by Lauren Carr
“Kirk was mine and Elliott understands that.” Doris lifted a shoulder. “I know it sounds kind of warped and creepy even, but I think the fact that Elliott and Kirk were best friends makes our relationship better. Our love for Kirk is one of those things that had brought us together.”
“That and you both being hot for each other.” The wrinkles marking Shannon’s face deepened when she smiled. “I don’t want another man. I want to be with Billy.”
With a fright, Doris noticed that her complexion was gray. Her friend did not look well at all.
Before Doris could say anything, Shannon was out of her seat and in front of the glass-front bookcase where Doris kept her most valuable books. She opened the door and took a hardback from the book stand.
It was Doris’s most prized book—a signed copy of The Last Thing She Said by Mercedes Livingston. Next to it was Christopher’s autographed copy of Robin Spencer’s Murder Yet to Come.
“You really shouldn’t keep this here.” Shannon opened the book to the autographed page. “Do you have any idea how much this book is worth?”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Doris said. “It’s even more valuable than the first edition of The Last Thing She Said. Not only is it autographed by Mercedes Livingston, but she dated it . She signed this book on the very day she and her husband had been abducted and murdered.”
“She only wrote one book, but she certainly made her mark in the literary world.”
“Mercedes Livingston was a huge talent,” Doris said. “Whoever killed her robbed the world of what was probably the next Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie. She was working on another book. She told me when she signed that. Her next book was going to be even bigger than her first.”
“She told you that, huh?”
“I’m surprised no one ever found it and released it.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a book she was working on.”
Doris cocked her head. “No, she told me—”
“What did she tell you? Exactly.”
“Shannon, that was forty years ago.”
Shannon smiled softly at her. “Doris, how many times have you told people about when you’d met Mercedes Livingston on the day she went missing?”
“Well—”
“I remember everything about the day I met you, Doris,” Shannon said.
“That’s because you have a memory like an elephant,” Doris said with a laugh.
“You were wearing lilac pants with a thick belt with a matching silk blouse. You were wearing those hideous oversized gold hoop earrings that Christopher had given you for Christmas. Remember those?”
“They were hideous,” Doris murmured.
Is my oldest friend losing it here and now—right in front of me?
“You had this book clutched to your bosom.” Shannon held up the book. “When I asked you who you wanted me to sign it to, you shrieked, ‘I’m your biggest fan.’” She thumbed through the pages to the inscription. “Christopher had to tell me to sign it to Doris and Kirk.”
Doris’s eyes grew wide.
It had been one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. She was always under control. She’d told no one about becoming completely star-struck when meeting Mercedes Livingston—not even Shannon Blakeley.
How does she know? Christopher must have told her.
“Actually, Mercedes Livingston’s greatest mystery has yet to be solved.” Shannon held out the book to her. “Maybe Christopher and his book club should take a stab at it.” She was unsteady when she went to the door. She grasped the doorframe to hold herself up. “I miss Billy.”
Looking at Doris over her shoulder, her eyes met those of her best friend. “Goodbye, Doris.”
“Goodbye, Shannon.”
Placing the book in the center of her desk, Doris was struck with the finality in Shannon’s tone. A sense of dread swept over her.
She was on her way out of the office to pursue her when there was a ruckus at the check-out desk.
“Lunch time!” Clad in a light green jacket and a ball cap perched on his head, Chris sailed through the main entrance. He held up three pizza boxes. “We have pizza for everybody!” he said while waving the boxes around and looking for potential takers. “We’ve got vegetarian. We’ve got cheese lovers for those not opposed to dairy. We’ve also got supreme with everything on it—including the kitchen sink!”
Doris was torn long enough to notice that her son, who had been coaching his middle daughter’s soccer game, was alone. “Where are the girls?”
The smile fell from Chris’s face. He dropped the pizza boxes in the center of the check-out desk. “Katelyn had one job.” He thrust an index finger up into the air. “One job. One job only while I was coaching Nikki’s match. Watch Emma. I know thirteen is kind of young, but I thought Katelyn was responsible enough to watch her seven-year-old sister.” He threw up his arms. “But I was wrong!”
Doris covered her mouth with her hands. “No!”
Chris nodded his head. “Yes!”
The doors flew open. The stillness of the library erupted as a German shepherd, with a green cap strapped onto his head, scampered in with a yapping little pup nipping at his heels. They were followed by three shrieking girls, Emma, Katelyn, and the ten-year-old soccer player Nikki.
Tail tucked between his legs, Sterling the German shepherd hid behind Chris.
“See our surprise, Nonni!” Emma scooped up the tiny Jack Russell. “It’s a puppy! His name is Cutie-Pie!” The puppy yipped and yapped in her hands.
“Katelyn took her eyes off Emma for two minutes, and someone gave her a puppy,” Chris said.
“The nice lady said he was free!” Emma said.
“Dad called Helen to put a BOLO out on her, but they don’t have much hope of locating her.” Nikki helped herself to a slice of the supreme pizza. “She’s probably left the country by now.”
“I’m going to show Cutie-Pie to Miss Shannon.” Hugging the puppy, Emma trotted into the associate director’s office.
