Do I need backup?
Her weapon felt heavy at her hip. Men might be willing to intimidate her unarmed social worker sister, but few tried the same behavior on Stevie. A woman’s face appeared in a window and Stevie smiled and held up a hand. She’d seen Dana Cooper downtown enough times to nod and say hello. Sheila swore she wouldn’t let anyone but Dana do her nails. All Stevie did with her own fingernails was clip them.
Dana opened the front door, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. “You here to see us?”
“I am,” said Stevie.
“Is it about that asshole who killed my Amber Lynn?” Dana asked.
“Yes, it is. How are you doing, Dana?” Stevie thought she looked thinner than usual. “I’m so sorry about Amber Lynn.”
“Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents. I’m doing as well as someone whose child was murdered can be.” Dana looked away and blew her smoke to the side in an angry huff. “I heard Bob Fletcher got what was coming to him.”
Stevie wasn’t surprised. News traveled fast in Solitude. Stevie kicked her boots at the cinder block steps, knocking off the snow. “Can I come in for a few minutes? This won’t take long.”
Dana stepped back, making room for Stevie to squeeze by into the claustrophobic space. Tony sat at a small dinette table, eating breakfast, and the smell of bacon and eggs made Stevie’s stomach rumble. The small mobile home was cold. Both Tony and Dana wore thick bathrobes over their clothing, and Stevie was thankful for her heavy police coat. Tony gave her the evil eye over his hunting magazine as he shoved another bite of eggs in his mouth.
“I hear someone delivered justice for Amber Lynn,” he said as he chewed. “Some people don’t believe in waiting around for the cops and courts. They let everyone off anyway.”
Stevie lifted her chin. “Any idea who this caped crusader is?” She held Tony’s gaze.
He grinned at her, and she saw eggs. “You cops want to put away the hero? Isn’t that how it always goes. The good guy gets in trouble.”
“We have a justice system for a reason,” Stevie argued, knowing she was talking to a wall. “We can’t let the population deliver punishment on a whim. There’s a process.”
“I know your process,” Tony said. “Your process has our granddaughter—Dana’s only kin—living with some stranger.”
Stevie glanced back at Dana, who stared at the floor, one hand pressed against her abdomen while the other tapped her cigarette in a tray. She didn’t appear upset that she didn’t have custody of young Charlotte. She worked full-time and already had one mooching mouth to feed.
“It looks like Charlotte will live with her paternal uncle. But I’m here to talk about Bob Fletcher.” She smiled at Tony. “Any chance you were wearing your cape near the police station Christmas morning?”
Behind Stevie, Dana snorted. Tony set down his fork and chortled. “I didn’t kill Bob Fletcher. Hell, I was at church Christmas morning. We went to the first and second services. We didn’t finish up until one o’clock.”
Small Town Rule #4: Everyone goes to church on Christmas and Easter. Even the assholes.
“He’s telling the truth,” said Dana. “I was on the flower committee for that day.”
“So we’re looking for someone who skipped church that morning,” Stevie said lightly. She’d originally been amused by Tony’s statement, but now she wondered if it was an angle they should look at. A good nine-tenths of the town must have been at some sort of service that morning, but it was a moot point if their killer wasn’t local.
“Know any sinners I should be questioning?” she asked Tony.
“Lots of them. But I saw them at church too.”
She turned and handed Dana a card. “Call us if you think of anything.”
Dana followed her out the door and down the steps, pulling her robe tight against the wind. “Thank you for handling him. I was afraid you’d put him in a bad mood.”
“I know how to handle his type. I try to keep them smiling the whole time.”
“Hard to do day in, day out.” The tired-looking woman sighed.
“If you ever need—”
“Stop right there,” Dana ordered, pointing at Stevie with her cigarette. “Your sister gave me the same lecture. I’m not stupid.”
Stevie bit her tongue, knowing the woman needed to come to her own decision.
Shrewd eyes studied Stevie. “When are you going to marry that police chief of yours? I heard you haven’t even given up your apartment yet. I don’t know what you’re waiting for. In a tiny town like this, you’re not going to find many good ones like I did.” She jerked her head at the window of her home and inhaled on her cigarette, giving Stevie a wink, sharing a womanly bonding moment.
Stevie was speechless as she mentally compared Zane to Tony. She pulled up the hood of her heavy coat. “Merry Christmas, Dana. And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
She climbed in her vehicle, suddenly needing to feel Zane’s arms around her.
CHAPTER SIX
His energy restored with a jump-start from Nell’s espresso, Zane returned to the Wayside Motel. He spotted Charlie watching him from the window of the lobby and decided to see if the manager had any gossip to share about his customers.
“I hear you’re steering business away from me, Zane,” Charlie complained the second Zane stepped in the door.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That family from out of town. The Phillipses. I heard they were told to go stay at Dixie’s. Everyone knows Dixie doesn’t take customers during the winter months.” He scowled.
Zane halted. “Seriously, Charlie? You wanted them to stay in the same motel where their daughter was murdered? Don’t you have any feelings?”
“She wasn’t murdered here. I heard what the examiner said. Just because she was found here, doesn’t mean you need to be scaring away my customers by telling them someone was killed here. She could have been killed anywhere.”
