Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2)
Read Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) Online
Authors: Melinda Leigh
GONE TO HER GRAVE
Rogue River Novella No. 2
THE ROGUE RIVER NOVELLAS
On Her Father’s Grave
by Kendra Elliot
Gone to Her Grave
by Melinda Leigh
Her Grave Secrets
by Kendra Elliot
Walking on Her Grave
by Melinda Leigh
GONE TO HER GRAVE
Rogue River Novella No. 2
MELINDA LEIGH
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Melinda Leigh
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
e-ISBN: 9781477872529
Cover design by Marc Cohen
CHAPTER ONE
Strobe lights throbbed in the dark and swirled across the peeling white paint of a small, forlorn house. The cheerful play of color highlighted the battered state of the home. Carly turned into the driveway and parked next to a police cruiser.
Sitting back off the road on a large, wooded lot, the one-story home had no particular design other than “basic rectangular box.” The forest loomed over the house. Insects hovered in the high, weedy grass that passed for a lawn. Trash had blown up against the cinder-block foundation, and a rusted washing machine sat off to the side of the front yard. Chained to nearby trees, four large dogs barked from the edge of the clearing.
Being a social worker for Child Protective Services in the small town of Solitude, Oregon, had its highs and lows. Emergency calls after midnight qualified as one of the latter.
She got out of her Jeep. Even at the late hour, the air was too hot and too humid for a Pacific Northwest July.
A redheaded county deputy in his late twenties came out of the house and greeted her. She vaguely recognized him. No doubt they’d met at a scene much like this one in the past. The local police force was chronically shorthanded and relied on the county sheriff to cover the expansive rural township. “Ma’am. Things seemed to have settled down, but we wanted CPS’s take on the situation before we left.”
“What’s going on?”
“Tammy Fisher and her friend were having a beer in the kitchen when Darren Fisher came home drunk. The Fishers started going at each other. The friend got scared, left, and called 911.” The deputy frowned at the house. “Darren appears to be intoxicated. There are four kids inside. Oldest is fifteen. Youngest is about three.”
“Let’s go inside.” Carly walked to the door.
The deputy opened the front door and led the way inside. “Tammy’s in the kitchen. My partner took Darren out back to cool off.”
The deputy was on edge, and Carly understood why. Her father had been a cop. Her sister was a cop, and technically Carly was still married to a cop, though she and Seth were currently separated. Domestic disturbances were some of the most dangerous and volatile situations police officers encountered.
Grease and cigarette smoke coated the back of Carly’s throat as she stepped into the living room. In front of a small TV, four kids huddled on a torn couch. Despite the open windows, little air moved through the interior of the house. Three sleepy-eyed little girls clung to their big-boned older brother like kittens. Carly smiled at the kids as she tried not to be obvious about her visual assessment. No visible bruises. The kids were thin but did not appear malnourished. Mismatched pajamas were seasonally appropriate and appeared clean.
She went through to the tiny kitchen. Letting her pass, the cop leaned in the doorway. Tammy Fisher sat at a chipped Formica table. She was a mousy woman, with lackluster, gray-streaked hair and the shifting, wary eyes of a small prey animal. A cigarette trembled in her fingers. Carly scanned for obvious signs of physical abuse but saw none. The only beating evident on Tammy’s face was the one delivered by her life.
Through the window over the table, Carly could see a bulky man dwarfing the second, older deputy. The light fixture on the back of the house cast shadows over Darren’s broad, heavy-boned face. His Neanderthal forehead shaded his eyes, but his stance projected belligerence.
“I’m Carly Taylor from social services.” Carly slid into the seat next to Tammy. “What’s going on?”
“We had a fight. That’s all. Darren can get loud when he’s drunk.” Tammy sucked on her cigarette and blew a stream of smoke to the ceiling. “I didn’t save him any supper. I should’ve, but I was mad when he didn’t come home on time. My oldest wasn’t here, and the girls aren’t old enough to leave on their own. When Darren finally came in, I lit into him.” She stuffed the butt into a beer can and gave it a quick shake. “I missed my shift at the Dairy Queen so he could go drinking.”
“Has he been drinking recently?”
Tammy lifted a bony shoulder. “Hasn’t been easy since the plywood plant closed three years back. He’s been getting day work out at the O’Rourke resort job, but at quitting time they told him they don’t need him anymore.”
Carly and the deputy exchanged looks. Darren had lost his job today.
“He didn’t hit any of you?” Carly scanned the kitchen. Two more empty beer cans sat next to a sink full of dirty dishes. A Styrofoam meat tray poked out of a full garbage can, and the scent of grease told her dinner had been served earlier.
Still staring at the table, Tammy shook her head.
Carly got up and checked the fridge. Not much on the shelves but eggs, cheese, and mayo. The pantry was mostly empty too. She went outside. The deputy followed her. Humidity wrapped her skin in cloying dampness. A mosquito dive-bombed her face. She waved it away.
