Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2)

by Catherine Finger

  And I’d have them by sundown. Just one more log to leap over today.

  I headed out to the highway, scenes from the marriage that had left me behind floating all around me, until a drain opened in my mind, sucking them all down the big black hole of loss that had become my personal life. I flipped the blinker on and pulled into the lake house’s subdivision for the very last time.

  Today, I’d say goodbye and truly stop looking back. But not without my holiday china.

  Fueled by visions of my famous Easter almond vanilla lamb cake, complete with rich white buttercream frosting and the requisite coconut fleece, I picked my way through the streets leading to my lake house. My mind clung to the symbol of the resurrection. An Easter morning cross, adorned with an artfully hung purple robe, stuck in a mound of Easter grass—bright greens and pinks, littered with jellybeans, chocolate bunnies, and peanut butter eggs.

  Five minutes later, I nosed my car up the asphalt driveway curving gracefully to the McMansion I’d bought for my husband to enjoy with my replacement. Viburnum, heavy with buds, lined the entrance. I wouldn’t get to see them in full bloom. I glided to a stop next to the back porch steps, noting my expensive electric car standing at attention in the driveway. I moved to the driver’s side window, and peered in. Another woman’s jacket hung carelessly on the back of the passenger-side headrest. A fistful of rocks lurched through my stomach.

  The car sat squarely in front of the first garage door. It was open, so they were probably inside. What to do? Ring the doorbell? Front door? Back door? I wasn’t company, but I sure wasn’t family. I steeled myself and sashayed right through the garage to the back door like I owned the place. Because heck, I still did own the place.

  I rapped on the door. Silence. I knocked again—louder—three times in a row, bracing myself for the clack of mincing, four-inch-stiletto-clad footsteps on my hardwood floors. The pitter-patter of my marriage walking out the door of no return.

  Nothing.

  I retreated down the steps and walked out of the garage in slow, measured steps. I know they’re here. They must be… Fresh air breezed across my face as I looked down the hill at the boat house on the edge of the lake. Mist steamed off the water. In some alternate universe, Del and I might have been sitting at the end of that dock, drinking coffee, greeting the new day together. But that world had only existed in my fantasies.

  I should offer a quick prayer. But what if God doesn’t really want me here? Better to keep Him out of this right now. I’ll pray later. God might not be as invested in getting back my holiday china as I am. I took a few deep breaths and headed to the boathouse. Sorry God. We’ll talk later.

  At the bottom of the hill, a shudder ran through me, forging iron posts where my feet had been. Shivers jiggled up and down my spine, and the hair on my arms spiked up. I headed toward the water. A few months ago, I had walked out onto the dock with Del. He, laden with a fragrant bag of pastries, walked with one arm too firmly wrapped around me. I, for one mad moment, was stiff with the certainty that he wanted to shove me into the icy waters. How had I not seen the end of my marriage coming? And where was God when I needed Him? Why hadn’t He stepped in and stopped the destruction?

  Reaching the bench, I thumped down on it. How stupidly proud of this bench he’d once been, and of how he’d “requisitioned” it from the city. “What’s the difference between ‘requisition’ and stealing, Del?”

  “Can’t you just shut it, Jo? Or are you going to ruin another day in paradise for me?”

  We see what we want to see. I sat a moment longer. If this bench could have taken me back to the way things were, would I have stayed seated? Or would I have been strong enough to get up, move, and find my own path forward?

  I jumped up and walked to the boathouse. Over-sized porthole windows flanked the doors facing the lake. Someone had moved a large storage cabinet in front of one of the windows. A piece of dark cloth hung crookedly inside the other. Odd.

  The heavy plank doors hung open several inches. Were Del and Tamra inside? Gentle splashing against the dock, the breeze flowing through the river birch, and morning birds all sounded in the early spring air. No noise came from within the shed. What were they doing, if they were in there? Do I really want to know?

