The Evil That Was Done (Secrets of Redemption Book 3)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  Scott took a few steps forward until he was standing in front of the car. I had to strain my neck to see what was happening.

  Daniel disappeared for a few moments before reappearing. He positioned himself a few steps back from the trunk and looked over at Scott, before reaching over to push the lid up, gun trained on whatever was inside.

  “Oh God,” I heard him gasp as he covered his nose and his mouth with the crook of the arm.

  “What?” Scott yelled. “What is it?”

  I didn’t hear the answer, but Scott was suddenly backing up toward the passenger side door as Daniel hurried back to the driver’s seat. Both men got into the car, breathing heavily. Daniel’s face was pale, and I noticed perspiration around his upper lip.

  “What?” I asked, as Daniel grabbed the radio. “What is it?”

  Daniel turned to me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “We just found Ellen.”

  I didn’t have to ask how she was. I could see it on his face. I could smell it in the air that drifted into the car when he opened the door—the faint scent of decay. Of rot.

  Ellen was dead.

  After that, everything happened very fast.

  Scott started securing the site while Daniel called for backup. “As soon as I can, I’ll have someone take you back to The Grand Slam to wait. We’ll need an official statement from you, but there’s no reason for you to wait here.”

  I nodded as I hugged my body with my arms, trying to stay warm. The chill of the summer night had settled deep into my body, into my bones, and I was wondering if I would ever be warm again. “How long?” I asked, my voice a croak.

  He was scribbling down notes and didn’t look up. “How long for what?” he asked.

  “How long has she been,” I couldn’t say it. If I said it, then it would be real. “How long in the trunk?”

  “That’s the coroner’s job to determine,” he said shortly. “Stay in the car until further notice.” He opened the car to join Scott.

  I had been dismissed.

  Not that I blamed him. Surely, he felt completely blindsided right now. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt then that I really should have told him about the emails sooner.

  Flickering lights illuminated the clearing from behind. Daniel returned to the driver’s seat to move the car closer to the side of the road, wincing as the branches of the trees screeched against the passenger side.

  Numbly, I watched the activity outside—the lights, the people, all the movement—and tried to get my head around what had just happened.

  Someone had sent me an email wanting to meet at an out-of-the-way location.

  A dark figure with a flashlight had drawn me to an even more out-of-the-way and isolated spot (one I likely would never have stumbled upon on my own).

  It had to have been Ellen’s killer.

  Who else could it have been? The odds of the whole thing being a giant coincidence was too mind-boggling to even consider.

  And that meant ... the killer had been following me.

  The dark shadow. Outside my house. At the memorial service. The Good Yarn.

  The killer would have seen me with Gwyn.

  Oh God. That last message—the one that said Gwyn should disappear like Ellen. Was that just this morning?

  Did that mean Gwyn was next? I had to tell Daniel.

  I slid over to the side of the car, intending to get out, but paused. Daniel was deep in conversation with another man. Neither looked happy.

  My hand hovered on the door handle. Daniel had told me to wait. He was already irritated with me, and his mood didn’t look like it had improved talking to the other detective. Maybe I should just stay put.

  On the other hand, what if Gwyn really WAS in danger? Right now? Was I really going to let a little irritation stand in my way?

  Determined, I opened the door and marched my way across the clearing. Daniel glanced over, saw me, and his eyes widened.

  “I told you to stay put,” he said.

  “I’m not a dog,” I countered, more crossly than I intended.

  The other man turned. He had a distinguished air about him with thick, brown hair greying at the temple and dark eyes. “What is she doing here?” he asked Daniel.

  “I told her to stay in the car,” Daniel said, gritting his teeth. He grabbed me by the arm and propelled me to the side of the clearing. “Don’t you ever listen?” he hissed. “I’ve got enough going on without having to worry about you.”

  I squirmed against his tight hold. “I’m not trying to upset you, but Gwyn might be in trouble.”

  Daniel continued to haul me forward. “Gwyn? What are you talking about? Why would she be in trouble?”

  “She got another note. The stalker told her to disappear like Ellen.”

  “What are you talking about? You,” he called to one of the officers, “can you come here for a moment?”

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t have a lot of time. “Look, I know I messed up. I should have told you what was happening sooner. The only reason I’m here is because I got an anonymous email saying that there was proof that I was being set up as Gwyn’s stalker. And the note Gwyn received said she “should disappear like Ellen.” So, you tell me. Does that sound like Gwyn might be next?”

  Daniel didn’t look at me as I talked, but I could see from the narrowing of his eyes that he was turning over the implications in his mind.

  The officer appeared at his side. “What do you need?” I did a double take when I saw how young he was. I wasn’t sure he was even old enough to have graduated high school, much less be a cop.

  Daniel thrust me toward him. “Can you take her back to The Grand Slam? Have her wait for Timmons there. She’s a witness.” To me, he said, “I’ll look into it, okay? Now, for the love of God, don’t go anywhere until Detective Timmons talks to you.”

