by Renee George
It wasn’t really an answer. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Nicole,” he said. His eyes brightened. “She’s home for the summer. She just finished her Ph.D. at Stanford.”
Not even murder could put a damper on his fatherly pride. “Impressive.”
“She’s gifted. Always has been.” He leaned against a support beam next to Connelly’s desk. “It’s going to be hard on Jean when she leaves again.”
“She might stick around more now that school’s out,” the deputy said. His words lacked conviction. “You never know.”
“She’ll be busier than ever,” Sheriff Taylor said. “And that’s okay. Anyways, I thank you for coming in this morning, Willy, but we got it from here. You go enjoy your vacation.” He emphasized “vacation” as if putting finger quotes around the word. “We’ve got more than enough people working this investigation.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
As I was leaving, I remembered the encounter between Evelyn and Sabrina at Sunny’s Outlook. I almost turned around. Almost. It was a public confrontation, and since Sid had “more than enough people” working the investigation, I was certain it wouldn’t take them long to track down suspects.
I still had a few hours before I had to meet with Sunny. I went back to Ruth’s and got my car. Brady had said he’d been building a screen porch for the victim at Stony Park Villa. It probably wouldn’t come to anything, but it might be worth a look to see where Evelyn Meyers lived. My going to her house had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Brady might be there gathering any leftover equipment.
Chapter Six
I used the GPS on my phone to find Stony Park Villa. It was a small cul-de-sac subdivision with six homes in a large circle. Each large split-level house sat on two to three acres of land, and each one had a three-car garage. There were minor differences in architecture, and no two homes were the same color. Three of the yards had been recently seeded with new grass. One still had freshly dozed dirt everywhere and a “For Sale” sign. The last two had manicured lawns that had seen at least one summer.
Now, if I were Evelyn Meyer’s house, which house would I be?
The easiest solution was to look in the backyards and find the screened-in porch. I pulled in front of the house surrounded by dirt. It didn’t look occupied, so I hoped the neighbors would assume I was a potential buyer and not call the cops on me for snooping.
I got out of the truck, disappointed when I didn’t see any sign of Brady. I pulled the back of the seat forward and grabbed my work backpack. I checked inside. Pocket flashlight, baggie with nitrile gloves, lock pick set, scissors, Swiss Army knife, pens, notepad, sanitizer wipes, doggie treats (you never knew when bribing a dog might come in handy), granola bars, beef jerky, and trail mix (you never knew when a snack attack would happen on a stakeout), shoe booties, and a hair net. I grabbed my phone from my purse and dropped it into the front pocket of the bag. The advent of smartphones had made recording devices and cameras for documenting an investigation unnecessary.
It was close to ten a.m., and the street was quiet. School was out for summer, but there were no children running around. I walked behind the empty house. There was an open deck. Pretty basic. And no construction.
I moved toward the fence line and walked counter-clockwise. One of the established yards, the blue house with brown trim, had a double deck and a gazebo. Nice, but not the place I was looking for. It took a couple of minutes to get to the next yard. A tan house, white trim, in a recently seeded yard. There were still some sporadic spots of loose straw on bare patches. Low and behold, there was a screened-in porch. Finished even, which meant Brady had most likely finished the work yesterday afternoon and cleaned up before leaving. Too bad Evelyn would never get a chance to enjoy the new digs.
The porch itself wasn’t locked up. Good for me. The neighbors wouldn’t be able to see me break and enter through the back door. Jeezus, why was I doing this? Besides my natural curiosity, I wanted to give Brady reassurance that his son wasn’t a killer. Was I being presumptuous? Hell yes.
Two large ceiling fans with wicker blades circulated air over a wicker loveseat, two chairs, a lounger, and a table with four chairs. A few ants crawled on the table. A fine layer of dust covered the entire glass top except for two rings the size of silver dollars, and the word “Bitch” spelled out in capital letters. Someone made a house call.
