Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (38 page)
“Don’t forget the plant he had Frost ingest. There had to be a reason for that.” Ramsey let her gaze wander for a few seconds over the photos of the victim tacked on their murder board. “Likely the reason stemmed from him. It means something only to the killer. It’s just as likely the location of the dump site does, too.”
Rollins looked doubtful. “It’s also possible that Frost ate that plant or whatever on her own. It might be a clue to where she was being kept, ever think of that? One of the first cases I worked in TBI was a suspicious death. Husband swore up and down his wife had committed suicide. Swallowed a bunch of pills and booze. Autopsy found a key in her stomach. Turned out she’d found a strong box he kept with photos of him and young—very young—male prostitutes. He walked in on her before she could put things away, but she managed to swallow the key without him knowin’. Helped us crack the case wide open.”
“Well, until we get a lead on the identity of the plant, we’re just spinning our wheels.” But somehow she doubted Cassie Frost had been free to pick a plant and eat it shortly before her death, especially given what she’d endured in the time prior to her murder. “Can’t say I’ve gotten lucky on any of the ViCAP hits regarding that similarity in homicides.”
Looking surprised, Rollins said, “Why, how many hits did you get?”
A yawn ambushed her then, and Ramsey was reminded of just how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. “Six. But I heard from four of the detectives today, and none of the foreign objects ingested were plant substances.” Fecal matter, shell casings, and in one instance, shoe leather . . . the cases had ranged from the gross to the bizarre. But none had matched this case.
Rubbing his chin, Rollins glanced at his watch. “If Sanders hired someone, it was a rank amateur. No other word for someone dumb-ass enough to hang ’round and let her see him.”
“If those incidents are related, yeah.”
“Seems a bit too coincidental to believe she came to the attention of a stalker
and
a killer, doesn’t it?”
and
a killer, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. His words closely aligned with her own thoughts. “But the thing that gets me is, after talking to Sanders, I’m convinced he’s a scumbag. Maybe he wanted Cassie dead for the money. But as much as I dislike the guy, I find it difficult to imagine him ordering his ex-girlfriend to be brutalized the way she was prior to death.” To hear him tell it, he’d still had feelings for the woman. A bullet would be more his speed. Something quick and easy, over in a few seconds. He’d tell himself she hadn’t suffered a bit, wait a few weeks and collect the insurance money without too many pangs of conscience.
Rollins snorted. “Yeah, well that’s the breaks when you hire a hit. Especially an amateur who decides to vary from the plan a little. Probably figured to get his jollies prior to doing the job and no one would be the wiser. It’ll be interestin’ to see if somethin’ shows up in Sanders’s financials pointin’ to him payin’ someone for the job.”
And how much, she added silently, Sanders would have been able to afford to pay to make it happen.
Rollins got to his feet. “Meant to talk to you, too, ’bout Ezra T. takin’ after you that way last night. Dev told me ’bout it today. You’d be within your right to press charges. Figured you wouldn’t be wantin’ to but needed to ask formally.”
A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “No, forget it. You were right. He’s not a reliable source of information.”
Mark looked grim. “He’s not, but he needs more lookin’ after than it ’pears he’s gettin’. I went up to the Tibbitts’s place this afternoon to tell ’em as much, too. Thought I’d swing by again tonight. Be sure they’re keepin’ him home and givin’ him his medication the way they’re supposed to.”
Uneasy with the topic, she merely nodded.
“Never heard ’bout him goin’ after someone that way before.” Rollins started moving toward the door. “Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ it lightly.”
“Dev says he’s harmless.”
“Usually I’d agree. But I can’t allow him to be attackin’ people without provocation, either. Next time he might pick someone not as capable of defendin’ themselves, and we could have an injury on our hands.”
Her cell rang then and he turned to go. “I’ll just let myself out. Appreciate you bringin’ me up to date on the case.”
She pulled out the phone. Saw the Cripolo number and felt her stomach clench into a tight knot. “I’ll keep in touch.” But even as the man pulled the door open and walked through it, she made no move to answer the call. It rang until the phone automatically went to voice mail. She could only imagine her brother was leaving another profanity-laced threat to join the other half dozen that had accumulated since last night.
Ramsey needed to deal with him, deal with the whole mess he was trying to embroil her in, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough, after she got a good night’s sleep and her mind was clear.
She definitely needed a clear head to deal with her brother, with his victim mentality and circular thinking.
The phone started ringing again, and after seeing the same number show up on the screen, she dropped it back into her pocket. Closing and locking the door behind her, she headed toward her cabin. First she needed sleep. Maybe by morning she’d have arrived at a plan to deal with her family.
Ignoring them was the best way she’d found to date, but that wasn’t always possible. Ramsey doubted that a few hours of unconsciousness was going to make the feat any easier, but she could always hope.
“I was out walkin’ Mr. Biscuits and saw the whole thing.” Bunny Franzen bobbed her head, sending the tiny spirals of white hair covering it swaying. “Meant to call you, but I swear, the thought went clear out of my head the moment I got home. Didn’t think of it again until Mr. Biscuits needed walkin’ again and I saw you sittin’ up here on your granddaddy’s porch.”
Dev nodded politely when the woman stopped to take a breath. She’d lived down the street from Benjamin as long as he could remember. Mr. Biscuits, a nasty-tempered bichon frise was currently relieving himself on Benjamin’s azaleas, a detail he wouldn’t be sharing with the man, given his granddaddy’s intense dislike for the animal.
