Oh, what was his last name? I remember him saying something about that before we broke up. He’d seemed unsettled and a little scared, which I distinctly remember because he usually put on a tough guy routine in front of me.”
Carrie glanced at the deputy. He sat there, shoulders forward and clasped hands resting on the table.
“Maybe you should write this down,” she urged.
He pulled a small recording device from his shirt pocket and set it down in front of her. “Please, continue.”
She flashed her eyes at him. “Brett owed Jimmy-what’s-his-name money.”
“And Jimmy is what kind of contractor?” the deputy asked.
“He does tile,” she said.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might want him out of the picture or benefit if he was gone?” Kirkus asked, still studying her.
“I stayed out of his work affairs and we really hadn’t dated long enough for me to know everything about him.” She scanned her memory. “That being said I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”
“Mr. Strawn had a dog.” The door opened behind her and the deputy nodded toward whoever stood in the doorway.
“Of course he did. Tyson.” It had taken Carrie weeks before she would go to Brett’s house after he’d explained that he’d trained the dog to protect his equipment on job sites. Once she got to know Tyson, she loved him and got on Brett for being too hard on him when he did something Brett didn’t like. In fact, his cruel side had been one of the many reasons she’d decided to walk away from the relationship in the first place. “Oh, no. What happened? Is Tyson okay?”
“The dog’s fine.” The sheriff walked in and stood beside her. “In fact, he was so calm that he let the killer walk right past him to get to the bathroom where the victim was showering.”
Carrie sat there, dumbfounded, for a long moment. Reality crashed down around her like a carefully constructed building tumbling down in an earthquake. The handwriting on the wall said she’d been rousted awake in the middle of the night because she was the primary suspect.
Anger burst through her. Cooperating so they could find Brett’s killer was one thing. Being accused of being Brett’s killer was another story altogether.
“Am I under arrest, Sheriff?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Suspicion?” she pressed.
“How well did you know that dog?” The sheriff took out a Zantac packet and opened it. He popped a pill in his mouth and dry swallowed.
“I’d been to Brett’s house dozens of times. I knew Tyson.” The sheriff might not realize it, but this interview was about to be over.
“Well enough to walk right past him when his master was home?” The sheriff returned the half-empty packet to his pocket.
“Yes.” Carrie reached inside her purse.
“I’ll be back in minute.” The sheriff walked out the door, leaving it open and giving her the feeling that she was no longer a trapped animal. She was, though. The deputy followed Sawmill into the hallway, where the two men spoke in hushed tones.
While she waited for the sheriff to return, she located Dade’s card and pressed it flat to her palm. With her cell phone in the other hand, she started to punch in the number, unsure of what she’d say except that maybe she needed his help and a recommendation for a good attorney.
“I�
��d hold off on making that call if I were you.” Deputy Kirkus’s voice startled her.
She gasped. “Why?”
“We’re just having a conversation,” Deputy Kirkus said, but his tone had changed.
“I’d like to make a phone call. Is there a law against it?” she asked, turning to face him so she could get a good read on his body language. She didn’t like the accusation in his tone, but looking at him only made it worse. His frame blanketed the door. He was tall and thick around the midsection. Too much sitting in a cruiser, she thought.
“No, ma’am.” There he went with that ma’am business again.
“Well, if I’m not doing anything wrong, I’d like a little privacy, if you don’t mind,” she said, needing to see if he would leave her alone.
“Is there anyone who can verify where you’ve been tonight?” Deputy Kirkus asked.
Carrie blew out a breath. “I’d like to make that phone call now.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kirkus’s brow arched, and the worry lines bracketing his mouth intensified.
“Make a call? Yes.” Carrie tightened her grip on the card, rubbing her thumb along the embossed letters.
The deputy leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms. “Forgive me for bringing up the past, but you were moved around in the system quite a bit as a child, weren’t you?”
Where’d that come from? “I’m not sure what my childhood has to do with my life today and especially with Brett.”
“It’s just that you ended up with the Berger family, if memory serves,” he continued. He needed to get to the point.
Carrie crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth. “I still don’t see—” It dawned on her where he was going with this. “I can assure you that I’m perfectly stable.”