A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by D E Dennis

  “—and she’s worried the CRPD’s force may be too small to take on a murder.”

  “Oh.” She lifted a brow. “Is that what we are? Too small?”

  Michael winced. “I don’t agree, Mira,” he said quickly. “You’re an amazing detective, and I’m glad we’re going to be able to work together again.”

  Her brow lowered a fraction. “I like working with you too, Mikey, but I don’t like the idea of the CRPD getting a reputation for needing private investigators to close a case.”

  Michael said nothing.

  Sighing, Samira dropped her fork on to her plate. “But it is what it is. You’re on the case now, so ask your questions. I’ll get you up to speed.”

  “Thank you. So tell me more about Harper Rowe.”

  “Thirty-year-old woman killed with a shotgun according to initial reports. Married to Kaiden Rowe. Lived on our side her whole life.”

  Michael inclined his head. Where she grew up might not have seemed an important detail in other places, but those places were nothing like Castle Rock. In this town, the lines between the haves and the have-nots were etched in stone, and the gate that separated the wealthy community of Fairy Tails from the simple townspeople who lived on “our side” as Michael and his fellow locals liked to call it.

  “She was an investigative journalist with the Castle Rock Times,” Samira went on. “The paper is mostly known for community puff pieces and Fairy Tails gossip, but as I understand it she was the real deal. She wrote only serious pieces and was the one to bust the Carter scandal and unearth that puppy mill operating on the Golden Goose Farm.”

  Michael whistled. “Even I heard about those. Harper must have collected her share of enemies.”

  “She must have, but we’ve had trouble tracking them down.”

  Michael looked at her questioningly over his glass of water.

  “Her husband, Kaiden, has been away on a business trip, and we haven’t been able to get a hold of him. He returns tomorrow so we’re going to be at their apartment first thing.”

  “He’s not here? So he has no clue what happened to his wife?”

  She shook her head. “He might not, which means tomorrow will be a difficult interview.” She sighed. “There’s also her work. We’ve spoken to her boss and a few of her coworkers, but we haven’t gotten anywhere there. Her boss gave her a lot of autonomy. Harper proved herself long ago, so now she was allowed to track down her own stories without waiting for approval. She just turned in the final piece, and they put it in the paper. As such, her boss has no idea what Harper was currently working on.”

  “What about her computer? Laptop? She must have notes and research on it.”

  Samira shook her head. “A search of the house turned up nothing. No laptop. But with the husband gone, there is a chance he took it with him. As for her work computer, and this is where it gets interesting, her computer was hit with a virus a few days before her death that wiped everything. The entire drive.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you serious? Everything’s gone? That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “We don’t think so. We turned the computer over to the forensic tech guys, but they haven’t been able to recover anything.”

  Michael’s fork clattered to his plate. Dinner was over. “Someone doesn’t want us to know what she was working on. This must be why she was killed. Hard-hitting, investigative reporter stumbles on a secret someone would literally kill to keep. We have to find out what.”

  “That’s what Spencer and I got all gung-ho to do two days ago, but there was another problem.”

  Samira paused to pick up her fork pop the meat that was still hanging on the end of it into her mouth. Michael waited patiently while she chewed and swallowed. Then he waited some more while she took a sip of water.

  “The problem is,” she finally continued, “none of her coworkers have a clue what she was investigating, and from the vibe I got, that was the norm. They’re all competing for the first page, so they keep their leads and sources to themselves and Harper was no different. The boss says that the only one who may know the topic of Harper’s current piece is her personal assistant, Noah Lyle.”

  Michael perked up. “So what did Noah—”

  He stopped at her headshake. “Noah Lyle left for his two-week honeymoon twelve days ago, and he too has not been answering his phone. Although in his case, I understand why.”

  Michael blew out a breath. “No wonder you haven’t been able to move forward with this case. You can’t get a hold of anyone who knows anything.”

  “Exactly. So all we can do is wait for the assistant or the husband to come back and then one of them might be able to shed some light on what she was working on.”

  “Alright. So the husband comes back tomorrow and the assistant on Thursday. Monica and I can join when you speak to—”

  “Sorry, Mikey,” she cut in. She had on a look of genuine regret. “But you know you can’t come with us. Chief’s orders.”

  Michael slumped back in his chair. “Right. We’re not supposed to join you on interviews or interrogations. You aren’t supposed to give us leads until you tracked them down first. You can’t share evidence until you’ve vetted it. Basically, you’re to keep us two steps behind you at all times.”

  “I know it sucks, but she’s the boss. I’ve broken the rules for you before, and I probably am right now, but we need to be more careful going forward. She wasn’t pleased with me when she found out I let you into the interrogation room on your last case, and I do not need another dressing down in my lifetime.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I don’t want to get you in trouble. We’re just trying to solve this case, same as you and Spencer.”

  “I tried that argument, but her response was the CRPD doesn’t need private eyes to solve cases. She used a bit more colorful language to express that though. She really doesn’t like PIs.”

