Cry Wolf (Silver Hollow Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series Book 4)

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Yeah.” DeeDee took her trash and Dex’s and tossed it in the garbage bin outside the entrance to The Coffee Connection then returned to the car. “So I guess I’ll add the girlfriend to my list of people to interview.”

  “We need to nail down the exact location where the murder took place too. It’s going to be difficult to confirm alibis if we can’t place the killer with the body at a specific time.”

  “I wish that movie set had surveillance cameras.” DeeDee leaned down and checked to make sure Tucker Rockwood’s laptop was still securely under her seat. “At least I got the victim’s computer while I talked to the grieving wife. Pulled up his calendar and saw he had a meeting scheduled that night. No name or place listed, of course.”

  “Figures.” Dex snorted.

  “I know, right?” DeeDee frowned. “Wait a minute. He had a FitBit.”

  “What?”

  “A FitBit. You know, those exercise tracking bracelets. He was wearing it the night he was killed. I’m sure it’s back at the station, in the evidence room along with the rest of his personal effects,” DeeDee said, her adrenaline building. “When I first looked at Rockwood’s laptop, the app with his data was pulled up. I read a newspaper article not long ago involving a tracker like this. It’s a long shot, but there might be a way we can figure out exactly when Tucker’s body was moved to the final location.”

  CAINE STOPPED at a red light on his way back from the Moon-Morning Yoga Studio. He’d gone there after DeeDee had mentioned the place when she’d questioned him earlier. Caine had meant what he’d said in that props trailer. He wanted to catch Tucker Rockwood’s killer as much, if not more, than law enforcement. After all, he had much more at stake. Not just money, but his innocence.

  He glanced over and saw DeeDee’s squad car parked in front of a new little coffee shop called The Coffee Connection. He’d not been to the place himself yet, but a couple members of his crew frequented the shop. Tucker had gone there too a few times, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  As Caine watched, the passenger door of DeeDee’s car opened, and the detective who’d been with her back at his film set got out then got into a vintage black Buick parked beside the cruiser.

  A horn honked behind him, jolting Caine’s attention back to the road ahead. That was what he got for taking the Mercedes out himself this afternoon instead of calling for his driver. Smiling, he waved to the irate driver behind him then sped off through the green light. In his rearview mirror, he saw both the detective and DeeDee pull out of the parking lot and head toward downtown Silver Hollow.

  Man, she was so dedicated to her job. Caine was dedicated too, to his art and his pack, but he wasn’t sure if it was to the same degree as DeeDee. He admired her tenacity and the fact she wasn’t just another fluffy airhead, like the women who usually flocked his way in Hollywood. Or like that receptionist back at the yoga place. She’d all but drooled over him as she’d answered his questions. When he was younger, he would’ve been all over her like white on rice. Now, though, he wanted more.

  He wanted DeeDee.

  The thought both alarmed and amazed him. Amazed him because, honestly, when his father had first made the deal with DeeDee’s dad, Caine hadn’t been happy.

  Yes, he understood it was his responsibility and his duty to serve the pack. Someday he’d take over for his father and be alpha, and with that position came certain burdens—like ensuring the pack would have sufficient lands to roam and maintaining cordial relationships with their neighbors. He’d understood this marriage contract was strictly political, strictly a way to secure his pack and their lands for the next generation, so he’d not expected much to come from his marriage to DeeDee. Especially given most women of his acquaintance only seemed interested in his money, fame, and status. His old flame, Brenda, had certainly fit that mold.

  But DeeDee was different. And yes, maybe it was stupid for him to be all the way out here in the middle of nowhere to film a movie that had been iffy at best, even before Tucker’s death. He was hemorrhaging money by the day, and the script was a mess, and now, with his leading star gone, he’d have to be here even longer to reshoot the earlier scenes so they could somehow salvage what was left of this wreck of a film and try to recoup some of the lost funds.

