In Safe Hands (14 page)

“Lou,” Daisy said a little tentatively. As the newcomer to the group, she didn't want to bring up a suggestion that had already been discussed or, even worse, was so illogical that it didn't need to be discussed. “Wasn't your cabin intentionally set on fire?”

“Yes.” Lou's jaw tightened at the memory. “But that was my nutso stalker. He was in Connecticut when Willard was killed.”

“Oh.” Something didn't seem right, though. “Isn't it strange that your stalker burned down your house at the same time there was an arsonist loose in Simpson?”

The other three women went quiet, staring at Daisy.

“I did wonder why Clay went from thinking he loved me to full-on homicidal,” Lou said, finally breaking the silence. “He—or whoever it was—actually kicked me back into a burning building. That doesn't really say ‘come back East with me and be my wife.'”

“But Rory said all the other fires have been small buildings,” Ellie said.

Lou winced. “My cabin wasn't very big.”

“‘Shack-like' was the word someone used to describe it,” Rory said.

“Hey! Watch the cabin smack-talk, bunker dweller.” Despite her words, Lou was laughing. “Wait…did that ‘someone' happen to be Callum?”

Rory's phone rang, saving her from having to answer Lou.

“Hi.” Just in the short time Daisy had known her, she'd noticed how much Rory's voice softened when she was talking to Ian. “You're at Letty's? She okay? Well, as okay as she gets?” Daisy watched Rory's face with interest. Her expression was open and happy—very unlike the Rory Daisy was familiar with. “Good. Who took over my dog-tending duties?” She laughed. “Poor guy. Is my favorite paramedic there this time?”

Her laughter faded into a teasing smile. “Yeah, I know. That's why I said it. Listen, we have a question for you.” She broke off as if Ian had interrupted her. “Yep, I'm still at Daisy's. No, no sausage biscuits this time. The meatballs and wontons were just as good, though.” Her grin widened, and Daisy found herself smiling as well. Rory's happiness was contagious. “Can't. We ate them all. Can I ask my question now? Thanks. How long have the arsons been going on?” At Ian's response, her expression grew serious. “That often? And all small structures, right? Any chance Lou's cabin could've been considered a small structure?”

There was a long pause as Rory listened intently, her frown deepening. “Do you know anything about those accelerants Derek found in the forest service cabin? Okay. Let me know what the chief says. See you tomorrow morning.” Rory tipped her head away from the others, as if trying to hide her returning smile. “No, I don't think I'll be hungry for breakfast after eating all of these delicious snacks of Daisy's.” Her laugh was soft. “Fine. See you then. Be safe.”

By the time she'd ended the call, her poker face was back in place. “Ian said these fires have been happening about every month or two for over a year. He'll look up when the first report was when he gets back to the station. Once Chief Early arrives tomorrow morning, Ian will talk to him about whether Lou's house could've been the work of the arsonist, rather than her stalker, and Ian will check on what they found out about the accelerants. In return for the information, Ian requested that I bring home a doggie bag of snacks for him.”

Lou winced. “So good to know it could've been
two
homicidal crazy people gunning for me.”

“At least one's dead now,” Rory said, making Daisy cover her eyes and groan. “What?”

Luckily, Lou just laughed. “Thanks, Rory. That does help.”

After another hour of brainstorming possible links between the arsons and Willard Gray's murder, they called it a night.

“Should we meet again in a couple of days?” Lou asked as the group headed for the front doors. “We made so much progress—
and
you three don't shut down my wild theories like Callum does.”

As the others agreed enthusiastically to a second meeting and exchanged phone numbers, Daisy was positively giddy with excitement. Once everyone had exited and silence returned to her world, Daisy slid down to sit with her back against the door and pulled out her phone. Her thumb automatically found the tiny dent in the back where it had connected with the granite counter a few months back. Smiling, she scrolled through her contact list. So what if there might have been a dead-body removal across the street or that the sheriff had a strange obsession with making her think she was delusional? He was just one man, and her group of friends had expanded to the point that everyone couldn't fit on the screen anymore. The sight of the lengthened list of names made her…not content, but closer to it than she'd been since her mom's murder.

* * *

The crawl space access panel was right where Gabe Little had said it would be. Finally, something was going right.