  Michael lowered his eyes. It’s not all PIs she doesn’t like. Just one in particular.

  Out loud, he said, “It’s alright. We’ll get along fine. We always do.”

  She smiled. “Of course, you do. That intuition of your sniffs out a suspect’s hidden depths. You have them all figured out in five seconds flat.’

  “I’m not that good,” he said. Then a grin spread across his face. “I wasn’t able to figure out you cheat at games, every game, until it was too late.”

  “I do not cheat!” she said in affront. “You’re just a sore loser, Grimm.”

  “I’m sore? Then why have you been dodging that Scrabble rematch I challenged you to nine years ago? You afraid you won’t be able to win now that I know your tricks?”

  “Nope. I was afraid to make a grown man cry, but I’m not so worried about that anymore. You deserve the humiliation you have coming to you for calling me a cheater.”

  She pushed herself away from the table and stomped into the living room.

  “Let’s do this, Grimm.”

  Michael laughed and stood up, right on her heels.

  Chapter Two

  AS USUAL, MICHAEL WAS the first one to work the next morning. Grimm Investigations did not open until eight, but his butt was in the seat by seven. By the time his grumpy younger sister rolled in, he had read most of the articles written by Harper Rowe.

  “Good morning,” he said brightly.

  “Says who?” she grumbled. “I don’t see anything good about it.”

  He chuckled. “You’re crankier than usual today.”

  “That would be because I went to bed four hours ago.” She dropped her purse and keys on her desk and trudged into the kitchenette. “The band and I were up late practicing for the ball. This is the biggest gig of our career.”

  “I hope you will still have time for me and our little business when you make it big.”

  “We’ll see,” she said haughtily, returning with a mug of coffee. “But no promises.”

  He laughed.

  “I’m just glad we don’t have a case righ
t now,” Monica said as she plopped into her desk chair. “I’ll have no guilt about putting my head down on this desk and going to sleep.”

  “Uh... about that...”

  She groaned. “Oh no, what now?”

  “Sorry, Mo, but we actually do have a case. The mother of the woman who was murdered in Siren Woods came by yesterday and she hired us, but if you want to focus on band stuff right now, I can handle it alone.”

  She waved the offer away. “No, no. We’re partners, and partners don’t leave each other hanging like that. Besides, you’ve never worked a case without me. Someone’s gotta do the talking or those interviews will be pretty one-sided.”

  “I do know how to interview a suspect,” he protested. “I just prefer to sit back and listen. I learn much more that way.”

  “And that’s why you have me. So, let me finish this coffee, and when I feel human again, you can fill me in.”

  Michael sat patiently until she finally got up and propped herself against his desk. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Alright. Four days ago, Harper Rowe was found...”

  Michael launched into a full explanation of everything he and Samira discussed the night before.

  “I’ve been looking through her articles,” Michael continued. “She was a great writer, but she did not hold back. She wasn’t afraid to go after anyone, no matter what side they were on. There is even an article about Dad in here.”

  “Daddy?” she exclaimed. “Why would she have written about him? He’s never done anything wrong.”

  That’s debatable, Michael thought wryly.

  “She doesn’t attack him per se. The article is more about class division in Castle Rock and how it’s hurting the community. Glenmore Grimm is only mentioned because the Grimms founded Fairy Tails.” Michael turned his laptop to give her a look at the screen. “She’s unearthed affairs, bribes, puppy mills, and fraud. Harper was making a name for herself.”

  Monica hummed. “I see. So the theory is she pissed off the wrong person with an article and they killed her to get revenge?”

  “That, or she was killed for something she was going to write. Wiping her computer doesn’t help the killer if the story is already out there but—”

  “—it does if it was still sitting on her hard drive. Kill the reporter and all her notes and the story is buried. We need to find out who she was investigating.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Samira told me the husband comes back from his business trip today, so we’ll drop by after lunch.”

  “Perfect.” She popped off his desk and went back to her own. “That gives me plenty of time for a nap.”

  BY THE TIME THE CLOCK hit noon, Monica was alert and back to her old self.

  “See if you can dig up anything else, Ella,” she said.

  Their assistant had returned from class an hour ago and was ready to hold down the fort while they worked their first day on the case.

  “I’ll finish reading through her articles and see if any of the people she helped put away have been recently released from jail.”

  “We couldn’t do this without you,” Monica said.

  Ella grinned. “I know.”

  They said their goodbyes and piled into Michael’s car.

  “What’s the husband’s deal?” Monica asked.

  “His name is Kaiden Rowe. He has an import/export business according to the internet and it keeps him on the road. He and Harper have been married for five years.”

  “Does he know about her death?”

  “He does now,” Michael replied. “Samira and Spencer should have spoken to him by now.

  “Poor guy,” she said simply. They lapsed into silence.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the Rowe residence and Michael found himself pulling into the drive of a charming cottage-style, two-story house. Next door, an elderly man sprayed his rose bushes with the hose. They noted his gaze flicking to them as they parked and shut off the engine.

