“Murder’s not far behind,” Brandon said.
“What was your impression? You think Patti’s being honest about the whole spying on Airbnb guests thing?” Jackson asked.
“It’s easy enough to check out.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
“I appreciate your work on this case,” he said. “It’s nice to have someone with detective experience on the force.”
“Well, I want to get this case in the books before next weekend,” Jackson said. “My father is coming into town.”
“From Florida?”
“No, Cuba. He’s been spending time with his mother.”
“You’ll have to bring him by,” Brandon said.
“I’ll do that,” she said. “Give my husband a break.”
“That bad, huh?”
“He’s like you, if you were a slightly overweight computer geek,” she said.
“Huh?”
“I mean, my husband isn’t really a people person,” she said.
“Who says I’m not a people person?” Brandon asked. He’d always considered himself an excellent detective, getting the truth out of suspects, whatever it took. That required considerable people skills.
“You’re not a misanthrope, nothing like that,” she reassured him.
“Big word,” Brandon said. “But someone who hates people, like I do, probably wouldn’t know what that meant.”
“Come on, Chief. You know what I’m talking about,” Jackson said defensively. “You’re a good boss. A good dad.”
“Then what?”
“You do get irritated easily.”
“I have high standards,” Brandon said.
“Exactly.”
She pulled into the gravel driveway, past a faded sign that indicated the Dunn family lived there. Brandon remembered the day over thirty years ago when Mr. Dunn had first painted the green and white board, fresh cut from the stock of wood in Mr. Dunn’s garage. Now the address was barely legible through the layer of lichen that covered the cracked and rotting wood.
“Let’s focus on this case,” Brandon said, ending the psychoanalysis session.
They parked in front of Mrs. Dunn’s residence, the home nearest the main road.
“No sign of his car,” Brandon said.
They circled Mrs. Dunn’s home, traipsing through the wet, boot-high grass. Stacks of pet travel cages lined the side of the house. Around back they found an old 1950s Dalton travel trailer. He imagined what it must have been like new: glowing white with a baby blue stripe down the side and whitewall tires. What had the potential to be a vintage trailer was instead a moss-infested mess with duct tape covering the side window. The tires were flat, and the hitch propped up on an old tree stump.
“Home sweet home,” Jackson said.
Brandon knocked on the door.
“Todd,” Jackson shouted. “Forks Police Department. We need to talk.”
She tried the handle.
“Locked,” she said. Brandon glanced in the window. Cardboard boxes and old electronic parts were piled on the mini table. Wires and assorted electronic parts covered the gas stove. It amazed him how much living space they squeezed into a trailer that couldn’t be much more than twelve feet long.
The sound of tires on gravel came from the driveway.
Jackson rose an eyebrow. “He’s back?”
“Let’s go,” Brandon said.
They reached the front of the house as a silver Kia Sportage sped up the driveway, kicking gravel aside as it came to an abrupt halt in front of the old Dunn house.
A couple in their thirties exited. The man approached the front door of the two-story Victorian while the woman pulled her purse and an oversized travel bag from the back seat.
“Customers?” Jackson asked.
“No one told them the owner was murdered,” Brandon replied.
Brandon and Jackson made the long trek up the driveway.
The man stood on the front porch, peering through the windows. He’d already tried the electronic lock on the door.
His wife, noticing the officers approach, tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.
“We’ve rented the place,” the man said, as if they’d accused him of breaking and entering. Both were dressed in jeans and matching blue and green North Face winter coats. Their just-out-of-the-box hiking boots matched, too.
Brandon guessed they were from Seattle, possibly Portland.
“Code doesn’t work?” Brandon asked.
“I just got a new one texted to me,” he said. “Hold on.”
He punched in the code and the door clicked open.
“We’re in,” he said, opening the door. He waited, obviously hoping Brandon and Jackson were done with him.
“You might want to reconsider your plans,” Jackson said.
Technically, the Airbnb wasn’t a crime scene, but once they learned what had happened on the property…
“We booked this place months ago,” the man said. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s been a murder on the property,” Brandon said bluntly.
The woman gasped, her hand moving reflexively to her husband.
“Impossible,” the man said. “The owner just sent me a message on the Airbnb app. That’s how I knew the code.”
“You’re sure?” Jackson asked.
“Look,” he said, holding up his phone. There, next to a picture of the smiling and very alive Mrs. Dunn, was a message welcoming them to the home.
Brandon handed the phone to Jackson. “Todd.”
“Who is Todd?” the man’s wife asked.
“The nephew of the owner,” Brandon said, “Mrs. Dunn, I regret to say, was found dead in her home.” He motioned down the hill to Mrs. Dunn’s rambler. “Murdered.”
The man looked to his wife as if he wasn’t convinced a murder was reason enough to change their plans.
“We’re leaving,” the wife said, her foot on the upper step now.
“We don’t have anywhere else to stay,” he said.
