Dylan didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead. The kid was full of rebellion. Typical of a kid that age, Chas figured. Not only that, he didn’t exactly have the best role model in his brother. Devon was older and angrier than he was. Chas had suspicions about whether or not the elder boy was into drugs. There had been some rumors.
“I just tried to get help for my aunt,” Dylan said suddenly, a hint of defiance still evident in his voice. “I don’t remember what I said. Devon didn’t do nothing.”
“Did you see your brother shoot your aunt?”
Dylan rubbed one of his palms against the denim of his jeans, then shrugged his shoulders before answering, “No.”
Well, that was that, Chas thought, and stood up straight. He let the door shut on the cruiser and turned to the officer in charge. Caleb Henshaw rested his arm on top of the cruiser and shook his head in disgust. “Both of those kids need a good ass kicking. The other one’s pretty violent so be careful about him.”
“Will do. Get Social Services. This one will belong to the state until we figure out who his next of kin is.”
“Done. You want me to book the other one?”
“I’ll handle him. Just get him to the station.” A thought occurred to Chas and he grabbed Henshaw’s arm before he had the chance to completely turn around. “They have a half-sister. I remember her vaguely. Roxanne, I think. See what you can find out in the house.”
Henshaw nodded and Chas headed over to where his other brother, Trace, stood talking with some neighbors. Each one of these lookie-loos, as Josh had called them, would have to be questioned and that was going to take a while. People tended to sensationalize in times of crisis and it would take even more time to decipher the dramatic exaggerations from the actualities. This was going to be a long night.
TWO
Roxy Tavish was running late again. She knew her boss was going to let her have it this time. She’d been stuck in traffic for the first twenty minutes of her lunch hour, and pushing her now broken down VW bug to the side of the freeway for the last forty minutes of it. The sixty minutes after her lunch hour, she’d spent pacing the highway, waiting for the godforsaken tow truck to show up and get the thing away from the express lanes so the angry drivers threatening to kill her could get by and move on their way.
She’d counted seventeen middle fingers in the amount of time she’d leaned against the guardrail. Fifteen other people hadn’t bothered using the finger and had just used their foul mouths.
Deflated, she pushed open the glass doors to the newspaper office she’d worked at for the past six months, and scurried inside. Maybe if she hurried, Mr. Litowski wouldn’t notice she was late. Quickly, she headed for her cubicle and slid into her chair.
“You’re up shit creek.” Myles Overby, her co-worker, stuck his head over the top of her cubicle, his normally jubilant green eyes filled with worry. “Just a warning. Litowski’s on the war path.”
She cursed, then thanked him for the warning, before digging through her phone messages. There were four of them. She was puzzled by the name on the pink slips. It was the same name on each one—Detective Chas McCall. His phone number was scrawled in masculine writing across the bottom of the first slip. She skimmed through the next three messages, which were much the same as the first.
Chas McCall. She let the name flow through her brain. Why did it sound so familiar?
“Where the hell have you been?”
Hearing her boss’s angry voice, she cringed. Was there any point in making an excuse this time? After all, just days ago, when she’d been late the last time, he had warned her she’d be fired if she was late again. Even one minute late, he’d said. She checked her watch. She was one hour and twenty-three minutes late. She was screwed, in other words.
“Where are the papers I asked you to type up? I have an editorial deadline here and I needed those freaking papers two hours ago.” Byron Litowski’s round face glared down into her cubicle like a dark cloud roaming into the sky on a sunny day.
If it weren’t for the extra fifty or sixty pounds he carried around on his five-foot-ten-inch frame, he might have been an attractive man. Of course, there was that comb over thing he did on his head, she reminded herself, frowning. And that thick pile of chest hair that always seemed to peek through the top of his shirt, no matter how high his collar was or how tight the buttons on it were.
“Are you in there?” Litowski growled angrily. “I warned you, Tavish. I’ve given you more than one chance to redeem yourself—”
“My car broke down on the freeway. I swear it. I had to wait for a tow truck,” she interrupted quickly. “I have a police statement and everything. It was completely not my fault.”
“I warned you before to get a new car,” Litowski snapped. “Dependable transportation is a must around here. We have deadlines.”
“I understand that. But if you could just—”
“Where are the papers I asked you to type up? I need them.” He gave her a glare that told her arguing wasn’t going to help anything.
Digging through the paperwork on her desk, she pulled out a stack of freshly typed pages, that unfortunately, due to the klutziness of whoever had sat at her desk over lunch, now had coffee stains bled into them.
Litowski cursed again as he noticed the brown stains on the papers. “It figures. Nevermind.” He turned and stalked off, so angry that the back of his neck was as red as his face had been. When he was gone, Myles poked his head over the top of the cubicle again.
“Bad?”
“He didn’t fire me,” Roxy said, smiling halfway. “Yet anyway.” She gestured to the pile of messages on her desk. “Do you know who answered my phone while I was gone?”
Myles sat on a corner of her desk, sipping through a straw on a water bottle. “I did for about twenty minutes. Then one of the temps. Why?”
