by Pandora Pine
“Ronan and I will use the crime scene photos to recreate the murder step by step and see if there’s anything that got missed or overlooked ten years ago,” Fitzgibbon said.
“What about Boone?” Ronan asked. “What are we going to do with her?”
“She can play Shannon in the recreation. I think she’s about the same height and weight.” Paper rattled as Greeley started flipping through his notebook.
“Boone is a sheriff’s deputy. She isn’t going to want to spend the day lying on the kitchen floor playing dead.” Or is she? Tennyson was still having a hard time understanding why she wanted in on this case at all. He got that Sheriff Reed probably wanted one of his people in on the investigation, but why would she volunteer? Unless of course she’d drawn the short straw.
“It could be very helpful for us since we didn’t see the actual crime scene. Neither did she for that matter. Boone’s only been on the force for three years,” Ronan pointed out.
“I don’t remember her saying that.” Fitzgibbon sounded puzzled.
“You’re not the only one who can do research, Cap.” Ronan turned to look out the rear-view mirror. “Here she comes now. Let’s figure this out today, people. I want to go home. I miss my dog and I want a big ass lobster roll from Lobster Charlie’s.”
“That goes double for me,” Ten added.
“What kind of fish can we get in Kansas?” Greeley asked.
“Catfish.” Ten’s nose wrinkled at the thought.
Greeley held up a hand, looking a little green. “No pussy for me, thanks.”
Tennyson burst out laughing. That went double for him too!
Fifteen minutes, and one minor argument with Boone later, Tennyson found himself standing in the Bradley’s kitchen by himself. Boone hadn’t wanted Ten to go into the house alone. She’d been outvoted.
From his years of experience Ten knew nothing would scare a spirit off faster than a bunch of strangers invading her space. It was best for everyone if Ten went into the house alone. He’d agreed that it was a good idea for Boone and the others to check the perimeter of the house for any signs of intruders.
When those checks revealed that the house was still locked up tight, Ten had been allowed to go inside. He’d already known that the house was safe, but Boone only believed what she experienced with her five senses, she wasn’t about to blindly trust what Tennyson saw with his sixth.
The one thing that had surprised Tennyson about the Bradley house was that it was almost the same as it was the day of the murder. All of the furniture in the living room was still there. The only difference now, aside from it all being ten years older, was that it was encased in dusty slipcovers. It reminded Ten of rental property.
Twenty minutes and a good vacuum would have this place perfectly livable. The unfortunate thing was that there was a market for this kind of property. Murder houses sold well on the open market and made for good museums and tourism opportunities.
“Shannon? My name is Tennyson Grimm. I used to live in this town. I grew up here before I moved to Massachusetts when I was eighteen years old.” There was no need to tell the spirit of the murdered woman his entire life story.
“I’d really like to speak to you if you’re here.” Ten sighed. He didn’t sense the murdered woman in the living room. As much as he hated the idea, he moved toward the kitchen. According to what he’d read in the case file, Shannon had been in the kitchen when the killer had struck.
The room was just as dusty as the living room had been, but it was darker. The windows had been boarded up over time to keep curious lookie-lous from getting a peek into the kitchen. “Shannon?” Ten asked again. Still no answer.
“She’s not here, sugar plum, but I am.” Bertha Craig said.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Ten sighed, instantly relaxing.
“Wasn’t quite sure you’d be in a visiting sort of a mood, Ten. You were kind of surly at the funeral.” Bertha smiled, her blue eyes glittered, in spite of the gloom.
“A little advanced warning would have been nice before my father dropped in to see me.” Ten shrugged, unable to keep a smile off his face. That was all water under the bridge now. “I’ve missed you. This trip has sucked in spades. One more friendly face would have been welcome, you know.”
“Why the hell do you think Captain America and Boy Wonder are here?” Bertha cackled.
“That was your doing?” Ten shook his head. He should have known.
“Kevin had considered coming out here, but let’s just say he had a dream that cemented the idea in his mind.” Bertha laughed.
“It’s a good thing you’re on our side.”
“Never a truer word was spoken, Ten.” Bertha gave him a hug. “Now tell me, kiddo, how the hell’d you and Handsome get mixed up in this?” She threw her arms wide, giving the kitchen a cursory inspection from where she stood.
Tennyson sighed. He’d asked himself the same question a couple of times now. If it wasn’t for this favor to the sheriff, they’d be back in Massachusetts by now. “The local sheriff asked Ronan if we could take a look into this case. Apparently, it’s the only open investigation on their books. The family is looking for closure.”
“Closure, my rosy red ass. The sheriff is the one looking for closure. Actually, he’s looking for his next gig. Union Chapel is too small for him.”
“He wants this case resolved so he can claim he has a perfect record as the sheriff in Union Chapel?” Ten rolled his eyes. What a douche. “Have you run across Shannon Bradley in your travels, Bertha?”
“I’m not the Rand McNally of the afterlife you know. I’ve got plenty of other people to keep me busy. Like my grandbabies and my almost grandbabies.” Bertha raised a menacing eyebrow at Tennyson. “Rumor has it that the cat is out of the bag.”
