by Debra Webb
Sasha stepped into the small space and picked up a potato chip bag. She searched until she found the expiration date: one year after her parents died.
Whoever had been staying in here could very well have been here when her parents were murdered.
Why had no one checked this shack?
The more she learned about the investigation the more convinced she became that the chief of police at the time had not wanted to unravel the facts. Suddenly aware that she was contaminating a potential crime scene, she eased out of the shack. Bat gripped firmly in her hands, she surveyed the woods around her. Clear. She headed back toward the house. She’d just passed the tree line when a hand snagged her arm.
Sasha tried to swing the bat, but he held her tight.
Her scream rent the air.
Chapter Twelve
Branch.
It was only Branch.
Sasha dragged in a breath, tried to calm her racing heart.
“What the hell happened?” He glanced around the overgrown yard. “There was an intruder? Here?”
She had made it back to the yard. Branch had obviously just arrived and spotted her barreling out of the woods. The other man—person—was gone. “There was someone in the house with me. When he heard me he ran. I...” She moistened her lips, braced for his disapproval. “I followed him into the woods, but I lost him near the shack.”
Branch visibly restrained his frustration. She watched the struggle play out on his face. “Did you get a look at his face?”
She shook her head. “He wore dark clothes and a skullcap.”
“How tall was he?”
“Average.” She shrugged. “Medium build, maybe a little on the thin side.”
Her knees were slightly weak now with the receding adrenaline. She steadied herself and braced for whatever he had to say next. No doubt a lecture on common sense or something along those lines.
He looked away for a moment, his hands planted on his hips. She had a feeling he had planted them there to prevent shaking her. Now that she thought about it, maybe she needed to be shaken. She had come here—to this desolate place—alone. After last night she should have known better.
She hadn’t been thinking. Sasha was accustomed to being strong and fearless. This sort of uncertainty was not the norm for her.
“What’s this about a shack?”
So maybe she was going to skate through this without a raking over the coals from Branch. “When I was a kid I played there. My father said the shack was really old, like a century old or more. It looks as if someone was staying in there.”
He frowned. “In the shack?”
She shook her head, then nodded. She wasn’t making sense. “Not today, but back when the murders happened. Come this way—I’ll show you.”
He hesitated at first but then he relented and started forward with her.
“Point the way,” he said, “and stay behind me.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a little salute. He shot her a look that said he was not playing.
Sasha guided him back to the shack with only one wrong turn. When she’d stumbled upon it a little while ago she’d been chasing the intruder and she hadn’t been thinking. It had been twenty-seven years since she’d visited this shack.
She spotted a flash of rusty metal roof to their left. “There it is.”
They moved through the overgrowth of saplings and brush until they were standing beside it. The squatty primitive structure looked smaller with Branch looming nearby.
“Did you go inside?” he asked.
“Yes. For a moment.”
He pulled the door open and used his cell as a flashlight to illuminate the interior. It was darker now, the setting sun withdrawing its feeble reach through the dense trees.
There was the blanket she’d seen and the food refuse.
“The chip bag shows an expiration date the year of my parents’ deaths.” She pointed to the bag, now wishing she hadn’t walked inside. “It’s possible someone was staying here when my parents were murdered. There could be prints or other evidence.”
Branch leaned inside, surveyed the space more closely with the aid of the flashlight app. “The dust on the floor looks undisturbed before today.”
Yes, she had made a mistake. “Whatever’s in here could still be useful, though, right?”
Her desperation was showing. No one hated that kind of slip more than her.
“It could. Absolutely.” He withdrew his upper body from the shack and put through a call on his cell. “Hey, Billy, we have a new development over at the Lenoir property.”
While Branch explained recent events to the chief of police, Sasha surveyed the woods, hoping she might spot the man who had sneaked into the house. He had to have seen her car parked in front of it. If he knew she was there, why try sneaking in? Had he hoped to get a drop on her? He hadn’t appeared to be armed—or even after her, for that matter. He’d run away. Was he only watching her? Or was he like her, searching for something that would lead to the truth?
“I wasn’t able to talk to that shrink,” Branch said, drawing her attention back to him. He propped one shoulder against the side of the shack to wait. “He apparently doesn’t operate by his posted business hours.”
“Brannigan couldn’t reach him either.”
There was something else she’d forgotten: to brief him on her meeting with Brannigan. They would have gotten around to it eventually, she felt confident. At his prompting, she explained the differing statements from Holcomb and Johnston as well as the idea that Brannigan seemed intent on getting to the bottom of the discrepancy.
“Unfortunately my memory of events after I came out of the closet that night is not reliable.” She chewed at her lip and considered whether there was more she should be telling him. “And I saw Leandra Brennan going to the chief’s office as I was leaving.”
