Her Last Breath: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 1)

by Dan Padavona

  “It shouldn’t be difficult to prove LeVar broke into your house,” Chelsey said. “You have tools at your disposal. Set up a camera and catch him in the act. If he breaks in, press charges.”

  Raven blew out a defeated breath.

  “Would you if it was your brother?”

  Good question.

  “Don’t let him ruin your life, Raven. Listen, I should finish shopping before they close the store. See you tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Hey, Raven. You did great on the Fitzgerald case. Don’t let the LeVar situation get you down. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  Chelsey put her phone away. It was almost nine o’clock, and the store cleared to a few last second shoppers rushing toward the checkout line. She bagged as much produce as she could grab in a frantic minute before turning the cart around. Oh, she forgot cat food. She raced across the store and snatched the last organic bag off the shelves. She’d found Tigger, an orange tabby kitten, shivering in the cold and pawing around her garbage last month. Since Chelsey took Tigger in, the skin-and-bones kitten had filled out and no longer lingered on death’s edge. And she loved the tiny squirt.

  Night blackened the storefront windows. An overweight teenage checkout boy threw his hands up as shoppers lined up. He requested someone named Kathy to open her lane, but nobody came. The boy raced against time to bag groceries. Chelsey made it through the line in ten minutes, the lights shutting off as she pushed the shopping cart through the automatic doors.

  She pressed the key fob on her green Honda Civic. A man in the neighboring parking spot loaded grocery bags into a silver Ford pickup. He wore a baseball cap over his brow, his back to her as he hefted the bags into the cab. When he turned around, her heart skipped a beat. Thomas Shepherd. She clutched her shopping bag against her thighs before she dropped it. His mouth hung open.

  “Thomas? What are you doing in Wolf Lake?”

  He spoke, but nothing came out. Shuffling his feet, he said, “I might ask you the same question.”

  So there it was. She hadn’t seen him since the breakup, never explained why she tossed him out of her life, and she only asked why he was here.

  “I heard about the shooting,” she said, cringing when her voice cracked. “Are you okay?”

  He touched his nose and glanced around the lot, as though searching for an escape route.

  “Rehabilitation worked. I have my strength back.”

  “But are you okay?”

  He raised his eyes to Chelsey, understanding the meaning.

  “It’s a process. I’m giving myself as much time as it takes to make peace with what happened.”

  “That’s good.” Another uncomfortable bout of silence passed between them. She stopped her toe from nervously tapping against the blacktop. “So, are you back from California, visiting your family?”

  “No…I live in Wolf Lake now.”

  Chelsey didn’t know how to respond. Thomas Shepherd lived in the same town? And why did her chest flutter when he looked at her? He still had those sea blue eyes, inquisitive and deep enough to drown in.

  “I should go,” she said, suddenly sick to her stomach.

  “Chelsey, we never talked after—”

  “Sorry, Thomas. I’m not feeling well. It was good to see you again.”

  She piled into her car. Dammit, she was a heel for cutting him off. After this much time, he deserved an explanation. But if she went forward with this conversation, nothing good would come of it.

  The engine turned over. As she threw the Civic into reverse and backed out of the parking space, he turned his back and stacked the last shopping bag into his truck.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Moonlight drew long, sinuous shadows over the cabin walls. A noise bolted Darren Holt out of a deep sleep, and the state park ranger rested with his elbows propping up his head and chest. Strange shapes played over the burgundy area rug between the wall and the foot of his bed as a stiff wind rustled the trees outside the window. The curtains stood open, inviting the night into the cabin.

  He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and cut a glance at the clock. One in the morning. Hands behind his head, he stared at the exposed beams overhead. The ceiling stared back at him. A light affixed to the wall angled over the headboard. In the dark, it looked like a monstrous spider leg. The odds on Darren falling back to sleep lengthened with each second he lay awake. It would be a long night. Fortunately, nobody camped in the park tonight and he kept his own hours. Whether he awakened at the break of dawn or slept past noon, it wouldn’t matter.