Rob silently belly-crawled farther under the porch, his penlight gripped between his teeth. With his right hand, he reached down and worked a Phillips-head screwdriver out of the side pocket of his BDUs. The screws holding the access panel in place were corroded and rusty, and Rob gave a soundless huff of aggravation as he worked the first one loose.

It had been a long time since he'd done an unauthorized entry. If Daisy Little had been compliant, he wouldn't have to be lying in who-knows-what under a porch at two in the morning, fighting with decades-old hardware. Instead, he could be home with his sleeping son. Rob couldn't have her making Chris suspicious, though. The department was already down a deputy. They couldn't afford to lose another.

By the time he'd worked out the final screw, Rob was sweating and more than a little annoyed. He held his temper and carefully lifted the access panel away from the foundation. His tiny flashlight wasn't much help in cutting the thick darkness of the crawl space, but now wasn't the time to get hesitant. Unpleasant as it was, this had to be done.

Rob slid headfirst through the opening.

* * *

Daisy woke with a start.

Her heart was pounding, but she hadn't had a nightmare—that she could remember, at least. Lying perfectly still, staring through the darkness, Daisy listened. It was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that it was almost eerie. Her heart rate took off at a gallop again, and she slid out of bed. Glancing at the glowing clock numbers, she sighed. She hadn't even been asleep for an hour. Tomorrow was going to be painful.

Her bare feet were silent as she padded toward the window, listening for a repeat of whatever sound had woken her. There was nothing, though. Even the wind had taken a short, rare hiatus. It was strange not hearing the howling gusts battering at the house. Daisy had become so accustomed to that sound that the absence of it made her feel like the world was holding its breath.

With one knee on the window seat, she leaned forward and looked outside. Fog spread over the neighborhood, hiding all but the most basic shapes of the houses across the street. With a shiver, she moved away from the window. Trying to guess what might be out there, hiding in the mist, would only make her nerves worse.

She stood in the middle of her bedroom. If she tried to go back to bed, she'd just lie awake and jump at every faint sound. There'd be no way she could concentrate on a book, either, so reading was out. A run it was, then.

After turning on her bedside lamp, she moved over to her dresser and picked out a sports bra and some shorts. As she started pulling the oversized sleep shirt over her head, a muffled thump from downstairs made her freeze.

The fabric was still bunched around her face, blinding her, and she yanked it back into place. If she was going to be investigating mysterious noises, she wasn't about to do it almost naked.

I imagined it
, she tried to reassure her frantic brain.
No one is downstairs. The windows are sealed shut, and the door has a bazillion locks on it. There's no way someone could be downstairs. If someone's here, then that means this house isn't safe, and that means…
The floor tilted, and she swayed as her room began to gray around the edges.

“Stop!” she whispered fiercely. It wouldn't help anything if she talked herself into a panic attack. She started to move toward her bedside table, where her phone sat, but then she paused. Who would she call? Chris, to tell him she
might
have heard a noise? The sheriff? Daisy actually snorted out loud, imagining Rob Coughlin's reaction.

Before she called in reinforcements, she needed to make sure there really had been a noise, and that the noise had been caused by something dangerous. Tentatively, Daisy moved toward the hall, stopping in the doorway to try to peer through the darkness. All she saw were shadows.

Her heart tripped faster as she made her way to the stairs, carefully lowering her weight on each step so as not to make a noise. At the bottom, the doorway into the exercise room loomed. This was her sanctuary, her safe place. Tonight, though, it didn't feel safe.

Forcing herself to move, she pushed open the exercise room door and stopped abruptly. The windowless space wasn't shadowed and dim like the hall and the stairs—it was pure blackness.

Cursing herself for not grabbing the flashlight out of her nightstand, she reached along the wall and switched on the lights. The overheads blinded her for a few seconds, turning the exercise equipment into strange, overexposed shapes. Daisy blinked rapidly, twisting so she could see all corners, and the room came into focus. Her gaze darted around, searching for anything out of place—or anyone, full stop. Everything looked as it always did, but something made the room seem wrong. The equipment was too still, too quiet, and the light too bright, casting harsh shadows. She'd always loved this room, and its unexpected eeriness felt like the betrayal of a close friend.

