Diamond Lake Series: Complete Series (Bks 1-7) Boxset

by T. K. Chapin

  Brown told Newport Metro News that Bowman was a Marine who was medically discharged last month after an IED explosion in Afghanistan resulted in the loss of the majority of his unit, a best friend and a leg. Bowman had struggled with a life of crime in his adolescent years up until his enlistment in the Marines, all petty crimes until now. The week prior to Mr. Hammer’s death, Bowman and Hammer had an argument at a local Hardware store in Newport.

  Bowman denies any involvement in the murder. He claimed to have been home the entire evening and did not leave the house until the following day.

  A neighbor of Bowman’s, Terrance Williams, describes his neighbor as angry and hostile.

  The district attorney’s office declined to comment when attempted to be reached about the case. The victim’s family did not immediately return a request for comment.

  Bowman has been refused bail and is currently awaiting a trial date.

  My eyes welled with tears. Though the article just reported the facts, the way in which it did was condemning. Wiping my eyes, I looked up through the windshield at the onslaught of rain. Glancing over the article once more, I saw the name of the docks again. Maybe there’s a clue down there. Tossing the paper in the passenger seat, I put the car into drive and left to Fisher’s Point.

  Rain poured from the dark clouds above like a faucet, washing the snow, ice and mud all around into a nasty concoction that stuck to everything that attempted to set foot in it, including my boots. An hour went by, and my fingers, lips and arms trembled with cold that cut to the bone. Puffs of air escaped my purple-colored lips as I felt the hopelessness that Hunter had revealed in himself a few days ago at the jail. There was nothing down at the docks, nothing on the shores, and the police had already contacted everyone who lived nearby. Then, something Luke said pressed against my mind—the fact that the detective was looking at a promotion to Sergeant. Though the cops didn’t plant bad tea, that didn’t necessarily mean they did a thorough job of investigating. Maybe one of these people saw something that night? Maybe they didn’t get ahold of every resident.

  With the minuscule amount of energy I had left in my bones, I made my way up the sloped, paved parking lot and went over to the houses that ran along the left side of the shore. Door after door, I knocked, asking and getting nowhere. It wasn’t until I arrived on the right side that something changed.

  Knocking twice, I stood back from the red door and tried to rub my arms to muster an ounce of warmth. The rain had slowed, but obnoxious cold still nipped at every part of me, causing a constant shake. A middle-aged, brown-haired woman answered the door. She seemed skittish. Odd. Her eyes shifted back and forth behind me as she stuck her head out, and then she retracted back into the doorway.

  “Who are you? Are you with them?” she asked. Adjusting her footing, she rested a hand on the door frame. Her eyebrows went up and didn’t come back down as she focused on me.

  “Them?” I asked.

  “Cops. You have to tell me if you’re one. It’s entrapment if you don’t.”

  “I’m not a cop. You don’t like cops?”

  Laughing, she shook her head.

  “Not Newport cops.” She paused her shifty movements, and then she appeared to relax. “Come inside and get warm.”

  Though the woman was a little strange, defrosting was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I was pretty sure hypothermia had already begun to set in. “Thank you.” Stepping inside, I walked with her through a vast and extravagant living room with gaudy framed mirrors and furniture out of the eighteenth century. She led me through a dining room that had a table longer than anything I had ever seen and then into a kitchen. She pointed over to a small table and insisted on getting me a cup of coffee—another thing I could not refuse. Watching as she poured a cup of coffee, I could see the rain starting up again outside through the window. The rain sang a tune of pit, pat, pit-pat through the partially open door across the room as the rain continued to pelt the deck outside.

  “Did you see anything on the night of—”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t even let me finish my question. Coming over, she set my coffee down in front of me, along with sugar and cream. My suspicions heightened immediately at the sight of the sugar. “I was going out of town that morning, loading my car up at four o’clock in the morning to go visit my sister in Colville.”