“Burt told me the same thing about that night,” Branch said. “He feels Luther closed the case too quickly. Burt wasn’t happy with the limited search around the property or the fact that Luther blew off your assertions. But then, Burt is the coroner. He’s not a detective. Still, I agree with him. This—” he hitched his head toward the shack “—is a perfect example of why a more thorough and expansive search should have taken place that night. Nothing may come of this, but it should have been done back then.”
Sasha didn’t remember Luther Holcomb well enough to reach any sort of conclusion on this news, so she asked, “Is there any chance Holcomb was part of the cover-up?”
Branch’s lips formed a grim line for a long moment before he spoke. “I don’t think so. There have never been any rumors about his work or about him. He had a stellar reputation when he was chief and no one has suggested otherwise. Course, I was gone for a lot of years. I’ll talk to Billy and see what he thinks. Billy worked with him until he retired four years ago. If we have reason to be concerned about his actions in the investigation, Billy will know.”
Sasha felt suddenly immensely tired.
For twenty-seven years she had been waiting for the truth about what happened to her parents. She had put off pushing for that truth as long as her grandmother was alive because it was too painful for her. She had told Sasha this only once when, at sixteen, Sasha had demanded she hire a private investigator. When Viola had tearfully begged for Sasha to put that part of the past behind her once and for all, she’d had no choice. She could not bear to hurt her grandmother.
Now she understood a little of what her grandmother did not want to face. It was overwhelming and frustrating and painful all at the same time. Those in law enforcement—like Branch—trying to help were so incredibly important to the probability of success. Now the chief of police and the coroner were involved. It was finally, really happening, and Sasha was drowning in all those overpowering emotions.
“We should walk back
to the house,” Branch offered. “Or Billy’s officers will be swarming the woods after us.”
Over the next hour Brannigan arrived and was escorted to the shack by Branch, and then the forensics unit was called. The part that made the chief of police so happy was the fact that the intruder hadn’t appeared to be wearing any gloves. Until he asked, Sasha hadn’t considered whether the man had or not, but when her mind replayed him running away, his hands were bare.
Maybe this was the break they needed.
* * *
EVENING HAD GIVEN way to night and it was well after dark when Branch insisted on driving her home.
“There’s nothing else we can do here,” he told her.
He was right, except a part of her wanted to stay as long as there was still activity going on, but she relented. “There’s something in the house I need to grab first.”
Branch followed her to the back door. She retrieved the box of tissues and declared she was ready to go. Branch didn’t question the move. During the drive she thought of the things her mother had written on the tissues. Had she been brainstorming? Trying to work out a path to take some sort of action? Had she hoped that someone would find her notes?
How could they possibly?
By the time they reached Branch’s house, Sasha felt agitated. Had her mother been in some sort of trouble? Who had known? Why hadn’t someone helped her? Was this why the woman who had been her best friend pretended she knew nothing? Had she abandoned Sasha’s mother when she needed her most? What had her father known? Was this situation related to his work at a major construction company?
Sasha closed her eyes for a moment. How in the world could she possibly find the answers after all these years?
“You okay?”
She opened her eyes and turned to Branch. They were parked in his driveway and he sat behind the wheel watching her.
“I’m not sure.” She stared forward. “I’m really not sure at all.”
“Let’s go inside, have a bite to eat and tackle this one piece at a time. I think you’re feeling inundated because of all the questions and all the possibilities.”
He was right. She nodded. “Okay.”
On the porch, she held tight to her box of tissues while Branch unlocked his front door. He flipped on the lights and inhaled deeply. “You smell that?”
Sasha stepped inside and took a deep breath. “I do. Smells like roast and fresh-baked bread.”
He shoved the door closed, gave the lock a twist. “My grandmother has been here. She was afraid I wouldn’t feed you right.”
Sasha had to smile. “Well, it smells heavenly.”
They followed the aroma into the kitchen. Arlene had left a note on the island.
Dinner is in the oven. Make sure she eats.
Sasha laughed out loud then. “I think we can make that happen.”
“I’ll get a couple of beers,” Branch offered.
“I’ll check the oven.” Sasha left her bag and her box of tissues on a chair.
Branch had a nice house. It wasn’t a new build but it was recently renovated. His kitchen was particularly stylish with modern appliances. The casserole dish in the oven was covered in aluminum foil. Sasha settled it on the stovetop and removed the foil. Potatoes and carrots and a roast. Looked as good as it smelled. On the counter was a basket filled with freshly made rolls.
Two bottles of beer landed on the counter then and Branch grabbed bowls and spoons. They filled their bowls and settled around the island. The roast tasted just as amazing as it smelled. The rolls melted on the tongue and the beer was the perfect contrast to all the smooth, rich tastes and textures.