Ten sighed. “Oh, come on, Bertha! That was the worst kept secret of all time. Everyone knew about the baby except her own father.”
“Not everyone knew, Tennyson.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“You, Carson, Cole, me, and Erin.” Ten raised an eyebrow in return. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure Erin knew, but it was a good bet. “I’m adding Truman to the list too because if Carson knows…”
“My son-in-law knows too.” Bertha cracked a smile. “Okay, fine. It was a badly kept secret. Erin can’t stop visiting her little soul. Neither can I. Okay?”
Tennyson had always been intrigued by the idea of heaven having a soul nursery. He remembered telling Lyric Vaughn that her dearly departed Mimi had held the soul of her daughter before she’d been born and Ten had no doubt that was exactly what Erin and Bertha were doing with his and Ronan’s daughter-to-be. “Is she cute?”
Bertha cackled again. “Is she cute? Tennyson, she is the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen. With you and Ronan as her parents, she’s destined for greatness. After she gets through that spitting-up-peas-all-over-herself phase.”
Tennyson had a feeling his little princess was going to be pretty damn great even when she was spitting up all over everyone. He’d just hand her off to Ronan when she got too volcanic. “Back to Shannon Bradley.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Bertha frowned.
“The quicker we can solve this thing, the quicker I can go home. I hate Kansas, Bertha.” Tennyson meant it. He hadn’t been overly fond of the place when he lived here, but there was no place like home, as the saying went. Now, home was Salem and he was missing it something fierce.
“Everything happens for a reason, Tenny.” Bertha’s tone was matter of fact.
“Oh, shit. You’re about to tell me my work here isn’t done yet, aren’t you?” He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“That’s my good little psychic, putting all of the pieces together.” Bertha’s face glowed.
Tennyson growled. His top lip curled into a snarl.
“It’s not all bad. Greeley’s having the time of his life playing Inspector Cousteau.”
&n
bsp; Tennyson burst out laughing. “Ah, you’ve got Jacques Cousteau mixed up with Inspector Clouseau from The Pink Panther.”
“Either way, I made you laugh and the kid is having a ball hanging out with all of you. Let him run with it. He’s got good instincts.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Bertha, where is Shannon Bradley?” Ten was exhausted and it was barely 9am.
“With her granddaughter. Same place you’d be if you were on the other side.” Bertha ruffled a hand through Tennyson’s bouncy dark curls.
“Shit, was that so hard, woman?” Ten shouted to the empty room. Bertha was already gone.
24
Ronan
Even though the house was empty and had been for years, Ronan felt uneasy standing in Shannon Bradley’s kitchen. He hated murder scenes.
He’d always thought the kitchen was the most intimate room in a house, more so than the bedroom. The bedroom was where a couple connected and made love, but the kitchen was where they made a family.
The room was rectangular with a giant island in the middle of the room. Three bar stools sat on the side of it closest to the door. Ronan had a feeling that’s where the family ate breakfast and where Kayla had done her homework while Shannon made dinner.
The back wall had all of the appliances and the cabinets. It was broken up by a large farmer’s sink and bay window, which had flower pots in it. The plants in the pots were long dead but Ronan thought they had probably been fresh herbs: rosemary, thyme and oregano. Tennyson would know for sure.
“What have you got?” Fitzgibbon asked from behind him.
“Tragedy.” Ronan shook his head. “This crime makes no sense, Cap. Greeley got me thinking about the reasons people kill each other and Shannon Bradley doesn’t fit into any of those categories. Neither she nor her husband were having an affair. Hell, it’s been ten years and Stephen Bradley still hasn’t remarried.”
“I was thinking about that too. Widowed men with young children usually rebound quickly.”
“Right.” Ronan nodded. “There obviously wasn’t a need for money, because he never sold this house after the crime. Bradley just packed the essentials and moved his daughter away.”
“Shannon’s life insurance was only enough money to pay for her funeral and burial costs,” Fitzgibbon added. “So that money wasn’t an obvious motive either.”
“Like Ten said though, there was a lot of rage in this killing. Who the hell had that much anger built up at a housewife? And why? Did she make better brownies for a bake sale? Did another mother think Shannon was flirting with her husband?” This crime made no sense to Ronan at all. Shannon Bradley was the least likely murder victim he’d ever encountered in all of his years in law enforcement.
“Okay, here I am,” Boone said. “Tennyson is wandering around in the backyard talking to himself. Is he okay to be alone out there?” Boone looked worried.
Ronan grinned. “Did you ask Ten who he was talking to?”
“He said he was talking to someone named Erin, but he’s definitely alone.” Boone looked back and forth between Ronan and Kevin.
“Erin’s my mother. She died thirteen years ago.” Ronan smiled. He was glad his mother was finally back in touch with Ten. He knew how much those visits meant to his fiancé.
Boone’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
“I’m guessing you don’t believe in Tennyson’s gifts?” Ronan asked gently.
“All that stuff looks good on television, but…” Boone shrugged. “Why don’t we get to work here?”
