But fortunately her risk had paid off. Sarah, another clerk from the shop, had answered the phone and informed her that Amy had called in sick and wouldn’t be in. And that tidbit of information afforded Paige an opportunity to talk to Amy alone, away from the watchful eye of her boss, Gentry Cramer.
And finally Paige was here, ready and hopeful.
Paige felt for her cell phone in her pocket. Still there. She’d spent the majority of her bus ride making notes on discussion topics and questions for Amy. As long as she was here, she wanted to find out all she could.
That is, if Amy would even agree to talk to her.
Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Okay, enough. Paige drew in a deep breath. Let’s get this over with. She gave her phone a quick squeeze and then pulled out her hand and tapped on the storm door.
The sun was shining. An unseasonably warm sixty-five degrees. A beautiful October morning. Everything was going to be fine, she reassured herself.
A long minute ticked by, then two. Paige held her breath, then blew it out hard when no one came to the door.
Paige took a step back, glanced around for a doorbell. There wasn’t one. She knocked again. Waited. Said a quick prayer.
Still no answer.
With hope waning, Paige headed back down the porch steps and along the brick sidewalk to the right side of the house, where a blue sedan was parked beneath an attached metal carport.
As she stood there a moment assessing the situation, she heard the blast of a whistle from inside the house.
Paige jumped, nerves jangled. The whistle grew louder, shrill. A teakettle. Paige relaxed a little. Amy must be home.
In the driveway, she circled around the back of the car, and as she reached the steps leading to the enclosed breezeway, she noticed that the door stood ajar. Paige stopped in her tracks.
The whistling continued. Loud and intense. How could someone in the house miss that?
A shiver danced along Paige’s spine. She shook it off. Amy had probably stepped out for a moment. Paige turned and scanned the front yard. No sign of Amy or anyone.
Paige continued to the door, a knot in her stomach. Hopefully, Amy was okay. Then she remembered how when her brother was young he could sleep through almost anything. That possibility calmed her some.
She knocked once. “Hello? Amy?” Then tried again louder when her knock went unanswered.
Paige’s stomach clenched with nerves. No response again. No sound, except for the squealing kettle.
Paige pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. The warm scent of chicken soup—one of her favorite homespun remedies for cold and flu—filled the air.
“Amy?” Paige called again from the breezeway.
Silence. Uneasiness slithered up and down her spine. Something didn’t feel right.
Swallowing hard, Paige tried to squelch the fear bubbling inside her as she followed the smell and deafening whistle down a short hallway, past an empty bedroom and a bathroom on the right.
A little farther down the hall, an opening to the left proved to be the kitchen. She stepped in and glanced around. Empty also, except for the bubbling pot on the stove and the screaming kettle. She turned off the stove and slid the kettle to another burner. Despite Paige’s ironclad grip on her composure, her knees went a little wobbly as she stepped out of the kitchen and into the next room.
The lights were off and the blinds closed. In the dimness of the living room, her eye caught something—no, someone—lying on the carpet beside the sofa. Heart rattling, she fumbled with the light switch on the wall. The yellow glow of lamplight scattered the darkness and confirmed what her heart already knew. A body.
No! Paige’s mind screamed, horror stealing her breath. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe. Every muscle numbed. Frozen from disbelief as her world slowed. Came to halt.
“Amy,” Paige finally managed to grind out, blinking against the wash of hot tears stinging her eyes.
No answer came. Only silence. Cold. Dead. Silence.
Panic ricocheted through Paige. She grabbed the wall to keep from toppling over, nausea roiling in her stomach, bile clawing its way up her throat. Amy Miles was dead. Lying on the floor, a bloody gash on the side of her head.
The room started to close in on Paige as panic gave way to terror. Suddenly, she could feel the killer’s presence. Was he still here? Waiting for her?