  I conjured up the image of my porcelain soup tureen, with its hand-painted tulips and violets adorning the edges and smooth, white, rabbit-shaped handle. Andy’d made it clear I had to ask for the few remaining things I really wanted back, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.

  Ask permission. A streak of fire raged through me. I shook my head to extinguish it.

  I closed to a few feet from the boathouse door. Something was very wrong. Dizziness rolled over me as an assault of thick smells wafted out between the heavy doors. I braced my feet, willing myself to stop moving forward. Even though the scents were repulsive, I leaned in.

  I could reach out and touch the doors. Every fiber of my being screamed ‘don’t.’ I leaned in a little further. Until it hit. An odiferous attack—a tangy metallic mixed up with mildew, turpentine, rust, and earthworms.

  There was the telltale buzzing. I put my hand on the door handle, creaking it open several more inches. The buzzing gave way for a moment. Positioned within five feet of the door, as if it were pointing, was a bloody deck shoe.

  I followed the line of the shoe to the edge of a dark red pool of blood—the way to my husband and his lover, holding each other closer in death than he and I had ever been in life. Then, I ran out of breath. I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

  I clenched my hand over my mouth, backed away from the boathouse, turned, and threw up.

  Automatically, I pulled out my work cell and hit 9-1-1. “This is Haversport Chief of Police Jo Oliver, calling from my home at 1020 Loon Drive in Wauconda. Reporting a double homicide. Of my husband and his mistress. I found them on the floor of my boathouse on Bangs Lake.”

  Dispatch asked rapid-fire questions, words floating around me, dreamlike.

  “…double homicide …your husband, ma’am?”

  “Yes, my husband and his mistress.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Officer Del Reed. And his girlfriend. Send out teams stat.”

  I hung up while she was asking me to stay on the line, scrolling through pictures to find Nick’s chiseled features, his flawless olive skin. I pressed my thumb against his cheek and waited for the solid comfort of his voice in my ear. Please be here for me again, Nick.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Nick…”

  “What’s wrong?”

  This man who knew me so well would sense the tremble in my voice that no one else could hear. “Nick! I need you. Come. Please, just come. Now.

  “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

  “I’m at the boathouse.”

  “The boathouse? Why?”

  “They’re dead. Both of them.”

  “Dead? Del?”

  “Yes.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “The girlfriend?”

  “Yes!”

  “Just stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Have you called it in?”

  “Yes, just before I called you.”

  “Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

  I clung to Nick’s voice like a lifeline. The best of the best the FBI had to offer—a man I might have married in another time and place. I needed all the power that Nick Vitarello could rain down on any crime scene in the United States with just one phone call.

  If I ever needed you, I need you now.

  I’d promised not to touch anything. I’d promised to wait. The combination of throwing up and calling it in had cleared my head, and I had just under ten minutes to soak it all in. I started taking pictures with my cell phone. The open door. Snap. The layout of the bodies. Tamra’s body lay broken. Snap. A gunshot wound to Del’s right knee. Their knee caps? Snap.

 
Del. I pocketed my phone. My hand fell limp at my side. I stepped near his head and looked down, my gut clenching. His mouth was drawn into a sickly smile. I leaned down a little lower. Fishhooks pulled his lips up on either side into a gruesome, impossibly cruel grimace, fishing line knotted behind his head. His eyes were wide open in horror. His chest looked crushed in, right above the heart. What was left of his broken body was too horrible to contemplate. Whatever else might have happened was impossible to tell.

  Given the nauseating smell, coupled with the level of decomp, these bodies had been here at least a day.

  Tamra was a shattered doll, arms and legs sprawling. She’d been placed in Del’s arms, with one leg draped across him, but the leg was broken and twisted. Where her hip should be, the fabric lay in the wrong direction, dried blood everywhere. The back of her skull was crushed: dried blood, gray matter, and who-knows-what had oozed out all over the wooden boards underneath them. I looked away.

