Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  Grace sighed heavily. "Yes, I know. I recently acquired it at an auction. When it first arrived, it worked perfectly then suddenly it stopped. I don't know if perhaps something shifted in shipping or if there's a deeper issue. After checking around, I learned your shop has an excellent reputation for repairing clocks and intricate mechanisms. I was hoping you could fix this."

  Uncle Mickey rubbed the back of his neck as he studied the box while inside, Harmony was screaming for him to say yes. After several moments of chewing his bottom lip, he nodded. "We can take a look at it.” He glanced over at Harmony. “She is phenomenal at mechanical things."

  Grace frowned. "I don't know. She seems so young, and this piece is quite expensive."

  Mickey chuckled and patted Harmony's arm. "She's twenty-three and about to graduate with her Masters in Mechanical Engineering from Stanford with a 3.98 GPA. I'd trust her over anyone else I know, and that includes me." He shrugged. "Of course, it's up to you. Finding someone to work on clockworks these days isn't easy. There may be one or two in Jackson or you can go to Birmingham. Those would probably be the closest ones."

  She seemed to think it over then slowly, Grace nodded. "All right."

  Harmony let out the breath she held. She couldn't wait to open the insides and see what awaited her. Tearing her gaze from the box, she pulled out a repair tag and took down Grace's information. She barely heard what was said as in her mind she was already mapping how to approach repairing the intricate piece.

  The woman took a card from the counter and placed it in her purse along with her repair tag. "Thank you very much," she murmured. "Please call me when you know something."

  "Yes, Ma'am," Mickey replied as they watched her leave the store. He tapped the glass countertop. "Come on. That truck isn't going to unload itself."

  A dramatic sigh escaped Harmony's lips. She picked up the box, attached the repair ticket tag to the tongue via a string and placed it in a bin. She carefully sat it on a shelf in her workspace.

  "Harmony!"

  "Coming," she called out. Turning her attention away from her workspace, she hurried out the back door and stopped. With a groan, she climbed up into the overwhelmingly filled panel truck. Uncle Mickey must have bought out the entire estate.

  "So much for exploring," she muttered under her breath. It was probably going to be several days before they finished processing, cleaning, categorizing and pricing the new inventory - days before she could satisfy the itch and see what mysteries awaited inside the silver box.

  CHAPTER 2

  The theme song to Person of Interest thumped in the hotel room. Slowly, a palm emerged from a tangle of sheets and slapped the bedside table, dumping a glass onto the floor. The hand, large and strong with neatly clipped nails, slid around the table until it discovered the source of the sound, a cell phone, sitting dangerously close to the edge. Pushing the alarm silence button, the phone disappeared into the nest of linens and a muffled groan emerged.

  One minute passed and then two before everything shifted, and the owner of the hand, Sergeant Hunter Masterson sat up, batting away the pile of linens. Leaning his head on his hands, he groaned. The back of his head pounded like an elephant on a trampoline, and he was pretty sure this hotel must have rats because his mouth tasted like one had used it for a toilet. He squinted his eyes and glared at his cell phone. It was too damn early to be conscious on a Sunday morning; especially after the Saturday night he’d enjoyed. Thank God he had enough foresight to get a room rather than try to make it back home after the party in the early hours this morning. He'd rather take the long drive from Philadelphia in the daylight rather than chance it in the middle of the night.

  "Bleh. Great idea, getting hammered when you've got to work the next day," he grunted. "Fran-freaking-tastic, Masterson." Reaching over, he slammed his hand on the bed, feeling around before letting out a relieved breath. At least his stupidity didn't include bringing a woman to his room, which was a bit of awkwardness he could do without. He knew women considered him handsome. He never had an issue finding company whenever he desired. Last night had been no exception. He remembered dancing and drinking the night away with more than one lovely lady in his arms. Numerous little pieces of paper with telephone and room numbers had filled his pocket. Thankfully, he hadn’t taken any of them up on their offers. This time.

