Sympathy For The Devil (22 page)

The stairs in the distance creaked, though she was only half-listening. Steady steps followed and she cracked an eye open as Devin paused in the doorway. He cast a steady look at her, then walked the rest of the way into the small room. He’d changed into fresh jeans and a T-shirt, and with his height and powerful build, he seemed to dwarf the space.

“Here.” He handed her the cup of tea, then set a stack of fresh towels and a robe on the bathroom counter.

The tea was black, sweetened but without cream. She didn’t much care what it tasted like, was just glad to sip something that helped warm her. “Thank you.”

“I don’t have a working washer and dryer.” He nodded at her pile of clothes. “But I’ll send you home in something.”

“Not buck naked? Such a gentleman.”

Devin swept his gaze over her, and she knew even with the cloudy quality the water had taken on, he could clearly see every exposed inch of her. “I don’t object to that.”

“The rest of Stirling Falls might have something to say about it.”

“You know...” He sat on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub, trailed his hand in the warm water. His fingers moved up and brushed her shoulder as his eyes met hers. “Walking through town naked would be the least of your worries after being seen near me.”

“I alibied you with the police—it can’t get much worse.”

“It can.” Warm water spread goose bumps on her neck as the calloused tips of his fingers moved up to cup her jaw. “It will.”

Worse than a creepy note in my car?
But she didn’t bring that up to him. He’d seen Malone’s car the other night, seen his own house. It was good enough that he knew how bad it could be—he didn’t need to know how extensively she’d already been touched by it herself.

Why she was accepting this and not running the other way, she didn’t know. It defied all logic—she didn’t know him all that well, shouldn’t be risking her career and reputation by being with him. But she tried to let go, to stop thinking about it so much—wherever things went, she was along for the ride. At least temporarily.

“The fastest way, then, is to let me prove your innocence,” she said. “Which means answering my questions.”

He regarded her silently, still dragging his thumb along her jaw. She tried to keep her face neutral but her body yearned for him anew.

“Fine,” Devin said at last. “Over dinner.”

Tash nodded and sipped her tea as he rose and left her in the bath. Though she doubted he’d be all that forthcoming, at least it was a start.

The start of something good or something bad?

She had no answer for that beyond
trouble
.

****

Tash left the bathroom wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe that must’ve been Devin’s as it nearly overwhelmed her and dragged around her ankles. She had the empty teacup in hand and padded barefoot down the dark hall. It wasn’t near dusk yet but the overcast sky made the house more shadowed than it should have been.

Downstairs, Devin worked in the kitchen; she heard water running, dishes clinking, and the fan going over the stove. Instead of rushing down there to meet him, she paused in the hall and glanced at the open doors.

Two bedrooms were open, though one looked like more of a storage room. The other was small with a twin bed and a dresser, looking like a guest room more than anything else, though the pair of duffel bags tucked to the side and rumpled bedcover suggested it was perhaps Devin’s room.

Another door was closed to her, however. She paused with her hand on the old brass knob, still listening to the noise below and casting a look at the dark staircase. She’d hear him, no doubt, if he was on his way up. She could peek, just briefly.

With care, she turned the cool brass knob and gently pushed open the door. A dark room awaited her, filled with the musty scent of disuse. But this was definitely the master bedroom—it was larger than the other rooms, with a double bed, dresser, nightstands, blanket box, and even a small sitting area by the window that overlooked the front yard.

The old four-poster bed was made, untouched from whoever last was in here. With a hot blush, she realized that must’ve been when Chelsea was alive. The knickknacks on the dresser, the books along the bottom of the nightstand. Were her clothes still in those dresser drawers? It was as if the ghost of the dead woman hung in the air, warning her away.

Tash looked away and shut the door again, trying not to read too much into things. Granted, Devin hadn’t been living in the house when his estranged wife was killed, and up until he was forcibly removed from the bungalow he was renting, he hadn’t stayed here at all. But while she had seen the interior work being done downstairs, she had to wonder why absolutely nothing had been touched in this room. Unresolved feelings. Guilt. Or something else?