  It was off. Crime techs would figure this out, but there weren’t blood spatters everywhere. Why not?

  Del… dead? My feet might float into the air. Dear God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but in some secret place of my soul I’m a little relieved. They were sprawled across the boathouse floor. My boathouse floor.

  They got what they deserved.

  This would not look good for me at all. If I had been sent to investigate this murder, would I ever have believed in the innocence of a soon-to-be-former spouse just happening to arrive first at the scene and conveniently all alone? Nope. Not on your life.

  I was in a boatload of trouble.

  A silent scream formed on my lips as tires crunched on the gravel drive. I stepped out of the boathouse. Nick’s sedan raced down the hill toward me. He braked hard at the bottom, sending gravel everywhere, sliding the last few feet to a stop. When he stepped out, three men got out with him. I’d raised the level of threat and investigation from county to federal with just one phone call. The locals wouldn’t like that. But I needed Nick by my side, running this thing down. Sorry God. I know I should be leaning on You, but right now I’m turning to Nick. I needed a little more work in the trusting God over man department.

  His men fanned out to secure the scene while he bee-lined over to me, and put his arms around me, claiming me with one warm embrace. I sighed into him, unable to speak, clinging to my life raft. Whiskers brushed the top of my head as he swiveled his neck, taking in the scene before him. We stood like that for a long minute. Then he pulled away and gently turned me around. We walked together to the end of the dock and sat on the bench. He produced a small bottle of water and two aspirin.

  “Take this, beautiful.” He pressed the aspirin into my hand.

  I swished the water around my mouth, spit it out, and downed the aspirin.

  He pulled his phone out and turned on the recorder app. “Tell me everything.”

  I leaned into him and recounted the day’s events for the first time. My words echoed through the fog of my daze as sirens screamed in the background. Half a dozen cars from around the county pulled up while I spoke. The men Nick had brought with him assumed command and began telling the locals what to do. This was not going to go well. Too bad.

  I clung to my lifeline. Shouldn’t I be clinging to a different Lifeline? Sorry, God.

  Paradise Sheriff Deputy Grundy arrived. He was not my friend. Bulbous nose, gut like a fitness ball gone slack—he didn’t walk; he waddled down the path. The pressure of his appreciable weight shifted the pylons as he made his way over the wooden dock to us. A sneak attack it wasn’t.

  “Mind telling me exactly what happened here, Josephine?” His sneer was less pleasant than usual.

  On any other day, I’d have made him refer to me by title. Today was not any other day.

  Nick stepped in front of Grundy, shielding me from the larger man, invoking nature channel scenes of lions and rhinos in Africa. In a battle pitting the stealth of a lion against the bulk of a rhino, who would win? I shuddered. What was Nick going to say or do that could possibly make a difference now?

  “Deputy. You’ll find everything you need from Chief Oliver right here.” He held up his cellphone. “I’ve just sent the recording to your work email. The Chief’s had enough for one day. I’m taking her away from the crime scene now. You know where to reach her.”

  I should say something, but nothing came. Thoughts flitted around like frenzied bats, but my tongue was a cold, marble slab. Do something. Say something. Defend yourself.

  I stood in silence. Eyes not focusing on anything. Shapes and colors drifting in and out. Voices blending together.

  Grundy was bellowing on about something important, but I couldn’t make it out. My husband’s body lay just feet away from me, but I couldn’t draw my thoughts to remember where. He wasn’t alone. And I couldn’t think about why. I couldn’t think about anything.

  I walked next to Nick, his arm around my shoulders, through a cluster of men wearing badges, hats, and scowls. I trained my eyes on the ground, kept my feet in synch with Nick’s footsteps. Even as we walked in unison, I knew I was relying on man for a security only God could give.

  When we reached Nick’s car, he opened the door and tucked me into the passenger seat like a porcelain doll. He slid in the driver’s side, ignoring the stares and murmurings of the cops surrounding us. He reversed up the hill to the end of the driveway and turned toward Haversport.