  Lurching to his feet, he ran his hand over his face and through his hair as he glanced at the cheap hotel mirror perched on the wall. How bad he looked far outweighed what his addled mind had projected. He didn't just look rough. His grandpa would have said he looked like the north end of a southbound mule. Shaking his head sadly, he stumbled into the bathroom and hoped a cold shower would get rid of the cobwebs and made him look human. From the few times he had pulled a binge like this, he knew feeling human would take considerably more effort.

  An hour later found him on the road and quickly approaching Meridian. Hunter checked the clock on the radio to see if he had enough time to run through a drive-thru for a cup of coffee. He still had ten minutes before his shift officially began. He would be cutting it close, but his body demanded caffeine. He was about to flip his blinker at his favorite coffee shop when the radio crackled interrupting his thoughts. Damn. Just what his hung-over ass needed this morning - a homicide. Regretting the lost cup of joe beckoning to him from the squat building to his left, he pulled his car back into traffic and headed to the crime scene.

  Hunter parked next to three county sheriff cars and the coroner’s white van sitting in the driveway of a house in a quiet neighborhood. From the looks of things, he was the first investigator on the scene, so that made this his baby. The familiar thrill of the anticipated chase raced up his spine. This would be his first investigation where he was the lead, and that knowledge almost made him forgot the raging headache screaming in his brain.

  A knock on the car window made him clench his teeth and swallow back a curse. Glancing over, he saw the grinning face of his ex-partner and best friend, Deputy Tommy Jefferson. Pasting a smile that was more like a grimace on his face, Hunter exited the car and closed the door. Quietly.

  "Hey TJ," he raised a hand in greeting.

  "Hey, Hunter. About time you joined us." His friend studied Hunter's face and shook his head. "Man, you look like the bottom of my boot when I mucked out my dad's barn."

  Hunter winced. "I feel like it, too. When did you leave last night?"

  "Around ten. After Aaron and Celia ducked out for their honeymoon. There was no way I was about to attempt to drive down nineteen in the middle of the night. How about you? You were still going strong when I left. It looks like you had danced with all the bridesmaids and was halfway through the cousins."

  "Don't remind me. There was way too much partying, so I got a room at the casino for the night. I guess it was too much to hope for a quiet day today. Damn, and it's going to be a scorcher."

  "You know what they say about summers in the 'sip. If you don't like the weather, wait an hour, it'll change." TJ laughed at his joke. "Besides, it could be worse. I hear it's supposed to rain later."

  Hunter groaned. June in Mississippi meant that even at eight in the morning, the air was already thick and muggy like trying to breathe through a double layer of wet cotton. If the promised afternoon shower materialized, it would be almost unbearable later. Unlike most places that welcomed summer rain, here it would only compound the discomfort. He remembered running in the soupy after-rain summers as a kid. It was nothing but pure misery, and this summer was going to be bad. Especially for a man who had given up the light cotton deputy sheriff uniforms for button downs and ties.

  Hunter swatted at a swarm of mosquitoes as they walked toward the door of the craftsman style house. He stopped on the bottom step and glanced at the door. "So, what's the story here?"

  TJ's normally jovial face turned all business. "Victim is sixty-three-year-old home health nurse, Grace Billups. When she didn't answer her phone this morning, her sister called for a wellness ch
eck. Mike Saunders responded and found the door open, and Ms. Billups in the kitchen. We already called in State. They should be here roughly between hell freezing over and the apocalypse."

  Hunter chuckled. He knew it sometimes took hours before the state crime scene crew was on site much to the chagrin of his fellow officers. If they had already called them, this was anything but a simple crime scene. County handled most of their own cases unless things looked hinky. He glanced up at the front facade. It seemed that cup of coffee was not going to materialize anytime soon."We can't wait on them all day. Come on, let's earn our pay." Reaching into the left front pocket of the dark slacks he wore, he pulled out a yellow disk, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. Balling up the cellophane, he tucked it into his shirt pocket. Sucking on the sweet butterscotch flavor soothed his stomach and eased his mind. However, the candy was a poor substitution for the caffeine his body craved. With a resigned sigh, Hunter climbed the steps with TJ trailing behind.

