by Pamela Tracy
If she drew an individual, she wanted to make them physically flawed, like she was. Not much of an audience for scarred beauty. And she never drew a family because she didn’t believe in them.
Family let you down, fathers gave you away, aunts ignored or punished you. Drawing a happy family would only make Janie mourn something she could never change.
And Janie wondered if maybe that’s why Derek hadn’t been able to draw the crime scene.
Picking up a black pencil, she sketched a side of the road. She knew it was rural because Derek had spoken about hating nature. So she added trees, thinking about the few rural areas she’d explored just outside Scorpion Ridge.
Using her pointer finger, she smudged the background and then added a bit of gray. It was night; he’d mentioned the darkness. And it was December. What would rural December in Arizona look like? No leaves.
She drew the car far enough off the road so that anyone driving by wouldn’t notice it. She put Derek near the car, hovering, staring down. She put Chris a few feet from Derek, looking away from the road and toward the trees. Chad she placed in the thick of the trees. He held a gun, pointed at the ground.
In front of him, Brittney lay sprawled on her stomach, shot in the back.
Derek had mentioned blood. There must have been a full moon, maybe. That would have allowed Derek to see all the details. She’d have to check.
Finished, she examined her work. Suddenly, every light in the house wasn’t enough. “Oh, my,” she whispered. She should never have undertaken this endeavor alone. What she had in front of her was the most frightening thing she’d ever created. Yet she knew her work was good. So good that she needed to do more.
From the moment she’d accepted that Derek’s sketches had been fact and not fiction, she’d realized she was involved in something she couldn’t control—something that would make her put all her other endeavors, like painting, on hold.
After studying Brittney’s picture, meeting Derek’s parents and hearing about the two toddlers at the meth lab, she didn’t just want to draw bears swimming in a lake. She wanted to understand Brittney, get into Derek’s mind, walk where he walked, see what he’d seen so she could end this nightmare.
Painting animals no longer worked as a means of escape. She’d have to find another refuge.
Rafe could yank her anywhere he pleased if it would help solve the case.
She went and got her laptop, setting it up at the kitchen table. She taped her drawing to the wall so she could stare at it while she wrote.
She started re-creating the words in Derek’s art book, her fingers erratically dancing across the keys. With the computer, she could cut and paste, play with words, and even choose a font that resembled Derek’s original handwriting.
Away from Detective Williamson’s pain, Justin Robbins’s grief and Rafe’s eagerness, she could take her time. After a while, she started to write with her eyes closed, trying to picture Derek’s dark handwriting, imagine how tightly he’d held the pencil, attempting to feel the texture of the art book—a book that had just one week ago belonged to a living, breathing boy.
She could almost taste his fear.
Derek had done a good job of creating tension in just a few pages. That he’d died making poor choices and in poor company only made Janie even more angry.
He could have made a difference!
In her mind’s eye, she could see the beseeching look Brittney had aimed at Derek and feel the suffocating fear in the air. She could hear the crunch of their boots breaking through the brittle grass and the deafening sound of the bullet.
She could smell the metallic copperness of Brittney’s blood as it stained the dirt black.
After an hour, she was done, both literally and figuratively.
This morning, in the predawn hour—still dark and spooky—Derek’s words settled around Janie like a blanket forcing her to accept the desperate truth.
She’d witnessed a murder through the words of one of her students.
Janie hit the save button on her computer and headed for bed. She didn’t expect to sleep, but she did—the dark, unnatural sleep of someone who wanted to hide from the world and wasn’t quite succeeding. No matter where she hid, the killer found her.
When someone started pounding on her door, it blended into her dream. Only it sounded like howling, like Yoda the wolf dog. It wasn’t until the pounding increased in volume that she awoke. Janie slid from her bed, threw on a robe and headed for the door.
“You should fix your doorbell,” Rafe said.
“You should get a life,” Janie muttered.
The expression on his face didn’t change, and Janie regretted her words. Rafe wasn’t looking too hot. Dark stubble peppered his chin. His hair, in need of a haircut, was today decidedly spiky—as if he’d run his fingers through it so often it had taken a different shape. But it was the dark circles under his weary eyes that changed Janie’s mind about what to do and say next.
“What do you need from me, Rafe?”
“I’m heading over to see Brittney Travis’s parents this morning. I was thinking it might be a good idea to have you along. You did a great job of connecting with Derek’s parents. Maybe you can do the same with the Travises. They’ll let you in her room. Maybe you can go through her things and identify anything that might connect her to Derek or—”
“I’ll go. When?”
“Now.”
“Rafe, I just woke up. I’m hungry. I’m a mess. I—”
“Well, I didn’t sleep at all. But I’ll feed you first. And, by the way, if what I’m staring at is what you consider a mess, then I’m a firm believer in mess.” Something in his expression changed, softened, pulling at her and making her want something she reminded herself was totally wrong for her.
Especially when he added, “You look perfect.”
“The Travises already think I’m coming,” Janie guessed.