  Right now he needed a glass of water. He swung his legs off the bed and waited for his body to catch up to his sleepless mind. Wind moaned around the cabin, and a branch snapped inside the woods and crashed to the forest floor.

  Darren drank a full glass of water at the sink, then poured himself a second. He shuffled to the foot of the bed, stepped out of his pajama bottoms, and slid his bluejeans over his hips. Cold seeped beneath the door and bled across the room. In upstate New York, winter refused to obey the calendar. Last April, a freak storm dropped six inches of snow on the forest and brought down two spruce trees. He hoped spring arrived by the weekend. After donning his shoes, Darren pulled his jacket off the hanger and buttoned it. He patted the pocket and confirmed his keys lay inside.

  When he touched the doorknob, a scream brought his back erect. Darren spun and grabbed the Glock firearm he’d carried as a Syracuse police officer. He kept a flashlight beside the door. Grabbing the light, he threw the door open and clutched his coat as a blast of polar air struck his face. The scream sounded as if it had come from below the ridge line, but he couldn’t be certain in the rising gale. He swept the beam across the trail. The neighboring cabins watched him with black, lifeless eyes.

  Two decades ago, he rented an apartment bordering a wildlife reserve. One night, he swore he heard a child crying in the woods. The sound came from a bobcat. Was that what he’d heard tonight? Bobcats ventured out of the hill country and into the state park every few years.

  Another scream pulled his head around. That wasn’t a bobcat. He sprinted down the trail, blocking tree limbs with his forearm. As he reached the bottom and crossed from the park onto private land, he pulled up. This was Thomas Shepherd’s property. Cutting between the trees, he almost ran into the deputy. Thomas carried his own Glock. The deputy’s flashlight blinded Darren’s eyes.

  “It’s Darren,” he said, concerned the deputy wouldn’t recognize him in his confused state. The same live wire tension coursing through Darren’s body revealed itself in the former LAPD detective’s eyes.

  “The scream came from that way,” Thomas said over the wind. He pointed past his neighbor’s house toward the lake.

  Whitecap waves threw themselves against the shore. Lights flickered on inside the Mourning home while Darren followed the deputy’s lead through the backyards. Darren didn’t know where Thomas was taking him until he spotted a woman pointing toward the shoreline.

  A gray mass bobbed against the rocks. Even from a distance, Darren knew it was a body.

  “Keep the woman back,” Thomas told him as he pressed his phone to his ear.

  The distraught woman fell to her knees and covered her mouth with both hands. Darren recognized her. She and her husband owned the pale blue boathouse beside the Mourning’s property.

  “Mrs. Kimble, did you see anyone else on the water?”

  She leaned over and regurgitated into the grass. The cold numbed Darren’s fingers. At the shore, Thomas used a branch to direct the corpse toward the rocks before the waves stole it. Christ, the head was missing. Blocking the macabre scene with his frame, he set a hand on Kimble’s shoulder. She wiped a forearm across her mouth and coughed.

  “I couldn’t sleep on account of the wind. A shutter kept knocking against the house, so I came outside to lock it down.”

  “Where’s your husband, ma’am?�
��

  Kimble shook her head.

  “He works overnights this week. Oh, God. Who would do such a thing?”

  Darren sent the distraught woman inside and told her to stay in the house until the sheriff arrived. After Kimble turned away, Darren descended the slope and helped Thomas drag the remains onto the rocks. The deputy stood knee-deep in the water, his shirt soaked through by the waves. Without a jacket, Thomas must have been freezing.

  Darren could see the indecision etched into the deputy’s face. Touching the corpse tainted the evidence. But if he left the body alone, the lake might swallow it and drag the corpse under. The man’s lips took on an unhealthy pallor.

  “Give me your hand,” Darren said after the deputy nudged the body past the reach of the waves.