“Someone spilled coffee everywhere. And I’m not sure what these messages are.”
“I don’t know about the coffee. I took two of the messages though. Persistent one, that guy.” Myles grinned halfway. “Sounded pretty sexy though.”
Roxy rolled her eyes.
When she’d first started work at the Chronicle, Myles and his overpowering sexuality had taken her by surprise. After all, at first look, Myles, in a word, could be described as stunning. Tall, well-built and dark skinned, Myles had the kind of face that GQ would kill for. His green eyes were friendly and clear. His smile was wide and perfect. It was almost a shame that the women of the world had been robbed of the chance to experience the joy of being with a man of such beautiful proportions. But Myles was one hundred percent homosexual, as he said in his own words.
“So did you call him back? He said the call was important,” Myles prodded.
“I haven’t had time. It’s probably concerning my car. I shut traffic down in the express lanes again. I’m probably going to be fined this time. Is it a crime to block traffic when your car is disabled?”
Myles gave her a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think so, but who knows? I told you to borrow my moped. I rarely have time to ride the thing.”
“I wouldn’t know how to maneuver a moped in city traffic like this. I’d kill myself for sure.” She grimaced as her phone rang. Myles gave a wave and headed away from her desk as she picked up the phone.
“Byron Litowski’s office, Roxy Tavish speaking.”
“Ms. Tavish? This is Detective Chas McCall.”
Roxy frowned instantly. “Yes, Detective McCall. I was just about to call you.”
“Is that right? I’ve left several messages.”
“So you have,” she agreed absently, noticing Litowski’s office door was opening again. She braced herself, while adding, “The car isn’t in the way anymore. It was towed about an hour ago.”
“Pardon?”
“Tavish!” Litowski’s voice seemed to echo inside her skull.
Shutting her eyes, she grimaced at the pain threatening to pound right out of her head. She should h
ave just called in sick today, she thought to herself.
“Look, Ms. Tavish. I think we’re confusing each other here. I’m calling from Cavern Creek, Washington. I’m a detective with the Spokane Police Department. This call is regarding your aunt, Myra Tavish.”
Roxy felt the breath leave her lungs. It had been awhile since she had talked to her aunt—more than a year. They had mostly been keeping in touch through letters. A strange feeling of dread made its way into her chest. “Has something happened to Aunt Myra?”
The other end of the line was quiet for a moment and she almost thought she’d lost the connection. Then she heard his voice again, and wished she hadn’t. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said, confirming her fears. “Your aunt passed away last night.”
A tightness formed in Roxy’s chest. She hadn’t seen her aunt in several years. Ten, to be exact. She felt an overwhelming pain in her chest and struggled to breathe.
“Ms. Tavish?”
“I heard you,” she finally managed to say. “Can you give me a minute here?”
“Absolutely. I apologize for having to give you devastating news like this over the phone.”
She took several deep breaths before asking her next question. “What happened?”
“I’m afraid the details aren’t something I want to get into over the phone. I was hoping you could come here. I have you listed as the next of kin.”
“I live in Seattle, Detective.”
“I’m aware of that. There are some extenuating circumstances here.”
“What kind of extenuating circumstances?” Her heart began to pound nervously.
“How frank do you want me to be?” he asked quietly.
“Very frank,” she decided aloud. But she wasn’t so sure inside.
“Your aunt was murdered, Ms. Tavish. You should also know that your half-brother, Devon, has been arrested for her murder.”
Eyes wide, Roxy nearly dropped the phone. She was at a loss for words again. There had to be some kind of mistake.
“I understand that you must be in shock right now. Never the less, I need to have you come here. There are several issues that involve you, including custody of your other brother, Dylan.” His voice lowered and he cleared his throat. “Can you assure me that you’ll be on your way here?”
“TAVISH!” Litowski’s roar became louder.
“I apologize for calling you at work,” the detective finally said, when she still didn’t answer. “I realize that you must be upset right now. I tried your cell phone number first but there was no answer. As you can imagine, this situation is rather urgent.”
“There is obviously some kind of mistake here. I can’t help you, Detective.”
“There’s no mistake, Ms. Tavish. Your fourteen-year-old brother is behind bars right now, moments away from being charged with murder. I don’t think I need to tell you the seriousness of these charges.”
God. Devon. Little Devon, with big blue eyes, round and innocent and carefree. At least they had been the last time she’d seen him. He’d been four at the time. And then she’d walked out of his life—walked out of Dylan’s life too. He’d barely been two. Pain squeezed her heart. She’d always felt selfish for leaving her brothers behind when she’d run away. She’d thought of them often, though she’d never contacted them. She’d always figured they were better off without her around. Maybe she had been wrong.
“Ms. Tavish, are you still there?”
“I can’t just get up and leave,” she finally said quietly. “I have a job, a home. I have a life.”
“Your brothers don’t have any of those things right now. I wouldn’t be calling you if I had any alternative.”
