What's Done in Darkness (6 page)

“I get it.” Katrina smiled warmly. “I was considering finally going to grad school when my parents died. Then I came down here, found this place, and decided to try my hand at a coffee shop. It took four years of college, and some years working at jobs I didn't like, but I think I found my calling.”

I admired Katrina. She wasn't making any excuses about how life had gotten in the way of her plans. She was admitting what most students didn't want to—that they didn't have their ten-year plan all mapped out. It was hard when you were eighteen and going into college to know what you really wanted to do for the rest of your life.

“What about you?” Katrina asked.

“I like to write,” I found myself saying, something I rarely told people. “But that's not what I went to school for. I majored in economics, though, in all honesty, I hate it. I don't really know if I can make it as a writer, but I'd like to give it a try.”

“Awesome. What do you write?”

“Short stories, mostly. But I hope that I can end up writing a novel.”

“Well, this is where Hemingway got so much of his inspiration.”

“Yeah, my sister said the same thing.” I paused. “Other than that, I figured I was going to go to teachers college. Teach economics in high school or something. But then my dad died, and I missed a semester of school, and I'm not sure anymore…”

My voice trailed off as it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know if my sister had told Katrina everything. I looked at her searchingly, but if she knew anything about what I'd recently been through her eyes gave nothing away. Katrina simply nodded, making me believe that no, she didn't know about my emotional breakdown and how I had ended up overdosing on pills and having to miss a semester.

And for that I was glad. It wasn't the kind of story I wanted people to know, so I was grateful that my sister hadn't told Katrina this. At least it didn't appear that Marie had.

Katrina clapped her hands together. “Okay, I've got to head back downstairs. Work calls. Why don't you get your stuff, settle in. Maybe take a walk around the town, get acquainted with the area. You've had a long drive. You don't have to start work today.”

“I appreciate that, thanks.”

Katrina's smile was easy, welcoming. “Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow, I'm putting you to work. And you'll be busy.”

“Busy is okay,” I told her. “In fact, busy is great.”

*   *   *

I awoke with a start, frightened. For a moment my strange surroundings had me confused about where I was.

And then I remembered. Florida. The coffee shop. Katrina.

My heart was beating hard, a sense of terror spreading through me. Had I just heard a crash?

I lay in my bed, perfectly still. For several moments, I heard nothing.

And then, another loud bang. Like something had been slammed against the wall. And a scream.

I bolted upright now. Was Katrina okay?

As I sat, terrified, I thought I heard the sound of whimpering. Katrina
wasn't
okay.

I was in the process of throwing the covers off, ready to head out of my room to check on Katrina, when I heard: “You fucking asshole!”

That was Katrina's voice.

“You're the one acting like a bitch.”

That was Christian, Katrina's British boyfriend, whom I'd met late in the evening. I'd barely said hello to him and shaken his hand before I retired to my room to get some sleep. Alone in my room, I had sat on the bed, stunned that Katrina was dating someone like him. With his lanky body, less-than-average good looks, and pale white skin, they were an odd couple if ever there was one.

Both of them were now screaming at each other. I glanced at my bedside clock. Three fourteen in the morning. Why were they even up, much less fighting?

“I didn't come all the way from England to be treated like this!”

“Then why don't you just fucking leave?”

I put my hands over my ears, trying to block the sound of their yelling. But then I damn near jumped off the bed when I heard the sound of something shattering against a wall.

Holy, what was going on?

I didn't know if I should get up and go check on them. I didn't want to interfere in a private matter. But I also didn't want things to get so out of control that someone got hurt.…

The screaming match continued, with more banging sounds that truly alarmed me. Should I call 911?

I didn't know what to do. This was my first night here. I didn't want to call anyone unless I knew that someone was being murdered. If Katrina and Christian were simply having a spat, albeit one that was scaring the crap out of me, did I really want to involve the police in this matter?