“They don’t care about your appearance,” Rafe said. “They’re willing to do anything for just the chance you’ll connect a dot, see a T that isn’t crossed. You’d be surprised at how much a stranger can glean from a room. And you’re a master of observation,” Rafe added.
“What?”
“If I handed you colored pencils and paper, could you draw my office?” Rafe asked.
“As if that would be hard. I’d only have to draw fish photographs followed by football and baseball stuff. And then that decrepit Bible that’s on your desk.”
“Which do I have more of, football or baseball?”
“Baseball.”
“You’re right, baseball. And that ‘decrepit Bible’,” he said slowly, “belonged to my grandfather, then my dad and now me. Decrepit is not the word I would use to describe it.”
It was a treasure, an honored treasure, handed down through generations, something Janie didn’t have. “I take back the term decrepit,” she offered.
That got her a smile, followed by another question. “How about Nathan Williamson’s office? Could you draw that?”
“It would only take me two minutes. There’s really nothing there.” What she didn’t say was that his office was almost as barren as her cottage. At least he had one photograph.
“Instead, why don’t you take two minutes, get dressed and we’ll stop at the Corner Diner before going to Brittney’s.”
“And let your mother see us together?” Janie’s stomach gurgled. She wasn’t sure it was from the thought of dealing with Rafe’s mother or from hunger.
“I wondered if you knew she was my mother.” Rafe followed Janie into the living room.
“How could I not know? She showed me your picture the first time she waited on me. The second time she showed me a few more pictures and told me you were single. On my third visit, she ran down your list of accomplishments.
And on the fourth—”
Rafe held up his hand. “I got the same treatment about you, sans the photos.”
Not wanting to explore that further, Janie hurried to her bedroom, wondering what Rafe would notice about her space.
Her paintings were everywhere, most stacked against the wall with only a few of her personal favorites hanging. As for family photos, there were two. One from when Janie was very young and the whole family had posed. In it, baby Janie, her eyes unfocused, stared at the world from her mother’s lap.
The other was her high-school graduation photo. It depicted Janie decked out in a blue robe, cornered hat and tassel, holding a diploma in the air. Katie stood next to her, all smiles because she’d been the one to raise Janie, the one to make sure this step in life had been taken.
Janie needn’t have worried about Rafe’s opinion; he wasn’t interested in her decor. After she dressed, she found him at her kitchen table, leaning forward and studying her drawing of Brittney’s murder.
“You think Derek was by the car, turned away?”
“I do,” Janie said, “but it might be because I knew him. And because he said he didn’t approve of what was going on. Didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“I’d put them farther in the woods, away from the street.”
“But they were scared and wanted it over with.”
“Is she still there?” Rafe asked softly.
“I’d say yes,” Janie said, “and I believe they buried her deep because they didn’t want her found. They proved that when they got rid of Derek.”
“You made them all look young,” Rafe noted.
Janie stared at her drawing. She’d been so purposeful in representing their feature, but she’d not consciously realized she’d pinpointed their ages.
“You think they’re all students, don’t you?”
* * *
PANCAKES HAD NEVER smelled so delicious, and Rafe’s mother outdid herself in the charm department. If Rafe hadn’t been so tired, he might have protested more.
“That’s my boy,” she told two of her regular customers. “He’s got good taste, and I’m not talking about his choice of restaurants.”
“Mom, don’t get any ideas,” Rafe ordered as he guided Janie to a booth. “We’re working on something.”
His mother nodded. “The Travis case, yes. I’ll get the usual for both of you.”
“Where’s the other waitress?” he asked. Usually, there were two waitresses handling the floor.
“She called in this morning. Doesn’t feel well. Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”
Before Rafe could say anything else, an older man slid in beside him. “Glad to hear something’s happening with Brittney’s case. Got anything to report?”
“Now, Bob, you know I can’t share anything with you right now. What I can do, though, is introduce you to Janie Vincent. Janie, meet Bob Hossnell. He spends his day pretending to be a lawyer. Secretly, he wants my job.”
Rafe could read a facial expression; Janie wasn’t any fonder of lawyers than she was of cops.
“Nope, you can have your job,” Bob said, after shaking Janie’s hand. “Unlike you, I don’t get calls in the middle of the night too often. The wife appreciates that.”
For some reason, Bob was gazing at Janie and smiling. Janie looked relieved when Rafe’s mother arrived, delivering two glasses of orange juice. Rafe waited until she left before asking Bob, “Has the name Derek Chaney ever appeared on our court docket?”
“Not that I recall. He’s not from Scorpion Ridge. I’ll do some checking, though.”
Rafe took a small sip of juice before asking, “So, Bob, Tommy Skinley still working for your brother’s construction company?”
Now Rafe had Janie’s attention. She sat up straight, fully engaged. Rafe was getting the idea that while she wasn’t exactly comfortable around cops, she was starting to be more comfortable as part of their world.
Strange, but he wished she was more comfortable because of him, because of how he made her feel. He wished it had nothing to do with this case and everything to do with her desire to be with him.
