Storm Crazy: A paranormal cozy romance (Destiny Paramortals Book 1)

by Livia Quinn

  He looked at the ceiling for a good five seconds, then led me through the dining room toward the restrooms. He pushed me down in a chair and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here.”

  What a swell guy, I thought as I closed my eyes, the world spinning behind my lids.

  The snick of metal caused me to look up but not before he’d handcuffed my wrist to the seat back and walked out the front door, taking River’s amphora with him, leaving me sitting eye level with the long silver utility handle on a door marked, “MEN”.

  My sentiments exactly.

  Chapter 10

  Jack

  When I got back from changing and putting the weird vase in my cruiser, she was deep in thought—or on the verge of passing out. She shook her head, chuckling.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  She jumped. “You’re very… stalky.” She squeezed her eyes shut gave her head a shake trying again, “Stealthy.”

  I snapped on latex gloves and waited.

  “I was just thinking what a bad mail day this’s been. Get it? Bad M-A-L-E day?”

  Hell, she was going to go hysterical on me any minute. “It hasn’t been a piece of cake for me, either.” I unlocked the cuff and rubbed her wrist.

  “Yeah, but this’s, this has been withoutta doubt, the wors’ day of my entire life.” Her eyes focused on the wall behind me so hard, I started to turn, then her face fell and a sob bubbled up from her throat. She turned those watery blue eyes up to mine. “Except…” she swallowed, “the day Phoebe told us Dutch was d-dead.”

  My voice was sharp. “Who’s Dutch?” Two dead people in the life of a person Pomeroy’s age was unusual and something to remember in the big scheme.

  She ignored me, as usual. Then, her eyes filled with misery, her breath hitching. ”I’m sorry.” She breathed in unsteadily. “I’m worried about my brother.”

  “Who’s Dutch?” I repeated. Lawmen are as tenacious as bird dogs.

  “My father,” she said quietly, a tear trailing down her cheek.

  I felt an unfamiliar little bump in the vicinity of my heart, which I’d thought a granite wasteland. An honest to God heartfelt tear had never sprung from my ex’s tear duct. As a matter of fact, I could have sworn that once, I smelled onion. She’d been a champion manipulator and a pathological liar.

  You can imagine I’m more than a bit hardened toward a weak acting female. But I’d had more stimulating, bizarre, intriguing… contact with this woman in one day than I’d had with any in the last three years; the word weak didn’t fit.

  Just to be sure, I looked down at her hands. No onion.

  Maybe it was a sign. Of what? Besides the fact that I didn’t believe in signs…in one day, we’d gone from mutual attraction to standing on opposite sides of a dead body. Tempest Pomeroy was turning out to be a trouble magnet of the first magnitude. I groaned inwardly. It was…problematic, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She had had a hell of a day.

  And I had a job to do. I walked over to the body and leaned across the pool of blood to feel the man’s skin above his wrist; his muscles were in the beginning stages of rigor. The blood was drying in shiny layers on the tile and his skin temp was a couple degrees below normal. He’d been dead a while. “Did you know the dead man?” I asked, going for shock value.

  She flinched at the word “dead” and shook her head. That meant nothing. I’d seen murderers cry at will and still pass a polygraph. “Did you kill him?” Bad cop.

  “No!” She grabbed my arm, eyes wide. “No, I found him like that.” One hand went to her head and the other pointed toward the door. “When I drove up out front to check their mailbox, I saw the door ajar. I figured the wind blew it open.”

  “What made you walk in? Didn’t you figure that would be dangerous?”

  She jerked her head back like a chicken, glaring at me. “I watch out for my customers. Besides, I heard what sounded like someone walk-working in the other room, and I thought it was the maintenance man. I-I was just going to check, then I smelled… ” She pointed toward the body in the hallway and angled her head to peer around me.

  “Why didn’t you call 911?”

  “I was going to but…” She licked her lips and looked down at her twisting fingers.