  I nodded and followed the kid to his car, wondering if maybe I should offer to drive. Would The Grand Slam even allow him to wait with me, or would he need to sit outside?

  I needn’t have worried. Apparently, the youngster was a regular at The Grand Slam, as the bartender greeted him by name and asked if he wanted a beer.

  “Can’t,” he said, smiling self-consciously and revealing dimples. “On duty. Coffee would be great.”

  “Coffee for me too,” I said, craving the heat. I was still so cold.

  I wondered how long we would be able to just sit there. I was sure the bar would be closing soon, so I asked the bartender, who looked like he would be more at home in a frat house than behind a bar, as he poured the coffee.

  “The official closing time isn’t for a couple more hours, but if the cops need us to stay open later, we can,” he said.

  A couple more hours? What, did they stay open all night?

  But then I glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven.

  How could it be only eleven? Was it really only three hours before that I had walked in hoping for answers?

  Three hours. It felt like a lifetime.

  I sipped my coffee, hoping the warmth would finally permeate my being. I didn’t think I had ever felt so cold in my life.

  I was on my third cup and had just started to thaw when it finally came—the voice I had been dreading.

  “Mrs. McMurray? Do you have a moment?”

  Chapter 14

  “It’s not McMurray,” I said, turning in my seat to face the detective. “It’s Kingsley.”

  My aunt’s last name just popped out of my mouth. I had no idea where it even came from. My plan had been to go back to my maiden name once the divorce was final, even though that didn’t feel completely right either.

  Was this the answer? Taking Aunt Charlie’s name?

  Detective Timmons’ eyebrows went up in surprise. “Apologies, Ms. Kingsley,” he said. “I hadn’t been told you changed your name.”


  I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s not official,” I admitted. “Yet. But, I’m in the process of legally changing it.” This was obviously a lie, but I didn’t think I could admit the truth with those penetrating brown eyes boring into me.

  He made another note. “Care to join me at a table?” He gestured to one of the booths in the same area I had sat just a few hours earlier apparently waiting for a killer.

  I shivered, feeling the same chill I had before, as I picked up my coffee mug and slid off the stool.

  “After you,” he said. So polite. I would have to stay on guard with him to make sure he didn’t lull me into a false sense of security. He’s not on my side, I reminded myself. No matter how polite he was.

  I slipped into the booth. The bartender followed us with a coffee pot, refilling my cup and asking the detective what he wanted.

  “Coffee would hit the spot, thank you.”

  The bartender fetched a cup for him and filled it. Detective Timmons smiled and waited until the bartender had finished before flipping open his notebook and putting on his glasses.

  “Would you mind telling me, in your own words, what happened tonight?”

  He let me talk, only interrupting if he had a clarifying question. It took longer than I expected to get through my story. The bartender had wandered over a couple of times to refill our cups, making me wonder if he really just wanted to hear what was going on firsthand.

  When I was finally through, Detective Timmons paused to study his notes and sip his coffee. He wiped his salt and pepper mustache and sat back. Not for the first time, I marveled at how much he resembled Paul Newman.

  “So, let me see if I got this right,” he said. “You received two emails ...”

  “Three,” I said.

  “Oh, yes. Three emails from someone by the name of “Friend,” that alluded to you being set up.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And you assumed the emails were referring to Gwyn receiving anonymous notes and voicemails.”

  “The emails said I was being set up,” I explained. “And Gwyn is accusing me of stalking her, but I’m not. So clearly, someone has convinced her I’m the one behind it.”

  “Did the emails mention Gwyn?”

  “No.”

  He looked at me over his glasses. “Did the emails mention any details around how exactly Gywn was being harassed?”

  I shifted uneasily. I didn’t like where this was going. “No, but what else could it have been about?” I asked again.

  Timmons shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking questions. May I take your computer so we can analyze those emails?”

  “Of course. Anything to help.”

  He made another note. “And you believed the emails enough to agree to meet a stranger at a bar twenty minutes away?”

  “It’s a public place,” I said, feeling a little defensive. “I figured I’d be safe.”

  “You didn’t find this at all suspicious?”

  “Of course I did,” I retorted. “But everything in Redemption is a little suspicious. I didn’t think this was any different.”

  Timmons’ lips twitched in a half-smile. “But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell Daniel. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

  “I don’t know if ‘boyfriend’ is the right word, but yes, we’re dating.”

  “So why didn’t you tell him?”

  I looked away. A waitress with a mop of frizzy black hair was wiping down a table next to a group of four twenty-something guys who were clearly trying to sweet-talk her.

  Why didn’t I tell Daniel? Looking back now, it seemed so silly, and I wasn’t even sure why. Because I wanted to solve this myself? Because I wanted proof? Because I didn’t want to accuse Louise without proof? Because I initially thought it was CB, and I didn’t want to get him in more trouble? That was the weakest excuse yet. Why would I even care about CB after everything he had done?

  How could I possibly explain this to Detective Timmons? How could I answer why I thought CB had sent the emails, or why I suspected Louise (or someone who knew Louise), of setting me up? What could I say?