  Thomas stared with his teeth chattering. The water, which had stayed frozen until March, still held winter’s touch. Darren worried about hypothermia. He edged closer to the water, careful not to disturb the headless corpse. Extending an arm over the water, he waited until Thomas clutched his hand. Darren hauled the deputy out of the lake. Thomas dropped into a crouch and rubbed his arms. He needed dry clothes and a blanket.

  “The sheriff is on the way,” Thomas said, his words clipped. He winced when the wind gusted. “Something tells me we found our missing person.”

  The bloated body appeared as if it had been in the water for twenty-four hours or longer. Skin peeled away along the torso, and something had nibbled a chunk of flesh from the leg. It was a woman. No way he could identify the victim. A black crown on the dead woman’s forearm pulled his gaze as sirens approached from the village center.

  “That’s a gang tattoo,” Darren said, pointing at the crown. “She belonged to the Royals.”

  Thomas met his eyes. This was Erika Windrow.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thomas didn’t want to accept the blanket, but Sheriff Gray insisted. What he needed was a hot shower and dry clothes. He wouldn’t leave the scene until they were certain Erika Windrow’s missing head wasn’t bobbing in the lake, waiting to wash up on someone’s property.

  “I’ve got a diving team on the way from Harmon,” Gray said, surveying the lake with consternation creasing his brow. “You’re certain you didn’t see anyone else on the lake after Kimble screamed?”

  Thomas glanced at Darren, who shook his head. The ranger gave Gray and the investigation team room, but the former Syracuse police officer champed at the bit to help.

  “Well, someone must have dumped this woman in the lake,” Gray continued, frustrated. “It’s this damn wind. Everything in that lake will end up on the south shore by the time it lets up. Bang on every door along the lake shore. If anyone was on the water after dark over the last twenty-four hours, I want to know about it.”

  Two crime scene techs in jumpsuits set down markers and picked over the corpse. They wore face masks. Booties covered their shoes. The first tech, a fifty-something woman with hard eyes and a firm set to her jaw, tried to erect a tent. The wind kept knocking it over. Over Thomas’s shoulder, Naomi and Scout watched from the patio, the girl smothered in a bulky winter coat as her mother stood behind the wheelchair.

  “Give me a second,” Thomas said, tilting his head toward the Mourning family.

  Gray grunted and mingled with the female technician. The woman urged the sheriff to stay back as he clamored for answers she couldn’t give him. Thomas pushed through a tangle of brush beneath the hemlock trees. Naomi raised a hesitant hand as he approached.

  “Is it true? Mrs. Kimble found a dead body in the water?”

  Thomas looked back at the investigation team. No point lying to Naomi and Scout. The news would hit the internet within the hour.

  “We haven’t identified the woman.”

  “Tell me she drowned and washed ashore.”

  “I can’t speculate.”

  Naomi glared at Thomas. She knew he was holding back. Naomi’s hand slid from the chair arm to Scout’s shoulder.

  “My daughter wants to tell you something.”

  Thomas looked between Naomi and Scout, then knelt before the teenager. The girl’s eyes darted up to her mother in question. Naomi nodded.

  “Last night, someone went out on the lake.”

  Thomas fished inside his pocket for a pen and notepad before he remembered he’d thrown on street clothes after Kimble woke him up.

  “What time?”

  “A few minutes after ten o’clock.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “There was a loud splash, like something heavy fell into the water.”

  “I heard it too,” Naomi said in confirmation. “As Scout said, it was a few minutes after ten.”

  A soaked strand of hair dropped across his eye. Thomas brushed it away.

  “Did either of you see a boater on the water?”

  “Neither bedroom faces the lake. I got up and looked out the kitchen window. There’s no lake view from our yard. But there’s something else that might be important.”

  “Go on.”

  “Sunday night around the same time, somebody came through our yards. It sounded like he hiked down from the state park. I figured it was the ranger. But I didn’t see a reason he’d cross through our properties.”

  “It couldn’t have been Ranger Holt. We drove to Hattie’s Sunday evening and didn’t return until eleven. You’re certain someone was behind our houses?”

