Reading Between the Crimes

by Kate Young

  “Coffee ready?” Brad came into the kitchen, and I slid a cup across the counter and began unzipping my dress. He raised his brows over his mug.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m working from home today, so I might as well be comfortable.”

  He glanced down at my tablet, where I’d taken notes from the call.

  “As far as the Chapel Hill Police Department is concerned, Phyllis Johnson isn’t a missing person. She simply doesn’t want to be found.” I sipped from my mug. “That begs the question—”

  “Why?”

  “Exactly.” The toaster popped, and I put the hot bagel onto the plate and opened the fridge to retrieve the raspberry cream cheese Brad liked, and passed it to him. “Somebody certainly scared her away. It doesn’t make sense that she would turn her back on her only living relative. I plan to do some digging.”

  “You’re thinking Harper’s deceased husband threatened her to keep her from interfering in his plans?”

  I shrugged. “Makes sense. Harper certainly painted a picture of a controlling man. He didn’t want her to go home to see her aunt after they moved here.” My cell rang while Brad took a bite of the bagel I’d made him and perched on a barstool.

  I slid my finger across the answer icon. “Cousins Investigative Services.” I kicked off my right black pump.

  “Is this Lyla Moody?” asked a deep gravelly baritone voice I recognized.

  “It is. How may I help you?”

  “Miss Moody, this is Detective Battle.”

  “Hello, Detective. What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping I could stop by your home this morning. I have a few more questions for you. It won’t take long.” I wondered how he knew I’d be home. “I went by your office a few minutes ago, and your uncle said the office was closed today for some wiring issues.” Wow, could he read minds too? “Sergeant Landry will be accompanying me.”

  “Sure, Detective. I’ll be here.” I shoved my foot back into my pump and zipped my dress back up.

  “Good. I’ll be there in an hour. We have one other stop first.”

  “See you then.” I disconnected the call.

  After I relayed the conversation to Brad, he tried to talk me into moving the appointment. I could see how much he wanted to be here for the meeting. Sheer curiosity had been eating away at him since I’d discussed everything with him last night. It’d been nice to talk it out with an objective person who not only appreciated my invested interest but encouraged it.

  But now, as we went around and around about how it could be advantageous to everyone involved if he were here, I was beginning to become annoyed.

  “At the very least, you should call your family attorney. Him dropping by like this makes me wonder what he’s up to or looking for.” Brad scratched his jawline.

  I considered his words. The detective had bypassed Mr. Greene by calling me directly, and I did wonder why. I could call Mr. Greene at any time or could shut down the detective’s questions by evoking my right to counsel. Not that I believed I’d need it.

  “Nope. Like you, I’m curious about what he’s up to as well. I can handle it. Besides, I might get some idea of what the family turned over. Whether it’s simply the journal or something different all together. It could help Harper if I do this.” I wiped down the counter and put the cloth on the sink divider.

  “Lyla,” Brad said in a chiding manner I didn’t care for.

  “I’m not getting into this with you again.” I rinsed out my mug and put it in the dishwasher.

  Brad put his coffee mug down on the bar with a thud and rubbed the scar that ran down from his left eye. He’d once told me that all these years later after his car accident, it still ached sometimes. “What would it hurt for you to wait for me?”

  “Look,” I said, propping against the counter and folding my arms, “I love working cases together. I do. But this one doesn’t concern you.”

  “If it concerns you, it concerns me. I’m a little upset that you didn’t call me while you were on the scene.”

  I studied him. “You didn’t say anything before.”

  “I’m saying it now.”

  I considered his comment for a couple of beats. No, I hadn’t called Brad, but then I hadn’t called anyone. “I called you when I got home.”

  “That’s not the scene. And I have a history with Detective Battle. You had to figure that out when he mentioned me.”

  Here we go. Now we were getting somewhere. “Oh, it makes perfect sense now. You didn’t move your schedule around to be here as a supportive boyfriend, though you did take advantage of that title for the last two nights,” I teased, yet still felt a tad irritated. “You’re still here because the case and the lead detective interest you. And for the record, how was I to know you have a history with the detective when he simply mentioned your name?”

  “Because it makes sense. And come on.” He shook his head, not buying my outrage. “We had a lovely dinner and hike yesterday. And if I recall correctly, you jumped me last night.”

  Okay, that part was accurate. I smirked. “Whatever. I won’t hold it against you that you find me irresistible, but why are you so insistent on this case? Perhaps there’s something there on the detective you have a history with, or maybe you have a vendetta against him or something?”

  He stared at me, flatly. “No. He’s tough. We worked on a case together about five years ago. He won’t relent in his pursuit of the killer.”

  “Good.”

  Brad cocked his head to one side. “Well, that depends. I’ve seen Battle tear families apart to get to the truth. And sometimes just to find a direction. He isn’t going to be kind here. And we’re talking about your prim and proper family who would rather swallow their tongues than disparage their reputations.”

  “That’s not fair.” God, he was right about that.