Giving in to the growing urge to escape, she returned to the hall. As she checked each area, she continued turning on lights—the study, living room, dining room, and kitchen. With each flick of a switch, she held her breath until the new room came into focus and proved to be intruder-free. Every window was secured, and the front door locks were fully engaged. Despite all that, Daisy couldn't relax. The house, this home in which she'd spent so many years, was suddenly a hostile stranger.

Trying to rein in her runaway imagination, she returned to the kitchen. The house was an inanimate building, she reminded herself firmly. Any emotions she felt from it came from her own mind. She leaned against the counter, suddenly and completely exhausted as the adrenaline started to leave her system. The sound hadn't been an intruder. It could've come from outside or from her stressed, overtired brain. As soon as that thought occurred to her, she pushed it away, not willing to accept that she was hearing sounds that weren't there.

Despite the limp-noodle state of her limbs, she knew sleep would be elusive. Instead of doing her planned run, she headed for the bathroom and skipped straight to the post-workout shower. The water was almost painfully hot as it needled her scalp. Tilting her head back, Daisy closed her eyes and tried to let all the residual fear run down the drain.

* * *

After he heard the shower start, Rob slipped out of his hiding spot in the pantry. He was completely silent as he made his way up the stairs and into her bedroom.

“So…?”

“So…?” Daisy echoed absently as she examined her phone. Something was bugging her about it, but she couldn't figure out what. It just seemed
off
. It was definitely her phone—all her new contacts were still in there, plus her apps and email—but it just didn't feel right.

“Hey.” A single-serve packet of coffee grounds bounced harmlessly off her head, making her look up from her phone to see Chris watching her curiously. “Pay attention to me. It's too early to be texting.”

Although she shot him a mock-scowl, she placed her not-right phone on the kitchen counter next to her. “I'm not texting. And most people would think six is too early for friendly visits, too.”

Chris just waved that off. He'd come to her house right from work. Even if he hadn't mentioned it, she would've known from the bouncy energy he always radiated immediately after a shift. “How'd last night go?”

“Great.” She smiled at the memory of the evening. “Fun.”

He grinned broadly. “Good. Did you figure out anything about the case?”

“Nothing definite. We mostly talked about the fires.”

“Fires?”

“The arsons—the ones around town as well as the forest fires. Ellie's dad thinks they're related to Willard Gray's murder.”

“Related how?” All teasing was gone from his expression as he shifted into professional mode.

“We're not sure. Ellie's dad only said, ‘the fires,' and then he took off.”

“Hmm.”

Daisy felt a smile starting. That hum was so Chris. “You're going to look into that more, aren't you?”

“Probably.”

“And you're going to tell me what you find out?” She wasn't honestly that hopeful, but she figured she'd give it a shot.

“No.”

Accepting that with a shrug, she was surprised when Chris frowned deeply.

“What?”

“I talked to Rob about yesterday morning.”

“Yeah?” Daisy gave him her full attention.

“Yeah.” Now he wasn't just serious—he looked positively
grim
.

“What'd he say about the boot prints?”

Chris started to pace the width of the kitchen. “It was…weird. I figured he'd say he'd been hurrying through the investigation, since he didn't really believe anyone had been there, so he was trying to pacify you in the quickest way possible.”

“But…” His upheld hand stopped her.

“He shut me down. Wouldn't discuss it. Point-blank refused to send the fingerprint to the BCA for analysis. He turned it around on me.”

“On you? How?”

“Said I wasn't thinking clearly when it came to you. He implied that you were… I don't know, unbalanced or attention-seeking or something.”

At Daisy's flinch, he took a step closer to her and then stopped, thrusting his hand through his hair and making it stick up even more wildly than normal.

“You know I don't think that. I
know
you, Dais. None of the things he was saying were even close to reality, which is what made it so…”

“Weird?” she said softly.

He looked tired. “Weird.”

“So what's the next step?”

Chris resumed his pacing. “Rob pretty much banned me from having anything else to do with that empty house or any future calls from you.”

Sucking in a harsh breath as the implication hit her, Daisy whispered, “So you can't visit anymore?”

“No!” He'd been pacing away from her, but he whirled around to face her. “Of course not! Even if he could control who I see in my personal life, I wouldn't listen to him.”

Her shoulders sagged as the panic drained out of her. The thought of losing Chris had almost brought her to her knees.

Chris was still talking. “If you see that kid again, though, don't call Dispatch. Call me—I don't care what time it is—and I'll have one of the other deputies come out and do a thorough investigation.”