Crap. Brady built this porch. Was he the dust writer? I’d met Evelyn, and if she hadn’t been killed the night before I might have been tempted to write the word in her dust but I didn’t want to believe it of Brady. It seemed out of character for the man, but truthfully, what did I know about him other than he made my hormones dance a jig whenever he was near? That wasn’t enough to say he was of good moral fiber. Let’s face it, my taste in men had always been suspect. I’d picked some real losers over the years.
I checked the back door. It was a standard keyed-door lever. Not one of the most secure locks on the planet.
I put on my hair net to harness my curls. Wouldn’t do to have red strands of hair all over the place when Sheriff Taylor and his deputies got around to processing Evelyn’s house. Next, I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, slipped the shoe covers on my tennis shoes, and grabbed my lock pick set from my backpack.
Hmm. People in the city wouldn’t leave their homes unsecured, but I grew up in a rural area and knew small-town folks rarely locked their doors. However, there were tool marks on the key entry. Someone had come before me. I tested the handle, and it turned. Bingo. I put away my pick set and went inside.
The back door led directly into Evelyn’s modern kitchen. The counters were black marble, and the appliances were stainless steel. She had a center island with a sink, two rinsed tea cups and some forks sitting inside, and a grill. Over the top was an exhaust fan that traveled up to the vaulted ceiling. Copper bottom pots hung from a stainless steel lighted pot rack, but weirdly, I couldn’t smell a hint of food. She didn’t have any of the telltale signs of a cook, even though her kitchen would make a professional chef salivate.
I opened the refrigerator and saw a couple blocks of cheese, an open bottle of wine, a Sunny’s Outlook box, some deli ham, and a jar of mayo. I opened the Sunny’s Outlook box. It was the coffee cake Evelyn had picked up yesterday afternoon. Two pieces were missing, which meant Evelyn had come home long enough before rehearsals to eat two pieces of cake or she shared them with someone. Either way, Evelyn came home before rehearsals.
A sudden pang twisted my gut. Had she shared the cake with Brady? Oh, crap. Would Sheriff Taylor see Brady as a suspect? I couldn’t see a motive, but he clearly had access to the woman. I knew he hadn’t done it, though. He’d been genuinely surprised when I’d told him about Evelyn’s death, but he’d also been worried Jo Jo might be involved. If my hormones hadn’t fogged my brain, I would’ve asked. The next time I saw Brady, I’d have to ask.
My phone rang, and I nearly jumped up on the center island. I fished it from my backpack. Sunny’s name flashed on the screen. I composed myself and answered on the third ring. “Hey, girl,” I said. “We’re still on this afternoon. Right?”
“Of course,” Sunny said. “I’m looking forward to it, which is why I called. You have about ten minutes to get out of Evelyn Meyer’s home before the sheriff gets there. Oh, and FYI, the drawer in her office desk has a false bottom. See you at one!” She hung up.
I stood there for about two seconds with my mouth agape. I ran to the living room and peeked out the curtains. How could Sunny possibly know I was at Evelyn’s house or that the sheriff was going to be here? I supposed someone could have told her about the sheriff coming to check out the victim’s house. After all, her husband was the town’s mayor, but no one knew I was here. No one.
I really liked Sunny, and I hated that I’d been directed to spy on her, but she was kind of scaring me. Okay, if I believed her, then I had about five minutes to give the house a once over and get the heck out. It wouldn’t be gr
eat if Sid Taylor recognized my truck leaving the cul-de-sac, but it would be even worse if he caught me rummaging through a dead woman’s house.
The living room, much like the kitchen was über modern. For a woman who ran an antique store, there was a distinct lack of antiques in her home. I don’t know why I had expected Evelyn’s style to be more traditional country or lady of the manor. But everything about her home felt cold and impersonal, much like the woman herself. On the wall in her hallway was a framed picture of a much younger Evelyn with Jean, and two people who I assumed were their parents. They all smiled, but not a one of them seemed happy. The house was two stories, which meant I wouldn’t be able to go through the whole thing in the allotted time, but according to Sunny, there was one place I definitely had to check, so I just started opening and closing doors until I found the important room. The office had a desk with a computer, an old fashioned ten-key, bank books, and a landline handset phone with answering machine. The only item not business related was a bird figurine with a vivid green and blue body, and a peach face. It reminded me of a parrot, but the beak was too small. Since it was a figurine, there was no telling how large the bird was in real life or even if it had been modeled after a real bird.