Still reeling from the news she’d received, she grimaced as Litowski’s red face poked around the opening of her cubicle. “Pack your bags. You’re through. Your last check will be mailed. And don’t expect a full one. I’ll be docking your time accordingly.” He was gone as quickly as he had appeared, taking with him, her only means of paying her bills.
Defeat sank in and she felt the moisture in her eyes before she could stop it. She now had no car and no job. And apparently, no once beloved aunt.
“Ms. Tavish?” the detective prodded again, interrupting her self-pity.
Instead of answering him, she let the telephone drop into its cradle, laid her head down on her desk, and gave into the urge she’d had since eleven that morning, to cry.
THREE
Roxy had made several spur of the moment decisions in her life, none of which had worked out to her advantage. One had been the decision to leave Cavern Creek to begin with, at the tender age of sixteen, with not a penny to her name or a plan for her future. She’d wondered more than once over the years, if leaving the small town had been a mistake. After all, again and again, she found herself starting over—looking for work, trying to find a place to live, trying to survive.
No longer a sixteen-year-old, running from her past, she wanted to believe she knew what was best for herself—for her situation.
Fortunately, she’d never had to factor anyone else into her unlucky equation—until now.
So here she was—likely making another bad choice for herself—back in Cavern Creek, where her nightmares had all started.
She heaved her large duffel bag from the bus terminal’s baggage claim, frustrated.
Three days before, she’d had a job, an apartment and a car. Not only that, she’d had an aunt, even though she hadn’t talked to the woman in a year. She’d also had the illusion that her younger brothers, who she’d figured out were now on the verge of being thirteen and fifteen, had grown up to be smart and respectable young men. That illusion was gone. One of them was being charged with murder. The murder of their aunt, no less. It was unreal.
After emptying her desk and packing her things, Roxy had walked out of the Chronicle offices with as much dignity as she could muster. She’d gone home, only to find a message on her machine saying her VW was totaled. Nothing short of a new engine was going to make it run again. Her car’s fate was abruptly decided.
At that moment, she’d realized how little meaning she had to her life. She’d sucked down several beers and come to the conclusion that the only real purpose she could cling to anymore was tied to her brothers, Dylan and Devon—even if she had walked out on them ten years earlier.
Now, as Roxy stepped out onto the pavement in Spokane, she grimaced. It was June and the air was hot and dry. Usually the seasons changed rather abruptly around these parts. Summer to fall, and then a ravaging winter of snow and ice.
Setting her bag down, Roxy reached for her ringing cell phone. She knew it was Myles calling. She’d explained to him two days earlier that she was going out of town for a while. She hadn’t told him where. After all, no one she was acquainted with now knew anything about her past, including the fact that she had two half-brothers she hadn’t seen in ten years. She’d told Myles she’d grown up in Tacoma and that her parents had both died. Part of that lie was actually the truth. Her parents were both dead.
“I’m here,” she answered, after connecting the call. She squinted against the late afternoon sun.
“The question is where are you?” Myles asked, slightly miffed. “And why won’t you tell me about the why?”
Myles was a good friend. In all the years she’d been running around, she’d never been sorry to leave an acquaintance behind. Hell, she’d never gotten close to anyone enough to call them a real friend before. But Myles was a friend and a good one. Lying to him or keeping things from him bothered her. All the same, she put her poker face on. “It’s a long story. If you can take care of the apartment, I’ll be back. I just have to sort through some stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“I told you the other night. Personal stuff.”
“You don’t have any family. How personal can it be? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Myles raised his voice. “Because if you are, maybe I can help.”
�
�Calm down, Myles. You’re being dramatic.”
“Well, ever since that cop called, you’ve been like this. I know you lost your job and that had to hurt, but—”
“Myles, I’m fine. I just have something I need to take care of. You know I’m fine or I wouldn’t be calling you.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Myles said matter-of-factly. “I thought we were closer than this.”
She felt a pang of regret. “You’re my best friend. I swear if I need you, I’ll let you know.”
“Are you running from your finances? Because if you are, I can loan you some money.”
“I can handle my bills.” It was a lie, but the current state of her finances was the least of her worries right now. “Look, I have to go. I’ll be in touch, okay? Just grab my mail for me and keep an eye on the place if you can. The rent’s paid through the end of the month. I dropped the check off a few days ago.”
Myles started to argue but she disconnected before he had the chance to say much. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and picked her bag up. The phone rang again, but she ignored it, intent only on hailing a cab.
The commute to Cavern Creek from Spokane was only about a thirty minute ride this time of day. In spite of the fact that she hadn’t been on this route for over ten years, it felt like it had only been a day. The winding highway was a two-laner, surrounded by wheat fields as far as the eye could see. She remembered riding this road as a child and thinking the wheat swaying in the wind reminded her of dancing ballerinas, the way it swayed back and forth with a kind of grace.
She didn’t find the fields very peaceful anymore. They signified a road that lead to a past she had long ago left behind. A past she wasn’t sure she could deal with at all, least of all under this type of circumstance.
The cab driver kept up some casual banter, asking where she was from and how long she was staying. She avoided his questions, saying only that she was visiting friends.
Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) Page 2