Stay Dead (Elise Sandburg series)

by Anne Frasier

  Elise brought her unhampered foot under her, bent her leg, and gave herself a terrific push. She shot upward, traveling through the water like a bullet. Her head broke the surface and she gasped for air, arms flailing, her clothing tangled about her, the cast, filled with water, pulling her down again.

  She fought the weight of everything. Of the cast and her clothes and the drugs singing in her veins.

  With strong strokes, she made her way to the ladder. With a flailing hand, she touched cold metal, gripped it tight, and pulled herself to the edge. She waited a moment, catching her breath, arms entwined in the rungs of the ladder. Then she heard her name and looked up to see Melinda standing over her.

  “Oh, my God. Elise.”

  Elise glanced around. “Where is she?”

  Melinda’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Who?”

  “Anastasia. Where’s Anastasia?”

  Melinda shook her head and offered a hand to help Elise up, water dripping from the young woman’s black swimming suit. As if she’d just left the pool moments before Elise reached the ladder.

  “Elise, my mother isn’t here.” Melinda sounded both hurt and confused by the question. “My mother is dead.”

  Elise squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced, not at Melinda’s words, but at the incredible pain in her bruised ribs, shoulder, and ankle.

  CHAPTER 9

  Elise’s smartphone buzzed, indicating a Skype call from Audrey.

  She hit the “Answer” button, and her daughter appeared, with her dark curly hair, beautiful skin, and cute glasses, and immediately started telling Elise about how awesome it was in Stockholm, and how much she loved Sweden, and how glad she was that Elise had insisted she go. Then she paused and said, “Oh, my God. Are you in a hospital?”

  Damn. Elise hadn’t thought about the IV rack in the frame.

  Shortly after her little dip last night, David showed up, concerned about how she’d sounded on the phone. By that time Elise had already changed out of her wet clothes and had shooed Melinda away, but David wouldn’t rest until he’d taken her to a nearby ER. And now here she was, waiting to leave.

  All was well, the ER doctor going so far as to recommend she quit using the boot cast, citing it as being too tight and a big part of her pain. He’d wrapped her ankle with an elastic bandage and told her to stay off it for several more days, then gradually start putting a little weight on it. He’d even told her she might be able to shift to a cane soon. Which meant once her car was released from the evidence lot she’d be mobile again as long as she was able to kick the pain medication.

  “I had a little accident,” Elise told her daughter. “And they kept me overnight for observation even though I insisted I was fine.” She shot an irritated glance at David, who was hovering near the bed. She’d been discharged, and it was just a matter of waiting for the wheelchair escort to take her to David’s car.

  “I’m getting ready to leave the hospital now.”

  “I shouldn’t have come to Sweden! I should be there with you!”

  Maybe Elise shouldn’t have insisted Audrey go on the foreign exchange, especially when she actually wanted to be with her mother. It hadn’t always been that way, and until recently Audrey had lived with Elise’s ex-husband, his wife, and their twins. But then Thomas took a job as an editor in Seattle, and at age fifteen Audrey didn’t want to leave her friends in Savannah. It seemed a good time for her to move in with her mother even though Elise knew Audrey would be better off living with Thomas and Vivian, with whom she could continue to experience a normal family life.

  Being a parent was so hard, Elise thought. Much harder than being a detective. Maybe she should have allowed Audrey to make a sacrifice and not go abroad for two weeks, but Elise wanted her daughter to see the world beyond Georgia.

  “Would you like to open a coffee shop?” she asked.

  “Whaattt?”

  “A coffee shop. You and me. In Savannah.”

  “Mom, are you on a lot of medication?”

  “Yes, but this is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”

  Audrey stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Elise looked up from her phone to see the same expression on David’s face.

  “We’ll talk about it when you get back,” Elise said. “Think about what we’d call it. Nothing like the Coffee Cup or the Beanery. Something different. Something that hasn’t been used.”

  David’s phone rang, and he answered it while Elise and Audrey wrapped up their conversation with plans to talk again soon.

  They all disconnected at the same time. “A homicide,” David said.

  Elise dropped into detective mode and started gathering her things.

  “You aren’t going. And what’s this about a coffee shop?”

  For a moment she’d forgotten she was on leave. “I’m not staying here. I’ll come along. Just not in an official capacity. And the coffee shop. Why does everybody think that seems so strange?”

  “For one thing, I can’t imagine you making lattes all day. I can’t imagine you waiting on people. Ringing up drinks. Cleaning. Smiling.” He was getting too enthused with his list, wrapping up for the big one: “I can’t imagine you being nice for hours at a time.”

  “Well I can,” she argued. “I can be nice.”

  “And why am I just hearing about this coffee thing now?”

  “Will you miss me?”

  “You know I will.” But she could see his mind falter. He was thinking about the coffee shop, wondering if the idea wasn’t so irrational. Wondering if he was being selfish to hope she wouldn’t leave the department. Wondering if she might be better off away from death and murder. Because really, who wouldn’t?

