Echoes of Murder (Till Death do us Part Book 2)

by Bradshaw, Cheryl

  “And the cops think Evan did it?”

  “The girl was found in his room, and aside from him swearing he didn’t do it, it sure looks that way.”

  “Reagan, you have to help him,” Nathan said. “There’s no way he did this. You can look at the body, can’t you? Clear his name?”

  “She’ll do nothing of the kind,” Sallie chimed in. “That boy is getting exactly what he deserves.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Dakota’s parents would have to order a private examination, and then they’d have to ask me to do it, and that’s not going to happen. Based on the fact the main suspect was your wife’s brother, I doubt I’d ever be allowed near her.”

  “But I know he didn’t do it. At least, I think I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How far was Evan’s room from mine?”

  “Four doors down, I think.”

  “Right. I saw someone go into his room that night around the time you’re saying that girl was probably murdered.”

  “What did he look like?” Reagan asked.

  “I didn’t see him from the front, only the back. He was tall, muscular, like he worked out. He had scraggly brown hair that was tied into a ponytail in back.”

  “What about his clothes? What was he wearing?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Honestly, I didn’t put this all together until just now. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Reagan said. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “What about Isla?”

  “I’m working on getting her released to me. I’ll try, Nathan. I promise. I’ll do everything I can.” Reagan lifted a dollar bill from the pocket of her pants, turned toward her mother. “Can you get me an orange soda from the machine?”

  Her mother raised a brow. “Since when do you drink soda?”

  “Since now. I’m parched. Please, Mom.”

  “You’re trying to have a conversation without me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “There are no secrets in this family, Reagan. I won’t tolerate it.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Reagan waved the money in front of her mother. Sallie slapped the dollar bill away. “Keep it.”

  When Sallie was several feet away, Reagan leaned over her brother, whispered, “Do you know a man named Alex McMasters?”

  “I’m aware of what happened a few years ago. Why?”

  “Evan told me the guy is in prison?”

  “Was in prison.”

  “What do you mean was?”

  “He got out.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Three months maybe.”

  “Did he have any contact with Isla?”

  “Not since he’s been out. I mean, I’m sure she would have told me if he tried to see her again after sending her that letter.”

  “What letter?”

  “The one Alex sent her from jail, asking for her forgiveness, asking to see her when he got out.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When the door to Nathan’s room opened again, Reagan expected to see her mother step inside, a can of soda clutched in her hand. Instead Dustin entered, the grin on his face dissipating when he saw Reagan. He looked past her like she wasn’t there, spoke to Nathan. “How you holding up?”

  “I’m not,” Nathan replied. “Good to see you, though. Long time.”

  The two shook hands.

  “Too long.”

  “They didn’t have orange, so I got you some root beer,” Sallie said, her eyes still focused on the can when she walked in. When she looked up, she took one look at Dustin and scowled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to talk to me after I rescued you from the back of a squad car yesterday?”

  “You did nothing of the kind. That Chief Hall wasn’t planning on arresting me. He just thought he’d make a spectacle in front of everyone else so they’d fall in line, answer his questions.”

  Dustin shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

  Sallie looked at Reagan, thumbed in Dustin’s direction. “I never liked him.”

  “I can hear you,” Dustin said.

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Sallie spat.

  “I’m gonna head out for a bit,” Reagan said. “Nathan, do you need anything?”

  He shook his head. She leaned down, pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll stop by a little later then.”

  Nathan caught her hand in his, whispered, “Reagan, please—don’t go and do anything stupid.”

  “Like what?”

  “You didn’t ask me about Isla’s ex for nothing. He’s not the kind of person any girl should mess with. Leave it alone for now. Okay? At least until I get out of here, and we can sort it out together.”

  “Okay.”

  Reagan despised lying, but in a moment like this, she didn’t want him to worry. Besides, he didn’t have to know what she was planning. Not yet.

  CHAPTER 16

  Reagan easily found info on Alex McMasters using an online version of the White Pages. After shelling out a few bucks, she had access to his address, phone number, age, and criminal record, proving nothing was sacred in the digital age. A few taps of a finger was all it took. Effortless.

  It was easy, almost too easy.

  Eleven months earlier, Alex had been charged with a Class A misdemeanor, a crime that got him locked in the clink for almost a year. The booking information came complete with a chilling mug shot that didn’t just say “violent criminal,” the image screamed it with just one look into Alex’s ruthless, unapologetic eyes. The same eyes Reagan found herself staring into now—live.

  “Alex McMasters?” she asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I want to know.”

  He leaned on the side of the door jamb, kept his arm out to the side, blocking her from moving forward. “What’s your name?”

  “Reagan.”

  “Reagan what?”

  She hesitated, unsure of whether she wanted to tell the truth, or lie. “Davenport.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know you.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “Why are you here then? What do you want?”