“For fuck’s sake, Charlie. Their daughter died. Grow a heart and put yourself in their situation.”
“It’s hurting business.” He glared and Zane noticed his comb-over looked extra thin today.
“That’s not my problem. How can it be hurting business when you’re the only motel for miles? How about you replace the sinks and bedspreads? Update the rooms a bit. Stop charging everyone for Wi-Fi. That’d help your business.”
“You don’t know anything about the business of running a motel.”
Zane closed his eyes, took two deep breaths, and opened them, staring hard at Charlie. “Do you have any news for me? Anything about Vanessa Phillips?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll get to work. A business I do know something about.” He strode out of the lobby and barely kept himself from slamming the door. Charlie hadn’t cleared the snow from the motel walkways, and Zane had to step carefully. He hoped someone slipped and sued.
Room 127 was occupied by Tim Sessions, the trucker with the sexual assault record. According to Kenny’s information, Tim had checked in on December twenty-third and was still staying at the motel. Tim had answered all of Kenny’s questions on Christmas Day, and claimed he hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual until the cops showed up. It was the standard answer Kenny got from everyone. Tim’s room was next door to the unit where Vanessa had been found.
Zane knocked and the door opened promptly. No waft of alcohol spilled out. Instead Zane was greeted with a little too much Old Spice. Tim Sessions was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots. Zane knew he was twenty-eight. He looked like a young, all-American rodeo champion. Not a sex offender.
“I figured you guys would be back as soon as you ran me through the system,” Tim said, holding out his hand to Zane.
“You know why I’m here then,” said Zane. Tim had a strong handshake, his hands heavily callu
sed. A working man’s hands.
“I know what’s on my record. As soon as I heard about that girl next door, I knew I’d get more questions. Seems logical.”
Zane relaxed the tiniest bit but didn’t let down his guard. He’d met some awfully good liars in his line of work. “This will just take a minute.”
Tim let him inside. The only indication that anyone had stayed there was a water glass and a novel on Tim’s nightstand. The room was immaculate. Except for the standard thinning carpet and frayed bedspread.
“Did you see Vanessa Phillips at all?” Zane held out the photo.
Tim took the picture and shook his head. “I didn’t know anyone had occupied the next room. The only women I’d seen around here were the housekeepers and the waitstaff at the bar across the parking lot.” He looked up at Zane. “She was killed in the room next door?”
“We don’t think that’s the murder site, but she was found there. What brings you to town?”
“Just passing through.”
Zane lifted an eyebrow and waited. People who were just passing through didn’t stay for four days. Especially truckers.
“Well, I was passing through until I got sick. I was only going to stay the one night, but I came down with some nasty food poisoning or flu. Today’s the first day I’ve felt human. I think it might have been the shrimp I ate at the bar. Good thing I wasn’t in the middle of a job.”
“You missed Christmas?”
“Yeah, I talked to my mom on the phone. I was headed their way for the holiday. They live in Leggett.”
Zane shook his head. “Don’t know it.”
“South of here in Northern California. Redwood country.”
“Then you weren’t too far from home.”
“Too far to drive in that crappy weather with my gut acting the way it was.”
He looked pretty healthy to Zane. “Tell me about your record.”
Tim looked away, his expression going blank. “She was seventeen. Told me she was nineteen.” He turned back to Zane, his gaze hardening. “We were in love, but her daddy didn’t like it, so he reported me. I was twenty and that made it illegal. End of relationship and end of story.”
Zane was silent. Not what I expected to hear.
“You’ll be paying the consequences for a long time,” he finally said.
“Tell me about it.” Bitterness rang in the young man’s tone for the first time.
“What’s she doing these days?” Zane couldn’t help but ask.
A wry smile twisted Tim’s lips. “Married with three kids. White picket fence. And a drinking problem.”
“I think you’ll land on your feet,” Zane said.
“It’s been eight years. I’m ready for some solid footing.”
Zane ended the interview and sat in his car for a few minutes. He’d been twenty and had dated a younger girl. He’d definitely been young and dumb but at least he had walked away without any consequences. He could see himself in Tim Sessions’s boots.
He mentally moved Tim down a few slots on his suspect list.
“We’ve got a situation at Fletcher’s Bar!” Sheila hollered at Stevie in the police station.
Stevie looked up from the notes she’d been writing from her interview with Tony and Dana that morning. She glanced at the clock and realized she’d missed dinner. “Where’s Zane?” she shouted back.
“He’s right in the middle of it.”
“Shit.” Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d missed dinner.
She grabbed her coat and strode toward the front door. “Who called?” she asked Sheila as she passed by her desk.
“Angie. She says there’s a few guys flinging insults, and Zane’s trying to cool things down. She says it’s going to erupt at any second.”
Stevie flew out the door. Angie knew how to size up drunken men. Ten years of waiting tables at Fletcher’s had given her a lifetime of experience.
Five minutes later Stevie pulled her car into the parking lot next to Zane’s and eyed the rifle clamped by her console. Not yet.