Ronan studied the cop. He knew she had a young family to support and from all outward appearances was a hard-working mother. He remembered back to when he first met Tennyson and how hard it was for him to go on blind faith and just believe in what Tennyson saw. “All I’ll say to you is this, Lynn, If you’ve lost someone special in your life that you’d like the chance to reconnect with, find a minute to chat with Ten before we head back home. You won’t regret it.”
She gave Ronan a brief nod and dug into her bag, pulling out a folder. “Here’s photos of what the kitchen looked like on the morning of the murder.” Boone laid them out on the island.
Ronan had spent an hour or so yesterday going over these pictures. It was different now standing in the room where the crime happened. Shannon’s body had been found lying face down on the other side of the island near the sink. The water had been running when the police had responded to the 9-1-1 call.
“Would you mind playing Shannon?” Fitzgibbon asked.
“Why, because I’m the only woman here?” Boone shot back with attitude.
“And because you’re the right height.” The captain shrugged. “Stand at the sink with your back to us.”
Boone rolled her eyes but obeyed.
“So, if Shannon was at the sink, with the water running, she wouldn’t have been able to hear or see anything that was going on behind her,” Ronan said.
“That’s not entirely true,” Boone said, turning around.
“What do you mean?” Ronan’s eyes narrowed on the deputy.
She pointed to the boarded-up window in front of her. “Look at the pictures of the window. It didn’t have any curtains on it the night of the murder, so if Shannon had been looking into the glass, she would have seen the reflection of the killer mirrored back at her, right?”
Ronan went back to the pictures of the crime scene. Boone was right. The glass was unobstructed. “If Shannon was looking out the window, for lack of a better term, she would have been able to see someone behind her, but there were dishes in the sink that she was washing. Her attention could have been focused on them.”
“True, but any motion in the glass would have caught her attention. She would have seen someone coming up behind her.”
“Not if the person was shorter than she was,” Greeley said from behind Fitzgibbon.
“Jesus!” The captain startled. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“You just made my point, Dad.” Greeley grinned widely. “If Shannon was at the sink doing the dishes, the water would be loud, she might not have heard someone coming up behind her. I know when I’m doing dishes, I’m thinking about a million other things. She might have been doing that too, so she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. She would have been easy to sneak up on.” Greeley walked around the island, toward Boone. “The autopsy said the first blow struck her in the back.” Greeley demonstrated, placing his hand on the approximate area on Boone’s back. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us to fit back here and for me to swing my arm to stab Boone.” Greeley held his arm up again.
“You’re too tall though,” Ronan said. “With the movement of your arm, there’s no way you’d strike her in the middle of her back like the wound pattern indicates.”
“So, the killer was shorter than she was?” Boone spun around to look at Ronan and Kevin. “How is that possible?”
Greeley got down on his knees. “I’m shorter than you now. Turn back toward the sink.” He held up his arm again. “My arm lines up better to stab you from here.”
Ronan frowned. “But that would mean that you would have been walking on your knees to get to Shannon in the first place. Not exactly the most mobile of positions.”
Kevin got down on his haunches. “The killer could have duck-walked.” He demonstrated the steps. “Once the first blow was struck and Shannon went down, the killer’s position wouldn’t have mattered. They both would have ended up on the floor. All the killer needed was the element of surprise.”
“So, we’re back at square one,” Boone sighed heavily.
Ronan shook his head. “No, we’re not. I don’t remember reading anything about this kind of theory in the original transcripts. Walsh and Janowitz never looked at the killing from this angle.”
Boone’s spine stiffened. “Don’t you dare turn this investigation into trying to blame them for not finding the killer. They’re both damn good deputies.”
Ronan held up both hands in a supplicant gestures. “Calm down, Lynn. I’m not trying to say that at all. Fitzgibbon and I were both saying yesterday how well this investigation was run.”
“Reed asked us to look at this case with fresh eyes and that’s what we’re doing,” Fitzgibbon agreed. “We found a different angle to look at the murder. It might help us figure out who killed Shannon. It might not.” Kevin shrugged and turned to his son. “What do you say we start looking for your secret evidence?”
“Secret evidence?” Boone asked. She wore a dubious look.
“I’ll run outside and grab Uncle Ten. I want him on my search team.” Greeley bolted toward the front door.
“Greeley has a theory that since no secrets came out about Shannon Bradley’s life after the murder that she might have written them down in a journal that she kept hidden in this house.” Fitzgibbon’s voice was filled with pride.
“Well, we’ve got a few hours to kill before lunch. What the hell? We might as well have a look.” Boone looked excited to get started.
Ronan shared her enthusiasm. This was what detective work was all about. Searching for clues to nail a depraved killer to the wall. This was a killer who’d taken a young mother away from her daughter far too soon. Ronan could feel his heart rate kick up. This was going to be fun.
25
Tennyson
Tennyson’s emotions were all over the place. He’d gone from having a fun visit with Bertha to a rather serious one with Erin. It had been two days since Tennyson had been in touch with Kaye and Erin had stopped by to let Ten know what had been going on in those forty-eight hours.
It seemed his mother had barely gotten out of bed or eaten. Not that there was much food in the house to help herself to if she’d been in the mood to cook. None of her friends had stopped by and the casserole brigade had all but dried up.