by Liz Schulte
“We’ll see about that.”
He hands tightened on the wheel. “Do I need to remind you what you’re here to investigate?”
“Do I need to remind you that I don’t work for you?”
The rest of the trip was icy and quiet. Any camaraderie our night of drinking had built was gone by the cold light of day. He dropped me off at the inn and drove off as soon as the car door was shut. I watched the car go, trying to decide if what he concealed was murder. What better way to cover up a killing than to be in charge of the investigation?
“Ella! I’m so glad you’re back. I was worried,” Martha’s voice admonished from the porch.
I smiled at her, not sure what to say. Why would she be worried?
She didn’t smile back. “Had Sheriff Fagan not told me you’d gone home, my weekend would’ve been ruined.”
What? Oh. There had just been another brutal killing, which by now was no doubt the town news, and then I vanished. Poor Martha. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. I’m not used to having anyone waiting for me. I’ll be spending every weekend at home, for future reference.”
A deep frown creased her face. “Don’t you like it here?”
“No, that’s not it. I just need to check on my house and Gabriel lives in Montgomery. Jackson’s lovely, but I have other responsibilities.”
She nodded, looking more pleased. “Come have a piece of pie. It’s apple, just out of the oven.”
I wasn’t hungry at all, but I felt obligated. I followed her to the kitchen and sat on a stool. She babbled on and on about inane details of her life. Her dead husband who was a hunter, her parents who owned some sort of business while she was growing up, and what she’d done every moment of the weekend. I half listened and half thought about the case.
“Have you learned anything about Mary’s case?” she finally asked, perhaps grasping at any straw that might evoke more than a mumbled uh-huh from me. It occurred to me that Martha was probably lonely. Her big, old house was empty, much like my own. Her husband and daughter were dead. She was alone. A trickle of remorse ran down my spine. I really should’ve told her where I was going. Not doing so was pretty thoughtless. I wondered if Gabriel would feel like coming here next weekend.
“It feels like I’m getting somewhere, but maybe I’m running in circles. It’s hard to tell.”
“Do you have suspects?”
“More than I know what to do with.” I laughed and took a bite of the warm, gooey pie. The tart apples mixed with the sweet sugar and warm cinnamon warmed me from the inside, brightening my mood considerably.
“Is there anything I can do to help, dear?”
“No. I think I have to work it out on my own. If only I could find her boyfriend or her diary, at the very least.”
“Is Bryan missing too?”
Crap. I hadn’t meant to tell anyone about that. “No, no. He’s fine.”
Dawning comprehension rose over her face, twisting her features. “Who told you she had another boyfriend?”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t say anything to anyone. It isn’t public knowledge, and I assume that’s how Mary wanted it. Nikki and a couple other friends just had suspicions. I don’t know anything for a fact yet.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, dear.” She patted my hand.
I finished my pie and headed upstairs to drop off my bag. I took out Martha’s freshly dry-cleaned dress and carried it back down with me. “Martha?” I called out, but she didn’t answer. I headed toward her bedroom. “Martha?”
Still nothing. I almost went in and put the dress on the bed. Then I remembered she’d gotten it from the basement. I returned to the hall and reached for the basement door at the same time it swung open. I screamed, clutching the dress to my chest.
“Heavens, child. You nearly scared me right back down the stairs.”
“Sorry. I—I overreacted. I brought your dress back. I was going to take it downstairs for you.”
She took the dress fondly. “Oh, never you mind about that. You’re a busy person. I’ll take care of it. I expect you’ll be headed for the police station? Will you be home for dinner?”
“I will, but please don’t make a fuss.”
“It’s no fuss. I enjoy having your company.”
I smiled and waved as I headed for the door.
I spent the remainder of the day sifting through evidence boxes. It felt like I’d seen the burnt contents a thousand times, but the diary had to be somewhere. Somewhere there had to be a clue.
As dusk rolled around, I decided that tomorrow I’d go see Jennifer and Bryan again. I expected Fagan to demand an update, but he hadn’t said a word to me since I’d come in.
When my phone rang, I jumped.
“How’d your interview go?”
“Good.” I gave Gabriel a brief, quiet review of what I’d learned from Alfie and Caleb.
“Well, that changes things, doesn’t it? How are you going to track down the other boyfriend?”
“I have no idea. You know what I could really use on this case? A cop.”
“I hate to say this, but I think you should bring Fagan in. He has better resources and could maybe help find the guy.”
“Hmmm.”
“El.”
“He’s hiding something, and until I know what, I don’t want to tip my hand.”
“You really think he could’ve killed her?”
“It’s possible. Why would a single, young girl pull over on a country road late at night?”
He paused. “She’d pull over for a police officer.”
“Exactly. And he’d know how to destroy evidence and make the investigation just go away.”
“How does Lakota factor into this scenario?”
“Maybe she saw something. He was parked not too far from the body. Who knows how long she was dead? Maybe he killed her while I waited for her to show up.”