Her bulletproof vest felt heavy as she jogged to the door of the squatty old building. Too many times she’d responded to calls at Fletcher’s Bar. She never knew what to expect inside. One time she’d arrived and found everything had settled down and the men were slapping each other on the back like best friends. Another time she’d arrived and found two men on the floor with stab wounds.
She yanked open the door.
This was more like the second time. Zane had Amber Lynn’s stepfather, Tony Cooper, in a headlock, yelling at him to hold still. Two other men were holding the arms of a guy who seemed intent on beating Tony’s head in. Zane met her gaze. “Get him down!” He nodded toward the other guy.
Stevie stepped forward and opened her mouth to order the second guy to stop fighting, but he yelled at her first. “Out of the way, bitch!” He tried to fling himself at her but was held in place by his friends.
She planted a foot and kicked him in the groin, and he collapsed with a scream, barely stopped from hitting the concrete floor by the guys still holding his arms. They winced and looked away.
She grabbed one of his arms and twisted it behind his back and snapped on the cuffs. His friend politely held his other arm for her as she repeated the motion. She shoved him onto his chest on the floor.
Tony Cooper stopped thrashing in Zane’s headlock. “You gonna behave?” Zane asked.
Tony nodded, and Zane slowly released him.
“What happened?” Stevie asked. Zane was breathing heavily, but she didn’t see any bruises or blood on him. She swallowed hard, tamping down her own adrenaline, which had been pumping hard since Sheila yelled at her. She kept a professional distance from Zane, fighting her instinct to touch him.
“That asshole accused me of killing Bob Fletcher,” Tony said, pointing at the guy on the ground. “I didn’t kill no one.” Tony’s right eye was starting to swell, and blood dripped from his nose. Zane grabbed a napkin off a bar table and thrust it at him.
“Who is that?” she muttered to Zane.
“Beats me.”
Stevie squatted next to the guy still writhing on the floor. “Got a name?”
“You kicked me in the balls.” His eyes were squeezed shut, his long hair covering most of his face.
She looked up at the two men who’d been holding his arms, seeing the reproach in their eyes. Men were protective of their family jewels. She abruptly realized one was Ryan Phillips, Vanessa’s brother. She narrowed her eyes at him. She hadn’t expected to see the mourning brother in a seedy bar like Fletcher’s.
“Anyone know his name?”
“That’s Jake Powers. Worked with Bob,” answered the second man.
Stevie took a closer look at the man on the floor. Sure enough. “Hey, Jake. Looks like you found a great diet plan.” The man must have lost a hundred pounds since she’d seen him last. “Looking good. Except you could use a haircut.”
“Fuck you, Stevie,” Jake moaned.
She stood up with a grin. If anyone had had a foot to the balls coming, it was Jake Powers. He’d leered at her and Carly since they were teenagers. He was a creep who’d done odd jobs for the bar and motel for years. He had a way of fading into the background, but the women in town always complained that he stared at them. He didn’t ever touch them, but he certainly had his fill of looking.
“Tony killed Bob,” Jake choked out. “Asshole did it because Bob killed Amber Lynn.”
Stevie remembered there’d always been a bit of hero worship on Jake’s part toward Bob Fletcher. It added to his creep factor.
“Well, sounds like Bob may have had it coming then, right? You can’t kill someone’s stepdaughter without paying for it,” Stevie said, trying to make Jake feel she saw his point. “How do you know Tony did it?” she prodded.
&nb
sp; “Because he came in here all gloating and shit because Bob was dead.”
Stevie paused. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
Zane exchanged a glance with Stevie. It wasn’t the concrete evidence they’d hoped to hear. She bent over and hauled Jake to his feet. He reeked of booze and swayed, struggling to keep his balance. She looked at Ryan Phillips. “What are you doing in here?”
“Just getting a drink,” he said. “I can only be around my parents for so long.” His gaze was bitter, and Stevie understood. His family was in mourning, and he was looking for a temporary escape. “Amber Lynn was the other girl that was killed, right?” Ryan asked. “Are they fighting about the guy who killed her?”
Stevie nodded. “We still don’t know if he’s the one who harmed your sister.” She strongly suspected Bob had killed both women. The timing was too close to be coincidental. They just needed proof.
“Let’s let Jake sleep it off back at the station,” Zane said.
“No!” Jake straightened, his eyes wide open. “That’s where Bob was killed! They’ll get me too!”
“Who, Jake?” Stevie asked. “Who will get you?”
The man started to struggle in her grip. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to sit there all locked up and waiting for someone to come slash my neck.” Panic flooded his features.
“He under arrest?” Angie stepped forward, looking from Stevie to Zane.
“That depends,” Zane said. He glanced at Tony. “You pressing charges?”
Tony glared from Jake to the other men in the bar, who were listening and watching intently. “No.”
“Then he’s not under arrest. But I can’t let him drive home drunk,” said Zane.
“I’ll drive him home,” said Angie. “I’ve done it enough times before. He’s been a wreck since we found out about Bob, that’s all.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Jake slurred.
“You want Angie to drive you home?” Zane asked him. “You swear no more fighting tonight?”
Dead in Her Tracks Page 4