  We’d gone about half way before Nick pulled into a used car dealership off Highway 120 and parked amongst the inventory. He turned the car off, reached for my hand, and focused all attention on me.

  The force of his stunning brown eyes hit me full on. “Josie, Del’s murder is a terrible tragedy. I need you to understand that his death will not be your investigation. I’m taking you home. That’s where you need to be right now.”

  “No. No way. That’s the last place I want to be. We’re going back to the station. Work. I need to be at work. Besides, my car’s still at… I want to…” I had no idea what I wanted. But I liked not facing this alone.

  “I’m taking you home, sweetheart. And then I’m going to call Donna, and I’m going to go to your station and start sorting things out. Mitch and I will get your car home later today. And bring you a warm meal. I just need you to know why I’m taking you home right now. This isn’t up for debate.” He turned away from me, pushed the start button, and pulled back onto the highway.

  We drove in silence, a tight leaden ball in my stomach. Exhaustion whittled away at me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  “I really don’t know what to do next.” I lay back against the headrest.

  He picked up my hand and drew it to his lips, delivering a whisper-soft kiss. “Nobody ever really does, beautiful.”

  Nick pulled into my driveway and was at my car door before I unfastened my seatbelt. My uncoordinated hands pawed at the buckle. Slow motion snippets of the crime scene rolled over and over in my mind. Investigators would be combing every inch of my lake property now. What else would they find?

  “Beautiful?” He was standing at my side with the door open. He’d been talking, and I’d missed every word.

  I nodded and heaved myself out of the car. We walked up the porch steps together. I fished my keys out of my pocket and fumbled with the door, dropped the keys. Nick picked them up, opened the door, and placed a hand on the small of my back, ushering me in.

  “Josie. It’s going to be alright. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise you we’ll get the guy who did this. In the meantime, I need to know you’re safe.” He pulled me against his chest, and I stood in the foyer, leaning into him, arms limp at my side. “Stay here while I go in and see what we’ve learned so far. Unless you’d rather I stay?”

  I shook my head, clinging to the sound of his voice, letting it roll over me like a prayer. We stood there, wrapped together, for several more seconds, the warmth of his body purring into mine. I pulled away and looked up at him.

  “I think I
need to be alone. I need a little time to think this through. And you need to go do your thing. Go, get this investigation started. I’m alright. Really.” If he stayed here much longer, I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else but the comfort and safety of his arms. And we both had a lot more to think about right now. “Go. I mean it. Get to the station. See what the guys have come up with. Keep me in the loop. I’ll be here. For now.” I pushed away from him, setting my jaw.

  “I got your back. Always. We’ll get this guy. I’ll check in every hour or so. Promise me you’ll text if you need me?” His brown eyes softened. The light in the foyer reflected green flecks as he looked down at me.

  “I promise. Now go.”

  Then I turned him around and closed the door behind him.

  He paused for a moment, putting his hand on the glass, spreading his fingers out wide. I matched my palm to his over the cool glass. He was going to end up visiting me in prison. I snatched my hand back and waved him away.

  Nick’s presence on the other side of the door dissolved into a faint smattering of footsteps and distant car noises. Images of Del and The Other Woman—even in death I couldn’t bring myself to say her name—darkened my mind.

  Dead. Del is dead.

  And so is… so is she.

  Pulling myself away from the door and treading into the kitchen took an impossible load of energy. I plugged in the electric kettle and prepared some peppermint tea. While it was steeping, I sat in front of the four large windows facing the small lake in front of my home. Gray-white fog swirled and danced over the water, waves shimmering through the haze. Little white gulls plunged down to the surface of the lake, snapping back up with their prey.

  Between the haze in my mind and the swirling mists, I almost expected a dorsal fin to pop up at any time. Blood soaked jaws of an angry shark swam through the concrete floor of the boat house in my mind. I shook my head and refocused on the landscape in front of me.