  Still, Caine couldn’t bring himself to regret his choice to come to Silver Hollow. He’d done it because of DeeDee. He’d wanted a chance to romance her, to get to know her without their relationship being clouded by the fact of their forced marriage.

  Too bad this murder investigation had now ruined those plans too.

  He’d sensed DeeDee liked him too. In a way that went beyond normal instincts, beyond anything he’d ever known. It almost felt like telepathy, as though he knew what she would say or do before she did. Like the kind of bond soul-mated wolves developed.

  He sighed and turned down the street toward the Crenshaw mansion and his movie set. Maybe Carletta was right. Maybe he should’ve told DeeDee who he was from the start. Maybe if he had, he could’ve avoided all this mess happening now with Tucker’s death and her putting him at the top of her suspect list for the murder.

  Caine had a feeling once she found out that he’d lied to her about his identity, he’d be at the top of another of her lists too. The course of love never did run smoothly, but he feared he’d damaged his one chance at true love beyond any hope of recovery.

  CHAPTER 13

  Back at headquarters, DeeDee bypassed her desk and headed straight for the evidence room. After collecting the box of Tucker’s personal things, she brought it to Owen’s office and set it on his desk. Inside was the black FitBit bracelet, cataloged and tagged as coming from the victim’s left wrist.

  “What’s going on?” Owen asked, returning to the room with a can of soda in his hand. He cracked open the top and took a swig. “Find out anything interesting today?”

  She brought him up to date on her interviews then showed him the tracking device. “I told Dex I think we might be able to use this to discover when the victim’s body was moved.”

  “Huh.” He shook his head then took a seat. “Never heard of anything like that before.”

  “Yep.” She closed the evidence box then carried it back to her own desk in the corner. “I read an article in the paper a few months back where another police department used the steps recorded on a FitBit to prove a suspect couldn’t have been where he’d said he was because of the amount of steps recorded on the device.”

  “Dang, Deputy.” Owen chuckled. “You’re becoming a regular Bill Gates.”

  DeeDee laughed. “Hardly. I’m not an expert on these things by any means, but I’m hoping if the victim was still wearing it at the time his body was moved, it recorded something that might allow us to determine the time.”

  Dex walked in and plopped down in his chair then fired up his computer. “Want me to Google that thing to see how it works?”

  “Sure.” DeeDee took off her coat then joined Dex, leaning her hip against the side of his chair. He frowned at the screen, squinting. “Says here they only record steps when the wearer is moving forward or up and down, like walking, so it doesn’t mistakenly record when you’re doing other stuff, like riding in a car.”

  “Well, that won’t help us much then.” She sighed. “Let’s say Tucker died at one in the morning. He certainly wouldn’t have been walking to the place where we found his body at two.”

  Stan stumbled in, looking more like a zombie than a human. His skin was deathly pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. DeeDee and the guys exchanged a look as poor Stan fumbled to his desk against the wall and slumped into his seat.

  “Hey there, Agent Judge,” Owen said, his expression concerned. “We were just talking about the Tucker Rockwood case. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  “Whatever you guys think is fine,” Stan mumbled then looked away. DeeDee spotted two puncture marks on the side of Stan’s neck, and her eyes widened. It looked as if Mr. FBPI had been doing more than investigat
ing when he’d met with Ursula. Stan tilted his head and slowly glanced back at Owen, listless. “Do you need me to check on anything at the morgue?”

  Owen frowned. “No. You just came from there. I think we’re good for now. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem to be your usual gung-ho self on this investigation.”

  “Whatever.” Stan swiveled his chair away from them to stare at the wall.

  DeeDee focused her attention back on the case at hand. “Right. So this FitBit.”

  “Hard to believe you could figure out so much from a bracelet,” Owen said.

  “Not from the bracelet.” DeeDee smiled. Owen was a great sheriff but not the most tech-savvy guy in the world. “From the wireless recorder inside. It sends the data to the app connected to it.” She waved him over to Dex’s desk then popped out the little black gadget to show him. “See? This is connected to an app that stores the data. The same app that was open on Rockwood’s computer when I first logged on in his den.” She moved back to her own desk and fired up Tucker’s laptop. “Let me pull that app up again.”