Heart pounding, Paige turned and darted out of the room. She ran down the hall, slammed open the breezeway door and catapulted herself down the four steps to the carport. As she sprinted around the parked car, her feet stumbled over each other. She landed hard, dirt and gravel digging into her palms and knees as she skidded across the concrete. Picking herself up, she kept going, racing down the driveway and to the curb.
Yanking the cell phone from her pocket, she collapsed against the streetlight, hot tears biting her eyes. She blinked them back, and with fingers trembling, managed to punch in the digits. Nine-one-one.
Clutching the phone to her ear, she spoke some of the hardest words she could ever imagine over the lump of emotion clogging her throat. “I think there’s been a murder...”
Long desperate moments chugged by as shock tightened around Paige like a noose, numbing every synapse, every fiber of her being. Sirens blared, boots thudded, stretchers clanked, followed by a cacophony of panicked voices.
Chaos.
Uniformed professionals. First responders. Police. Paramedics. An army of rescuers flooded the area. But there was nothing anyone could do to change reality.
Amy Miles was dead.
“Paige” came a voice from behind her. The deep, resonant sound brought both comfort and unease. She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the irrational leap in her heart rate at just having Seth near.
Straightening on shaky legs, Paige turned to face him. “Are you okay?” A deep sadness was so evident in the taut lines of his face. “I got a call from Ted. He told me Amy Miles was dead.”
At just hearing those words, hot tears threatened to spill. Paige blinked and nodded. “Yes. Amy is dead.” The words stung, singeing her already parched throat, and Seth just stood there shaking his head.
“Ted said it looked like she died of a blunt trauma,” he said after a moment. “There was blood on the end table as if she fell and hit her head.”
Paige glared at him, shock setting in. “They think it was an accident?”
He shook his head. “It may have been set up to look like an accident, but from the deep gash in her head and where the wound was located, the team suspects foul play.”
Good. She swallowed, hating she felt better knowing the detectives suspected Amy had been murdered.
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve gotten pulled into this.”
“Well, I’m sorry that Amy had to die.” Paige stepped out of his grasp, annoyed at the warmth sizzling through her at his simple touch. “Her deranged killer has to be the same person who killed Madison. And he’s this close—” she separated her finger and thumb an inch apart “—to getting away with murder. If someone doesn’t stop him, more people are going to die.” Maybe even me.
Seth folded his arms, the warmth in his gaze lingering. “This is a terrible tragedy and terribly emotional for you. But let’s not jump to those conclusions yet.”
Paige looked away. She didn’t want his empathy or his rationale, she wanted this nightmare to stop. She swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “Madison’s dead. Amy’s dead. Somebody wants me dead. What’s it going to take, Seth, for you to finally believe Madison’s killer is still out there?”
“Paige—”
“No, wait. I know what you’re going to say.” She looked back at him and shot up her hand. “Evidence. You need evidence.” She gestured at the house behind her. “Isn’t this enough? Amy knew or suspected something, and now she’s dead.”
“Paige.” The compassion in Seth’s voice did nothing to quell the panic rioting through her insides. �
��Forensics detectives are on the scene collecting evidence. We’ll know more in the next couple days. In the meantime, please be patient.”
“Patient?” Paige’s voice sharpened. “It’s not easy being patient when my brother is stuck in jail and ready to face charges for a crime he didn’t commit. And now Amy Miles, the one person who shed the slightest doubt on his guilt, is dead.” She swiped back frustrated tears now streaming from her eyes.
Not to mention she was still trying to convince everyone her brother was innocent while a nameless madman had her on his hit list. Making patience pretty much impossible.
A deputy officer joined them. Turning his back to her, he spoke only to Seth, keeping his voice low enough that Paige couldn’t hear what he was saying as he gestured across the yard to where other detectives and the chief stood talking.
“Paige, I’ll be right back.” Seth touched her arm, and Paige took a deep breath. She almost felt guilty how frustrated she was with him. She knew he only wanted to help, to keep her safe, but she also knew how he planned to accomplish those goals. For her to leave town. And with what happened today, she honestly concurred.
