Haunted (A Bishop/SCU Novel Book 15) (16 page)

“I’ll make sure your boss knows you’re officially on the investigation, at my request.”

Deacon shook his head slightly. “You can call. I doubt he’ll be surprised. He’s probably already taken me off the leave list and put me back to active duty. Whatever you want to say about Bishop, he’s scrupulously fair about stuff like that. If I’m working a case, it’s not taking up any of my leave time.”

“Sounds like a good man to work for.” Almost absently, Trinity added, “If you want to see Scott’s apartment later on, it’s no problem. But Hollis and Reese didn’t see or sense anything I missed. Unless they’re holding out on me.”

“We aren’t,” Hollis told her. “Where does Annabel live? I mean, does she live here in town?”

Trinity met her gaze. “She lives in a duplex, one of those conversions from what was once a very large single-family home. About seven streets down from the church.”

Deacon said, “So that weird energy up there might have affected her electronics? Look, I’d buy that for the channel-scanning thing, but she said it had never happened before, and from what you say, Trinity, if it
had
happened before, it isn’t likely she’d still be living there.”

“True enough.”

“Besides, what about the direct threat to her? ‘I’m coming for you next, Annabel’?”

“She could have imagined it,” Trinity said slowly. “All those scenes from horror movies and her own nerves on top of losing two friends in the last week? Plus wine? Possible, at least.”

Hollis chewed on a thumbnail absently until she caught DeMarco watching her, then reached out for her coffee, frowning. “With a killer on the loose, I say we err on the side of believing her. She was friends with the two victims, a friend of Melanie’s—I take it she’s in the right age bracket to be a potential target?”

Deacon nodded. “So is the other friend, the one who called Melanie last night while we were having dinner, also shaken, though I didn’t get details. Toby Gilmore?”

“Shit,” Trinity said, her tone both resigned and, curiously, almost angry.

“What is it?” Hollis asked.

“Two things,” the sheriff replied readily. “First, Toby plays at being a fortune-teller. Tarot cards, mostly. Except that she can be uncannily accurate, and I’ve suspected more than once that she has some precognitive or clairvoyant ability.”

In a slightly accusing tone, Deacon said, “Yeah, about that. Telling me about Melanie sort of shoved everything else out of my mind yesterday, but when we met, you told me you hadn’t experienced anything paranormal.” He jerked a thumb to indicate the chair across from him at the table, a chair occupied by Braden. “Just before you introduced him, as a matter of fact.”

“I lied,” she responded, calm. “Besides, whatever I’ve seen in Toby is completely normal. For her.”

“And Braden?”

“What about him?”

“Oh, come on,” Deacon said. “He’s led you to two murder victims. And I was in the Jeep with you yesterday, so I can state with fair certainty that he was
guiding
you. Very specifically. He knew exactly where he was going, and he knew exactly how to direct you where he wanted you to go.”

“He’s a dog, Deacon. A very smart dog, admittedly. An unusual dog. And I haven’t yet figured out how he knew about the victims before any alarm was raised. But unless and until someone tells me different, Braden has remarkable faculties for a dog, and a remarkable sense of . . . duty. And that’s all.”

Deacon knew she was daring him to question that. He could feel her daring him to—with his shields up. He decided not to question, at least for now.

Hollis waited him out for a moment, then said to Trinity, “There were two things?”

“Yeah. I honestly didn’t think much about it when the idea first occurred, but with Deacon adding in Melanie, Annabel, and Toby . . .” She pushed a couple of folders out of the way, drew a legal pad and a pen within reach, and began to write quickly. When she was finished, she pushed the legal pad to Hollis, who was sitting nearest her. “Meet The Group,” she said.

It was a list. Fifteen names. Two of them neatly crossed out.

Scott Abernathy

Cathy Simmons

Barry Torrance

Melanie James

Jeff Stamey

Toby Gilmore

Dana Durrell

Trinity Nichols

Xander Roth

Caleb Lee

Annabel Hunter

Patrick Collins

Rusty Douglas

Skylar Pope

Jackson Ruppe

Steadily, Trinity said, “We were all in high school together, same graduating class. Some of us moved away for college or even jobs for a while, but we all either stayed here or came back to work and live within the last few years. And we were the last graduating class to have so many to settle in Sociable. Oh, there are a few adults in town not many years older and younger than us, but we’ve always been a kind of unit.