  “If you think the detective is going to play fair, think again. How does it look that a murder and robbery took place right under everyone’s noses? The scene of the crime was at your parents’ place. And no one saw a thing.” He gave me a stern look. “Not the police, an entire house full of guests, or the catering staff. Then you walk in and stumble on the scene and mention a potential murder weapon that just up and disappears.” I’d only just confided in Brad about that little tidbit.

  I placed my hands on the island. “I know it doesn’t ring true, Brad. Even now, I still can’t believe that not one single person witnessed anything suspicious. If I were to step back and examine this objectively, I would suspect a massive cover-up. And I won’t lie and say it hasn’t crossed my mind more than once.” I pushed off the counter and rubbed my forehead. “I just can’t make sense of it yet. But I will.”

  “So why not wait for me?” He softened his tone. “We make a fabulous team. You said so yourself.” He wagged his dark brows at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. We did—that was true. Brad and I had worked out the kinks in our professional relationship over the last year. The cold cases we worked on were time intensive. Our job entailed reconstructing the cases to discover the identity of and then hopefully arrest whoever was responsible for robbing these victims of their lives.

  Brad took his job seriously. He had worked homicide for seven years before moving to a different department. That’s probably where his path had crossed with Detective Battle’s.

  “I love working cases together. But I’m not working on this case. I’m a witness. Nothing more.”

  He gave me a “yeah, right” look.

  “I’m not.”

  “You won’t be able to resist. Do I have to repeat where the crime took place and that the victim is your friend’s husband, whose family suspects her of killing him?”

  “No, and enough about this. I’ll speak with the detective and keep you posted. Have you received the preliminary report back from the Jane Doe discovered off the industrial road last week?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m expecting to get them back today. You gonna have time to wo
rk it?”

  “I should, yes.” There were about twenty-seven Jane Doe cases to date that had gone cold. They call the area that runs along Interstate 85, mostly near the state’s northern tip, the dumping grounds. Brad and I had closed three cases, a real feat. I had no intention of slowing until every Jane or John had their identity restored and their families had some closure.

  He came around the counter and placed his plate and mug in the sink. “You can push Battle off by a day. Come on.” His brown gaze warmed, and I began to melt as he wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzled my neck, his stubble grazing my cheek. Brad always seemed to have stubble. He wore the cologne I’d bought him. Playing dirty, he was. “I might be able to see something you’ll miss,” he murmured in my ear.

  Spell broken. I put my hand on his chest, pushing Brad away. “Listen, buster. This won’t work. I’m not waiting for you. Sorry.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, Brad, seriously. How can I ever prove myself as a competent investigator if either you or Calvin is constantly shadowing me?”

  Brad put his hands on his hips and nodded. “I see what you’re saying.”

  “Plus, if I wait for you, your background with the detective could prove a distraction and detract from the focus of the case. I’ve been having this weird feeling about the family since Harper began divulging the secrets of her life.”

  “You really think there’s something odd at the Richardson house? That maybe someone there is involved?”

  I folded my arms and considered. “The family dislikes Harper in the worst possible way. Well, except for LJ, but that’s another story in itself. She has off-the-chart trust issues. It’s so hard to say. The robbery throws me, and to get a clearer picture, I think I need to know what sort of evidence the family turned over.”

  He gave me a devilish smile. “You sure you don’t want my help?”

  “Just because we’re”—I swished my hand between us—“doing this doesn’t mean I’ll rearrange a potential case just because you ask. Though I appreciate your offer”—I closed the space between us and took the lapels of his sport coat—“and I will keep you in mind if your services are required.” I brushed my lips against his.

  When I pulled away, he winked. “Wow. I see how it is then. Detective Battle won’t know what hit him. I better get on the road. I have to be in Nashville before five; the Jane Doe had a punch card for a deli up there. I’ll probably just grab a hotel for the night.”

  “That makes sense. Otherwise, you’ll be spending over ten hours in the car. Besides, we’re having an impromptu club meeting for Rosa since she had to work when we had our regular meeting.”

  His phone chirped on the counter. Brad kissed me again before stepping aside to check his message. He clipped his phone to the holder on his belt and slid his arms into his coat. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay.” I turned and unlocked, then opened the door.

  Before he got into the driver’s seat, he called, “Be careful and remember, you promised to keep me posted.”

  “Right back at you.” I waved as he pulled out of the lot. The wind blew, and I detected a faint scent of rain in the air. Rumbling thunder and the darkening sky informed me I’d assumed that correctly.

  Mrs. Kreuger came out of the building across the street and walked her little dog around the corner. It didn’t look like she had a small cleanup bag with her either. I glanced over at Mel’s empty space. She’d have a fit if she witnessed the woman violating our community laws.

  Sighing, I started to cross the parking lot to have a word with her and froze. A black sedan idling beside a maple tree near the pool area caught my attention. The window rolled down, and someone flicked ashes from a cigarette onto the ground. The headlights flashed as if trying to get my attention. I wondered for a second if LJ had driven Harper over, but then recalled he drove a black Lexus, and this car was the wrong make and looked a lot older.

  Big fat raindrops began to fall. The lights flashed again and kept flashing like a strobe light. I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature or the rain.