“Why is the sheriff so anti-me? Did he say anything?”

“Not about that.” His face was set in frustrated lines. “I talked to Libby last night, and Rob didn't mention to her why he wanted a heads-up if you called. She said he's done that with a couple of other people, but only the real”—his gaze shifted off to the side for a moment, like he was searching for a word with a PG-rating—“dirtbags.”

Squishing up her face, Daisy said, “Well, that makes me feel good.”

“Sorry, Dais.” He moved so he was standing in front of her. “I don't know why he's acting like this. It makes me wonder…”

“Wonder?” If he didn't finish his sentence, she'd die of curiosity.

To her relief, he continued, “If he thinks that Gray's murderer is with the department.”

Her eyes widened. “The sheriff suspects the killer is a
deputy
?”

“Possibly. That would explain why Rob's being so secretive, withholding information from us, like about Baxter Price. After the whole thing with Macavoy's early morning ‘junk pickup,' it made me start wondering.”

The thought that she might have witnessed the murderer in action punched her in the stomach. “Do you think Macavoy…?”

“He couldn't have killed Willard Gray, because he hasn't been here long enough, but he's involved somehow. I can't even talk to him about it, though, since he quit.”

“He quit?”

“Yeah.” Chris looked frustrated. “Called Dispatch, said he was quitting, and then he just left. He won't even answer his phone—at least not when I'm calling him. I wanted to talk to him about this whole thing, plus now we're shorthanded. We're running from call to call like a bunch of headless chickens.”

“But…he can't just leave!” Daisy sputtered. “He put a body—well, a possible body—in a squad car. Shouldn't the sheriff have told him not to leave town or something?”

Amusement lightened Chris's expression for a moment. “Cops don't actually say that in real life, you know. Besides, Rob is certain that it was junk, not a dead body, being put in the squad. If Rob suspects one of us, it isn't Macavoy.”

Daisy hummed, not liking that Macavoy could skip town so easily. Rob might think his former deputy was just hauling junk, but the sheriff hadn't seen it like Daisy had, hadn't watched the weight and movement of the corpse-like bundle.

She was still trying to absorb the possibility that a
cop
might have killed Willard Gray. Whether it was Macavoy or some other deputy, the idea was just wrong. The good guys should be just that—good. Not decapitating, cold-blooded murderers. Some of the deputies sounded better than others, but it was terrifying to consider that the very guy they were hunting could be the one who was supposed to provide Chris with backup on a dangerous domestic call. “Maybe the sheriff doesn't think it's someone in the department. Could he be trying to keep the information from some of the looser-lipped deputies so that it doesn't leak?”

“Like Lawrence?” Chris said thoughtfully. “Could be, but we already only give him information on a need-to-know basis. After the last time his brain took a vacation and he spilled confidential info to Lou, Rob's had him on a tight leash.”

“It could've made him paranoid about another leak—the sheriff, I mean.” As the theory took shape in her mind, she let the words leave her mouth unfiltered. It could be completely bogus, but Daisy realized she was slightly desperate to move away from the idea that a deputy was responsible for Gray's death. “Or he suspects someone in the outer circle.”

“Outer circle?”

“Medical, Fire, Search and Rescue,” she clarified. “From what the training group said, it's a complete gossip-fest. Is that true with the sheriff's department, too? I mean, would deputies talk to the EMTs or firefighters about details on the case and not think they were doing something wrong?”

“Could be.” His eyebrows pulled together as he thought. “I try to keep my mouth shut around anyone who isn't a cop—and not assigned to the case I'm talking about—but I know that some of the guys are a little more casual about it.”

“That's so spooky.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle. “One of the good guys might be a killer.”

Chris didn't respond beyond a slight tip of his head, but his mouth turned down at the corners.

As she studied him—her handsome, wonderful, loveable Chris—she mirrored his frown. She hated this uncertainty, not knowing whom they could trust. “Be careful out there.”

Meeting her gaze, he held it for several beats. “Always.”

* * *

Only an hour had passed after Chris left when there was a knock on the door. It was actually more of a series of heavy thuds, rather than an actual knocking sound, and she pressed the intercom button tentatively.

“Hello?”

“Daisy, let me in.”

