The Girl Who Cried Murder Read online

  Nellie looked up with alarm when Charlie scraped her chair back quickly, bumping up against the bookcase where she perched. His Highness merely blinked at her, uninterested, from his sunny spot on the windowsill.

  “Mama needs to get out of here,” Charlie told them, going as far as to grab her jacket before she realized she couldn’t leave. Beyond the work she still had to complete before quitting time this afternoon, she no longer had a car at her disposal. And the bike wasn’t exactly a safe alternative, was it?

  An image flashed through her head. Alice lying dead on the road, her body battered and broken from the collision with a car. Blood seeping from her head, thick, dark and shiny on the pavement.

  She sat down abruptly, her limbs suddenly shaky. Why was that image of Alice’s broken body in her mind in the first place? She hadn’t been there when Alice died.

  Had she?

  * * *

  MIKE REACHED THE Craig Bearden for Senate headquarters in Mercerville with only a few minutes to spare, but he used every one of those extra minutes trying to get his mind off those terrifying moments when he’d thought he wasn’t going to catch up to Charlie Winters before her runaway car slammed into the line of vehicles waiting at the four-way stop.

  It had been close. Too close. And strangely, the time that had passed between their close call and now only seemed to intensify his memories of those heart-racing seconds.

  Catching up, then passing her to get in front. Trying to time his slowdown—not too sudden, or the impact of her car against his might have injured her. But if he hadn’t slowed down soon enough, they might have run out of pavement between them and the cars on the road ahead.

  It had been a nerve-racking few minutes, and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience anytime soon.

  The clock on his dashboard clicked over to 5:59. He made the effort to shake off the unsettling memories. Put on his game face.

  It was showtime.

  Bearden’s campaign office was a storefront with wide plate glass windows and a glass door, all imprinted with Bearden for Senate in big red letters. The place was still bustling with staff and volunteers, including an energetic young woman in jeans wearing a large round Bearden for Senate button on her sweater. “Bearden for Senate. Would you like to sign up to volunteer?”

  “Actually, I’m here to see Randall Feeney. Is he here?”

  The girl looked sheepish. “Oh no, I’m sorry. You’re Mr. Strong, aren’t you? Mr. Feeney was called away unexpectedly and I was supposed to call you to ask if he could reschedule for another day, but it just got so busy.”

  Mike suppressed his irritation and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He withdrew a card and handed it to the woman. “Please see that Mr. Feeney gets this card. He can call and reschedule when his calendar is less crowded.”

  “Will do,” the girl said brightly. “Sure you don’t want to volunteer to work for the campaign?”

  “Yeah, I’m not very political.” He’d been in the Marine Corps long enough to avoid politics like the plague. It just got in the way of doing his duty. He supposed now that he was a civilian again, it was time to start thinking about his civic responsibilities.

  But not today.

  He returned to his truck, wondering if Feeney would bother to get back to him. Probably not.

  Mike would just have to follow up later.

  He called Heller and told him about Feeney’s no-show. “The girl at campaign headquarters said he was called away, but I have to wonder if that wasn’t just an excuse to blow off the appointment.”

  “Maybe Feeney agreed to meet with you before he had a chance to talk to Craig Bearden.”

  “And then Bearden told him to cancel?”

  “Politicians are careful to control the message,” Heller said. “He may want to know more about you before his people answer your questions.”

  “I left my card. It’ll tell him my name and who I work for.”

  “That might make it less likely he’ll talk to you, not more,” Heller warned. “What are you doing next?”

  “I’m not going to quit, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mike had a feeling Heller—and maybe Quinn and Cameron, too—had been testing him with this impromptu investigation at first. He suspected they hadn’t been all that interested in finding out why Charlie Winters had decided to take his self-defense class. They were more interested in seeing how well Mike was able to investigate Charlie and her motives.

  But that had been before someone had cut Charlie’s brakes.

  “By the way, Strong, Cameron wants a word with you tomorrow after your afternoon class. Can you drop by her office around five?”

  “I’ll be there.” He ended the call and opened the calendar app to jot down the details of his appointment with Rebecca Cameron. Heller was an old friend from the Marine Corps, and Alexander Quinn, the wily spymaster who had been a legend during his time in the CIA, had crossed Mike’s path from time to time during his tours of duty. But Cameron, a former diplomat, was a virtual stranger. She’d been an assistant to the American ambassador in Kaziristan during Mike’s two years in that war-troubled country. But he’d met her only once, briefly, under difficult circumstances.