  “Let’s go. I don’t need a wheelchair.” She was standing on her good foot, trying to act as if nothing hurt when everything hurt; the coffee shop was something she would think about later, dream about later. “Coming with you today will be a chance for me to get back into some action without people worrying and watching me.”

  “That I get.”

  Nothing worse than the whole department waiting to see if you could handle a homicide after being through what she’d been through. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t wondered about it herself. Could she handle it? Dropping in without being scrutinized would get her past that tough first day.

  “Back in a sec,” David said. Tired of waiting for a hospital escort, he commandeered a wheelchair from somewhere, and within minutes of the phone call from Savannah PD, Elise and David were in his car.

  “Tell me again how you ended up falling in the pool,” David said as he maneuvered the black Honda out of the hospital parking lot and aimed it toward the bowels of the tourist district a couple of miles away. Elise sat in the passenger seat, her injured leg stretched out in front of her.

  “I was walking. And the pool was there.”

  He shot her a look, then turned his attention back to the street. “This is exactly what I was talking about the other day. I don’t get how I’ve been labeled the smart-ass of the team when you clearly out-smart-ass me.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re better at it. So much better. If they gave out awards, you’d win every year.”

  “The pool,” he reminded her.

  “I slipped,” Elise said, resigned to telling the story. “I hit a patch of wet tile with my cast and I just slipped.” She didn’t tell him about thinking she saw Anastasia. She didn’t tell him about having a tea party in the deep end of the pool. She didn’t mention Anastasia at all. “I’ll admit you were right about the drugs. I don’t handle them well.” It had to have been the drugs.

  “You’re coming to my place.”

  She wanted to get back to the plantation. “Let’s talk about that later.” She couldn’t quit thinking about going back there. To find out if the black swimsuit had been returned to the chair. To see
if there was any sign that Melinda had been there again.

  Melinda.

  She was trying to scare Elise away. That was obvious. Why? Because she had something to hide. But now that Elise recognized her tactic, she could approach the situation with a level head. Now that she knew it was a trick to drive her off. How childish.

  Who’d been excluded from Anastasia’s will wasn’t any of Elise’s business or concern, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to get to the bottom of things, especially now, when Melinda seemed to be going to the extreme to keep her away. Elise wasn’t the type to be chased off, simple as that.

  CHAPTER 10

  Fifteen minutes later, Elise and David pulled up not far from the statue of the Waving Girl on Savannah’s River Street. River Street was a heavy tourist area, with shops and taverns in part of what had once been the Savannah Cotton Exchange, and a riverfront with hotels that overlooked cobblestone alleys, cable cars, and cargo ships. The Waving Girl was a Savannah icon, a tribute to Florence Martus, a woman who’d taken it upon herself to welcome every ship that entered the Port of Savannah. It was said that in over forty years she never failed to greet a ship, day or night. That kind of singular dedication confounded Elise, while at the same time filling her with a sense of admiration.

  Not far from the statue, police cars were parked at odd angles, lights flashing and sirens letting out a few squawks. Detectives Mason and Avery were already there. It was hard to miss Avery’s red hair, and Elise realized she’d started looking for it in situations like this where there were mobs of people in dark clothes.

  Mason and Avery had worked together for years, but lately Elise detected a weakening in their partnership. Mason had always been the leader, but over time Avery seemed to have gained confidence and maybe that threatened Mason. Not making things any easier, Mason had recently gone through a divorce, and Elise knew it was hard to leave that kind of pain at home.

  Upon seeing Elise, the men glanced at each other. Nervous.

  “What?” she asked. “I’m just here as an observer. Not on the clock.”

  “What do we have?” David asked.

  Avery spoke first. “Maybe you should just go look.” He glanced at Elise. “And maybe you should just stay here, Detective.”

  She wouldn’t have them coddling her. She’d seen a lot of dead bodies in her life. A lot of homicides in her life. Not that she was immune to death, but she could handle it. Like she’d always handled it.

  Avery caught David’s eye, then gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Elise could almost hear the silent dialogue. Don’t let her go. She’s not ready for this.

  Without a word, she pushed past them, moving fast on her crutches until she reached the area where the crime-scene team was snapping photographs and collecting evidence.

  David followed to stand with hands jammed in the pockets of his black knee-length coat. “Water seems to be a recurring theme in our lives,” he noted in a deadpan voice.

  “It’s pretty common knowledge that water is good at erasing evidence,” Elise said. “Even the idiots seem to have figured that one out.”

  Avery joined them, catching the tail end of the conversation. “This one was too stupid to take into account the tide. Looks as if the body was dumped over there”—he pointed across the harbor—“near the hotel, probably in a nice hidden cove, but the current carried it right here, to one of the most popular tourist spots on the waterfront.” He laughed, then, remembering the bystanders, bent his head to hide his face.

  “Stupid criminals are my favorite kind,” David said.

  “They make it easy,” Avery agreed. He looked at Elise. “Aren’t you still on medical leave?” He was working at his normal nonchalance, but during Elise’s hospital stay he’d called her several times, and he’d even stopped by with flowers.