“Cathy dubbed us The Group because we tended to hang out together, use the same gym, have the same or similar hobbies, invite each other to parties, stuff like that. Some of us were even in relationships at one point or another, and still managed to stay friends when they were over. More or less.

“It started out as a joke, that name. After a while, it was just something that stuck.” Trinity drew a breath and let it out slowly. “And now it seems The Group is unique in another way. Looks like it’s quite possible we’re the killer’s hit list.”

After a long moment, Hollis pushed the legal pad toward her partner and said, “That’s not all it means, Trinity. If The Group is that specific in age and interests, and these are the people the killer is targeting, then the victim pool is a lot smaller than we first believed. And if that’s the case . . .”

“If that’s the case,” Trinity finished, her voice still steady, “then it’s likely that the killer’s name is on that list as well.”

Melanie went into the bank’s employee lounge, carrying two hot lattes, and as soon as she saw two of her friends instead of the one she’d left there, her uneasiness climbed. Especially when she saw what one friend was doing.

“Toby, the tarot cards? Here?”

“I didn’t think anybody would mind. Everybody knows me, Melanie, they know I read tarot for fun. Besides, I didn’t want to be at the office alone, and Annabel wanted me to read them.”

“I thought it might help, Melanie,” Annabel confessed. She sat very still across from Toby, but her hands were writhing in her lap, betraying her nerves.

Sitting down at the end of the table, Melanie handed one of the cardboard cups across to Annabel. “I didn’t know you were here, Toby, or I would have got one for you.”

“I’m okay,” Toby replied, her gaze on the cards she was dealing. “I had coffee earlier.”

“But again—tarot, Toby? Here?”

“Why not here?”

Melanie tried to hold her voice steady. “Look, we all know you do this for fun. But in case you hadn’t noticed, most everybody is more than a little anxious, even creeped out, today. However badly Barry was . . . mutilated . . . gossip has it even worse.” She frowned. “At least, I hope gossip has it worse. Anyway, everyone I’ve seen today has been really shaken up. I wouldn’t be surprised if whispers about demons or shit like that aren’t already spreading.”

Annabel made a little inarticulate sound, but Toby looked at Melanie with a frown. “Seriously?”

“Toby, which would you rather believe? That someone you know and possibly speak to every day is an insane killer, or that something evil that doesn’t belong here is doing these horrible things?”

“Neither,” Toby said, serious.

Annabel made another little sound, and Melanie absently reached over to briefly grasp her knotted hands.

“Toby, trust me when I tell you that when things get as bad as they are right now in Sociable, people start looking for someone or something to blame. I was the prime suspect for a while there, being a relative newcomer, but since I was highly visible in town all day yesterday during the time Barry was murdered, I seem to have lost favor as a possible killer. Thank God.”

“I never thought you were that, Melanie.”

“Neither did I,” Annabel murmured.

“Yeah, you two, my brother, and possibly Trinity.” Melanie sighed again. “The point is that how Barry was killed seems to any sane person to be either absolutely
in
sane or purely evil, and nobody really wants to deal with that. They want something to blame, and the wilder the stories get, the wilder the speculation will be. Tarot for fun is all well and good, Toby, but some people still look at those images on the cards and think witchcraft.”

Toby blinked. “I sing in the church choir,” she objected.

Melanie almost laughed, except that what she felt was too grim to allow for humor. “And the devil can quote scripture for his own uses. Fear makes people look in unusual places for answers. It’s not rational, it just
is.
”

“But—”

“Listen, just put away the cards for a while, okay? You two can do something else to occupy your time. I’ll get my tablet, and you can play mahjong or solitaire or something.”

Annabel’s glance sort of skittered over the partial tarot card layout, then away nervously.

Toby bit her bottom lip, then said, “Never mind the cards. I didn’t tell you this last night, but . . . I saw Scott. Yesterday.”

Melanie shook her head. “We both know you can see what you want in the cards—”

“He wasn’t in the cards. He was standing in my office, not three feet away from me. Melanie, he was trying to tell me something.”

Annabel was staring at Toby, her eyes huge.