“Didn’t happen to get the license plate number of the truck, did you?” He’d cleaned up the broken glass and patched the window as best he could. He’d call the hardware store tomorrow to see if Beau—
Too late he recalled that Beau Simpson wouldn’t be ordering him some replacement glass. He’d have to mosey by the store in the morning and see if Marvella had it open. Otherwise he’d have to check around for another place to order it.
“I didn’t need to get the license plate. I recognized the driver. There, there, Mr. Biscuits,” Bunny cooed as the dog started barking crazily. “We’ll continue our walk in just a minute.” Her voice normal again, she continued to Dev. “It was that youngest Harris boy. Zachary. I see him drivin’ that truck of his all the time, devil’s music blastin’ all the while. I’ve called the police a time or two, but if they bother to talk to him, it doesn’t do a whit of good.”
“Zach Harris?” Dev recognized the name. The man was a buddy of Banty Whipple’s—no surprise there. Matter of fact, he’d been one of those drinking with Banty last night when he’d taken Ramsey to dinner at the Half Moon.
“That one’s never going to ’mount to a hill of beans, mark my words.” Bunny nodded again, and when he saw her tight curls bobbing this time, he had a sudden, completely inappropriate thought that the woman bore more than a passing resemblance to her dog. “Oh, he’s got a job at the mill and all, but the way I hear it, he drinks up his paycheck just ’bout as fast as he can cash it. Do you want me to tell the police what I saw?”
He considered for a moment. He hadn’t called in the incident yet. Had, in fact, been lounging on the porch with a beer while he thought about the best route to take. But since he had an eyewitness account to it, he may go ahead and make a report.
Might be interesting to see what Banty would come up with next. Because it wouldn’t surprise Dev at all that this incident was hatched between the men last night. He’d never had any run-ins with Harris before.
“I’ll call them in the mornin’ and have them contact you,” he responded and turned a jaundiced eye on the dog who was now chewing on the edge of the bottom step. “I appreciate you stoppin’ by and lettin’ me know, Miz Franzen.”
“Well, I’m just doin’ my neighborly duty, and that’s a fact.” Bunny made to leave before turning midway down the walk. “You tell that granddaddy of yours hello for me. I have half a mind to take him a fresh peach cobbler in the mornin’. He always did take a shine to my peach cobbler.”
With a hint of wickedness flickering through him, Dev said, “I know he’d enjoy that, ma’am.”
“I’m goin’ to do that very thing. Take him a warm peach cobbler and have a nice long chat. Probably take Mr. Biscuits with me. I know how your granddaddy loves animals.” With another firm nod that sent her curls jostling, she turned and marched down the walk, the picture of a woman with a plan.
“Thanks again,” Dev called after her. Reaching for the bottle he’d sat on the floor next to his chair, he tipped it to his mouth for a sip, unable to prevent a grin. He couldn’t wait to hear his granddaddy moan about having to sit through a morning chat with Bunny Franzen, who’d never made any secret of the fact that she found Benjamin Gorder extremely eligible.
Thinking about his granddaddy’s reaction when he admitted he’d encouraged Bunny’s intention, Dev’s lips curved again. The man could probably stand some company, but he’d have plenty to say about the choice of companions.
A pang hit him then and had the smile dissipating from his lips. He took another swallow of beer. He’d never been a man to be uncomfortable in solitude, but he’d be lying if he denied the longing to hear one particular voice now.
Digging his cell out of his jeans pocket, he propped his legs up on the porch railing and dialed a familiar number.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded sleepy, surly, and lethal. “Dammit, Luverne, you’re lucky I can’t spare the time to come down there and kick your ass.”
His brows rising, Dev settled more comfortably into the cushion of the old wicker rocker. “Ramsey. I woke you.” It was barely ten o’clock. And where had he gotten the idea the woman never slept? “I’m sorry.”
“Dev?” Alertness had returned to her voice. He could picture her sitting up in bed, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from her mind. “Sorry. I thought you were . . . someone else.”
He watched the fireflies flicker and dance across the yard. “Have you talked to your brother yet?”
There was a long pause. “Not yet.”
“Figure you know best how to handle him,” he said mildly. And waited a beat before going on. “But if you need any help in that direction, I’d be glad to join in the ass kickin’.”
“Thanks for the offer,” she said around a yawn. “But I’ll handle it.”
“When you comin’ back? We never did get ’round to havin’ dessert last night.” He tipped his head back to study the stars while thoughts of her filled his mind. “I never do consider a dinner complete without dessert.”
“And somehow I’m not surprised to hear you trying to attach new conditions to a deal that’s already been met.” Humor sounded in the words. “I’m here at the motel, actually. Got back this evening.”
This evening. Dev stared at the streetlight across the street without really seeing it. Because he wasn’t a damn fourteen-year-old girl with her first crush, that absolutely was not disappointment stabbing through him. No reason at all that she would have let him know about her change in plans. Sex didn’t change the parameters of their relationship. Ramsey wouldn’t allow it to. A normal man would be doing cart-wheels over the knowledge.
“Your day must have been successful if you were able to cut the travel short.”
There was a hesitation. Then, “There’s a new lead in the case. No telling where it will go, but Powell and Matthews will follow up from that end. I’ve got plenty to check on here.”
“Well, you could come to my place. Check on me.” The scent of magnolias stung the air, drifting over from his neighbor’s garden. “Can’t remember the last time I had a good checkin’ over.”
“Really?” Her tone was dry. “Then you have a remarkably short memory.”
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