“Don’t you think you would’ve heard something? How could he mutilate her to the degree you described without you hearing it, without him getting any blood on himself?”
“He could’ve had a change of clothes with him, and he wasn’t all that close.”
“I hate that you’re this far away.” His voice was deep with feeling.
“I’m being careful,” I told him softly, then licked my lips. “You could come help me, you know. If you wanted.”
“Are you asking for help?”
I laughed nervously. “You don’t have to.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said, “I picked up your mail today.”
I took his change of subject as a sign that he didn’t want to get any more involved in the case than he already was. “Thanks. What would you think about spending next weekend here? I think Martha’s lonely.”
“I’m fine with that. What’s your plan for tonight?”
“I’m going to hunt down Fagan so I can give him my report; then I’m headed back to the inn. I promised Martha I’d have dinner with her.”
We said our good-byes and hung up. I peeked my head out of the interview room. Fagan’s light was off and the door was closed. Gone for the day. Interesting.
It was darker than I would’ve liked for my walk home, and the few lights from surrounding restaurants, houses, and shops reflected off the snow-covered ground, giving the town an eerie glow. Back at the B&B, I went straight to the kitchen, looking forward to visiting Martha, but got a nasty surprise instead. Fagan, looking like he owned the place, was sitting at the kitchen table, chatting with Martha. I openly glared at him. He had a drink that looked suspiciously like a vodka tonic in front of him, and there was another in front of my place setting.
“Ella, you’re home. I hope you don’t mind I invited Carter to have dinner with us. I thought the two of you would enjoy getting to know each other better outside the office.” She smiled and bustled over to the stove to get food.
“Why are you here?” I hissed.
“I was invited, and you owe me a report.”<
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I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t kick him out. It wasn’t my house. I couldn’t leave without hurting Martha’s feelings—and I didn’t want to do that, despite her misguided attempts to set me up with Fagan, though she knew I was seeing Gabriel.
“Sit down, Ella. Have a drink. Relax. I promise this will be painless.”
I stared at the drink in front of me and considered the ramifications of drinking it and being genial with Fagan. Maybe I could get him to tell me his secret, but it would also lower my defenses. Not that my defenses were ever too low—the alcohol was just as likely to make me meaner as it was to make me more pliable.
Fagan held up his glass and lifted a challenging eyebrow. I picked up my water glass, toasted him back mockingly, and took a dainty sip. Fagan emptied his vodka in nearly a single gulp and took mine. Martha served us heaping plates of cheesy lasagna. The aroma of sauce and spices caressed my nose and coaxed a growl from my empty stomach.
“Bread?” she asked, offering a basket of piping hot French bread with garlic and butter.
I took a piece, mouth-watering. It was like they were conspiring against me, trying to lull me out of my shell with alcohol and food. I wasn’t fooled, but I also wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant.
“Dig in.” She waved at us to start as she made her own plate.
I took my first bite and fought against moaning. So good. The next bite was halfway to my lips when Fagan spoke.
“Your book signing’s tomorrow. I told Victor I’d let you know.”
“Fine.”
“I may have mentioned that you’d read an excerpt from your latest book. People love ghost stories.”
He knew good and well my most recent book was about Danny. I was better, but I still didn’t see anything about my or Danny’s life as a joking matter. Then the bastard had the audacity to wink. I clenched my fork, appetite vanished.
“No,” I told him.
Martha mustn’t have heard me because she joined in, enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ve been reading that one. You should share the part with the footsteps.”
“No,” I snapped, somewhat harsher and louder than I intended. I knew I’d released the book and my hell was no longer private, but that didn’t mean I had to relive the worst time of my life over and over again. I absolutely wouldn’t do it.
Hurt filled Martha’s eyes, Fagan gave me a disapproving look, and awkward silence filled the room. I considered explaining myself, but I wasn’t in the mood. I sat my fork down and picked up my water. Lifting my glass to my lips, an important question hit me. Was Fagan doing this on purpose? He’d read Dark Corners. He knew I liked to drink, even what I liked to drink, and now he always seemed to be waving a vodka tonic under my nose. Was he riling me up, so I’d start drinking, hoping to keep me from finding his dirty little secret? Well, two could play at the feather ruffling game.
“Sheriff Fagan, I have so much to report from today,” I said in my most sweet and innocent voice. “I met with so many new witnesses who knew so much about Mary and the life she lived outside of Jackson.” Fagan stopped moving, possibly even stopped breathing. He shot me a warning look that I ignored. “It’s amazing how many people you missed in your investigation.”
“Really, dear? Who did you speak with? What was Mary like outside of Jackson? She was always such a good girl,” Martha said, not understanding the subtext between us.
Fagan glowered. If he were a cartoon, smoke would boil from his ears and whistles would go off. Sadly, all I got to see was an angry red face and raging eyes boring holes into me.
“Maybe you should read the scene about finding the body. So dramatic.”
I almost threw my glass at him.
“Oh yes, that’s a good one,” Martha said in a chipper voice.