  Naomi rubbed her arms and looked away.

  “I’m not sure what to believe. A buck crashed through the bushes and startled me, so I ran inside. I tried to convince myself that’s what I’d heard before, but I’m not so sure. You know that sensation you get when someone’s watching you? I’m certain someone was behind your house, hiding near the trees.”

  Thomas’s jaw worked back and forth.

  “I should get back to the investigation. If you remember anything else, call me. And if you catch anyone in the yards again—”

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m scared enough as it is.”

  He gave Naomi and Scout a reassuring smile and walked back to the lake. The blanket flapped behind him like a cape, but Thomas didn’t feel like a superhero. Someone dumped a murdered woman in the lake under his nose. Had the same person stalked through his backyard and frightened Naomi? Unease crept through his bones.

  When he arrived at the shore, the medical examiner joined the crime scene technicians. The wind tossed the man’s gray hair around. He stooped over the victim’s remains, snapping photographs as he pointed at the tattoo.

  “Did your neighbors have anything to say?” Gray asked, lifting his chin at Naomi and Scout.

  Thomas could still see them past the tree line.

  “That’s Naomi and Scout Mourning. The girl claims someone was on the lake last night after ten o’clock, and the mother confirmed the story.”

  Gray tugged at his mustache.

  “Nobody’s allowed on the lake after dark. Village ordinance.”

  “The mother also claims someone watched her Sunday night from my yard.”

  “Your yard?”

  “I don’t understand it, either. But I suggest we bring flashlights and check the path from my house to the state park. Mrs. Mourning thinks the person came down the ridge.”

  “All right. After the ME takes the body, we’ll check it out. And Thomas?”

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Your house is a two-minute walk. Go home and change into dry clothes. I can’t lose my newest deputy to pneumonia.”

  Thomas didn’t want to leave the scene, but Gray was right. He trudged back to the house, his sneakers making squishing noises that wrangled his nerves as he angled around the guest house. After he removed his shoes at the back door, he peeled the sodden clothes off in the kitchen and walked naked to the staircase. It occurred to him Uncle Truman’s house had too many windows, and he wrapped a towel around his waist before he climbed the stairs. In the bathroom, he tossed the clothes into the hamper, made certain it was com
pletely closed, and stepped into the shower. He moaned when the warm spray massaged the chill off his flesh.

  After, Thomas flicked the light switch inside the kitchen. Two floodlights lit the back deck like a landing strip. He grabbed his flashlight and slipped into a coat. Gray and a bleary-eyed Deputy Lambert waited for him when Thomas stepped outside. The deputy’s shift had ended at midnight. He suspected Gray’s call woke Lambert up an hour after he’d fallen asleep.

  Thomas joined Gray and Lambert in the backyard. Naomi and Scout had retreated into their house, and the lights were off. Darren stood with his arms folded, hoping someone would request his assistance.

  “The more the merrier,” Gray said, waving Darren forward. “You got your flashlight, Ranger?”

  “I do.”

  “Start searching. The night isn’t getting younger. Shit, I have to be up in five hours.”

  “What are we looking for?” Lambert asked, sweeping the light from the deck to the tree line.

  “Footprints. Anything that confirms someone was in Shepherd’s yard Sunday night.”

  Even if they found a footprint, it would be difficult to separate it from their own footprints. How many times had Thomas walked through the yard since he moved in? Too many to count.

  “I didn’t want to say this while the women were outside,” Gray said, glancing at the Mourning’s home. “But this might be a wild goose chase. The woman thought someone was watching her? That’s not a lot to go on.”

  “She’s not alone,” Darren said, pulling Gray’s attention. “Last week, I tracked somebody moving down the trail toward the water after dark.”

  “Hmm. Probably a camper.”

  “We haven’t rented a cabin since the end of March. Given winter’s refusal to pack up and head north, I don’t blame anyone for avoiding the park.”