As Seth crossed the grass, Paige sank against the streetlight again. An icy chill settled over her, and she hugged her arms to her chest. Angrily, she blew the hair from her eyes. How could something like this have happened?
Paige stared at the empty house. Red brick. Neat and clean. Manicured bushes. Pots of fall flowers on the stoop. Amy’s home.
Now a crime scene.
A river of emotions churned in her stomach at the raw truth. Tears came then, scalding hot, blurring her vision. She swallowed hard, slammed her eyes shut. God, help me. I am at such a loss. Every direction I take turns tragic. And now someone else was dead.
“Paige, how are you doing?”
Paige snapped her eyes open and found Brett standing in front of her, anguish and disbelief stamped on his face. “Things are getting pretty crazy around here,” he said, shaking his head.
She nodded, gathering her scattered emotions. “I feel responsible, Brett. If I hadn’t stopped by the Cramers’ shop yesterday, Amy would probably still be alive.”
Brett shrugged as if he agreed with what she’d said, upping Paige’s anxiety. She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. She could feel the tears building again.
Brett must have sensed her despair because his eyes turned soft and a sober expression claimed his face. His mouth opened as he started to say something, but then it closed as Seth stepped up beside him.
“Paige, this isn’t your doing,” Seth interjected without reserve. “You can’t take responsibility for what someone else has done.”
She nodded, feeling a smidge better. But the guilt corkscrewing through her midsection was hard to convince.
“It is a terrible loss,” Brett said, his face in its usual taut lines, his gaze guarded again. “But it’s certainly not your fault.” As he echoed Seth’s sentiments, a deeper concern etched into his features.
As Paige gazed at him, she was reminded of Seth’s face the day he showed up to deliver the news of Madison’s death. She had never seen him so distraught, having to tell her not only about Trey’s arrest but also that he’d been charged with murder.
Her heart squeezed tight. Tragedies like this could never be easy. Appreciation surged for the men and women who dealt with murder and death on a regular basis as part of their job. Lord, forgive me for not seeing their value until now.
“But don’t worry, Paige.” Brett’s words snapped her back. He offered her his handkerchief. “We’ll dive into this full force and get to the bottom of who’s responsible for Amy’s murder.”
Thank You, God. She nodded, taking his offering. She blotted her eyes.
“But,” he continued, “everyone on the investigative team agrees that you’re not safe here in Boone. The best thing for you to do is leave and let us do our job.”
Paige’s fingers balled into a fist around the hankie. She wasn’t going anywhere. Why didn’t they get it? The sharp trill of her cell phone put that question on hold. She yanked it out. All eyes stayed glued on her.
When she checked the caller ID, hope soared. It was Chet Andrews, Trey’s lead attorney. Hopefully, he had some kind of good news. He spoke quickly, succinctly. But the news that he had to share was of the worst kind.
Paige disconnected the call with shaky hands. Taking a deep breath, she slowly lifted her gaze to meet Seth’s. “The court date for Trey’s murder trial has been moved.”
Seth’s brown eyes squinted beneath furrowed brows. “So it’s no longer scheduled for the seventeenth of October?”
Paige barely found the energy to wag her head no, hardly believing what she’d just heard. “Due to a scheduling conflict at the courthouse, it’s been moved up to next Wednesday, the tenth.” One week away.
* * *
“Hey, Ted, let me have a look at that.”
In the interrogation room, Seth edged past Brett and headed toward the door where Ted stood holding the preliminary autopsy report for Amy Miles.
“It shows blunt force trauma to the head. Extensive contusions on arms and abdomen. Manner of death is listed as homicide.” Ted summarized as Seth skimmed the report.
“Thanks, Ted.” The report confirmed what they’d already suspected. And there was no forced entry, so the killer knew Amy. Someone who thought Amy knew something about his involvement in Paige’s attacks? One person came to mind—Gentry.