  I backed slowly toward my front door. Mrs. Krueger’s violation didn’t seem all that important now. I had every intention of taking a picture of the creep in the car and reporting him as I scrambled, grabbing my phone and rushing back onto my stoop, but whoever it was had gone. That fast. Which made me even more suspicious of his intentions.

  Blowing out a breath, I closed my front door and glanced around, needing to do something. Anything. Clean—I’d clean. I didn’t want the detective to think I lived in a pigsty. By the time I’d tidied up a bit, I began to wonder if I’d overreacted in my concerns about the car. It could’ve been a kid playing a prank; clearly, worrying about Harper and thinking about her husband’s murder had my imagination in overdrive.

  I picked up the books on the floor next to the sofa. I found a tube of lipstick and my plaid scarf on the rug. Things had gotten a little passionate last night. I couldn’t help but smile. Brad had undoubtedly spiced up this gal’s life. He’d showed up at a time when the same ole homeboys weren’t cutting it for me anymore. I even enjoyed our little spats. They were lively and never got nasty. Fun. Life was fun with Brad.

  Chapter Eleven

  My stomach growled, and I got up from the dining room table and stretched. I did a double take when I glanced down at the time on my phone. It was almost three, and the detective had yet to show. I’d finished up the data entry for my uncle’s backlog cases and began my file on Phyllis Johnson, Harper’s aunt. A public records search showed a single filing for divorce when she was in her early twenties; she had no criminal or civil charges filed against her over the years. So far, I’d found no state or federal tax liens, judgments, bankruptcies, or notices of default or hidden assets. I’d placed several calls to neighbors who still resided on the street; they, like Harper, seemed to think the idea that Phyllis Johnson took off to start over somewhere sounded absurd. This was not a promising start and one I’d hoped to avoid. Harper had enough to deal with without having to face that she might not ever see her aunt again.

  I sighed and put my laptop aside. After a quick mental debate on whether to call the detective directly, I decided to try Rosa first, since she was planning to accompany him anyway. The call went straight to voicemail. Anxiety made my stomach churn. Perhaps Detective Battle and Rosa had just been held up by something. Highly possibly—still, this wasn’t an appointment where they’d scheduled a window between noon and four. A quick check at my phone logs didn’t show Harper had called, and I felt confident she would call if something significant had taken place.

  I’d see Rosa later anyway, and I would ask her what happened then. I showered and changed clothes, then decided to drive into town to pick up some food for tonight’s meeting. I needed to have an ordinary and fun evening: food, good wine, and book chat with my best girlfriends. The phones had been quiet, so I didn’t foresee any problems with skipping out a little early. Our operation wasn’t a nine-to-five sort of business anyway.

  As the rain subsided, the temperature dropped, making me glad I’d worn my oversized gray hoodie. My favorite specialty food shop was bustling with shoppers. The lighting and presentation made this shop a pleasure to frequent—everything decorated in white and muted earth tones, making for a perfect backdrop for appealing food displays. The lighting made the colors of the food pop, and the sampling cheese counter made selection easier for those domestically challenged. I’d selected a double cream brie and a few wedges of hard cheese recommended by the lovely young man working the counter.

  By the time I was on my way to the wine section, my mood had considerably lifted. As I turned onto the wine aisle, I noticed Piper Sanchez chatting with one of mother’s neighbors. Craning my neck around, I could see they were deep in conversation. Hmm. When my cart hit something, I sucked in a shocked breath.

  My eyes met the tall, thin man’s behind his square black frames. And he was on the floor. “Oh, I’m so
sorry!” My cheeks warmed as I bent down next to him. Humiliation overwhelmed me—I’d knocked the man down. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?”

  He placed his hands on the floor, smiling and shaking his head as he stood, bringing me up with him. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  I put my hands to my cheeks. “I’m so embarrassed. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  He laughed and dusted off his slacks. “No harm done. I shouldn’t have stooped down so low to read the labels.” He extended his hand. “Charles Hammond.”

  I took his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Hello, I’m Lyla Moody.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lyla. I wanted to make your acquaintance the other night, but”—he shrugged a shoulder—“it didn’t seem appropriate.” He glanced in my cart filled with cheese, premade antipasto platters, shrimp cocktail, a couple of packages of spiced nuts, crackers, and a loaf of French breach. He reached over and chose a nice Chianti and a Cabernet Franc. “The acidity will work extremely well with salty foods.”

  The writer didn’t seem like a pest or rude at all. Perhaps my first impression had been wrong. I took the bottles and placed them in my cart. “You know your wines.”

  “It’s a new passion of mine.” He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “My protagonist enjoys the finer things in life.” He glanced around. “This shop is simply delightful, and a gem one would not expect to find this far away from the city. I might use the store in my current work in progress.”

  “Oh.” I wondered what else he’d be using.

  “Charles! There you are.” Piper, wearing an accusatory expression, stood at the end of the aisle. She literally tapped her foot theatrically, which I found amusing.

  “Here I am.” He smiled and turned to pick out a couple of bottles of wine.

  “We’re going to be late for our dinner engagement.” She huffed as she checked her watch before focusing on me. “How are you doing, Lyla? You’re good friends with Harper Richardson, right?”

  I met her gaze straight on. “We’re friends. That’s true.”