“Yes.” The manager descended the stairs first.
Aware of his hand still touching her as though imparting some of his strength to her, Cassie followed with Jameson right behind her.
“I have to call Mom.” Sorrow squeezed her throat tightly, causing her voice to thicken. She knew from past experience she wouldn’t shed any tears—she’d learned long ago not to—but that didn’t stop her from feeling a deep sadness.
Jameson glanced back at the officer behind him. “Miss Winters needs to let her mother know what has happened.”
“After I talk with y’all, she can call her.”
Cassie halted and faced the older man. “She’s expecting my call. She’s the one who sent us here to check on Scott.”
“Why?”
“Because she was worried. He was supposed to be at our house a few hours ago, but he didn’t show up or answer his cell.” Under the police officer’s survey, she felt like a suspect being assessed.
Before the man could say anything, Cassie’s phone rang. She withdrew it from her pocket and looked toward the police officer. “It’s her calling.”
“Answer it. We’ll be inside.” The man mounted the steps to the porch with Mrs. Alexander.
Cassie’s hand quivered as she punched the On button. Her heart pounded. Dread covered her in a sheen of sweat. “Mom,” she said into the cell, her gaze glued to Jameson.
“Where’s Scott, Cassie?”
Jameson’s calming presence slowed the beating of her heart enough that she could answer, “He’s not with me.” She realized this wasn’t the way to tell her mother.
“He’s not there? Where is he?”
With the Lord, Cassie thought, but couldn’t say that out loud. She didn’t want her mother to be alone when she found out about Scott, especially in her precarious health.
“Mom, Jameson and I will be home shortly. We’ll figure out what’s going on.” She disconnected the cell before her mother pursued the conversation. She couldn’t out and out lie to her mom.
Jameson clasped her hand, his eyes full of sadness.
“I couldn’t tell her over the phone. We need to get back to Magnolia Falls as soon as possible. I have to be there when she’s told.”
“Then let’s wrap this up and head back.” His arm went around her shoulder.
She leaned into him as they entered the building. The officer was waiting for them in the doorway to Mrs. Alexander’s apartment, looking at them both grimly.
“Miss Winters, my partner just called from your brother’s place. Something doesn’t add up with your brother’s death.”
FOUR
J ameson stepped forward. “You think there may have been foul play?”
“It’s a possibility. Until we know more, we’re handling it as a murder investigation.”
“Scott murdered?” The words staggered Cassie. Jameson clasped her against him as her legs gave way. “How—I mean…” She didn’t know what to say. Thoughts that made no sense tumbled through her mind.
“Why does your partner think that?” Jameson tightened his hold on her.
“We’ll know more after our forensics team goes over the crime scene and we get the autopsy report.”
“Crime scene,” Cassie whispered, her throat raw with emotion.
“Let’s go inside and talk.” The police officer stepped to the side to allow Cassie and Jameson to enter the apartment.
He started forward.
Cassie hung back, frozen to the spot. “I can’t do this. I need to get home and tell Mom. I don’t want her to hear from anyone but me.”
“Ma’am, I understand. I’ll try to get you home as quickly as possible.” The young man went first through the entrance into Mrs. Alexander’s place.
“Cassie?”
The concern in Jameson’s voice touched the icy grip on her heart. She took a deep, fortifying breath and moved into the apartment.
The aroma of coffee drifted to her. Such an ordinary smell. Then Cassie remembered the other scents that accosted her in Scott’s living room—whiskey, blood. She shuddered.
Mrs. Alexander bustled out of the kitchen. “I’ve put a pot of coffee on. Would anyone like a cup?”
Cassie’s stomach churned, and she shook her head.
“I’ll take one.” Jameson guided her toward the couch and sat.
“Sure,” the officer said to Mrs. Alexander, who immediately went back into the kitchen. He sank into a chair across from Cassie and Jameson and opened his pad. “Tell me what happened.”
Exhausted beyond sleep, Cassie trudged into the kitchen, so glad to see Jameson still at the house even though it was well past midnight. He glanced up, quickly masking the apprehension in his expression.
“How’s your mom?” He cradled his mug and brought it to his lips to take a sip.
Cassie eased down into the chair next to him. “Finally asleep.”
He held up his cup. “Do you want any coffee?”
“No, can’t stand the stuff.” She stared at the oak tabletop, trying to put some kind of order to her thoughts. The sound of her mother’s sobs still crowded her mind. Someone did this to her family. She curled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. “I want to find whoever did this and make him pay.”
“The police will be looking into Scott’s death. It hasn’t been ruled a murder yet.”
“So you think he simply fell and hit his head on the table?”
“There was blood on the edge of it and on nothing else—at least that I could see.” The last few words were spoken with less conviction that it wasn’t murder.
“Maybe the killer took it with him.”
“You would rather Scott had been murdered than drinking again?”
“No, of course…” She tightened her hands even more until her knuckles stood out, white. “I don’t know what to think anymore. But that officer was suspicious.”