“The way I see it, by the time I leave here I’ll have solved two murders.” I put a finger on my chin in a parody of deep thought. “Maybe I should run for sheriff.”
Martha laughed. “You’d have my vote.” Her tone was obviously joking, but Fagan blanched.
“You know nothing about police investigations—”
“Yet I seem to know more than you.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. When I leave, you can call me to consult with if you get stuck on a really tricky one.”
He slammed his fork down on the table hard enough to bend it. Such a bad temper. He stood and opened his mouth, but his phone rang. It took a moment for recognition of the ring tone to change his focus. “Hello,” he said roughly. His eyes closed and he deflated, shoulders hanging, head falling forward. “Another one? I’ll be right there.”
Another one? It had to be a body. Another death. I jumped up from the table. I was going with him; he just didn’t know it yet.
“I’m sorry to ruin your lovely dinner, Martha. It was wonderful, but there’s been another murder.”
“Oh dear.” She covered her mouth with her hands, worry cresting in her eyes.
Fagan nodded grimly and hobbled for the door. I followed him, smiling to myself about the damage I’d done when I stomped on his foot. Jerk.
“You aren’t coming with me, Ms. Reynolds.”
“You’re out of your depth. You need me.”
“You, despite what you may believe, are not a police officer. You have no business at a crime scene.”
“Carter,”—I put my hand on his shoulder—“no one was dying until I started digging around. I feel responsible. At the very least, I need to see who died. If it’s someone else connected to Mary, we’ll know Lakota’s death was too, which means a new angle to look at the case from. Both cases.”
He shook his head. “It’s against my better judgment, but you can come. Don’t touch a thing, though—and no crossing the police tape without me present.”
“Fine.” I grabbed my purse and parka and trotted out behind him. In the car I texted Gabriel, letting him know what was happening, like I promised. “Do you know who it is yet?”
He shook his head. The scene wasn’t too far from the inn. Red and blue lights flashed around a small alleyway. “Stay in the car. I’ll come get you if it looks like it could be related.”
I nodded, staring out the window at the emergency responders swarming all around. Fagan walked with purpose and ducked under the tape with the fluid grace of someone who’d been doing this for a long time. A few minutes later, he came back to the tape and beckoned me forward. My stomach sank. I opened the door with shaky hands and walked to Fagan.
“Are you sure you want to see this?” he asked, completely serious.
“Can it really be worse than last time?”
He shrugged and lifted the tape. “If you’re going to throw up, move as far away as possible.”
I looked at him, more nervous than before. The small crowd parted slightly as we approached. The first thing I noticed was the blood. It was everywhere, gleaming in the spotlight even as it dried. Next, the swollen chunks of purple flesh hanging from the body of what I believed was a girl. A puddle of thick blood mixed with teeth, as if they’d been expelled from the body, was too near my right foot. An eye was dislodged on the crushed side of her face and hung loosely. “Jesus,” I whispered.
Fagan cleared his throat. “Do you have any idea who this is?”
I shook my head, but something caught my eye that took my breath away. “Can I see her hair?” I squeaked.
Fagan nodded to the man squatting near her head. He held out a strand of too-blond hair with lavender ends. I closed my eyes. Nikki. She didn’t even know anything. “It’s Nikki Obermiller.”
“Had you spoken with Nikki?”
I nodded. “How—” I didn’t know how to finish the thought. How was she killed? How could someone do this? How had the killer known about Nikki? Why, if he really thought she was a threat, did he let her live as long as he did?
“A hammer.” Fagan nodded toward the red brick wall a few feet away. A bloodied hammer with hair and flesh stuck in its claw lay on the ground with a yellow number next to it.
My throat clenched as the wind changed and the smell of blood drifted over to me. I stepped back.
“Seen enough?” Fagan asked, and I nodded. He walked me to the police line, then watched me get back in his car before he returned to his work.
I was coping better with this gruesome death than I had the others in my life. It was, for lack of a better word, easier going in knowing what to expect. My husband’s body had shocked me, nearly broken me. Lakota’s brought those feelings to the surface again, but with Nikki, a strange detachment formed somewhere in me. I wasn’t sure it was a good thing. I called Gabriel to update him.
“You sound strange,” he said.
“I’m okay.”
“I know. That’s what’s strange.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to be understanding and supportive, but enough is enough. This is beyond your abilities. Come home. Stop this investigation before you get yourself killed.”
“No.”
“Three people have died.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Ella—” The patience in his voice was maddening.
“Stop.” I bit my lip to stall the overreaction that was ready at the gates. “I’m in this now, like it or not. You can call me obsessive if you want. I don’t care. The killer is obviously still here, and I must be close. Two of the people I spoke to are dead. They agreed to help me, and they died horrible deaths for their bravery. I can’t just run away.”
“Do you still think it could be Fagan?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know. It’s possible. He left the office before me. I really don’t know where he went.”
“Just be careful. I don’t want you coming home in a body bag.”
I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t want that either.
“You still going to see Jennifer tomorrow?”