“… I fucking swear, Katrina…”

Hearing those words from Christian, I threw off the covers and got out of bed. What if those words had been a threat? A threat to do harm?

Better I intrude on them than stay silent in my room while someone got hurt.

Quietly opening my bedroom room, I walked across the living-room space to Katrina's room. I put my ear against the door, listening.

“Come on, babe,” Christian was saying.

“Don't touch me,” Katrina replied.

Their voices were lower now, and I hoped that meant that the argument had ended.

“No, Christian.” But Katrina no longer sounded so insistent, and I actually thought I heard a giggle.

I stood, waiting, afraid of being caught at the door but also afraid to go back to my room without any clear sense of direction. I'm not sure how many minutes passed—maybe just a couple?—but I began to hear what sounded like groans of passion.

“Oh yes, baby. Right there…”

“You like that?” came Christian's response.

“You know I do. Yes, yes!”

I jerked backward at Katrina's loud, passionate cry. Had all of this commotion simply been a game of kinky sex?

If they had been arguing earlier, they most definitely were not now. Which was a relief. But I stayed at the door, listening a little longer, feeling like a pervert as I heard their passionate groans intensifying.

Indeed, the lovemaking was just as vigorous and intense as the fighting had been.

Satisfied that World War Three had been averted, I made my way back to my room. And suddenly I was missing Wesley. I missed having him put his arms around me when we slept in bed. Missed the makeup sex after we'd fought.

In my room, I retrieved my phone. The next thing I knew, I was texting Wesley, asking him how he was doing and telling him that I missed him.

After all, it was only after midnight in Seattle. He might still be up.

And then I waited, and waited. Twenty minutes later, there was no reply and I felt one hundred times worse.

“Idiot,” I muttered to myself. Then I turned off my phone, curled into a ball on my bed, and prayed that sleep would come quickly.

 

CHAPTER SIX

SHAWDE

The ringing phone jarred Shawde awake. As her head bopped up and she opened her eyes, she realized that she was at her desk. She'd fallen asleep there, her binder of research open beside her.

Shawde quickly reached for her cell phone and looked at the screen, hoping to see Gordon's name flashing on it. Instead, she saw Cathy Campbell's name and picture.

As the phone rang a third time, Shawde debated not answering. But she knew Cathy would be concerned if she didn't hear from her, so she swiped the icon on her smartphone to accept the call.

“Hey, Cathy,” Shawde greeted her, injecting a light tone into her voice.

“Shawde, hi. How are you?”

“Good. I've been busy. But good.”

“Yeah?” Cathy sounded skeptical. “You sure?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.”

“I've been worried. You broke up with Maurice, and I haven't really heard from you.”

Shawde swallowed at the mention of Maurice's name. “I needed a bit of time, but I've been okay.”

“That's good to hear, Shawde. Really good. Do you have plans for Friday night?”

“No.”

“Great. Because a few of us are planning to go out on Friday night to celebrate Alyesha's birthday. Me, Vanessa, Caitlin. We're going to head to a restaurant, then out on the town for some dancing. We'd love for you to join us.”

“Oh.” Shawde paused. Then she said, “I'll try.”

“Oh no, you don't. Don't blow me off. If you don't say yes now, you won't show up. We all haven't been out in so long. Please say yes.”

Shawde opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know what to say. If Maurice didn't understand, how could her friends? She wasn't in the mood to go out and celebrate when all that mattered was seeing her brother's killer brought to justice.

“Shawde?”

Her phone beeped, indicating that she had another call coming through. Easing the phone away from her face, she saw Gordon's name on her screen.

“Cathy, I've got another call coming through. I've got to go.”

“Will you join us Friday night?”

“I'll call you back,” Shawde said, then quickly answered Gordon's call. She'd been hoping to hear from him tonight. “Hi, Gordon. How are things going?”

“It's been quiet, but one interesting thing happened.”

Shawde sat up straight. “Oh?”