  “I’m just kind of tagging along,” Elise said.

  “Well, we miss you.” The words came grudgingly.

  “So what do we have?” David asked.

  “I just got here, but I’m guessing drug deal gone bad. Victim is a white male, sixteen years of age. Somebody in the wrong place, wrong time.”

  “ID?” David asked.

  “Ran it. No previous arrests. Name is Edwin Kingfield.”

  “Of Kingfield Yachts?”

  Avery shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “They’re one of the wealthiest families in town,” Elise said, searching her smartphone for more information.

  “Slumming?” David asked.

  “Thought I’d heard that name before.” Elise scrolled down a page on her phone. “He’s a local football hero. Was being wined and dined by some of the biggest franchises even though he still had two years of high school left.”

  “So maybe it was robbery, not drugs,” Mason said, joining the group.

  “I don’t know,” Elise said. “Some of these rich kids are getting deep into meth and coke.”

  John Casper, everybody’s favorite medical examiner, straightened away from the body and motioned for them to step closer.

  “You’ll want to see this,” he said. “At first we figured fish had gotten to him, but upon closer inspection—” He pointed, and all three of them pulled in a sharp breath.

  “Damn,” David muttered, while Elise thought the same thing.

  In the center of the victim’s chest was nothing but a gaping hole. It almost looked as if someone had reached into the chest cavity and ripped out the heart.

  A familiar MO.

  “We called the hospital right away,” Avery said. “Just to be sure Tremain was still there. Just to be sure he was still in a coma.”

  “And?” David asked in a voice that didn’t hide the stress they were all feeling.

  “Vegging like a good vegetable. And anyway, this isn’t quite the same MO. Similar, but not exactly.”

  “I’m thinking copycat,” Mason said.

  “Maybe.” David continued to stare at the gaping hole. “Maybe not.”

  Looks were exchanged.

  Everyone, from the FBI to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, had agreed with the theory that the Organ Thief murders had been committed by Atticus Tremain in order to get Elise’s attention. What do you give a homicide detective? Not flowers and candy, but dead bodies. And with those dead bodies, the trap had been set. But the evidence against Tremain for the murders hadn’t been overwhelming, and most was circumstantial.

  “What do you mean, maybe not?” Avery asked.

  “Maybe we were wrong about Tremain,” Elise said, taking up where David had left off. “Maybe Tremain was never the person removing body parts. Maybe Tremain never killed anybody. Maybe the kidnapping and the Organ Thief murders aren’t connected in any way.”

  “Shit,” Mason said with a drawl so heavy it came out more like shee-it.

  Elise followed the direction of his glare to see a familiar white van with the local news logo on the side and a broadcast dish on the roof.

  “The media is going to spin the hell out of this,” David said under his breath. “And make a victim out of Tremain.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Home sweet home,” David said with fresh disapproval as he deposited a pizza box and Elise’s black messenger bag on the kitchen table. They were back at the plantation, and dusk was coming on. All Elise wanted to do was go to bed. Instead, she crutched her way to the couch and lay down, all the while trying to move like someone who wasn’t in extreme pain.

  David picked up a pillow and tucked it behind her head. They’d already had another tedious argument about her staying at the plantation, and Elise convinced him that she had no plans to stroll around the pool again. But she did have other plans.

  “I want to go to his house,” Elise said, looking up at him.

  “Whose house?” David’s hands stopped fluffing another pillow, and his breath caught as he
waited for her reply.

  “You know who.” Tremain’s.

  “Elise . . .”

  “Is it still a crime scene?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

  “Find out.”

  David carefully lifted her leg and slid the pillow under her ankle. “This is a bad idea.”

  Elise started thinking maybe she could get used to being waited on by the one guy she spent her days bickering with. There was something extremely satisfying about it.

  “What if you missed something?” Her ankle was killing her, but the soft pillow helped.

  “I’ll give it another pass. Just me.”

  “I’m coming too.”

  “Not with me you aren’t.”

  “Then by myself.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll break in if I have to.”

  He knew she wasn’t exaggerating. She’d do it. With or without his help. With his help, he could get a key. Get permission. Without his help, she could end up getting arrested and lose her job.

  “I won’t fall apart,” she promised.

  “Never said you would.”

  “But you’re thinking it. Right? You’re thinking it.”

  “You don’t have to be tough. You don’t have to always be strong.”

  She was thinking of a time long before they’d known each other when David hadn’t been so strong. When he’d shattered. Yes, they couldn’t always be strong.

  “Clues,” she said. “That’s all I’m after. I’m not going back there to relive anything. I don’t care about that. I’m past that,” she lied. “I’m a detective looking for information. That’s all. And I’m going to investigate with or without your help.”

  “I can’t win here, can I?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in pain.”

  “I was trying to hide it, and I thought I was doing a pretty good job.”

  “The casual observer wouldn’t have noticed.”

  He handed her a pill and a glass of water.

  She didn’t argue. She already knew pain interfered with healing, and she needed to heal.