His wife’s eyes narrowed.
“Something else to consider,” Brandon said. “We’ve been told the nephew’s been secretly filming the residents here.”
That sealed the deal.
“All right, we’re out of here,” he said.
“We’ll need your contact information,” Brandon said. “Don’t delete that message if you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” the man answered.
Jackson collected their names and contact information. She suggested a motel in town that would most likely have rooms available this time of year. Brandon stared into the open door, wondering what evidence might be in the home, crime scene or not.
When the couple had left, Jackson said, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’d like to at least poke around. See if we can find some of those cameras Patti Baldwin mentioned.”
“Who knows what else we might find,” Jackson said.
Todd was Mrs. Dunn’s next of kin, and until they knew any different about who’d inherited the property, they’d need his permission to search the place. Brandon wasn’t about to go ask Judge Gillman for a warrant.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Brandon said. “We play nice with Todd once we find him. Convince him to let us in the rental.”
“You think he’ll buy it?” Jackson asked.
“Make something up. You’ll figure it out,” Brandon said. He pulled the front door shut and pressed the lock button on the code box. The automatic lock whined as the gears slid the bolt secure.
Back at the station, Jackson opened her laptop. “I’ll write this up and let you know when I find Todd.”
“And I’m going to head home for dinner,” Brandon said.
“Tell Emma I said hi,” Jackson said. “And Caesar.”
“Caesar?”
“The cat you adopted.”
“I haven’t adopted anything,” he said. “I’m only watching, babysitting or
whatever the hell you call it when a kitten takes over your home.”
“You love him, admit it,” she said.
He grunted, leaving Jackson to write up her report.
Brandon called over to Seattle PD before heading out. They weren’t happy about having to post an officer at the hospital, pending Alisa Nygard’s recovery. The officer informed Brandon the girl was scheduled for surgery in the morning.
The delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread greeted Brandon. His stomach grumbled as he wandered into the kitchen where he found Emma at the counter chopping romaine lettuce.
“What’s this?” Brandon asked.
“Dinner,” Emma said. “Sit down.”
She floated from one counter to the other, mixing the salad, slicing a French baguette.
Brandon caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He moved to the kitchen entrance, searching the darkened hallway. He twitched as Emma’s tiny furball swatted at his foot. Brandon resisted the urge to smack it away. Caesar reached out for his shoelace, lunging forward and capturing it between his teeth.
Brandon pulled his boots off and tossed them in the corner. “There, you can have them.”
“Who are you talking to?” Emma called out from the kitchen.
“No one.”
“It’s time to eat.”
Brandon took a seat at the table while she pulled a dish of lasagna out of the oven.
“You made that from scratch?” he asked.
“Of course I did,” she said. A glance at the sink told him she was telling the truth. She’d used just about every pot in the house.
Brandon had two servings of lasagna. She really was an exceptional cook. During the summer, they’d gone out too much. Then, school started, and now she was working.
“What inspired you to make dinner?” Brandon asked.
“Just to say thank you for being such a great dad,” she said.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Is this about the cat? Because, at this point, it’s probably fine if we keep him.”
He couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Her trick, making him dinner, had worked. Brandon was a sucker and Emma knew it.
“That’s awesome!” she said. “Thank you.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then sat back down.
“But that’s not what I wanted to ask you,” she said.
His smile dropped. He briefly considered taking back the promise they could keep the cat.
“Then, what?” he asked, irritated.
“Remember I mentioned there was a guy?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said.
“I was hoping, you know, you could be more clear about what the rules are for dating so…”
“So you can start dating him?”
Brandon grabbed another slice of bread, spraying a healthy amount of liquid margarine across the top. He wished they had real butter. The lasagna was giving him heartburn.
He leaned his elbows on the table and held out his fingers to count. “Rule one, no touching. Rule two, never alone. Three, no kissing—”
“Dad, seriously?” she said. “And doesn’t kissing fall under touching?”
“Four,” he said, “I have to meet him. Have a talk.”
“We’re not getting married,” she said.
He stood, putting their plates on the counter. He pulled a pot from the sink and began rinsing it off.
“I’ll do those,” Emma said. “They won’t fit in the dishwasher.”
Brandon filled the washer while Emma hand-washed the pots.
When they were done, Brandon dried his hands off, tossing the towel to her. She caught it with one hand. They leaned against opposite ends of the counter.
“I do want to meet this…”
“Zach,” she said.
“And how old is Zach,” Brandon asked.
“Seventeen.”
Emma had just turned sixteen. He knew starting Emma in kindergarten early was a bad idea. She’d always be with older kids.
“He’s a senior,” Emma added.
“A senior?”
He swallowed the criticism itching at the back of his throat.
Finally, he said, “There will be rules.”
“Like?”
“Not being alone in the same car after dark. Do I need to explain why this is important?”
“Please, don’t,” she said.