The answering machine surprised me. Hardly anyone had them anymore. There was one message. I pushed the button. Jean Taylor’s voice came on. “Evie, you can’t keep ignoring me. I know you’ve been in touch with Nicole. Give me a call so we can talk about it.”
And that was it. Frankly, Jean didn’t even sound angry. So much for the proverbial answering machine lead. I opened the top middle drawer. It had the usual organized sections of staples, thumbtacks, paper click, sticky notes, scissors, and such. I pulled the drawer out far enough to lift the organizer. It came right up.
“Hm,” I grunted. In the false bottom, there was a brown leather-bound accounts ledger. There were transactions with dates of deposits, payouts, withdrawals, and so on that all seemed to go to fruit. Mango, Plum, Blueberries, Peaches, and more. The Big Grape seemed to get the most attention, but nothing to identify where the money came from or who it was going out to, I took pictures with my phone one page after another. The balance at the bottom of the last page stuck out to me immediately. $985,450 was scribbled in the total column.
Christ, did Evelyn have almost a million dollars in the bank? How did a small town antique store owner have that kind of money? Did she make really wise investments into fruit? I looked at my phone again. Crappola. I needed to go. I put the ledger back, because it might be evidence, and the last thing I wanted to do was impede Sid’s investigation. After, I closed all the doors I’d opened and made sure I hadn’t moved anything or left any trace of myself behind then skedaddled out the door.
I ducked down a little in my seat when I passed the sheriff’s SUV on the way out of Stony Park Villa. Shii-it. I’d got out barely in the nick of time. I pulled out my phone and dialed Sunny.
“Hey, Willy,” she said brightly. “What’s up?”
“You mind if I come early? I think we need to talk sooner rather than later.”
“I already have soup on the stove and some sourdough bread in the oven. I hope you’re hungry.”
I blanched. “Actually, I’m famished.”
Chapter Seven
Sunny and Babe’s cabin was a small two-bedroom place out in the country. The yard was a little overgrown. Wildflowers popped up all over the setting, lending splotches of color to the place. It was messy and beautiful all at the same time. Sunny’s SUV was parked in the gravel drive. She sat out on the porch swing and waved as I pulled in and parked behind her vehicle.
Her son Jude ran around with his arms out making airplane noises, and Dawn, who wasn’t a year old yet, sat content in Sunny’s lap. “Come on over and have a seat,” she said, looking every bit a mom. “Dawn won’t bite.” She laughed and tickled her daughter’s tummy. “Well, she might, but I’ll protect you.” The baby girl giggled.
Shifter children matured slower than human children, so Dawn, who was a little over six months old, looked like a three-month-old human.
I sat down next to Sunny. She stared at me expectantly, and I found that Dawn wasn’t the only one squirming. I remembered that it had taken Jude four months for his first shift. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. Most therianthropes shifted on their first full moon, no matter their age. “Has she shifted, yet?”
“Yes.” Sunny beamed with pride. “She was three weeks old on the first full moon. She went all furry and yipped like crazy. Coyote pups are adorable.”
I gave her a quizzical look. Could she remember her full moon shifts? I’d never heard of that happening. On the full moon, our animal forms dominated our human forms. It was the only time when we operated on pure instinct. I could recall scents and emotions from my shifts during a moon cycle, but I’d never had any concrete memories.
Maybe she wasn’t talking about Dawn’s first shift. She could have seen the little girl shift anytime. It wasn’t like we were confined to only shifting with the full moon, and the rest of the time, we could think and process like a human, even if our senses were more heightened.
“Sunny, how did you know I was at her house? What’s going on that you’re not telling me?”
Her bow lips tugged up into a smile. “Am I a suspect, Willy? Do you think I had something to do with Evelyn Meyer’s death?”
“Of course not.” I didn’t suspect Sunny at all, but she knew stuff she shouldn’t know. “You told that Sabrina chick to ask for help. Why?”