Melanie studied her friend for a long moment, hoping her inner struggle wasn’t visible. Then she said calmly, “Ask me, you two had some unresolved issues when he died. Guilt and regret can manifest itself in a lot of ways, Toby.”

“So you don’t believe me.”

“I believe
you
believe you saw Scott.”

Annabel spoke up then, her sweet voice not as steady as it normally was. “Melanie, do you believe what I told you and Deacon about what happened at my house last night?”

“I believe something scared you.”

Toby gathered up her cards, her face still but her lips pressed together firmly.

Annabel bowed her head.

Melanie felt like she had kicked a puppy. And guilty as hell, because she had seen Scott—and didn’t want to admit it even to herself, much less out loud.

Toby said, “She told me about what happened, Melanie. I’m the one who has the weird experiences, remember? Not Annabel. I know odd things happen on her street, but nothing like that has ever happened in
her
house.”

“There’s a storm coming,” Melanie said slowly. “Just saw the weather. Maybe that was it.”

“An approaching storm told Annabel she was next?”

Melanie really wished Toby hadn’t brought that up, because she could see Annabel’s pale face lose even more color.

“Toby, we’re all having it rough right now. Our friends have been horribly murdered. And I think we’re all afraid that the killer is probably somebody we know. It’s natural for us to try to cope with all that the best way we can.”

“So Annabel scares herself with scenes from horror movies and
imagines
a threat against her specifically, while my way is seeing the spirit of my murdered ex-lover.”

“Maybe it is.” Trying to keep her voice calm, Melanie said, “Maybe we all see what we need to see—”

“So what do you see, Melanie?” Toby’s face was uncharacteristically hard. “What nonexistent ghost haunts
you
these days? Did you see Scott, too? Or were you still his lover when he died?”

—

“MELANIE WASN’T BORN
here,” Deacon objected. “She didn’t go to school here.”

Trinity nodded. “Yeah, Cathy brought her into The Group after the thing in Atlanta. There really was a job opening, and Melanie really did get the job. She was here, and . . . I mean, it’s not like we were some kind of exclusive club or anything. There weren’t rules to exclude—or include—anybody. Nobody voted or even said anything. Cathy brought her along one day when most of us were going horseback riding. And . . . she fit right in.”

DeMarco glanced at Deacon, then said to Trinity, “Are there other members of The Group like Melanie? Not born and raised here?”

Trinity hesitated, then shook her head. “No. The rest of us were born and raised here. Like I said, a few of us were away for anywhere up to ten years but chose to come back here to settle down.”

Deacon sighed. “Well, cross off the victims, you, and I hope Melanie, and that leaves us with eleven names.”

Hollis said, “We can’t automatically eliminate the women of The Group, not on the basis of two victims. I agree Trinity’s unlikely for two major reasons: because she’s the sheriff and because Braden is always with her. And Melanie wasn’t born here, so she’s off. The rest of the women have to be considered potential targets. So the women, plus six men. Trinity, isn’t Jeff Stamey one of your deputies?”

“Yeah.”

“Could he kill?”

“As a cop, sure, I think so, if he had reason. Like this?” She gestured toward the evidence boards. “I can’t see it.”

“How about the other names?” He leaned forward so he could see the legal pad that had made the rounds and settled in front of Hollis. “Xander Roth, Caleb Lee, Patrick Collins, Rusty Douglas, and Jackson Ruppe. What about them?”

Trinity shook her head again. “Honestly, I’m probably not the one to ask. I can’t be objective. Xander has a temper, but I’ve never known him to harm anyone. Caleb is . . . an old soul. Very Zen—and a vegan. Pat is cheerful and likes jokes; he has an antiques shop, but really supports himself by restoring and selling antique cars— they’re his obsession. Rusty is . . . Well, he drinks too much too often, but he’s a charming drunk, not a mean one. Usually either goes home with a woman and passes out on her couch, or one of us sees him safely home to his own couch.”

“He’s an alcoholic?” Hollis asked.

Trinity sighed. “I don’t know if he’d ever admit it, but yeah. His father was pretty much the same. Ended up missing a curve between here and the highway one rainy night about eight years ago and going off the side. Didn’t kill anyone else, thank God. Rusty’s mom died when he was a teenager. Cancer.”

DeMarco said, “That’s a lot of pain for a young man.”