  That the first email had the line “The evil that was done,” which points directly to CB? Because Louise talked about ridding Redemption of evil at the memorial service?

  I could tell Detective Timmons already suspected me of something. Maybe just of being an idiot, which truth be told, I probably was, but what if he thought I was somehow ... involved with Ellen’s death? What if he thought that, because CB was my cousin, the apple may not have fallen far from the tree?

  “I didn’t want to bother him,” I finally said.

  Detective Timmons stared at me, his face completely impassive, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

  “You know Gwyn is his ex-fiancée,” I said, feeling like I needed a better explanation.

  He nodded.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure how much ... I thought it would be easier for him if I brought him actual proof. Then, he could take that back to Gwyn and this could all just ... die down.”

  He slid back into the booth, his eyes never leaving my face. “Are you saying you thought Daniel believed Gwyn over you?”

  “No ... it’s not like that,” I said hastily. When he put it like that, it sounded even worse. “I know he doesn’t think I’m stalking Gwyn. That’s ridiculous.” I laughed, trying to sound natural, but it came off slightly manic. “I didn’t want him talking me out of coming here, you know? And I thought it would be easier for everyone if I got some answers as to what was going on before involving people.”

  Detective Timmons continued to watch me in silence, but this time, I was ready for him. I met his gaze, folded my hands, and waited.

  He studied me a few minutes longer. I had the distinct impression he didn’t believe me. I waited for him to challenge me again, but he chose a different tact. “Okay, so something else doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I stayed quiet and simply inclined my head.

  “This blue truck you claim to have seen.”

  I bit down on my cheek to keep myself from interrupting with, “I DID see a blue truck.” Instead, I just nodded to indicate he should keep going.

  “You claim you saw this truck at A Good Yarn and at the church and then again parked just out here on the side of the road. Sure makes it seem like you’re being followed. So, why would you turn onto a dark, deserted dirt road at night if that were the case? Wouldn’t you think you were in danger? Maybe even falling into a trap?”

  “I didn’t realize the road was as deserted as it was until I turned onto it,” I said. I was starting to feel like one of those kids in a horror movie who goes down into the basement without turning the light on. Honestly, it made sense at the time.

  “I also thought maybe, if I was being followed, it was because he wanted to help me. Tell me why I was being set up.”

  “He?”

  “Aren’t you assuming it’s a he?”

  That half-smile again. “It still seems like a pretty big risk to take. Especially when you take into account what you thought you’d be getting in return.”

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if you were right, and your unknown email sender was going to provide you with information and maybe proof about how you were being set up as Gwyn’s stalker, would that really be worth your getting hurt? Or worse?”

  “That sort of depends on why this is all happening.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If this stalker means us harm, then yeah. Don’t you think getting to the bottom of it now before anything bad happens makes the most sense? And besides, like I said, when I came here tonight, I thought I would be safe. I thought I was meeting someone in a public place. I didn’t plan to pull onto a deserted gravel road. It just ... well, at
the time it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  Detective Timmons eyed me for a long moment. It seemed like he was trying to figure something out about me, but I couldn’t sense whether it was good or bad. But then his cell phone buzzed, breaking the spell.

  He pulled it out, glanced at it, then flipped his notebook closed. “I think we’re good for now. It’s late, I’m sure you’d like to go home.”

  He caught the bartender’s eye and gestured for the check. “Someone will be over tomorrow for your computer.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a money clip and a few business cards. He peeled a couple of bills off the clip, waved me away when I reached for my wallet, and handed the cash to the bartender before giving me a business card. “If you think of anything else, feel free to call me anytime. All my numbers are on there.”

  “Okay,” I said again.

  “And, it would be best if you stayed close to home,” he said. “No out-of-town trips.”

  And there it was. Yet again, I was a person of interest. I slumped in my chair. Nothing like this ever happened to me in New York. And now, I couldn’t even entertain the thought of moving back, after finding Ellen’s body. I wondered if my mother would grant me an extension. I inwardly winced imagining that conversation. “Mom, it’s happened again. I’m involved in another police investigation—this time, a murder. I’ll need a few weeks to clear things up.”

  Yeah, I could just imagine how well that would go over.

  Detective Timmons started to slide out of the booth when I stopped him. “Did you find any sign of the figure or pickup truck?” I asked.

  “We’re still investigating,” he said, which I took as a “no.”

  I sighed and waited for the detective to leave before I slid out of the booth. I kept my head down, not wanting to meet the sharp, curious of eyes of the curly haired waitress or the frat boy bartender, and headed to my car.

  Chapter 15

  “Morning,” Mia greeted me from the kitchen table, a cup of coffee and her laptop in front of her. I was glad she was up. I had wrestled with myself when I had gotten home the night before about whether or not to wake her to tell her about Ellen, but then decided to wait. Mia had been struggling enough with her sleep as it was, and it wasn’t like she could do anything about it right then anyhow.