  “At four . . . ?” I knew the town was only an hour and a half away.

  “Yeah. I know, it’s weird. I’m weird. It’s not that I don’t like people, I just . . .” Her words stopped as I ignored the sugar and cream and just drank the coffee. “I just don’t do well around people. They have a pill for it!” Tossing her head back, she laughed. “But I don’t do pills. Really, no drugs at all. Or alcohol. I don’t like that kind of thing.” Her words softened as she said, “That doesn’t stop people from thinking I do them though.”

  “Okay. So, what did you see?”

  She walked over to the door and shut it. Looking out through the panes of glass, she said, “I saw a man walking out to the docks. He got in a boat.”

  Walked? There was no way it could be Hunter! He had gotten his prosthetic the day after the murder. “Did you see anything else?”

  She shook her head and turned around. “No. I was in a hurry to leave. I didn’t know someone was committing a murder.”

  Taking out a pen and a piece of paper, I asked, “What’s your name?”

  Silence returned. Glancing up at her, I set the pen down. Pleading with my eyes and asking with my lips, I said, “There’s an innocent man in jail for this crime. I need you to talk to the police about what you saw.”

  Her reluctance left. “Okay. I’ll give you what you need. Just don’t give Forbes any of this information. He wrongfully arrested my last boyfriend. I don’t like him. My name is Diane Peterson.”

  A name. I had a name. I had a witness. The light of hope was beginning to shine.

  CHAPTER 13

  Glimmers of hope sparked in my mind as I walked into the police station the next morning. I would have gone last night, but it was too late. My steps had an extra kick to each one as this slip of paper was the missing piece to the puzzle. With Diane’s testimony of a man walking, the police were sure to reconsider the charges filed against Hunter. I could sense the hope in Hunter’s voice last night when I told him about it. He knew this could be his ticket to freedom. Arriving at the counter of the Police Department, I requested to speak with Detective Brown. The receptionist lady had me take a seat along the wall and wait. He was tied up in a meeting, and I’d have to wait a minute. While I waited, I called Luke and broke the news to him.

  “That’s awesome! I thought the police had already tried all those houses. How could they be this careless to miss this?” he asked.

  “This lady left town that morning. Claims to have seen a man walking out to the docks.” Henry Forbes was sitting at his desk nearby, and we caught a glimpse of each other’s eyes. My voice quieted as I recalled Diane’s distaste for him. He set his pen down and stood up. I continued talking to Luke. “Diane’s the missing link, Luke. I can feel it.”

  “That’d be great.” There was a worry to his tone.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked as Henry made his way over to me. I turned away from him and kept talking to Luke.

  “Oh, nothing. Just my grandma . . . she hasn’t walked in two days.” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I think she’s going to pass. I talked to my mom the other day, and she’s in denial about it. She’s been looking at an old folks’ home.”

  “Hunter told me that she was getting close to death. That’s so sad. I’m sorry, Luke.” My heart broke for him. “God has a time for everyone, Luke.”

  “I know, still hard.” He let out another sigh. “I’m going to go read to her now. Let me know when Hunter is released, okay?”

  “Okay.” Hanging up with Luke, I directed my eyes up to Henry and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Henry.”

  “Hi.” He adjusted his footing. “Who’s Diane?�
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  I laughed. “I thought this case didn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “True. I guess I’m just curious.” Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder softly and turned him. Detective Brown was standing there with a grin on his face as he made eye contact with Henry.

  “Run along back to your paperwork, Forbes.”

  A blush fell across his face, and Henry ducked out quickly and walked back to his desk. He didn’t pick up the pen though. I saw him get onto his desktop computer as I walked by with Detective Brown. Going down that familiar hallway I had walked down for questioning, we went into the small room and sat down. The detective took a moment to pour himself a cup of coffee and offer me one too before we got to the conversation at hand. The lack of urgency he had was testing my patience, which had dwindled in the days since Hunter went in. This needed to be resolved immediately. Then, when he began to ask how things were going, I cut him short.