“I told you to keep an eye on her,” Chris said to Katelyn, who was picking at a slice of cheese pizza.
The pretty girl with long auburn hair shrugged her shoulders. “I was watching for kidnappers, not puppy peddlers.”
“It isn’t like we don’t have room for another dog,” Nikki said. “We already have three. What’s one more?”
“Nikki’s right.” Katelyn petted Sterling, who planted his front paws on the check-out desk.
She handed the German shepherd a slice of cheese pizza. He went into the children’s wing and plopped down into a beanbag chair to eat it.
“We have plenty,” Chris said while placing a slice of the supreme pizza on a paper plate. “Would Shannon like a slice?”
Remembering where she was going when they had arrived, Doris turned as Emma stepped out of the associate director’s office.
“Miss Shannon is napping,” the child said in a loud whisper.
Doris broke out into a cold sweat. She urged the child to get some pizza while it was hot and ran into the office.
Sitting in the executive chair behind her desk, Shannon was still. Her gray face was bathed in a beam of the noonday sun. Indeed, she looked like she was sleeping.
For the first time in many months, Shannon Blakeley looked like she was at peace.
Doris crossed the office and stepped behind the desk. A hardback copy of The Last Thing She Said rested in the middle of the desk. How did my book end up—Then, she noticed a pink post-it stuck to the front cover which read, “Christopher Matheson.”
What’s this about? Maybe he’d requested she get a copy for him.
Abruptly, the door behind her shut. Startled, she turned to see that Chris had closed it to keep his daughters from seeing what they both suspected. He took his cell phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.
“Hello. We need EMTs sent to the Bolivar-Harpers Ferry Public Library ASAP.”
Doris pressed her fingertips to Shannon’s neck. As she expected, her flesh felt warm, but still.
Shannon Blakeley was dead.
Tears flooded Doris’s eyes as she turned to Chris—only to find that he was already next to her.
He enveloped her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Chapter Two
From the station a few blocks away, the EMTs arrived at the library so quickly that the Matheson girls didn’t have time to realize what had happened before their father ushered them and the two dogs into the family van and took them home.
The hundred-acre farm, nestled along the Shenandoah River, had been passed down in the Matheson family from generation to generation. The three-story farmhouse had been renovated numerous times. The most recent change was the addition of a spacious country kitchen and sunroom that looked out on a heated in-ground pool and spa in the back yard.
A horse enthusiast, Kirk Matheson had taken in retired racehorses, many from the thoroughbred track in Charles Town. Chris and his daughter, Nikki, had inherited that same love for the graceful animals. The farm currently had almost a dozen horses.
Doris was on the board for the local animal welfare league. It was common knowledge that the Mathesons were soft touches for anything with paws, claws, and fur. Many mornings, Chris would go out to the barn to discover a new cat enlisted in their feline army to fight against the rise of the rodents. Each spring, they’d take a load of cats to the veterinary clinic to have sterilized to keep the population down.
The canine population was more under control. Two dogs made up Doris’s “entourage” as Chris liked to call them. A Doberman, Sadie was a retired law enforcement canine. Mocha, a golden Labrador, had retired from search and rescue. Both dogs followed Doris everywhere when she was home.
Sterling belonged to Chris. At two years old, the hundred-pound German shepherd had been a law enforcement canine when his handler was brutally gunned down in an ambush. Locked in the rear compartment of the cruiser, Sterling almost died after taking two bullets himself. As a result, the dog had become claustrophobic and failed the “psyche exam” to return to duty.
After Chris had adopted him, the German shepherd quickly overcame his fear. It was either ride with Chris in his truck or remain home with “the ladies.”
Even the Matheson’s fifteen-pound French lop-eared rabbit was a female. Chris’s late wife had gifted the baby tan and white bunny to their daughters before leaving for a state department assignment overseas, which had resulted in her death. Each girl had wanted to give the rabbit a different name. Chris had settled the argument by putting the names into a hat and drawing one.
The winning name was “Thor.”
Thor could often be found chewing on a carrot while lounging around the farmhouse in some frilly ensemble—usually in the hue of pink.
Normally, Chris and Sterling would have been happy with the addition of one more male to help even out the odds against them. Unfortunately, the five-pound Jack Russell named Cutie-Pie proved to be a menace. By the time they’d returned home from the soccer match, the puppy had bitten each one of them—including Sterling—and peed in the back seat.
Chris renamed the pup “Chompers.”
They got home in time for Sierra Clarke, the sixteen-year-old daughter of Chris’s girlfriend Helen, to arrive for her weekly horseback riding lesson.
Chris couldn’t think of a better way to take his mind off Shannon than to saddle up some horses and go for a trail ride. Katelyn agreed to stay behind with Emma and the new puppy. Always ready to explore, Sterling accompanied the riders across the fields and through the woods.
The fresh breeze swept up off the Shenandoah River to make for a pleasant afternoon. Emma played endlessly with Chompers, the name seemed to stick, who had great fun checking out his new home. Uncertain about the newcomer, Sadie and Mocha lay on either side of the porch chaise where Katelyn read a book on her tablet.