She stopped a few feet away from Darren and introduced herself. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”
The yeasty smell of beer wafted across the cracked cement patio. He crossed arms thicker than Carly’s thighs and glared at her. “Couples fight. It ain’t the goddamned business of the government if I have an argument with my wife.”
People did not like social workers interfering in their lives. Carly’s services were needed but not wanted. Such was the nature of her job. She tried to put herself in her clients’ places. How would she feel if the cops showed up on her doorstep during one of her fights with Seth? How would it feel to be unable to buy food for your children? What was it like to have a government employee snooping through your kitchen cabinets? Nothing broke Carly’s heart more than taking kids away from parents. The foster system was far from a guarantee of safety.
“As long as it was just an argument,” Carly said.
“I said it was. Are you calling me a liar?” Darren shifted forward, aggression building in his posture.
“Back off, Mr. Fisher.” The deputy stepped between them and put a hand on Darren’s arm. “She’s here to help.”
“Fuck you.” Darren jerked his arm away.
The other cop flanked Darren. “Calm down.”
Darren’s belligerence swelled. “What if I don’t want to fucking calm down? What if I don’t want her help?”
One cop pulled out his cuffs. Darren threw up his hands to shake off the other deputy. A bowling-ball-size hand flew toward Carly’s face. She ducked, but the wild blow caught her under the chin and knocked her backward. She landed on the rough cement. Pain zinged through her tailbone. She scrambled out of the way as the deputies wrestled Darren’s hands behind his back. They marched him out front.
Carly got to her feet and brushed dirt off her tan slacks.
The redheaded deputy came back around the corner of the house. “You all right, ma’am?”
“I’m fine.” Carly rubbed her chin.
“You want to press charges?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Seemed like an accident, and the man lost his job today.”
“That’s a shame,” the cop sighed. “We’ll cut him a break, then. Probably let him out in the morning when he sobers up, as long as he doesn’t act like an asshole again.”
Fingers crossed on that
, Carly thought.
“Unless you need us to charge him with more.” The cop gave her a knowing look. Did the family need time to get away from Darren? Did she want to build a case for taking the children out of the home?
“Give me a minute.” She went back inside and gave Tammy a business card. “I’d like to come back tomorrow. If your husband’s out of work, we can see if you qualify for public assistance.”
She shook her head. “We ain’t charity.”
“Can’t hurt to know what’s available,” Carly said.
Staring at the card, Tammy sniffed. “Okay.”
“Don’t hesitate to call if you need me in the meantime.”
Tammy’s gaze settled on Carly’s for a second and flittered away like a gnat. “When will he be back?”
“Probably tomorrow. Unless there’s a reason he shouldn’t. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Tammy shook her head, taking in the information without any reaction. But what could she realistically do? Even with public assistance, she couldn’t support four kids waitressing part-time at the Dairy Queen. Darren’s intermittent construction jobs likely kept a roof over their heads. Carly had one child, and she’d ended up moving in with her mother.
Depressed, Carly went back outside.
“Everything all right?” the deputy asked.
“Yes. I’ll keep an eye on the situation, but I think we’re all right for now. Thanks for the call.” Carly walked to her vehicle, her steps weighted by more than lack of sleep. The limitations of her job frustrated her. But as she opened her Jeep door, the hairs on her neck lifted. She glanced back at the cruiser. Through the rear window, Darren watched her. His gaze pierced the dark and stabbed her with hostility.
He’d lost his job today. She’d give him a pass for being an asshole in light of his obvious frustration. Tomorrow she’d visit the family again and see what she could do to help alleviate some of their stress.
But as Carly turned toward home, she prayed she hadn’t made a mistake.
Though the autopsy suites were down the hall, the scents of slowly decomposing flesh and disinfectant seeped through the walls and into the waiting area of the Rogue County medical examiner’s office. Seth’s stomach protested at the sight of an open box of doughnuts. How could anyone eat in here? He tossed his half-full coffee cup in the garbage can. Despite the sweet aroma drifting across the room and the bitterness of his brew, all he could taste was death.
The receptionist smiled. “He’ll be out in a minute, Detective Harding.”
“Thanks.” Seth paced across the commercial-grade gray carpet to the window. On the other side of the parking lot, the summer sun rose over the trees. How many days did he start with homicide? Too many. Major crimes were the bulk of his responsibilities as an investigator for the Rogue County Sheriff’s Department. People in southwestern Oregon needed to stop dying.
“Seth, how are you?” Sixtyish, the scrub-clad ME was average size and soft around the middle.
“Hank.” Seth shook his outstretched hand. He liked to catch the medical examiner early, before he started performing autopsies. Not that the procedure grossed him out. Okay, it did, but typically after Hank unzipped the first body bag of the day, he blazed through his workload without stopping.
“How’s the new job on the task force?” Hank led the way down the hall and into his office.
Seth followed him. “Too busy.”
Hank rounded his desk. His chair groaned as he settled into it and hunched over his blotter. “You want the autopsy results on that OD from a couple of weeks ago?”