  “Do you know a girl named Dakota Jaynes?”

  His face was blank, offering nothing to indicate whether he did or didn’t. “Should I?”

  “Do you or don’t you?”

  “I don’t.”

  Reagan breathed in, remaining calm considering the man standing in front of her bore a startling resemblance to the guy her brother had described from his hospital bed. “Let’s try an easier one. Do you know Isla Everley?”

  He stood for a time, not slamming the door in her face, but not speaking either. Reagan waited, tried not to focus on the infinite number of exposed tattoos, or the fact that each one of his biceps looked bigger than her head. He could easily snap her in half if he wanted to, and she assumed he probably did.

  “Isla’s my past, and I don’t talk about my past.”

  “So you haven’t seen her lately?” she asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Reagan blurted the truth intentionally. She wanted to see what kind of response it would elicit, whether or not his expression would change.

  It didn’t.

  He simply said, “So?”

  “You don’t want to know what happened?” she asked. “How she died?”

  “Like I said, she’s my past.”

  “What’s your past, baby?” A girl wearing caked-on layers of cheap foundation and a dress that looked like it doubled as a shirt stood next to Alex. A baby was slung over one of her hips. She looked at Reagan then Alex. “Who’s this?”

  “Reagan … something.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what’s she doing here, babe?”

  Alex clenched his hands, but they remained by his side. “Stop asking questions and
mind your business.”

  “You pretend you don’t want to know what happened to Isla,” Reagan said. “And yet you sent her a letter while you were incarcerated asking to see her when you got out. Care to explain?”

  The girl standing next to Alex cursed at him in Spanish, and in Reagan’s mind, everything clicked. Alex had been charged with assault, and not just any assault. For a Class B misdemeanor, he would have most likely served a sentence of six months or less. He served ten and was slapped with a Class A, a harsher crime. There were two instances in which this usually happened. Either the assault included substantial bodily injury or the victim, the person he abused, had been pregnant.

  Reagan stared at the baby. A little girl. She looked about six months old. She addressed the woman. “You. It was you he assaulted when you were pregnant. You were the one who pressed charges.”

  She didn’t deny it. “It was a mistake. Alex has changed. I’ve changed. My baby needs a father.”

  And the baby’s mother needed a brain.

  “How do you know about the letter?” Alex pressed. “You her friend or somethin’?”

  Reagan ignored the questions, pushed harder. “Where were you two nights ago between the hours of seven and eleven p.m.?

  “He was at work,” the girl said. “A-1 Auto.”

  “The car rental place?”

  The girl nodded.

  Alex’s temper flared. “Shut up and get inside the house.”

  The baby flinched. A fit of tears began. The girl disappeared down the hallway, did what she was told.

  “Is that how you talked to Isla too?” Reagan asked.

  “You best get out of here. Now.”

  “A man matching your description was seen entering a room where a young woman was later found dead. She’d been strangled. If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll be back, and next time, I won’t come alone.”

  Reagan turned on her heel, walked away, her hand tucked inside the pocket of her sweater. Footsteps advanced toward her, just as she thought they would. Fast. Heavy. Determined. She yanked her hand out of her pocket, turned, and aimed. “Unless you want to be doused in pepper spray, you’ll stop right there.”

  Alex roared with laughter. “You really think that scrawny keychain concerns me?”

  “Not one more step. I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “Maybe someone needs to teach you a lesson about making threats.”

  Maybe they did.

  But today, it would be Alex who learned a lasting one.

  CHAPTER 17

  “What is wrong with you?!” Dustin stepped out of a black Toyota Tacoma, slamming the door closed behind him. “You mind telling me why you maced Alex McMasters in the face?”

  “How did you know I was there?” Reagan asked.

  “His girlfriend says you were harassing him.”

  “I wasn’t harassing anyone. We were just talking.”

  “Why did you feel compelled to mace him then?”

  “I asked him not to come any closer to me, and he did. He’s a criminal, Dustin. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “You can’t go around pepper-spraying people in the face. He could press charges.”

  She shrugged. “It was a small amount of spray. He’s a big guy. He needs to suck it up and get over it.”

  “The way you used it, it could still be considered a crime.”

  She shrugged. “Self-defense.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Nathan saw a man matching his description enter Evan’s room the night Dakota was murdered.”

  “And? Who is he? What makes you think he’s the same guy Nathan saw?”

  Reagan paused, thought about the promise she made to Evan. “I can’t tell you that right now.”

  “You can’t tell me?”

  “If I could, I would. I’m not trying to keep anything from you.”

  “If you weren’t, you would have told me about the connection between Alex and Isla.”

  It looked like she wasn’t the only one who had been snooping. Except if he had pried into Alex’s criminal background, Isla wouldn’t have been in it. Not if what Evan said was true. Isla never pressed charges. There was no police report. Nothing to link the two together.

