Chapter Sixteen

The park behind my store crawled with police officers. And half the town was down on the sidewalk. Okay, maybe not half, but a lot. Jake and the fire department had been called in again for crowd control.

I sat with the back door open, just inside the break room drinking a cup of tea. I wanted to close up, race home and crawl into bed. But my brother and his team had set up shop in the back of the store again. And he wanted me to wait for him.

All of this was my fault.

When George nearly ran me into one of the trees down the path toward the old gazebo, it hit me. What if the murder happened somewhere else? My brother, in the few notes I’d seen on his desk had written this down. And it was in Kane’s notes about the lack of blood at the scene.

Then there was the confusion over the head wound. Those pictures would probably haunt my mind for life, but it was Kane’s note about the head wound being larger than the indention of the murder weapon. He’d gone through several scenarios in his notes, but ultimately landed on the force of the victim falling with the bottle lodged in his head—yes, that had been an erp moment for me—had increased the size of the wound from bashing into the ground.

But where was all the blood? I’d been wondering that since I read the notes. It didn’t make a bit of sense.

That’s why it hit me that maybe the bottle hit on another tree, or the steel streetlamps, or maybe one of the posts in the gazebo. The first bashing of the head could have been done anywhere and maybe the victim tried to run away.

That’s what I’d told my brother.

“Hey, Ains, we’re just about finished up. I’ll be able to take you home soon,” he said.

“Did you find it? The first place?”

He nodded. “It’s almost a half mile down. We don’t know for sure, but there’s some hair in the bark of the tree, and blood. If it hadn’t rained the other day, we probably would find more. What made you think of that?”

Well, I couldn’t tell him how. Then he’d know I’d very much been doing things I shouldn’t, and I already had all kind of guilt about that.

“I don’t know. I was doing some—uh—research the other day and it just hit me. I’m pretty sure it’s also in one of the James Patterson books. The murder scene isn’t the murder scene sort of thing.”

“Research? Oh, for your book?”

“I’ve been reading a lot.” That was true. “Different types of subgenres and I guess it sort of stuck with me. You know I can be OCD about details sometimes.” That was also true. My mind wouldn’t let things go. Like the time I saw a commercial for Reese’s peanut butter Easter eggs, and I couldn’t sleep until I went to the store and bought some.

And then ate the whole bag. All.

Or the time my ex said his aunt died and I couldn’t let it go. Turned out he was on a date with someone else, and his aunt, who I tried to send flowers for the funeral, was not dead.

I called his mother. It was a thing. She thought maybe someone forgot to tell her that her sister was dead. Awkward. It was one of the worst days of my life.

After I saw him in a restaurant with a date, I ran to the alley beside it and cried.

And that’s when I was mugged.

I ended up in the hospital with a fractured humerus, a massive headache, and heartache that I’m not sure I’m over. It’s been almost two years and it still hurts.

Ugh. Brain. Why did you have to go there?

“Kane’s on his way,” Greg said as he sat on the stool across from me. “He wanted a first-hand look at the scene. Says maybe I should hire you on as a consultant.”

I laughed, but it came out as a weird squeak. “I just had a lucky guess.”

“Well, it’s worked out. This puts a new spin on things and means we can go back to the beginning. Lucy is on her way, as well.”

She’d be the last person I wanted to talk to. “Do you think this means Michael will be off the hook? Maybe it didn’t take such a big man to kill him, if he was already injured. Right?”

George barked from under my feet and did the whiny thing that meant he needed a good run. We hadn’t finished his walk when I had the epiphany about the case.

“We’ll see.” He gave George a pat on the head. “I tell you what, I can have one of the guys run you home. I can lock up when we’re done.”

I really did want to go. So. Much. Maybe eat some chocolate and popcorn, at the same time, and watch Mary Poppins or something that didn’t involve murder. I also didn’t want to play twenty questions, or more with Detective Lucy.

“It’s still light outside. I don’t need anyone to run me home. I’ve got George and a great security system. I swear, with all the lights it’s like a football field out there.”

He shook his head. “I’d feel better if someone followed you and checked the place out.”

If it meant I could go, it was worth it.

“Fine.”

“Oh. Hold on, I want to give you something.”

He went out back and then returned a few minutes later holding a box.

“I know how you feel about guns, but this is a Taser. You just point it toward the target and shoot.”

It looked like a water pistol.

“The wattage on this one is higher than the ones you can buy in the store. It’ll take someone out for a good two minutes, which gives you time to get away. Just make sure you keep the batteries charged.”

“I don’t need all of this, I have George.”

He sighed. “I know, but it’s better to have some kind of protection for the both of you. Okay. Please, take this and—” He sat a big canister on the table. “This is pepper spray. Carry it with you all the time, okay?”

“There’s a hundred percent chance I’m going to end up hurting myself with this stuff. You’ve met me. You know how I roll.”

I’m not exactly the epitome of grace on a good day, let alone if some bad guy was trying to chase me down.

I shook my head. I’d probably blind myself with that stuff.

He grinned. “I have seen you in action, which is why both of these are incredibly easy to use. Just take them—it’ll make me feel better.”

I pursed my lips, but then tossed both items in my tote that I carried. “If it means I can go home, I’m happy to do it.”

“That’s my Ains. After we finish up here, I’ll swing by to check on you.”

I rolled my eyes. I know—so mature. “I’m fine.”

“You received three threatening notes from a killer. You aren’t fine.”

“Oh. My. God. I just realized something.”

“What?”

“Michael can’t write. I mean, he can but it’s not legible. He writes like a doctor. There’s no way he left those notes—they were in Sharpie. Not that you think he did it. Also, he was with Shannon today. They’re out at his place, doing their wedding registry online because he can’t leave town.”

Greg just smiled. “That’s all good info. Now, do me a favor. Butt out of this. I don’t want whoever is leaving these notes to have any more reasons to hurt you. Understood?”

Technically, other than scaring the wits out of me, I hadn’t been hurt at all. Was this gaslighting? Trying to make me feel like I was going crazy? I’d read about it in many books. Someone trying to freak someone out from afar.

There was just one problem, I wasn’t scared anymore.

I was mad. Someone was messing with me and my friends.

I wasn’t about to let them get away with it.