  “Go on,” I coached, wondering how much of what followed would be the truth.

  “I heard a noise in the other room, a door squeaking,” she squinted as she thought about it, “a click…and I shouted—”

  She winced, looking up, “Where did you put my vase?”

  “It’s in my cruiser.”

  “Is it locked?” she asked urgently.

  “Of course.” I thought maybe she intended to steal it, but she looked relieved. “You shouted what?”

  “I… mighta…um, ‘Police?’”

  “What?” I gaped at her. “Are you nuts?”

  She winced and shrugged. “It just…you know how they tell you on those cop shows that if you just yell or fight or scream bloody murder—” She looked at the body on the floor, “Sorry—that the perpetrator will run, out of fear of being caught?”

  “Perpetrator…” I shook my head. “Here’s the problem with that. Those are TV shows, fiction. This isn’t a cozy TV mystery and you’re not a nosy sleuth.” I hoped. “What if the perpetrator had decided to attack instead of run?”

  “I had a grgnrbwg…” her voice trailed off as she ducked her head.

  “What?”

  “A…golf club.” She arched a brow. “A Greg Norman wedge.”

  I looked over at the dead man on the floor as a siren sounded outside. “The club you used on the locker?”

  She nodded.

  “I heard about you and a certain golf club,” I said.

  “Not you, too. Does everybody add two plus two and get… nine?” I watched, holding back a laugh, as she slowly added in her head. She huffed a breath and plopped her chin on her palm.

  “The truth will come out eventually.” I scratched my head. “All right, Ms. Pomeroy, this is what I’m going to do.”

  “I’m going to give you a while to think about what you’re not telling me and I’ll be back.” I guided her head down, through the door, installing her in the back seat of my cruiser as if I were taking her to jail. I didn’t know what I was going to do yet. Whoever had killed the man in the clubhouse would have had blood spatter all over him, and Tempest Pomeroy was clean except for that single step in the blood pool. I wanted to make her squirm for a bit and see if she ‘remembered’ anything. After all, I did catch her in the act of damaging private property. In the meantime, I needed to secure the crime scene and take some pictures.

  “But—”

  I started to shut the door, then remembered, “Where’s your cellphone?”

  “In my truck, why?”

  “Evidence.”

  “Ooooh, what are you talking about? I told you, I didn’t kill that man. Let me out. I need River’s vase back. I have to find my brother. And I…” as if it were an afterthought, “… have a route to finish.”

  She shook her head from side to side, setting an aqua colored curl free of the scrunchie. “Today of all days.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll get a deputy to lock up your packages and make sure the mail center gets someone to finish your route—”

  “Ugh, that’ll go over real well.” Sobriety had returned, and so had her temper.

  “Quit working yourself up into such a lather and let me do my job.” I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it on her lap. “Here. Wouldn’t want you to get cold.” I closed the door firmly in her pretty, agitated face.

  As I walked toward the clubhouse, I heard her beating on the window, and the muffled sound of my name.

  Chapter 11

  Tempe

  I shivered as I thought about the events of the last—I looked at my watch—fifty-five minutes! It seemed like hours since I’d driven up in front of the clubhouse. Lang had handed me his jacket before locking me
in the prisoner section of his car—the prisoner section! I watched him march up the walkway, surveying the area around the building. The masculine scent wafting up from the warmth of his jacket triggered the memory of the rotted fish smell coming off the variant inside the clubhouse.

  What was he? I’d have to ask Montana or Aurora or, as a last resort, Dylan. My mind was finally starting to operate normally again.

  I wasn’t under arrest, just locked in! I smiled.

  Peering through the grate, I looked for River’s amphora. It was lying on its side in a clear bag on the front floorboard. For the first time I noticed the other seal was gone. No self-respecting Djinn would be caught without a back door. River’s emergency exit was through the short spout. Had it been there when I pulled it from the locker? Everything had happened so fast.