  “How do you know Alex McMasters knew Isla?” Reagan asked.

  “How else? Your brother told me.”

  “It was a private matter. He wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  “She’s not around anymore, Reagan. There’s no privacy to protect. Your brother told me because he knew you wouldn’t leave it alone. And he was right.”

  “I didn’t get much out of him, so it doesn’t matter. The girl Alex is with told me he was working the night Isla was killed. I called there, verified it with his manager.”

  “That’s not your job. You need to stay away from this.”

  “Why?” she asked. “So you can ignore the fact that you have a witness who saw him in Evan’s room? So you can pin everything on Evan?”

  “If this Alex guy is guilty, we’ll arrest him. And if Evan’s innocent, he has nothing to worry about.”

  “Have you released him yet?”

  Dustin remained quiet.

  “Didn’t think so,” Reagan added. “You’re blocking my car. I just stopped home to grab something. I’m headed back out.”

  “Where? Who are you going after now?”

  “No one.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care. Are you going to let me out of the driveway or not?”

  Disgusted, he slid back into the truck and rolled out of the driveway before speeding down the street. Reagan waited until he was gone and then entered the house. In truth, she’d decided to retire for the night and pick things back up in the morning. The last thing she needed was Dustin hanging around.

  CHAPTER 18

  On the day both bodies were discovered, Reagan had spotted police officers examining a silver Jetta parked in a lot across from the hotel. Marking stands were placed inside the car in various areas. Pictures were taken. Among them, a photo of a brown bumper sticker affixed to the right side of the back bumper. On the sticker was a whimsical white graphic of a cup of coffee with swirled lines coming out the top to depict steam. Next to that it said:

  Rise & Grind & Drink Coffee

  The Piping Bean

  St. George, Utah

  The Piping Bean was a newer, independently owned establishment around forty-five miles from Reagan’s home in Cedar City. Nonetheless, the location had one strike against it. It was ill-placed, nestled on a less-traveled side street one block away from a main throughway with a bright, beaming Starbucks on the corner.

  The coffee house looked deserted when Reagan entered, the golden bells jangling against the glass door as she stepped inside. Including herself, Reagan counted five customers. A couple sat together at a bistro table to the right. A teenaged girl huddled in the corner devouring every printed word inside the pages of an Ellen Hopkins book. And a female barista was bent over the counter engaged in a coquettish conversation with a short, stocky boy, who was quite possibly the star of his college wrestling team. The girl smiled, fussed with the collar on the boy’s jacket. The boy frowned, his body stiff, demeanor sullen and morose.

  Reagan approached the counter. The boy didn’t make eye contact but sensed she was there and slid to the side. The barista acted unfettered by the interruption, even though she was. She slid the boy’s drink forward, her fingers brushing across his. He took the cup and turned, allowing Reagan the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his reddened face before he made his way to one of the vacant tables.

  “Can I help you?” the girl asked.

  Her words were directed at Reagan, but her concentration remained on the boy.

  “I’d like a chai tea latte.”

  The girl waved her hand above her head. “We don’t serve that here. Only coffee.”

  Reagan scanned the black chalkboard menu then the glass case in front of
her.

  “I’ll take a piece of this lemon bread,” Reagan said.

  “Will there be anything else?”

  “I was wondering if you knew someone—Dakota Jaynes.”

  “She worked here,” the girl said.

  “Did Dakota ever mention anyone named—”

  “Why you asking about her?”

  The question came from someone other than the barista.

  Reagan turned.

  “You’re the second person to ask about Dakota today,” the boy said. “Police were in here earlier.”

  Reagan paid for her order, sat down next to the boy. “My name’s Reagan. What’s yours?”

  “Garrett.”

  “Do you know Dakota Jaynes?”

  He nodded.

  “She is my … was my girlfriend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Just weird, you know?”

  “Were you together long?”

  “Couple months. Did you know her?”

  “I didn’t. Do you know about the other girl who was found?”

  “Never met her. Saw it on the news though.”

  “The other woman that died, the one you saw on the news, she was my sister-in-law.”

  “Guess I should be saying sorry to you then too, huh?”

  “Do you have any idea why your girlfriend attended Isla’s wedding?”

  He shook his head.

  “We were supposed to meet up that night. When I talked to her, she said she had some errands to run. We were going to get together later, see Guardians of the Galaxy. I waited for her at my apartment, but she never showed. I called her. She said she was running late, asked if we could catch the late movie instead.”

  “What time did you call her?”

  Garrett reached inside his jacket pocket, pressed a few buttons on his phone. “Six forty-seven.”

  Before the wedding reception.

  “Did you call her a second time?”

  “Yeah, right after nine. Went straight to voicemail. I figured she was mad or somethin’.”