“I told you about Christian, Katrina's boyfriend who showed up last week. Well, another person arrived who's staying with them as well.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Jade. I don't have a last name yet. We only exchanged a few words when she brought me coffee. She mentioned she's down from Buffalo.”

Shawde bit down on her bottom lip as she thought. “Buffalo? You think she went to school with Katrina?”

“She's younger than Katrina, that's for sure. Maybe she just came down for work. But she's living upstairs with Katrina and Christian. That much I was able to ascertain.”

“If she's living with them, there must be a connection,” Shawde said. “I know you'll find out what it is.” She sighed softly, then went on. “Thanks, Gordon. I appreciate you being down there for me, keeping an eye out.”

“No problem. Shemar was like a brother to me. I'm glad I can help out.”

Shawde appreciated his words. Yes, she was paying him, but he was charging her less than his normal investigator rate because he'd gone to school with Shemar from grade school through high school. And at least Gordon didn't think she was crazy. He'd listened to her arguments about Katrina and believed that she was behind Shemar's death.

“Let me know if anything changes,” Shawde said. “And try to find out Christian's last name. I want to know why he's here from England, how he and Katrina met.”

“Of course,” Gordon said. “I'm trying to keep a low profile. For now, I'm just a regular customer who comes in every day and works on his laptop. I'll find a way to strike up a conversation with Christian and get back to you.”

“Thanks,” Shawde said.

As she ended the call, her eyes went to her binder of articles and notes about Katrina. Shawde had had it open to the page with one of the articles about the carbon-monoxide accident that had claimed the lives of Katrina's parents.

Accident. Yeah, right.
That's how the incident had been termed, but Shawde knew better. And she'd tried to enlighten the police with an anonymous phone call.

“You need to look into Katrina Hughes, their daughter,” Shawde had said when she had called the Georgia state police from a blocked number.

“Who is this?” had been the officer's reply.

“It doesn't matter who I am. You just need to trust me. The Hugheses didn't die accidentally. Look into Katrina. She's behind this.”

“I'm going to need your name and number,” the officer had said. At which point, Shawde had hung up.

She hadn't wanted to leave her name. She was fast getting an idea of how the police worked, and she wasn't impressed. If she'd left her name, they would find out that she was Shemar's sister and that she'd alleged Katrina was behind his accident. Considering the police in upstate New York had never taken her seriously, she knew the Georgia police would determine she was a nutcase who couldn't accept the truth.

Which, she had to acknowledge, was how a lot of people saw her. Even her friends, like Cathy. If Shawde were to tell Cathy that she had an investigator in Key West trailing Katrina, Cathy would tell her to get some counseling.

Shawde didn't need counseling. What she needed was Katrina behind bars.

As Shawde reread the article, hoping for some clue she hadn't picked up on before, she yawned. When she got up, she thought about Katrina. When Shawde went to work, she wondered what she could be doing differently to help prove her case. And when she came home, she looked through her binder again, studying the various articles and going over the notes she'd taken from the conversations she'd had with some of Katrina's former schoolmates and sorority sisters.

Shawde flipped to the section of the binder labeled “INTERVIEWS.” Everything was catalogued in alphabetical order and also according to the interviewee's college year at the time that Shemar had been murdered.

Jennifer Adelaide was the very first name in the file. A sophomore. She had dropped out of the Alpha Sigma Pi sorority after only a few months.

Shawde had recorded every interview she'd had on the phone with witnesses and then had transcribed them and put them in this file. It was easier to reread the interviews, slowly study every word to see if there was something she had missed.

“‘Was there anything strange you recall about Katrina?'” Shawde said softly, reading aloud the first question she had asked Jennifer.

Strange? Um, well, Katrina wasn't very nice, that's for sure. She was a major hard-ass. She
loved
to make us pledges do a ton of shitty things. Like seriously, was there really a need for us to scrub every toilet with a toothbrush? She got off on making us suffer. I call that strange.