* * *
“TOMMY’S BEEN WITH them almost two months now,” Bob said.
Janie made a mental note to ask Katie if she knew Tommy. Amanda, Tommy’s sister, was a regular at BAA, especially since Katie signed. The teenager regularly volunteered at fund-raisers and such.
Janie didn’t remember ever seeing her brother, though. Or even hearing about one.
“He a good worker?” Rafe asked.
“His probation officer reports that Tommy shows up to work about five to ten minutes late every day, he’s usually hungover, and he leaves the moment his shift is done. My brother’s a bit more careful in what he says to me because he’s aware that Tommy will go to jail if he gets in trouble again. So, tell me, why do you ask?”
Apparently, Rafe hadn’t slipped the question in as slyly as Janie had thought. “His little sister goes to Adobe Hills Community College and was friends with Brittney Travis. I’m wondering how well Tommy Skinley knew Brittney.”
“If Brittney’s parents had any say, not too well,” Bob guessed. “Tommy’s a bit older than Brittney, who was the same age as Amanda.”
Rafe’s mother showed up with two plates, and Bob, somewhat reluctantly, excused himself.
After taking a few bites, Rafe said, “A few days ago, we got lucky at Derek’s. Usually it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.” He looked Janie full in the face. “We got lucky because of you.”
“You’d have found the art book eventually.”
“But it would have taken more time. You sped things up. And, I was thinking of the shoe, not the book.”
Rafe finished his last pancake before Janie had managed one. He ate without glancing at his food—his entire attention was on Janie.
If Janie were to describe Rafe, she would use the word driven. Driven to solve the case of Brittney’s disappearance, that is.
She was starting to wonder what kind of man he’d be without the badge. Or did he ever put it down?
He checked his watch. Janie put down her fork, appetite gone.
“Where do the Travises live?”
“About five minutes from here. Right behind the high school.”
Which was right across from the police station. Janie just knew there’d be a side trip and probably more mug shots to pore over. She’d already looked at hundreds of Chads and Chrises. One thing was for sure, those names were ruined for her. She’d never meet a new Chad or a new Chris and not consider him a suspect.
She stood. “What time, exactly, are the Travises expecting us?”
“Twenty minutes ago,” Rafe admitted.
Before he could stand, his cell rang. “I expect that’s Mr. Travis. They... Well, they’re really hoping you can find something that will help.” He quickly answered the phone. “Salazar.”
Janie sat down again. She’d be walking into a room to face two people—terrified parents—desperately hoping she could make a difference, when in all likelihood, she’d accomplish nothing. There was no body, so they had to be hoping that somewhere, somehow, Brittney was alive. Since there was no reason for Janie to lie, they had to be terrified she’d read the truth in Derek’s book.
She considered the drawing she’d left in her kitchen. For the first time, she’d created something she didn’t want the world to see, didn’t want Brittney’s parents to see.
“You’re kidding.” Rafe was half-turned from the table. His whole body had gone rigid. He clutched his phone as if it were a weapon.
Janie had to remind herself to breathe.
“Janie’s here with me,” Rafe said. “We’re at the Corner Diner.” He stopped talking and listened, then snapped. “Please sa
y you’re kidding.”
Finally, Rafe glanced up from his phone and noticed her eyes were on him. Janie had to admire his grit. He didn’t even seem flustered. Finally, he ended the call with a terse, “I’ll get back to you.”
“Who was that?” Janie asked. “Not the Travises?”
“It was Nathan. The call was about your boss, Patricia Reynolds. They found her body about an hour ago.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE SECOND FLOOR of Adobe Hills Community College housed many of the faculty’s offices. Right now the whole floor was in panic mode. As Rafe and Janie arrived, the dean of students and a police officer stood guard at the door to the elevator, ever so careful not to cross the cordon tape.
“Everyone knew she was allergic to nuts,” was all the dean had a chance to say to Rafe before his cell phone rang. The police officer had both Rafe and Janie sign their names in his notebook.
Rafe pointed Janie to a chair in an empty student waiting area off to the side which had already been set up as a command post. She continued to amaze him. Tears shimmered in her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. She clenched her fingers, and he knew she wanted to hit something or scream at the injustice of it all, but instead she stayed calm, intent on helping, on making a difference.
On their way to the school, he’d called the Travises to say he and Janie wouldn’t make it over, and as he talked, Janie had been checking her calendar to find time to go there, even if she went by herself.
Not that he’d let her.
He didn’t even like leaving her alone now. But at the moment, Patricia Reynolds was his priority.
He ducked under the tape, heading down the hall to Patricia’s office. Thanks to Janie, Rafe probably knew as much, if not more, about Patricia Reynolds than Nathan. On the drive over, she’d chattered—as people in shock are prone to do—almost nonstop about her boss.
She’d told him Patricia’s real age, how long she’d been chair and that beloved didn’t begin to describe how her students viewed her. She was also severely allergic to nuts and she’d made everyone aware of that.