Her eyes widening with surprise, she pushed the unlock button. When she opened the inner door, her dad came inside, his forearms and wrists strapped with grocery bag handles. He was juggling a couple of cardboard boxes, as well, and she hurried to grab one from him. Daisy grunted at the unexpected weight.

Setting it on the floor by her feet so she could secure the interior door locks, she eyed the box, but the flaps had been folded over so it was impossible to see what was inside. As soon as the last chain was in place, she scooped up the mystery package and followed her dad into the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, putting the box on the counter so she could help put away the groceries. “You got eggs! Thank you. I've been wanting to make some brownies.”

Bent over as he placed something in the vegetable-crisper drawer, he responded, “Figured you'd gotten low, so I stopped by the Connor Springs grocery store before heading home.”

“Oh, good.” As she reached over him to put away the milk, she craned her neck to see what vegetables he'd gotten. “Their produce is always so much better than the stuff from Melcher's.”

He made a sound of agreement.

“Watch your head when you stand,” she warned as she opened the freezer door. “Was chicken on sale? I think you bought out the store.”

“No.” He carefully retreated, ducking his head until he could straighten without braining himself. “I just know you like it, so…” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

“I do. Thank you.” She finished stacking the packages in the freezer. Picking up a pound of ground beef, she hesitated and then put it in the fridge, instead. “I'll use that to make your favorite meatloaf, as long as you picked up some jalapeños?” She glanced down, loving how the fruit and veggie drawers were full of colorful things. Frozen vegetables and canned fruit were fine, but nothing like fresh ones.

“No.” Her dad gathered the empty bags, still avoiding eye contact. “I mean, I did get jalapeños, but I won't be here for dinner tonight.”

“Hot date?” Although she felt mild disappointment, it was nothing like she would've felt even a week ago. She still missed her dad, but she'd been having plenty of company, and that seemed to have filled the usual void of loneliness.

He shook his head. “New job.”

“Oh.” That was quick. Typically, he stayed several days or even a week before heading off to the site of a new project. “Another one in Connor Springs?”

“This one is south of Parker. Huge new house with ground-source heating and cooling, PV and passive solar, wind—pretty much every alternative-energy system they could think of, except for conservation. Ten thousand square feet, including a turret. Rich people are nuts.”

Her smile was slightly forced. “It's going to be a long one, then, huh?”

He shot her a sharp look. “Don't be laying a guilt trip on me for working.”

“I'm not.” She focused on smoothing a bag of Tropical Skittles. He'd gotten all her favorites. “I'm not. I'll miss you, but I made some new friends.”

“Yeah? That's good.” His expression softened slightly, although it remained wary. He nodded toward the box she'd carried inside and its slightly bigger mate. “Come see what else I found for you.”

She'd forgotten about the mystery boxes, and she made an excited sound that was embarrassingly close to a squeal. She loved presents. Unfolding the flaps on the box she'd left on the counter, she sucked in a breath.

“Oh, Dad! These are awesome!” Daisy carefully pulled out one of the vintage children's books that filled the box. “Where'd you find these?”

“The Connor Springs library had one of those fundraising sales, where people can donate books.” She nodded, still focused on the box's contents. From her first quick peek, the books looked to be in great condition. Daisy couldn't wait to list them online. “That box was five bucks. I was going to text you a picture to see if you'd be interested, but I wanted to surprise you.”

“These are perfect—thank you!”

“There's another box, too.”

“Oh!” Daisy quickly returned the books she'd pulled out of the box and headed for the second one. “I totally forgot about Box Number Two.” She used her game-show announcer voice, but her dad just looked confused.

Shrugging off her failed joke, she opened the flaps on the second box. Peering inside, she had to fight the urge to jump back in horror. “Oh…wow.” Inside was the creepiest pair of dolls she'd ever seen.

“Those were at the junk store on Evergreen Street. They looked really old, so I figured you might be able to get lots of money for them.” He sounded so proud that Daisy stifled the need to reclose the flaps and send the box with Gabe to Parker. If they were in another town, they couldn't kill her in her sleep.

The one with the wonky eye was staring at her as if it were plotting her murder. Daisy already had possible dead-body shuffling going on outside her bedroom window. She didn't need a pair of hell dolls adding to her nightmares. Her dad looked so pleased with himself, though, that she couldn't crush him.