“Yeah. And he coped by drinking more. Several of us tried to help, even got him into programs a couple of times over the years. He’d come back sober. And then fall off the wagon. If self-destructiveness is in the genes, it’s in his. But he’s no killer.”

“And this last one, Jackson Ruppe?” Hollis asked.

“Jackson works down in the valley, on his family’s ranch. They’re one of two big outfits that breed and raise horses. Jackson’s family specializes in Arabians.” Trinity shrugged rather helplessly. “He’s always seemed like a nice guy. Pleasant, friendly, sort of the big-brother type. He’s big, always was, and when we were in school he tended to stand up for smaller boys who were bullied. The horses seem to respond to him really well; all animals seem to. He’s an excellent trainer, by all accounts.”

Deacon said, “Nobody sticks out as a killer.”

“No, they usually don’t,” Hollis murmured. “We’ll need complete background checks on all of them. We’ll start with the men, see what if anything we find. Try to establish habits, routines. See where everyone was around the times of the two murders. And go from there.”

Trinity said, “If we focus on just these men, it won’t take long for people to connect the dots.”

“I know. And I’d rather not give our killer a heads-up if he’s on this list—or too much complacency if he isn’t. So we shake things up a bit.” She looked at Trinity. “Even the most peaceful town has troublemakers. The usual suspects whenever anything goes wrong. Guys you may bust once or twice for doing something illegal but not violent. That guy everybody whispers beats his wife, even if she
did
swear she just ran into something when she wasn’t looking. And other men gossip has labeled as trouble—for whatever reason.”

“Yeah, we have a few in each category.”

Hollis nodded. “Add them to the list. Have your people run backgrounds and then do preliminary interviews. As far as your deputies
and
the townspeople of Sociable know, we’re checking out known troublemakers, men who were friends of the victims and might know about enemies and such, and anyone else you can reasonably use to pad that list.”

Trinity found a fresh legal pad and began jotting down names, this time mixing those from The Group with other names. “We’re going to end up with a lot of extraneous information,” she said. “And at least a few offended but innocent-of-this citizens.”

“I know. Can’t be helped.” Hollis hesitated, then said, “Is there a deputy you trust to quietly run a background on Jeff Stamey—and tactful enough to ask a few innocent questions without getting caught at it?”

With a sigh, Trinity said, “Yeah, I know just the one. She’s smart, ambitious, keeps her wits about her even under pressure—and Jeff’s had his eye on her. She’s pretending not to notice, mostly because she’s gay. Not really something you talk about in a town like Sociable, but even so, Jeff seems to be the only one unaware of it. Amy Frost.”

DeMarco lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Jeff jokes about it, says that’s why he can’t talk her into going out with him. Says he gets his fingers frostbitten.”

Hollis winced.

Trinity, noting the reaction, said, “It’d probably be kinder to put him out of his misery. Maybe I’ll do that once we get all this behind us. In the meantime, I think Amy’ll be willing to . . . thaw a bit in the pursuit of truth and knowledge.”

“Sorry the deception is necessary,” Hollis said.

“Listen, if I’ve got a killer in my department, I’d rather know about it—even if he hadn’t already killed two of my friends.” She shook her head. “And if one of my friends is a killer, same thing. Any way you look at it, we have to get at the truth. Preferably before anybody else dies.”

She picked up the legal pad and got to her feet. “I’ll brief everybody. The background checks of the victims were going on all night, and we’ve already accumulated a lot of paper. I’ll have that brought in so you can start going over it, maybe get a timeline for each victim at least roughed out. Then I’ll add these names to the list for the first shift to start working on. And start sending select deputies out to do interviews.”

“Select?” DeMarco asked.

“Some are better at it than others. I’d rather have the ones who can ask polite questions, soothe any ruffled feathers, and still pick up on the subtleties.”

Hollis smiled wryly. “I’m glad you have a few.”

“So am I. I’ll have them question people around the areas of the crime scenes as well.” Rather grimly, she added, “Do my best to get us as much useful information as possible and muddy the waters at the same time.”

“Good luck,” Deacon said.

Trinity eyed him. “Don’t go far. With the women still on the list, we have potential victims, a few witnesses, and quite a few women who knew the murder victims. I’d like you with me when I go talk to them.”