“Because you’re younger than you think you are, Emma. And things can spiral out of control—”
She held up a hand. “Okay, I promise to never be alone in a car after dark when it’s not moving if you stop now.”
He chuckled.
“He can come over after I meet him. But not in your room. Or his room. By the way, who are his parents?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d like some background—”
“They aren’t suspects, dad.”
“I’ll decide that,” Brandon said.
“What else?” she asked.
“I’ll assume you’re smart enough to know that kissing is fine, but it stops there.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, dad. I’m not stupid.”
“It’s not about being stupid. It’s about knowing what your values are before you get into a compromising situation.”
“I know.”
She hugged him. “Thanks, dad.”
“Can I take the agreement about keeping the cat back?” he said.
“Not a chance.”
Brandon lay in bed that night, grateful Emma felt she could talk to him about anything—or almost anything. He trusted her to make the right decisions when it came to relationships. There would be breakups and poor choices along the way. And the older she got, the less there would be that he could do about that. Except to be there for her when it happened.
Chapter 16
Brandon headed to the office early the next morning. He had a week’s worth of emails to catch up on and a meeting with Mayor Kim at seven.
Despite the situation with Erik Olson and Alison Nygard during the festival, most people in Forks weren’t aware the chase had started at the event. The girl had jumped out of the truck south of town, and therefore none of the negative publicity related to her injuries had been associated with the mayor’s Halloween block party.
After showing just enough concern for the girl’s well-being, Mayor Kim guided the discussion to her plans for Christmas. It almost never snowed in Forks, so actual sleigh rides were out of the question. Instead, she had a plan for horse-drawn carriages as a draw to increase holiday tourism. For an extra charge, the carriage driver could show customers various locations in town that were mentioned in the Moonbeam Darklove books.
Brandon only cared about the mayor’s tourist schemes as far as they impacted his department. He didn’t like the idea of carriages moving at five miles per hour down the town’s main street. Not only were they a traffic nuisance, someone could get hurt, especially when the highway leading up to town had a speed limit of fifty. He pushed back against the plans, knowing it wasn’t a hill he was willing to die on. He saved that for her other idea: setting aside department funds for two mounted officers during the holidays.
No way, not ever.
The meeting over, he called to let Sue know he’d be at the Forks Diner getting a late breakfast.
Tammy, the diner’s longest-tenured employee, greeted him.
“Hey, Brandon,” she asked, grabbing a menu. “How’s life treating you?”
“Not bad,” he said, not interested in a long conversation.
“I heard you met my little sister,” Tammy said.
“Huh?” Brandon responded. Then, he remembered Margot, Patti Baldwin’s attorney, was little sister to Tammy and Brandon’s high school friend Mark.
“Yeah,” he caught himself. “Nice girl.”
“Margot’s a firebrand, isn’t she?” Tammy winked at him. “We’re real proud of her.”
“I’d be too,” Brandon said.
“She’s right over h
ere,” Tammy said, motioning to a booth by the window. “Why don’t you two have breakfast together?”
“Ah—”
She touched his arm. “I’m sorry, hun. I shouldn’t have been so forward. You probably want to eat alone.”
“Not at all,” Brandon said, aware of the listening ears of those at the booths nearest the door. How would it look for him to refuse an invitation from Tammy, a woman half the town knew and loved?
He followed her over to Margot’s table. She hadn’t ordered yet.
“Hey little sis,” Tammy said. “Look who’s here.”
Margot cast Brandon a wry smile. She wore the same blue skirt and white blouse as the first time they’d met. This time she wore a matching blue blazer. Margot couldn’t earn much representing clients in a small town like Forks. It reminded him of his earlier years working as a detective, when he hoped it wasn’t too obvious he’d donned the same two suit jackets five days a week.
“Hello, Chief Mattson.”
“Don’t be so formal, boo,” Tammy said. “He’s still the same Brandon you had a crush on in ninth grade.”
Margot’s smile dropped.
Brandon cleared his throat.
“I can sit somewhere else,” he said, hoping she’d take him up on the offer.
Margot motioned to the seat across from her. “Please.”
When Tammy had left to get Brandon coffee, Margot said. “Sorry about that.”
“We all got family,” he said.
“So, you’re an attorney,” Brandon said, stating the obvious.
“Yep,” she replied.
Tammy arrived with coffee and took their orders. Tammy’s wide grin made Brandon all the more uncomfortable. It felt like two teenagers being set up on a date by their parents.
“Didn’t you join the Army?” Margot asked.
“Right.”
“But you never came back home.”
Brandon’s family had never forgiven him for leaving home and moving away to the big city.
“There were better opportunities over in Seattle,” he said. By the time he’d decided on a career in law enforcement, there weren’t any openings in the then much smaller Forks Police Department.
“I always figured you ran off because Lee got Misty pregnant.”
Brandon rose an eyebrow. Was that what everyone believed? He’d convinced himself he would have left home regardless of his former fiancée’s unfaithfulness.
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