  Every light in the house appeared to be on. He turned to the right and joined several others in the kitchen. The room was painted a light yellow with little bits of pale green and blue as accents. The appliances weren't old, indicating there had most likely been a remodel in the past few years. White two-inch tiles comprised the floor. They were mopped to a high gleam except under the table which sat in the middle of the room. A puddle of dark red, almost black spread across the floor toward an overturned chair and its former occupant. One of the deputies had carefully placed clear cellophane bags over the victim's hands and secured them with plastic ties. Another took pictures of the scene from every conceivable angle. Hunter watched for a few moments while the coroner finished his preliminary exam.

  "Judd, do you have a time of death?"

  Judd Sutter looked up at Hunter. "You know I'm just a coroner and not a medical examiner. About all I can do legally is tell you she's dead."

  "You've been doing this for years so I know you have an idea. Give me a guess."

  Judd glanced down at the woman and thought for a few moments. "If I was placing a bet, which I'm not, but if I did, I'd say roughly about nine last night. You'll have to wait on the M.E. to give you a better guess. But come take a look at this." Crooking his finger to Hunter, he motioned him around to the back of the chair. Hunter made his way over and squatted by the body. Judd lifted a few strands of blood-soaked hair and pushed them out of the way. "She was hit hard enough to cave in the back of her skull. My uneducated guess is most likely, she died immediately." He dropped the hair and peeled the gloves from his hands.

  "All right," Hunter said with a nod then absently crunched down on the candy disk, chewing it in the back of his mouth and swallowing the pieces. He worked the various scenarios through his mind as he puzzled out how Grace Billups had spent her last few hours on Earth. It was obvious she had been eating dinner when someone had attacked her, but why?

  "Hey, Hunt."

  Hunter lifted his head and found the source of the call. One of the deputies stood in the doorway and motioned him over. "Come take a look at this."

  He followed Margo through the hall to a bedroom toward the back of the house. He watched in fascination as her hips did the little rolling swoop women had when they walked. It looked like a dance. Hunter appreciated it just as much as the next red-blooded male but appreciation would be it. They had hooked up a time or two, but neither had been looking for more than to scratch an itch. It had been before his promotion. Now, they both knew to keep their relationship professional. There wasn't a rule against co-workers hooking up, exactly. However, it was better to keep things separate when both parties were not on the same level.

  Margo stopped at the door then scooted to the side. Hunter entered the room and looked around. Unlike most of the rooms of the house which were untouched, this room was destroyed. Shelving units lay crumpled and broken on the floor on top of a layer of glass and what looked like pottery, metal, and pieces of wood. Drawing on a glove, Hunter squatted and lifted a piece of painted glass and examined it. He frowned and placed it back on the floor.

  TJ glanced around and whistled. "Somebody sure did a number in here."

  Hunter pulled the glove off and stuffed it in his right pocket. "What's your theory?" It had become almost second nature to ask TJ's opinion. They two had worked well together, bouncing ideas off each other. It was a habit Hunter wasn't willing to break.

  TJ joined his friend and stared at the scene. "Looks like someone took a bat to whatever was in this room. A lot of anger here. Meth-head?"

  Hunter shook his head. "A meth-head wouldn't be so exact. If it were someone throwing a fit, there would be holes or scratches on the walls. And notice the remains on the floor, they haven't been just broken, they were pulverized." He took a step in and crouched again, pulling the glove out and picking up a metal box with an intricate design on it. It had been crushed until the guts spilled out. Hunter placed the item on the floor and turned his attention to the pile of gears and the remains of a fake butterfly. Studying it carefully, he nodded and stood. "Get the guys to photograph every inch of this room. When State gets here, tell them I want every piece taken to the lab and examined. Also, check with the sister. Find out exactly what was kept in this room."