  “Nice place,” Michael mused. They were still on their side, but this was a neighborhood with a bit more money. “The Rowes were clearly doing well for themselves.”

  They climbed out of the car and walked up the stone path to the front door. At this point, the neighbor was openly staring, hose shut off. Michael lifted his hand to give a wave while Monica knocked.

  A man answered on the third knock.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. Are you Kaiden Rowe?”

  “That’s me.”

  Michael blinked at the man standing before him, not because there was anything wrong with his appearance, on the contrary, everything was right about it.

  His black hair was stylishly slicked back. His dress shirt neatly pressed, tie straight, and eyes clear. Kaiden looked like he just stepped out of a job interview, instead of a meeting with police who gave the worst possible news.

  Monica stepped in front of Michael. “Hello, Mr. Rowe. We are so sorry for your loss. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions about your wife. Is this a bad time?”

  He pursed his lips. “I’ve already spoken to your detectives. Don’t you cops speak to each other?”

  “We aren’t cops. We’re private investigators with Grimm Investigations. We were hired by your mother-in-law.”

  His frown stayed in place, but he stepped aside all the same. “Come in.”

  In they went, following Rowe through the short hallway and into a small, cozy living room. He seated himself in the armchair and pointed at a love seat. “Have a seat.”

  Michael sank into the chair and relaxed. He began studying Kaiden as Monica gave further introductions.

  “...into your wife’s murder,” Monica was saying. “We’ll do anything we can to find the people responsible and we operate with complete transparency.”

  He just inclined his head, face a blank mask.

  “So, Mr. Rowe,” Monica continued when the silence stretched longer than was comfortable. “Your wife was found Friday morning, but the actual murder occurred the night before. Where were you Thursday night?”

  “I had already left for my business trip by that time,” he said. “I drove out at four o’clock that afternoon and returned this morning.”

  “The police had some trouble reaching you during that time? Is it normal for you to turn your phone off while on a business trip?”

  He frowned. “Yes, it is normal. I have two phones, one for work, one for personal calls, and I do not give out my work number. I prefer to work without distractions. My wife was the same. Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions about Harper?”

  “Yes, of course. From what the police gathered, they are certain this wasn’t a robbery or random act. Her car was abandoned next to the road and her keys, wallet, and purse were left with her. Do you know anyone who had a grudge against your wife?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “What about in connection to her job?” she pressed. “She has unearthed a fair amount of corruption and scandals in her years at the paper. Did anyone threaten her?”

  “If they did, she didn’t tell me about it.”

  “Would she have hidden something like that from you?”

  “She wasn’t hiding,” he corrected. “My wife and I kept work at work and home at home. The last thing either of us wanted to do after a long day was talk about the soulless monsters who run puppy mills or are bribed to look the other way when a company spills toxic chemicals in a lake kids play in. I cringed when I heard the subject of her articles, and her eyes crossed when I waxed on about trade logistics and record-keeping. At home, we were just Kaiden and Harper.”

  For the briefest of moments, the mask slipped, and Michael caught a glimpse of the sorrow underneath.

  “So you don’t know what she was working on when she was killed?”

  Just like that, the mask was replaced and Michael wondered if he imagined it being gone in the first place.

  Kaiden shifted in his seat, lifting his chin. “As
I told the police an hour ago, no. I don’t know the topic of her current article. You’d have to ask her assistant about that.”

  “What was your wife like?” Monica asked, shifting gears. “Tell us about her.”

  “She was...” Kaiden’s eyes drifted off Monica’s face and fixed on something over her head. “She was smart and driven. When she got an idea in her head, she didn’t let go no matter what.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “She proposed to me. We had been dating for three years when she announced she wanted to get married, and three weeks later, she was sliding a wedding band across the table in our favorite restaurant.”

  He fell silent once more, but this time Monica didn’t try to fill it.

  After a minute, he shook himself and kept going. “As I was saying, Harper was born to be a journalist. She loved her work and she was good at it. She made sure of that.”

  “Putting aside work, did she have any issues in her personal life? Relationships turned sour? Grumpy neighbors glaring at her from the window every morning?”

  “We’re on good terms with our neighbors. We have a few close friends but certainly, none had an issue with Harper or wanted to hurt her.”

  “What about family?”

  “Her parents divorced years ago, and her father moved away. Harper was raised by her mother, who I can assume wouldn’t have hired you if she was responsible for my wife’s death. I don’t have any answers for you, detectives,” he said, voice getting slightly higher. “I wish I did.”

  Monica nodded. “We understand this is difficult, Mr. Rowe. We only have one more question. Did your wife have a personal laptop?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Do you know where it is? The police have been able to find it?”

  “As I said, she did have a laptop, but not anymore. Last week, she downloaded an awful virus that wiped everything. She got rid of it and ordered a new one. It hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Michael and Monica shared their patented “you know what I’m thinking” look.

  “Thank you, Mr. Rowe,” Monica said, getting to her feet. “That’s all we have for now but here is our card, if you think of anything else.”