  Dex and Owen moved in on either side of her. Stan was still staring at the wall.

  “Here.” She tapped a button, and up popped Tucker’s daily log and timeline of his steps. DeeDee pointed to a graph on the screen. “Look how his activity level dropped off sharply after one in the morning. Then there was nothing, just like Ursula said.”

  At the mention of the vampire coroner, Stan turned to face them abruptly, his eyes glazed. “Somebody say Ursula? Want me to go see her again?”

  “I think we got it, Stan,” Dex said. “Go back to work.”

  “Work,” Stan mumbled, slowly turning back around to face the wall again.

  “He’s a bit under the weather,” Dex said, giving DeeDee some serious side-eye.

  “Got that right.” She snorted as she scrolled down the screen. “The recorder shows his body started moving again around three fifty a.m.”

  “Yeah, right.” Owen scoffed. “How does a dead guy move his arms up and down?”

  “Dex and I found a dolly at the movie set we think was used to transport the body from the initial location where Rockwood was killed to the place where we found the body later. I dispatched a crime scene crew out there to process it.” She looked up at them. “If Tucker’s hand slipped off the dolly as he was being moved, that would account for the up and down motion needed to record these steps.”

  “It would also account for his left hand being mangled when we found him,” Dex said.

  “Yep.” DeeDee moved farther down the screen. “The recording stops again at four seventeen a.m. Nothing after that.”

  “Looks like we’ve got our time for the body drop.” Dex straightened.

  “So if his killer used this dolly to move the body and the stake wasn’t embedded deeply in the victim’s chest, it could very well have been a female who murdered him. You still think the wife did it?” Owen asked.

  “No, not given her alibi. Couldn’t have been the girlfriend either.” DeeDee pulled out her notebook and showed them her notes. “They were both in yoga class during that time. I verified it with the studio.”

  “Great.” Dex scrubbed a hand over his face. “Who else does that leave us with then?”

  DeeDee opened the evidence box again and searched inside, hoping for another clue. The swatch of blue fabric she collected that day from the fence line caught her eye.

  “What about this?” She pulled out the small evidence bag. “This color looks an awful lot like the emblem those protestors wear. Maybe one of them snuck inside the gates.”

  “Could be,” Dex said.

  “Now that I think about it, the day I interviewed Levi Harding, he wasn’t wearing his black jacket like the rest of the Sunrise Group. I remember at the time thinking it was strange because it was so cold out.” She flipped back through the pages of her notebook. “I even jotted something down here about it. Maybe he wasn’t wearing his jacket because he’d ripped the sleeve while sneaking inside to murder Tucker.”

  CHAPTER 14

  T wenty minutes later, DeeDee sped back to the Crenshaw mansion. As she pulled into the driveway, she saw only a few protestors milling about in front of the gates. It was after five now, and the temperatures had dropped, putting the wind chills well below zero, so that could explain it.

  She got out of her cruiser and trudged up to the gates, her hood up and her hands encased in thick gloves, preventing her from taking notes. She pulled one woman aside. “Where is everyone?”

  “We took shifts,” the woman said. “Because of the extreme cold.”

  “Right.” DeeDee frowned. “Is Levi Harding back at the hotel?”

  “Yep. He’s not due for a shift again until after midnight.”

  “Great. Thanks.” DeeDee rushed back to her car and peeled out of the driveway. The last thing she wanted was Levi Harding skipping town. She pulled off her gloves and cranked the heater in the squad car then used the Bluetooth to call the Route Nine Motel’s manager—who was paranormal and one of her best informants—and got Levi’s room number. When she pulled into the lot a short time later, she went directly to Harding’s room instead of the office. He answered on her second knock.

  “What are you doing here?” Levi frowned. He was dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, clearly not expecting company.