Turning around, he handed the report to Brett, who was standing behind him looking over his shoulder. “Here you go.” Brett took it, reciprocating with an annoyed look.
Brett made no bones about his feelings on Seth being there. Which didn’t bother Seth in the least. His only concern right now was keeping an eye on Paige, whether Brett liked it or not.
“So how’s Paige taking all this?” Ted asked, propping a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“She’s distraught, still trying to process everything,” Seth said.
“It’s a lot to process,” Ted said. “Finding a dead body is pretty upsetting. And from the report, it sounds like she didn’t miss the killer by much.”
“No, she didn’t. The door was open and a teakettle squealing. Amy hadn’t been dead long.” Another close call. Seth ground his teeth, wishing Paige would use this as a wakeup call for her safety. “She’s in the lobby waiting. Stop by and say hello.” Hopefully, she was still there. He hated the idea of her being out on the streets of Boone alone at the moment.
Ted nodded. “I might just do that,” he said, crossing his arms. “So, have any other witnesses come forward?”
“Not yet.” Seth shook his head, draping his sturdy frame against the edge of the table. “We spoke to several people in the neighborhood, and so far no one’s admitted to hearing or seeing anything. Other than the statement from Paige, we’ve got nothing.”
“How about physical evidence?”
Seth shook his head again. “Nope, batting zero there also. No signs of forced entry. No murder weapon. Right now, forensics is our only hope.” Totally opposite of Madison’s murder, where evidence was ready and waiting for them.
Ted inched up his brow, whistling. “Buddy, you do have your work cut out for you—”
“Yes, I do,” Brett interrupted with a scowl. He stepped around Seth and eyed Ted directly. “We still have officers at the scene. If there’s any evidence out there, I’m confident they’ll find it.”
“I’m sure they will.” Ted exchanged a glance with Seth, shooting him a knowing grin. “I’ll let you guys get back to work.”
“Thanks, Ted,” Seth said.
Brett turned his glare on Seth. “I know Mullins wants you here, but keep in mind that I’m the lead detective on this case and Paige’s.” He pointed an accusing finger at Seth. “And you’re supposed to be still on vacation, so I’d appreciate it if you—” Brett’s cell phone started to ring, blotting out the rest of his request. Sighing, he reached for his phone in
his jacket and shoved it at his ear. “Ralston here.”
Good. Seth didn’t need to hear more. He got Brett’s drift, but it stuck in his craw that Brett seemed more concerned about his place on the case than Paige’s safety. Because if safety came first, he’d be recruiting more officers to brainstorm with. Help was help, and he was going to need it.
Seth’s vacation had in reality ended the moment he realized Paige was back in town. Even if Paige didn’t want his help, he was back on the job and planned to help crack her case. He folded his arms and waited as Brett finished his call, attentively nodding as he spoke. “...Thank you, we’re ready for him.”
Showtime. Seth settled into a metal folding chair at the scarred wood table and waited for Gentry Cramer to be brought in. He’d been asked by the investigative team to voluntarily come in for questioning. Seth was actually surprised by Gentry’s easy acceptance. He was either trying to be proactive and keep his name out of this mess or he understood it was better to cooperate now on his own than risk being forced to.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Gentry hadn’t quite jumped to suspect status, but after his run-in with Paige yesterday and now Amy’s murder today, he was officially a person of interest. And cooperating was to his advantage.
By the time the uniformed officer opened the door and escorted Gentry in, Brett had already stood up to greet them. “Mr. Cramer, thank you for agreeing to come in. Please take a seat and we’ll get started.” He gestured toward the table where Seth was already seated, getting straight to business.
Seth liked that about Brett. Plainspoken. He didn’t beat around the bush. For interrogation tactics it played in his favor. Otherwise, not so much.
Standing opposite the one-way mirror, Gentry didn’t acknowledge Brett’s request. Instead his gaze skipped around the dim room—the bare walls, mounted cameras, lone table illuminated by a single beam of light, where his gaze stopped.
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