When Sasha couldn’t eat another bite, she pushed her bowl away. “Your grandmother is an amazing cook.”
“She is.” Branch pushed his bowl away, too. “She spoils me.”
“I suspect this is something else you’ll miss if you move to Nashville.”
He nodded. “No doubt. Course, there’s always Sundays. My grandmother feeds everyone on Sundays. The whole Holloway crew.”
Sasha needed to start traditions like that. She and her daughter only had a couple. Traditions, even small ones, were important to future bonding. One day her daughter would be all grown up and have a family of her own. The thought terrified Sasha. She glanced at Branch, who was putting their bowls into the dishwasher.
This was another past wrong that Sasha had to make right. Soon. Very soon.
“I asked Billy if he could share any information about his interview with Leandra Brennan. He couldn’t.”
Sasha paused in her work covering the leftover roast. “But he did call her into his office about the investigation.”
Branch nodded. “He also called her a hostile witness, so she didn’t come in voluntarily.”
Sasha shook her head. “I just want to know the story there. Arlene has no idea?”
“I asked her if she remembered any issues and she didn’t. She says your mom and Brennan weren’t really that close.”
Surprised, Sasha started to question him further but she suddenly remembered the box of tissues. “There’s something I need to show you.”
She retrieved the box of tissues and went back to the island. Claiming a stool, she placed the box on the counter.
“I think we might need another beer,” he said with a curious glance at the box.
“Good idea.”
He grabbed two bottles from the fridge and joined her at the island.
“I searched everything in my parents’ bedroom. As I was finishing up, I realized this was the one place I hadn’t looked.” She tapped the box. “So I pulled the tissues out, thinking something might be hidden inside—I guess I’ve watched too many movies. At any rate, this is what I found.”
She spread the tissues with blue ink across the counter.
Major structural flaws.
Material will be stressed beyond its strength.
Monumental failure at some point in the future.
Don’t know what to do.
Sasha’s heart started that painful squeezing again when she read the last one.
Can’t tell Brandon.
“You’re certain this is your mother’s handwriting?”
Sasha nodded. “Positive.”
“Then it looks like we have ourselves a starting place.”
Sasha met his gaze. “You think the murders were related to one or the other’s work?”
“I was leaning in that direction already, but this makes it pretty clear.” He searched her gaze. “Your mother was responsible for approving plans and architectural drawings for every building that was constructed in this county for as long as she held the position. Any issues with the plans would have been flagged by her office. These—” he tapped the counter near the tissues “—are the sorts of issues developers don’t want to hear about.”
“Are you saying someone could have wanted to stop her from doing her job?”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Sasha put a hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t see her lips trembling.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so callous.”
“No.” She put her hand over his, almost jumped at the soft zing that sparked between them. “You’ve been nothing but helpful and a great friend. I couldn’t have done this without you, Branch.”
With his free hand he reached up and stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Warmth spread through her. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to do the right thing.” He let his hand fall away but didn’t draw from her touch. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”
She frowned, not understanding what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about the morning after their one-night stand. She held her hands up, withdrawing contact. “We were young. It was...”
“T
houghtless,” he argued. “I had to be back in Chicago but I should have delayed my flight and at least spent some time with you.”
If either of them had anything to be sorry for, it was her, but she couldn’t bring herself to confess. She just couldn’t go there right now. She needed his help. How selfish was that?
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Branch.”
He gave her a nod. “We can agree to disagree. For now, let’s start a list of possible suspects.”
She blinked. Okay, so they were back on the case now. Good. “You go first.”
“Leandra Brennan.”
Sasha was surprised. “Really?”
He gave an affirming nod. “She still works for the same developer. One of the largest, most powerful ones in the Southeast.”
“Okay.”
He came up with paper and a pen and they started their list.
She liked being shoulder to shoulder with him as they jotted down the names. She liked his smile and the sound of his voice.
She liked everything about him, actually.
Her daughter was right. He was hot.
Slow it down, Sash.
Right now she could without question say that Branch was a really good friend. Whatever happened after this, it had to be a slow build toward total honesty...and hopefully forgiveness.
She would need his when he had the whole truth.
Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday, March 27
Branch had just poured the coffee when Sasha appeared in the kitchen. He’d had a hard time sleeping last night, as much because she was sleeping in his bed as because of the case.
“Morning.” He set a mug of steaming brew on the counter in front of her. “I hope you slept well.” Toast popped up in the toaster.
“I did.” She picked up the mug, cradled it in both hands. “Actually, I slept better than I have since I arrived.” She sipped her coffee.
“I’m glad.” He turned his own cup up to prevent saying more. He hoped she felt safe in his home...in his bed. He wanted her to feel safe with him. “I thought we could talk about the list over some toast.”