  “I need to ask you a few more questions, Mr. Harding.” DeeDee glanced past him and into the messy motel room. She wasn’t itching or sneezing, so there was no mistletoe present, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding rat poison in there somewhere.

  He sighed and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Fine. What else do you need to know?”

  “Where were you between three forty and four seventeen on Tuesday night when Tucker Rockwood was murdered?” DeeDee made a check around the room for rat poison or pesticide as she questioned him.

  “Here. Asleep, just like I told you before.” Harding’s gaze darted sideways as he answered, a clear indication he was lying. Her instincts went on high alert.

  She noticed his black jacket tossed on a chair in the corner of the room and made her way over to it. Yep, the sleeve was torn right where the patch was sewn, a hunk of it torn out. DeeDee held the damaged coat up for him to see. “We found evidence at the crime scene matching the missing fabric from this jacket, Mr. Harding. I’m betting if we tested the cloth and fibers, it would be a perfect match to your jacket. Why don’t you save us the time and trouble and just confess to what you’ve done? Make it easy on yourself, Mr. Harding.”

  Levi’s big frame seemed to crumple, and he sank down on the edge of his bed. “All right. Fine. I did sneak onto the film set that night but not to kill Tucker Rockwood. I’m dating one of the actresses in the movie, but we have to keep it a secret.”

  DeeDee removed her gloves and got out her trusty notebook again. “Why do you have to keep this affair a secret?”

  “I’m the head of the Sunrise Group. How would it look if someone found out I’m fooling around with one of the very people we’re protesting against?” He looked up at her, his expression imploring. “Please don’t tell anyone. It would ruin everything.”

  “I’ll need this actress’s name.” DeeDee frowned. “Give it to me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  His whole explanation sounded sketchy at best, but she scribbled down the name Levi gave her anyway then shoved her pad back in her pocket. “I’ll need to question your girlfriend to have her corroborate your story.”

  “It’s gonna be hard for you to find the real killer.”

  “Why’s that, Mr. Harding?” DeeDee asked as she pulled on her gloves again.

  “That set’s teeming with people at night. That’s why I had to skulk around, to stay hidden and not have people notice me. Most of the folks hang out near the main mansion house.”

  “What about near where the body was found? Do people hang out around there too?”

  “No, not around down by the swamp so much,” Hardi
ng said. “Anyway, I saw things people did around the set when they thought no one was looking.”

  “Things like what?” DeeDee raised a brow.

  “Take Tucker Rockwood. I saw him hanging out with a certain blonde Monday night—inside the mansion’s old carriage house—and they weren’t exactly running lines, if you know what I mean.”

  DeeDee sighed. “We already know Rockwood was cheating on his wife with one of the actresses. Gina Presti.”

  “Yeah? Well then, I guess good old Tucker did pretty good then, because the blonde I saw him with wasn’t Gina.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I saw her that night too,” Levi said. “Right after I spotted Rockwood in the carriage house. Gina walked in front of me, heading toward the trailers.”

  If that was true, then they had yet another woman to find, and DeeDee had no time to waste. She headed for the door. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harding. I’ll show myself out.”

  She’d no sooner made it back to the sidewalk, however, than she nearly collided with the man who’d been foremost in her thoughts lately, whether she wanted him there or not.

  Caine Hunter.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her tone as brisk as the freezing air. “This is an active law enforcement investigation. You have no place here. Unless you’re trying to cover up evidence.”

  “I’m not trying to cover up anything,” Caine said, his irritation levels matching her own, if his expression was any indication. “How many times must I tell you I had absolutely nothing to gain from Tucker’s death, DeeDee?”

  That was the first time she’d heard him use her name. A harsh gust of wind whistled past them, and they huddled nearer to the brick wall of the hotel, mere inches apart. Even through her heavy coat and gloves, Caine’s heat penetrated through her, warming her from the inside out. DeeDee had the crazy urge to snuggle closer to him and…