  “I went and interviewed people around Fisher’s Point yesterday, and—”

  Detective Brown set his coffee down on the table and furrowed his eyebrows. “We already did that and found nobody awake during the time—”

  “What about Diane Peterson?” I asked, leaning in. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a piece of paper I had jotted notes down on. “According to Diane, she was leaving to her sister’s house on the morning of January tenth and saw someone walking out to the docks. She couldn’t make out who it was.”

  “She wasn’t home when we conducted interviews, and the neighbors said she left a day or two prior.”

  “That’s wrong,” I said firmly while maintaining my respectful tone. “Did you catch what she said? She said walking. Hunter didn’t get his prosthetic until the day after the murder. There’s no way it was him.”

  Tilting his head slightly, I saw zero change in his expression. He didn’t seem impressed by the revelation. “What’s her address?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

  I gave him the information and he walked me out of the room. I noticed Henry wasn’t at his desk now, and his coat was gone. Detective Brown led me to the front doors of the precinct. Stopping at the doors, he said, “Thank you. We’ll investigate it.”

  “Thank you for listening.”

  Leaving the police station, I drove by the diner and saw Serenah’s car parked out front. I decided to stop in after seeing Wendy wasn’t there. Parking along the side of the road, I turned off the car and took a deep breath. Though I knew Wendy wasn’t there, my fingers still trembled as I held onto the steering wheel. Getting out, I went inside and saw Melanie was over serving coffee to Mr. Atkins at his window seat across the restaurant. My nerves settled. Eric’s eyes were visible as he cooked in the back, but there was a certain air to the place that felt different, oddly calm.

  “Miley . . .” Serenah said with relief, coming out of the office. Her steps hurried over to me and turned me away from lurking ears that were nearby. Her voice in a whisper, she said, “Could you make the schedule? I don’t have the first clue how to do it and I—”

  “Of course,” I interrupted.

  Her tense shoulders relaxed into a slump and she handed me the paper. “Thank you. Any chance you understand counts?”

  I smirked. “Me, understand counts? Of course.”

  She smiled wisely nodded happily as she put her hand on my back and led me to the office. “I don’t need you here until Monday, but the schedule and counts would be great.”

  Arriving home that night just after eleven, I felt the weight of the counts weighing heavy on my arms. It had been a long while since I did them for Wendy when she was out for that month. Reaching up and pulling down frozen burger patties from the top shelf, amongst other boxes of goods, was torture on the shoulders and arms. It was one of the few tasks that Wendy did herself every month and one I did not envy. Setting my purse and keys down on the counter in my kitchen, I smiled when I saw Abigail zonked out on the couch. The TV was still on, the volume low. I went and grabbed the remote to shut it off when I saw the eleven o’clock news on. The weather forecast faded off the screen and was replaced with a report standing in front of Diane’s house.

  My heart dipped into the pit of my stomach as I saw yellow police tape surrounding the property. Turning up the volume, I sat down on the edge of the coffee table and listened. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the reporter gave an account of the crime scene police happened upon earlier that afternoon. Someone had killed the one person who could exonerate Hunter. A knock came from my front door and sent shivers down my spine. After eleven? A knock?

  Setting the remote down gently with trembling fingers, I crept over to the door as quietly but quickly as possible. Pushing up on my toes, I glanced through the peephole to see it was Brody. My stomach flipped as I recalled Henry’s sudden exit at the precinct. Could he and Brody be working together? Could Hunter have been right about the cops setting him up? Thinking back to my time with Brody, I knew he was no killer. Those dimples, that blond hair . . . not possible.

  I wiped my eyes of the tears I had shed and opened the door.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay, Miley.” He stepped into the doorway and reached to touch my arm, but I stepped back out of the way.