  I closed my eyes trying to remember exactly how it looked when I’d taken it off the top shelf. I had only sensed a remnant of River’s essence. But if the lid was gone, where was it? More importantly, where was River’s force? And how long could River last with his life source suspended out there somewhere in limbo?

  I was finally, chillingly sure that my brother was in trouble. I slapped my palm against my forehead, twice. Stupid. Slap. Stupid.

  Another cruiser drove up and a deputy got out. He looked my way briefly then walked toward the clubhouse. The sheriff had already gone inside. When the deputy walked through the door, I decided on a plan. I couldn’t let them take my cell phone. It was the only way my brother could get in touch with me. And right now, River was my main priority. It was about time,I chided myself. I mean, I’m sorry about the man in the clubhouse, but I didn’t kill him. And I was sure there would be no evidence pointing to me, so I closed my eyes and went to work.

  Jack

  I checked the front door. There was no evidence of forced entry. Who had tripped the silent alarm—the victim or Pomeroy? What set it off? According to her version, the alarm had been going when she arrived. That coincided with dispatch receiving notice of it from the monitoring agency.

  I’d called the lab techs after putting the mail lady in my vehicle. I wanted to get a look around before they started tearing into the scene. I bent down to study the victim’s proximity to the counters and locker room. He reeked for sure.

  While I waited for the coroner and my deputy, I shot a few pictures.

  He looked African-American, though his face was mangled and bloody from the force of what looked to be repeated blows to his head. Judging by the grey in his hair, the beard and the fleshy skin beneath his neck, I figured he was in his late fifties, early sixties.

  Why wasn’t he wearing clothes? And where were they? I searched the other rooms and found no discarded clothing in the men’s room or behind any of the counters.

  An upturned bar stool and a spread of gold plastic tees indicated a short struggle. I did a 360 looking for a weapon but nothing else clicked. I’d found Tempe in the locker room so I stepped over the victim and slowly worked my way to the threshold. There was a spray of blood on the wall and door, which suggested it had been closed when the man was struck. But lying just inside the door to the gym on the right was a wedge.

  “Greg Norman, I presume.” I inspected it for trace material but didn’t see any with the naked eye. I walked over to the locker and used my gloved finger on the corner of the door to swing it open. The inside was empty except for a package of golf balls. Until I knew what I was looking for, I’d just sweep the locker and bag the contents. I opened the door to the outside and looked for footprints. The grass was crushed near the sidewalk. I marked one area for pictures and saw more apparent indentations in the grass.

  I turned as Deputy Basile came through the door. “Sir? The lab techs will be here any minute.”

  “Fine. I need you to cordon off the clubhouse and grounds. You might as well call your wife and tell her you won’t be home tonight. We have to set up a grid and search outside before the rain gets worse or curiosity seekers mess up our crime scene.”

  Basile vacillated.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, sir, what’s that smell?”

  “Very observant, Basile. I intend to find out.”

  He nodded. I thought about Pomeroy. “First, though, I need you to go outside to that mail truck. Put any packages from the bed into the front seat, lock it up; bring me the cell phone and keys. Oh, and check on the woman in the back seat of my cruiser.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I reached for a slide from my pack and tried not to inhale. The odor emanating from the victim was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Separating each of the man’s stiff fingers, I pressed them to the slides and carefully stored them in my evidence case. I moved to the cart path on the side of the building.

  “Uh, boss.” Basile again, from the doorway.

  “Yes, Basile.” I was wrapping a piece of pink flagging on the end of a holly bush when I realized he was waiting for me to look up. Impatiently I asked, “What, Basile?”

  “I didn’t see a mail truck. And there ain’t nobody in your car.”

  “Shit!”

  The deputy and I loped around the building to the parking lot. Sure enough, Tempe Pomeroy and her truck were gone.

  Chapter 12

  Jack

  “Basile, keep everybody away from the lawn, greens, fairway—and everything else around here. I’ll get Peggy to call the police department and see if they have any personnel they can loan us.”

  “Gotcha, boss.”