“We can all use a little help from time to time.”
“Did you know Evelyn was going to die? Are you covering for someone?”
“No, I didn’t know Evelyn was going to die. As to the second question, I have no idea who killed her.”
“Then how?”
Dawn wiggled around and sprouted fur, a muzzle, and a tail. Sunny took off what was left of the baby’s diaper and put the coyote pup down to join her brother. She turned her gaze on me. “That’s the question, right? You’re here to find out more about me?”
“Jeezus, Sunny, what are you some kind of mind reader?”
“Some kind,” she said seriously.
“I...what? Are you saying you can read minds?”
She laughed. “Don’t you worry, Wilhelmina Boden, your secrets are safe with me. I don’t read minds. I mean, occasionally I’ll get a phrase or a word here or there, but mostly, I just see things happen. It might be a past event, something in the present, or something that has yet to happen.”
“Are you yanking my chain?”
Sunny leaned over and looked at my back. “Nope,” she said. “Your chain remains unyanked.”
“You’re a seer then, is that what you’re saying?”
“I am a psychic. Not a very good one. And let me tell you, when I was pregnant, my ability was non-existent, but since Dawn’s birth, it’s gotten pretty much back to normal.”
“A psychic?” I scoffed. “I’ve never heard of a therianthrope psychic before. If a person like you existed in our world, believe me, I would have heard about it.” I studied every species of therians and lycans in the United States after the Tri-State Council hired me.
“Well, that’s the rub,” Sunny said. “And it’s the thing you’re here for. I’m not a therianthrope.”
“Lycanthrope?”
Sunny chuckled. “Billy Bob and Chavvah are the only two werewolves in town.” Her eyes were almost sad when she looked at me. “I’m human, Willy.”
“You can’t be.”
“But I am. I’m a human psychic living in a therian community. Is it against the Tri-State Council rules? Yes. So, I suppose what happens next is up to you. I’ve already discussed it with Babe, and we’ll be okay whatever you decide.” She took my hand and gave it a pat. “I like you, Willy. I’d like to be your friend, but you can’t be friends with someone who you can’t be honest with.”
“Fuck my life,” I said.
“It’s a p
retty good life.” Sunny patted my leg and stood up. “Come on, Jude. Dawn. It’s time for lunch.” She looked down at me. “You coming in?”
“If you’re psychic then you already know.”
“I have four bowls set on the table.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m coming.” This was a lot to process, but I could smell the black bean soup from out here, and I was hungry.
Sunny’s kitchen was sage green. Above a copper backsplash, the words “Above all else. Love.” had been stenciled on the wall. Dawn had changed back into human form. Sunny put another diaper on her and strapped her into a high chair. Jude, who was small, but mobile, sat in a chair with a booster seat. “Yummy,” he squealed when Sunny put a bowl down in front of him that had been sitting on the counter when we got inside.
“I let his bowl cool down while we were outside.” Dawn got a bowl of rice cereal and a sippy cup of watered down juice. There were two pots on the stove. Sunny dished my bowl from one and hers from other.
I raised a brow. “What’s the difference?”
“Mine is vegetarian,” she said. “Yours is has cubed chicken breast. I can’t eat meat.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“When I eat meat, I experience the last moments of the poor animal’s life. Nothing kills the appetite like pain, gore, and death.”
“That’s part of your psychic thing.” I spooned up a mouthful of soup. Spicy, earthy, with a hint of lime and cilantro. “Hot damn, this is delicious.”
“I do own a restaurant.”
“But I’ve never eaten any of your food with meat in it.” I laughed and took another bite.
“My babies are carnivores, so I have to compromise at home.”
“Well, it’s good.”
“Thanks.”
“You knew Evelyn sent the Tri-State Council a note about you?”
Sunny shook her head and blew the steam off her spoon. “It doesn’t surprise me that it was Evelyn, but no, I didn’t know. I did have a vision of you sitting in an office with a short man with waxy blond hair and a porn-stache ordering you to Peculiar to investigate me.”