  “Don’t touch me.” My voice was cold, my eyebrows furrowed. I didn’t know who I could trust anymore. He might have been sweet and not capable of murder, but that didn’t mean anything for certain. “What do you want?” I asked in a whisper and glanced over to the couch to see Abigail was still out cold.

  “I know you were the one who tipped the police off about Diane, and I just want to—”

  “Help? How are you going to help, Brody?” I lost control of my emotions and began to cry in front of him. My voice grew louder. “Diane is dead! I–I . . .”

  He stepped closer again, wrapping his arms gently around me. I could hear Abigail roll over on the couch, adjusting herself. Brody’s warmth brought comfort in the moment, but I quickly realized what he was doing and pushed him off. “Stop it! Hunter’s never going to get out of there now, Brody! There was a witness, and now she’s dead.”

  He dipped his chin, looking as if he were guilty of something. He looked up at me. “The sugar tested positive for GHB. That means he drugged you the night of the murder, Miley.”

  I lost it. Snapping at the comment, I punched him in the jaw as hard as I could. My hand instantly began to throb. The pain surged from my knuckles down the top of my hand. Brody’s steps staggered backward, and he lost his balance. Regaining his composure, he held a different look to him, dark. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Glaring, he said, “I’m done trying to help you, Miley. You’re a lost cause.” Turning, he left out the door and quickly went down the stairwell of the apartment, out to his car. Rushing the altar of God, I prayed that he would not turn me in for assaulting a police officer. I knew with our history, he’d be unlikely to do so, but the worry was still there.

  CHAPTER 14

  Dodging calls from Hunter for the next two days, I avoided the conversation I was dreading—the one in which we talk about the utter hopelessness that hung over his freedom. I looked up the GHB drug and discovered it leaves your system within twenty-four hours of ingesting it, so there was no way to get myself tested and prove I didn’t have sugar that night.

  After a restless night of tossing and turning, I woke up early and showered. I let my shower run a little longer than normal. The hot water ran over my hair and face, steaming the entire bathroom. Each droplet of water that ran over my eyes took with it the glimmers of hope I had for Hunter. Though we were barely more than strangers, I wondered if Hunter would have made a good father, a good worker at some job and most of all, a good husband. There was no way to ever know if he would have excelled at any or all of those things. The stage was set, the puppet master had everything in place and now Hunter would rot forever in prison.

  I got all dolled up and headed down to the jail to speak with Hunter. Part of me wanted to just keep putting
it off, or even talk to him on the phone, but that part of me was weak. That part of me ignored his calls for the last two days until the endless torture of not dealing with it got to me.

  Now was the time I looked him in the eye and shared in the hopelessness of the moment and prayed to God he didn’t break under the pressure because God knows, I was. Between the sugar testing positive for GHB and the only eyewitness being dead, Hunter’s fate was sealed behind bars. Whoever was lurking in the shadows between each twist and turn had won. Hope of Hunter ever getting out of prison or the possibility of a real relationship with him not behind bars looked bleaker than ever.

  When I arrived down at the jailhouse that morning, I had already convinced myself I didn’t have any more tears to shed. That wasn’t true though. When I went into the room and saw Hunter sitting on the other side of the glass, I couldn’t control my eyes from breaking out into another session of crying. I felt weak and utterly hopeless. Prayers weren’t working as well as I wanted them these days, and I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

  Sitting down in the chair, I picked up the phone and put it up to my ear. Staring down at the beige-colored table in front of me, I refused to look up.

  “Miley . . .” His voice was calm, almost happy. “You don’t have to be sad.”

  My watering eyes lifted to meet his. He was smiling. Shaking my head, I replied, “You’re not getting out, ever.”

  He shrugged and nodded, acting like I just asked if he wanted to watch a rerun of Friends.

  “Why aren’t you as upset as I am? You’re the one who’s going to prison, Hunter. Prison!”

  He glanced over his shoulder and then scooted forward. He leaned in close to the glass and put his hand on it. “I found something in here, Miley.”

  “What do you mean?”