“I don’t think it’s just because Scott had liquor all over the front of his shirt. He could have spilled that on himself. Whatever it is, the police aren’t saying. Maybe it’s just a gut feeling.”
She remembered one time that her brother had been so drunk he had done that very thing. Which was worse? Her brother drinking himself to death or someone killing him?
Jameson covered her hands with his. “Let’s give the police a chance. They’ll know more after the autopsy. His blood alcohol level will indicate whether he was drinking or not.”
Anger that held her stiff siphoned from her, and she sagged against the table. “I had to listen to my mother cry herself to sleep. We had come through so much with Scott. He was getting his life back on track finally. What if someone came along and ended it—” she snapped her fingers “—just like that. It could be tied to a story he was working on.”
“Why do you say that?” Jameson downed the last swig of his drink.
“All the questions about whether Scott worked at home or not, how he kept notes on a story he was investigating. Right before we left, I overheard one of the detectives say he was going down to the newspaper next.”
“That could mean anything. Scott had already gained quite a reputation for digging until he discovered the whole truth. He’d made a few people unhappy with some of his stories.”
Cassie scraped the chair back and shot to her feet. “Exactly! Scott could have made someone angry with one of his pieces, and he got even by killing him.”
“That’s a possibility, and the police will look into it. But they’re also asking questions about Scott and his drinking.”
Leaning forward, she rested her knuckles on the plaid place mat. “After the scene is processed, they want me to go through Scott’s place and see if anything is missing.”
“The police need to rule out robbery as a motive, if he was murdered.”
The thought of going through her brother’s possessions, knowing she would have to box them up soon, chilled her. “I—I know, but…”
Jameson rose. “Do you want me
to go with you? I don’t mind helping.”
“I hate to ask you—”
He covered the small space between them and clasped her arms, compelling her to look up into his face. “You didn’t ask. I volunteered. I don’t mind. Scott was a friend. You are a friend.”
His words melted some of the cold deep in the marrow of her bones. Emotions she’d held at bay wedged a lump in her throat.
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “It’s okay to cry.”
She fought the tears back. “I don’t like to cry.”
“Why?”
It’s a sign of weakness, of losing control. Her gymnastics coach’s words came back to her. Whenever she had fallen in practice, she was never allowed to shed one tear. After years it had become ingrained in her. But she couldn’t tell Jameson that. Instead she murmured, “I just don’t.”
The steady beat of his heart drummed against her ear. His faint scent surrounded her and brought some consolation to her.
“It’s never easy losing a loved one,” Jameson finally said, breaking the silence. “No matter the reason for the death.”
She remembered the death of his wife at the end of last year. Had he had anyone to help him through his pain? He always seemed so alone. Was he experiencing his own loss again?
Cassie pulled back, their gazes reconnecting. “I know. If you ever want to talk about your wife, I’m a good listener.”
Surprise flickered in and out of his eyes. “This isn’t about me.”
If she pushed back her own sorrow and helped Jameson with his, would it fill the void Scott’s death left in her? “This is about losing a loved one, and you lost your wife last year.”
He backed away. “I had plenty of time to prepare myself for her death. She was sick for quite some time.”
“Can you ever really prepare yourself for a loved one’s death?”
He took another step away from her. “How did this conversation suddenly become about me?”
“Have you talked to anyone about your wife dying?” She didn’t really need to ask him that question. She knew the answer.
His gaze narrowed, his face frowned. “I need to leave. Let me know if you want me to go with you to Scott’s when the police give you the okay.”
She understood he was closing the door on any conversation concerning his deceased wife. But still, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I’ll let you know when they call. Mom won’t want me to go alone, and I don’t think she should go right now.”
“Are you going to say anything to your mother about the possibility of Scott being murdered?”
“I could only bring myself to tell her it was an accident. She’s been through so much with Scott and her own failing health. I don’t want her to know it could have been murder until the police declare that officially. I’ve asked them not to talk to Mom until they absolutely have to. The detective said he would let me know when.”
“I’ll make sure I don’t say anything, but you may want to moderate the news in case some reporter speculates about the investigation.”
She nodded. “I hate to think what this will do to Mom if it is true.”
The grief he saw in Cassie’s eyes mirrored his own grief for his wife. Maybe if he helped Cassie and her mother through their sorrow, it would ease some of his guilt.
“I’d better go. Call me after you talk to the police.” Jameson crossed to the dining room entrance.
Outside in the cool fall air, he paused, trying not to remember the words Liz’s father shouted at him that day long ago in the hospital. But he couldn’t forget them. They burned into his mind as though the man had branded him with them.
You’re responsible for my daughter lying here in this bed.
And he couldn’t argue that point. He was responsible.
Sunday afternoon Jameson pulled into the long driveway that led to Scott’s apartment above the garage. “So the police have made it official. He was murdered.”
“That’s what Detective Harrison told me. He was hit with some kind of blunt object. The amount of alcohol in his system was minimal, likely poured in his mouth postmortem. They are searching the surrounding area to see if anything turns up.”