  I flipped him the yellow crime scene tape. Walking back to my cruiser, I peered inside. I could have sworn I’d locked it but I guess I’d screwed up. Tempest Pomeroy had flown the coop and taken the possible murder weapon with her. In my experience those actions translated into an admission of guilt.

  There was something very odd about this whole scene. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Something to do with that damned antique vase. Figuring it out would have to wait. Right now, I had to secure the crime scene and make sure the collection of evidence was handled expertly—quite a challenge with Destiny’s small town resources, part-time lab techs, and borrowed coroner.

  I released the radio from the dash and called dispatch. “Peggy, put out an all points on Tempest Pomeroy. Call the Mail Center and get her tag. The Feds will track her down. If they find her before I do, I need that fancy vase in her possession. It’s evidence, and not that it’ll do any good, but tell them not to handle it.”

  “I’m on it, Sheriff,” Peggy said.

  We had a word for a day like this in the Navy—FUBAR. “Oh, and call DPD and the Citizen Patrol and see if they have anyone who can volunteer for about twelve hours at this location.”

  I disconnected and immediately my cell phone started playing “Call Me Baby” instead of my choice—“Ride the Lightning” by Metallica. Jordie had struck again. “Hey, baby, I know, I’m late. I’m on a case. Can you catch a ride?”

  “I’m fifteen, Dad, not eight. I’ll see you at Grandad’s later,” she said, and hung up. Why did she always get the last word?

  I sighed and punched more numbers.

  “Kirkwood,” said the voice on the other end, a SAR specialist friend of mine who I’d talked into making his leave from the Navy permanent.

  “Ryan, I need you on a crime scene PDQ…”

  “Roger that. Where?”

  Fifteen minutes after calling Peggy, I had two men from the police department over in Larue and Ryan Kirkwood helping to secure and search the area. I assumed Peggy’s call to the Universal Mail facility would get some results.

  Even when I’d caught Pomeroy in the act she hadn’t been forthcoming with her reasons for breaking into the locker except to say the vase belonged to her brother. She never said how she knew it was there.

  I dialed the office. Peggy picked up immediately.

  In the six months I’d been sheriff Peggy had never not answered on the first ring. She was maneuvering for a promotion to investigat
ions.

  “Peggy, find out everything you can about Tempest Pomeroy and, her brother, River.”

  Without breaking stride, Peggy proceeded to give me some of River Pomeroy’s background off the top of her head; one good thing about having a hometown desk Sergeant. I listened to her praise—self-made contractor, in business four years. His sister had practically raised him from elementary school through college.

  “And paid for everything herself,” Peggy said. “River’s a sweetie, and Tempe’s solid.”

  “Yeah, well, today wasn’t one of her stellar days,” I muttered. “I caught her breaking into a locker at the clubhouse just a short hop from our victim.”

  Peggy’s voice lowered, “Jack, Tempe and River are well respected around here, a miracle considering their early years.”

  That caught my attention. “What does that mean?”

  “Their mother is a flake. Take it from me.”

  I did. Peggy doesn’t even criticize the prisoners in lockup. “So, Tempe’s mother wouldn’t get the Peggy Donovan Best Parent Seal of Approval, eh?”

  “Let’s just say, if it hadn’t been for Tempe, she and her brother would have wound up in foster care. If she broke into that locker, she must have had a reason.”

  “If she does, she’s hiding it from me.”

  I started to ask about the father but the lab techs arrived. “Get me addresses on all the Pomeroys, Peggy, and anything else you can think of. Leave it on my desk. I’ll be late. You don’t need to hang around.”

  I ended the call and thought about the information she’d given me on River Pomeroy. He lived at Harmony Plantation, near Lightning Bayou, with his sister.

  I couldn’t help but wonder why a successful contractor would be so attached to such an ugly vase?

  Tempe

  “What kind of trouble are you in now?” Dylan’s quiet voice grated over my cell, like he didn’t want to be overheard.