  "You got it," one of the deputies piped up then disappeared.

  Hunter scrutinized the damage again as he drew out another butterscotch disk. Popping it in his mouth, he added the wrapper to the first. "I think this guy was looking for something specific and maybe he didn't find it. This seems to be a methodical destructive rage and frustration." He frowned. "Or it could be a countermeasure. Maybe the perp found what he was looking for and tried to cover it up by demolishing the rest."

  "What do we do now?" TJ backed out of the room with Hunter following.

  "Now, we try to determine what in this room was so important that he felt the need to destroy everything."

  Hunter strolled through the house and out the door. A late model Honda Accord sat in the driveway with the driver side window smashed. The seat glittered with fragments of glass. He frowned. "Has this been checked?"

  "Yeah," Margo piped up from the porch. "We fingerprinted and photographed it."

  Hunter slid his glove on again and opened the door. He carefully raked the glass off the seat and sat. He looked around, searching for... something to jump out at him. "Anyone find her purse inside?"

  "Nope."

  Hunter sucked on his candy and studied the console. He was missing something. He frowned, leaning in and studied the display. "What's this?" he murmured to himself. There was a faint smear on one of the buttons.

  "TJ, grab Billy. Tell 'em to bring Luminol."

  His friend gave the order then leaned into the open window. "You think its blood?"

  Hunter waved his finger over the area. "Maybe just residue from a jelly donut. Maybe something else."

  The tech jogged down the steps of the house. Hunter slid out of the driver's seat and motioned toward it. "Check the console around the radio."

  Billy, a new technician recently added to the force, sprayed the solution in a fine mist over the area. "It's probably going to be too bright to see if there's a reaction," he warned Hunter. "I'll try though."

  Hunter stood and observed the tech’s work. After a moment, Billy growled as he shook his head. "If there's something there, it's too light to see with the sun shining."

  Hunter studied the car a moment. There had to be a way short of waiting for the official report from the State's examination. His instincts screamed at him that this was important and he always listened to his gut.

  Spinning on his heel, Hunter hurried to his car, popped the trunk and pulled out the emergency thermal blanket in his first aid kit. Only rarely did they need the silver sheets as it was more common for a victim to need cooling rather than heat in the sweltering south. However, it’d work fine as a sun shield. Ripping the plastic cover off it, Hunter spread the material over the windshield of the Honda. A moment later, TJ spread
his blanket over the passenger side window which plummeted the interior into dimness.

  Billy flicked his black light on again and moved it toward the console. Hunter's eyes narrowed as a fluorescent glow appeared on the buttons.

  "Positive," the tech murmured. Pulling out a swab, he carefully gathered as much of the material as he could and deposited it into a sterile tube. "I'll make sure this gets into the State's hands when they get here."

  "Thanks."

  After the tech left with his sample and TJ removed the blankets, Hunter settled into the driver's seat again. He stared at the console. Why would someone with blood on their hands take the time to break into her car and play with the buttons? The keys were hanging in the house by the door, so this wasn't part of the plan. He was walking by the car, leaving the scene of the crime and he stopped. What would so interest a murderer about her car? What had he seen that made him hesitate?

  Then it hit him.

  "Grace was a home health care nurse, right?"

  "Yeah," TJ stood at the window and watched him.

  "She’d use her GPS system. I think the perp was interested in where she's been recently."

  "Hey Margo. Do me a favor and grab the keys by the door."

  "You got it," She said and disappeared inside. She emerged a moment later waving a set of keys. "Here you go." She dropped the ring into his hand.

  Hunter shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the motor. An easy-listening station filled the car with soft music. It sounded a little bluesy and Hunter knew the song though he couldn't remember the name at the moment. He silenced the radio and pressed the second button on the console activating the navigation system's history.