“But they’re through with the apartment?”
“Yes and his car is in the garage.” On the drive to Savannah, she and Jameson had discussed everything but what had happened to Scott, as though they had mutually decided to avoid the subject for as long as possible. “I called Mrs. Alexander and she told me the key would be under Scott’s doormat. She wasn’t sure she would be home from church when we arrived.”
“Did you tell your mother before you left?”
“No. I will when I get back home. I didn’t want to leave right after I told her.” Cassie opened the passenger door and climbed from the car.
“Does she know you’re coming to Scott’s place?”
Cassie rounded the front of the vehicle and halted, facing the garage. “Yes. A neighbor is staying with her until I return home. And our pastor is stopping in to see her after church.”
Jameson came to her side, his arm brushing against hers. “Now that I see this in broad daylight, his apartment is pretty secluded.”
“Yeah, the way Scott wanted it. I helped him move in. I wish I hadn’t.”
Jameson fit her hand within his. “That wouldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to live here.” He gestured toward the structure at the far end of the driveway.
The three-car garage sat at the back of the property, with the entrance to the apartment above it around the back. Large azalea bushes obscured the path in several places. “I could easily see someone lying in wait for Scott.”
“But I didn’t see any signs of a struggle in his apartment, and I doubt anyone hit him over the head and dragged him up the steps.”
Cassie gasped. “You think it was someone Scott knew?”
“Possibly.”
The implication sent her heart pounding, its roar drowning out all sounds for a few minutes as she thought of her brother being killed by someone he trusted. A cool breeze stirred the leaves on the live oak shading the driveway, causing the Spanish moss to dance as though someone were pulling its strings. Cassie hugged her sweater to her.
“What do we do?” she whispered around the knot in her throat.
“We check out his apartment and let the police know if anything is missing. Then we let them do their job.”
The way he said “we” warmed her. She felt comforted just knowing she wouldn’t have to go through this ordeal alone. “Thank you.”
“I’m just doing what any friend would do.” He guided her toward the stairs.
Slowly Cassie mounted the steps, each one bringing her closer to the murder scene. She withdrew the key from under the mat and tried to unlock the door, but her hands shook.
“Here, I’ll do it.” After taking the key from her grasp, Jameson inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. He eased the door open, then faced her, taking her quivering hands within his. “I’m with you every step of the way. If you want to do this another day, just say the word and we’re out of here.”
She welcomed his presence more than he would ever know. She forced herself to smile, but she couldn’t maintain it. “I need to get this over with. If something is missing, it might help the police find out who killed Scott.”
Wordlessly Jameson entered her brother’s apartment first, scanning the living room before allowing her inside. When she stepped through the entrance, she found it difficult to breathe. Her gaze was riveted to the spot on the carpet where Scott had been lying, the dry, red stain ridiculing her remaining composure. The faint stench of blood accosted her nostrils, and she gagged.
She bit her lower lip and backed up, her fingers pressing into her mouth. Suddenly she wanted to cry, but no tears came. Scott was gone. She no longer had to protect him and look out for him, but she wished she still did.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mom Scott was murdered.�
��
Jameson drew her past the place on the rug where they had found Scott and down the short hall. “Let’s start in his bedroom.”
The first thing that struck her when she saw the room was how neat and orderly her brother had always been. Even his bed was made, whereas she often left hers a mess. They had been so different. She stood in the entrance and swept her gaze over the pieces of furniture, trying to visualize what Scott had.
“His TV is still here. And his radio.” Cassie walked farther inside, trying to remember what she’d helped him move a few months back. “He really doesn’t have a whole lot besides his TV, radio and—” she spun around “—his computer. Did you see it in the living room?”
“No. Where does he usually keep it?”
Cassie crossed to the closet and opened it. “Wherever he decides to work. It’s a laptop.” After inspecting the contents of the shelf and floor, she turned toward Jameson. “If his murder is connected to his work, then the computer is important as well as his tape recorder.”
“Then let’s search for them.” He made his way back into the living area.
Cassie again paused in the entrance, glad that the couch blocked her view of the red-stained carpet. She did a visual sweep of the large room with the kitchen off to the left, but saw nothing out of place. A picture of her brother sitting at the small kitchen table typing on his laptop popped into her mind. She peered toward it, but its bare surface mocked her.
While Jameson circled the spacious open area, Cassie hung back, frozen in place. Sweat broke out on her forehead and palms. She watched while Jameson opened cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen and even checked the refrigerator.
Finally he faced her, his gaze reaching out to her. “I can’t find the laptop or recorder. Would they be anywhere else?”
“Maybe in his car. I know the police inventoried its contents. They didn’t say anything about his laptop being in it.”
“How about at the paper?”
Cassie shook her head. “He has a computer there. And he always had his recorder on him in case something came up unexpectedly. There wouldn’t be any reason for it to be at the newspaper.”
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