When the two dogs’ ears perked up, Katelyn looked across the front pasture to see her grandmother’s Malibu racing along the river to the farm’s main entrance. Helen Clarke’s unmarked state police cruiser followed close behind it. Mocha and Sadie rose to their feet and wagged their tails in anticipation of their master’s return. After entering the security code to open the electric gate, Doris drove up the lane to the farmhouse. Helen parked her cruiser next to her daughter’s mini-SUV.
Beyond the vehicles, Katelyn saw the riders trotting up the hill and across the field toward the rear of the barn.
Upon seeing Helen, Emma scooped up the puppy and ran to show off the new addition to the family. “Did Nonni tell you about my new puppy? I got him at the soccer game this morning. He’s free. I named him Cutie-Pie. Dad calls him Chompers. I think that’s mean.”
Helen reached out to take the squirming pup. “Why does he call him Chompers?” she asked as the growling pup bit her fingers. With a yelp, she pulled her hand back. “Sorry I asked.”
“Where’s your father?” Doris called to Katelyn while petting Mocha who had rushed to greet her.
“They’re in the barn. They just got back from a trail ride.” As they hurried into the barn, Katelyn noticed that Helen was carrying a plastic evidence bag. Hmmm, wonder if they want to talk to Dad about a case?
Helen was a lieutenant with the West Virginia State Police, in charge of their homicide division. It was a position that the late Kirk Matheson had held before being promoted to captain.
Chris had retired from a distinguished career with the FBI. He had spent many years working on long dangerous undercover assignments. His work resulted in breaking up organized crime syndicates and other ruthless operations. As a result, Chris Matheson’s name was on more than one hit list. For that reason, the Matheson farm was secured with gates and surveillance cameras. Chris had weapons on him at all times—often concealed in a pocket or an ankle holster. When out on a trail, he had a small semi-automatic tucked inside one of his riding boots.
Certified as a service dog, Sterling provided an additional layer of protection. When asked what service the German shepherd provided, Chris would say that Sterling helped with his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a believable lie considering the amount of action he had seen during his military and law enforcement career. Chris found that people were less threatened to think the large dog was trained to comfort him rather than rip apart would-be assassins.
Doris and Helen stepped into the barn to find Chris, Nikki, and Sierra rubbing down their horses while talking excitedly about what had been a pleasant ride.
Chris had changed from his soccer coach uniform to a pair of worn, discolored jeans and button-down work shirt that he wore untucked. The spring breeze rustled his auburn hair, liberally mixed with silver, to loosen the waves of his shaggy locks.
Exhausted from his adventure, Sterling sprawled out in the middle of everything—forcing everyone to step over him.
Chris’s horse was a gray Thoroughbred named Traveler, his favorite among the herd. The gelding had been a gift to his father from a trainer, whose life Kirk had saved. The police captain and horse had developed such a tight bond that Traveler stopped eating after Kirk’s sudden death. To comfort the grieving horse, Chris had slept in Traveler’s stall with him until they overcame their pain together.
Nikki’s horse was a roan mare named KitKat.
A huge grin on her face, Sierra lovingly brushed her quarter horse mare named Coco. The name fit the chestnut.
Sierra loved riding and had a natural talent for it. She had begged her mother for months to purchase the horse. Frightened of horses, Helen decided her daughter’s talent had come from a gene that had bypassed her. While it made Helen feel good to see her daughter so happy, she always felt a giant sense of relief when she returned in one piece from a riding lesson or trail ride.
“Mom, we saw a fox.” Sierra gushed upon seeing her mother. “And she had a litter of babies!”
“She was over at the edge of the woods on the other side of the pasture,” Chris said.
“How many pups did she have?” Doris asked.
“I counted four,” Nikki said before laying a kiss on the side of KitKat’s head.
“Yeah, I counted four, too,” Sierra said. “Mom, can Chris teach me barrel racing?”
“Barrel racing!” Helen’s eyes bulged.
Chris shot a glance in Sierra’s direction. As Helen advanced, he ducked behind Traveler.
Sierra proceeded to comb out the mare’s tail. “Coco is really good at making sharp turns. She used to be a 4-H horse. I bet her previous owner did barrel racing. Chris said that with practice, I could maybe enter some competitions and win some trophies. He said he’d teach me if you’d agree to it.”
Helen closed in on Chris. The only thing between them was Traveler’s head. “Barrel racing is dangerous.”
“Mom, barrel racing is not dangerous.”
“All I did was mention it,” Chris said in a low voice.
“When are you going to learn to stop mentioning things to my daughter?” Narrowing her dark eyes to slits, she fired off a glare through an opening between Traveler’s jaw and neck. “Doris, what is wrong with your son?”
“Well, you were bound to find out eventually,” Doris said with a heavy sigh. “It’s all my fault Christopher is the way he is. Blame me. I drank while I was pregnant with him.”
Helen blurted out. “What!”
“It was only wine with dinner.”
“And martinis,” Chris added. “They drank martinis at cocktail hour.”
“We didn’t know any better back then,” Doris said. “I’m sure with love and understanding, you can—”
“I’m talking about barrel racing!”
“Nikki does barrel racing,” Chris said.