The shadow of Chelsea hung over her as she descended the stairs, an uncomfortable feeling worming in her gut. How much he mourned her all these years later, she didn’t know and didn’t want to ask, but the thought of his dead wife being on his mind while they had, well, done
those
things just left her ill.

She put on a half smile and trekked around the staircase toward the brightly lit kitchen. No traces of the broken phone remained. A light shone over the round oak kitchen table, bowls, glasses, and silverware already in place. Fragrant aromas drifted through the warm kitchen, all pleasant herbs and spices that made her stomach growl.

Devin leaned over the stove, stirring something in a pot with a wooden spoon. “I’m not welcome in the stores in town, so supplies are limited. It’s just soup.”

“Soup sounds lovely.” Tash set down the cup beside the sink and sat at the table. A basket of garlic bread sat to the side and she resisted the urge to grab a piece—she could at least wait until he sat down.

A fan sat in the corner of the room, twisting back and forth. It struck her for a few seconds, blew her dried curls around, and then swung back toward the other side of the room.

Devin lifted the soup pot, poured its contents in a large dish, and then brought the bowl to the table with a ladle and spooned out their portions. “Tomato with basil.”

Tash bit back a comment about wanting to take him home with her forever and ever, but she could
definitely
grow used to someone preparing home cooked meals for her. “Smells delicious.”

He settled across from her and indicated the bread, which she dived into. A pitcher of ice water sat between them, and Devin poured a glass for each of them.

“Can I ask you something?” Tash said between bites of bread.

He shook his head, his lips quirked in a partial grin. “That didn’t take long.”

“From everything I read, it
sounds
like the police assumed it was you right away...”

“The husband being guilty tends to be the first assumption.”

“So was no one else investigated?”

He shrugged, avoided her eyes, and whirled the spoon around his soup without eating. “Not that they shared with me.”

Which meant there were many possibilities no one had looked into. “Do—”

“My turn,” he said. “Were you lying when you said you were from around here?”

She shook her head. “No. My parents split up, and both moved to the city but in separate homes, and I bounced back and forth. I came back here a lot but I wasn’t here when... I literally didn’t know who you were when I saw you. Everything I’d heard was secondhand. Back to my question—do you have any enemies?”

“Joel Perry’s pretty high on the list.”

“I mean from before. Did either your or Ch—your wife have anyone out to get you?”

He cut a look at her at last. “You don’t think I’ve been over this a hundred thousand times over the years?”

“I think a fresh perspective can be helpful.”

But he shook his head, violently tearing a slice of garlic bread in half. “I’m not discussing this.”

More and more, she suspected going back and looking at the original murder would solve these new ones, but if Devin didn’t cooperate...she’d have to get creative.

For now, she tried to shut off her workaholic brain and focus on eating. The soup was just as good as it smelled, tomato with fresh basil and the salty bite of parmesan cheese.

Silence took up between them and she did regret bringing up murder over the dinner table. Periodically she forgot that being busy and not having a social life meant she was a little stunted in some places.

Which perhaps she should explain. “I’m sorry. I... The only people I tend to interact with are ones I work with in some capacity. This is all I’ve done for a couple of years now, and we’ve known for a while my boss was going to retire, so I jumped headfirst into the job.”

“I jumped headfirst into mine after...” He cleared his throat. “But there’s a slight difference between talking about food and talking about murder.”

She nodded. After this, either she had to start getting out more or she had to totally become a social hermit forever.

“So was it Adam?” Devin asked at last.

Tash glanced up from her soup. “I’m sorry?”

His intense blue eyes met hers, his brows rising to give her a meaningful look. “Was it Adam who hired you? If the police didn’t.”

“I...am not at liberty to say.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“Did you two ever get along?”

“Before my separation, yes. He was the one who introduced me to his sister in the first place.”

No wonder things were so tense. “He’s got a baby on the way, he’s just nervous.”

“He won’t be thrilled that you’re trying to prove I didn’t do it.”

And
that
was definitely a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to having. “I know. I’m going to formally resign his case and return the money.”

“And investigate pro bono?”

“That’s the plan.” Though her bank account hurt just contemplating it. She wished Malone was around, that he could advise her. At least she wouldn’t need to follow Devin around all the time, but other client hours would really eat into following up on the serial killer.

“What if I hired you then?”

She sized him up, waited to see if it was a joke or something else, but no hint of teasing met his eyes. He was intensely serious, watching her and pausing his eating as he waited.

“I’m expensive,” she said with a suggestive cock of her brow.

“I can swing it.”

She felt just as weird taking Devin’s money, though, and didn’t relish the idea of having to pull teeth to get him to tell her anything about Chelsea’s murder. “How about you cook for me a couple more times and we’ll call it even?”

“Deal.” He extended his hand across the table.

She accepted, his large strong hand dwarfing hers, and she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret any of this.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sunday morning the Stirling Falls police station was dead silent.

No one sat at the front desk. Tash paused there for a moment, giving a quick glance around, and then proceeded around the desk toward the back. The air inside at least was cool, and the artificial lights made the space white instead of the hot yellow-orange glow from outside. Already Tash missed yesterday’s rain.

The click of fingers striking a keyboard sounded toward the back as she passed several closed doors. The large area at the end of the hall had several pairs of desks—some messy, some orderly—and more doors to offices.

Keisha alone was seated at a desk in the room, working on her laptop. She didn’t look up as Tash paused next to the water cooler. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Combing Hastings Creek for the dump site. There’s a
lot
of ground to cover.”

Good for her, at least, to snoop around without anyone knowing. Tash casually walked toward her cousin.

Keisha still hadn’t looked up at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you see police files.” Keish’s brown eyes were locked on the screen, which reflected blue on her wire-framed reading glasses.

“Then maybe you can answer a question for me.” Tash sat across her cousin’s desk and waited until Keisha looked up at her at last before continuing. “Is there
anyone
else they’re investigating besides Devin Archer?”

“We don’t have any leads,” Keish said as she leaned back in her squeaky chair and sighed. She swept her shoulder-length braids up and back, clipping them up and then rubbing at her neck as if it was sore. “There have been zero forensic traces of this guy. There are no witnesses. Perry keeps coming back to Archer.”

“But Archer’s only a suspect because Perry thinks he committed the original murder, right? The key is in Chelsea Cooper-Archer’s file. Whoever was overlooked
then
is doing the killing now.”

“Tash—”

“Just listen.” Natasha leaned forward, eyes earnest. “I was with Archer when that girl was killed Friday night. In fact, I followed him home Wednesday when she went missing. He didn’t do it. So if the same guy killed all three women, it’s not him, unless Perry’s suggesting there are two killers. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Look, I’m not supposed to do this, but you need to see something...” Keisha rose and gestured toward an office to the side.

Tash followed her there, and beyond the door lay a huge corkboard with all the recent murder investigation information. Just as she reached for her phone to hopefully subtly take a picture of the board, she belatedly realized it was somewhere in the creek and she didn’t have a backup.

Keish was oblivious, moving for a stack of file folders on a desk against the wall. “Finally got these in—they took some chasing down.”

With difficultly, Tash tore her eyes from the investigation board and moved to her cousin’s side, looking over her shoulder at the open file folder.

“Had a hell of a time getting this sent from the city. It’s not like the movies where there’s a huge database of easily searchable things—Perry had me spend hours on the phone calling various stations for help.” Her index finger, tipped in dark red polish, touched the first crime scene photo. “This one is from two years ago and this...” She pushed the picture aside and pointed at it as well. “Is from six months ago. Two women restrained, assaulted, stabbed, and their bodies dumped. One went missing outside of a fetish club, the other was a sex worker who specialized in...kinkier clientele.”