  Why did she want to talk to him now? Was it something to do with what happened to Charlie?

  * * *

  THURSDAY AFTERNOON WAS cold and rainy, the mild warm snap of the first part of the week long gone. Forecasters were even talking about sleet and snow flurries for the weekend, driving out the last of Charlie’s doubts about the wisdom of catching a ride with Mike to Campbell Cove Academy.

  He arrived a half hour early, as promised. She thwarted any chivalrous instinct he might have had about getting out of the truck in the downpour by racing out the door the minute she heard the truck. Darting through the rain, she hauled herself into the passenger seat and turned to him with a laugh. “I now officially think catching a ride with you was a great idea.”

  He smiled back at her. “I thought you might.”

  “So, mind giving me a sneak preview of what we’ll be doing in class today?” She shook the rain out of her hair and buckled in.

  “The first part of the class won’t be any different from what we’ve been doing in the beginner’s class. Stretching is stretching.”

  “But afterward?”

  He just smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Even though Mike was able to find a parking place close to the gym entrance, they still were mostly drenched by the time they burst through the doors. Charlie ran her fingers through her wet hair, attempting to tame the curls trying to burst out all over. She could tell by Mike’s amused glance that it was a lost cause.

  “You can wait in the gym if you like. I’ve got a little paperwork to tackle in my office and a couple of phone calls to make before class. It would only bore you.”

  “That’s fine.” She gave a little wave as he walked out the side door of the gymnasium, quelling the urge to follow him.

  She had done most of her stretching exercises by the time some of her other classmates started to drift into the gym. They greeted her with nods in the normal way of strangers thrown together by circumstance and, as she didn’t encourage any further conversation, most settled in a few feet away on the floor mats to follow her lead and do their stretches.

  By five minutes until class time, seven other students had entered, almost all of them male. She was also pretty sure most if not all of them were cops or some sort of law enforcement officers. Nobody survived life in her neck of the Kentucky woods without developing the ability to pick out a police officer in a crowd.

  As she pushed to her feet, the door from outside opened, and one more student entered the gym, stopping in the doorway to survey the room, as if he expected trouble to break out any second.

  His gaze locked with Charl
ie’s, and she swallowed a groan.

  Of all the people to run into here at the Campbell Cove Academy...

  The newcomer was tall and well built, with broad shoulders and a lean waist that hadn’t gained any padding since the last time Charlie had seen him almost ten years ago. His gray eyes were hard but sharp, like chips of flint, and his lips curved in a thin smile as he approached the mat where she stood.

  “Well, if it isn’t Charlotte Winters.”

  She hid her dismay with a smart-alecky grin in return. “Well, if it isn’t Deputy Trask.”

  Archer Trask’s smile widened, without a hint of humor making it anywhere near his eyes. “Have you woken up wasted in your backyard lately?”

  Across the gym, the side door opened and Mike Strong walked through, his pace full of energy and purpose. His hair had dried during the time he’d spent in his office. In fact, he looked far more unruffled and put together than she felt at the moment.

  Charlie turned away from Trask and moved closer to the other cops in the room. At least none of them looked familiar.

  “Five more minutes,” Mike called, taking his place at the front of the gym. He gave a little wave of his hand, and the rest of the class continued their stretching exercises.

  Charlie continued with her stretches as well, hoping Archer Trask would go somewhere else and leave her alone.

  In that, she was disappointed.

  “So, how’d you end up here?” Trask’s voice was deceptively casual.

  “Here as in Campbell Cove?”

  “No, here as in a self-defense course. Picked up a stalker or something?”

  Charlie slanted a look at him, wondering for a moment if he’d heard about what happened to her car the previous day. “Only you, apparently.”

  “I heard you had a car accident yesterday.”

  So he had heard. “Is that the sort of thing people in your department investigate, Deputy Trask?”

  “Not drinking that early, were you?”

  She shot him a glare. “Go to hell.”

  “Something wrong here?”

  At the sound of Mike’s voice, both Charlie and Trask took a step back.

  “Not a thing,” Trask said, wandering away.

  Mike moved closer to Charlie. “You look angry.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you and Archer know each other?”

  “Not really. Not in years.” She made herself calm down. Getting into a fight with Archer Trask after all this time was the absolute worst thing she could do if she was serious about finding the truth about Alice’s death. He’d been one of the first cops on the scene. She might end up needing his corroboration sooner or later.

  Mike lowered his voice. “Has he been bothering you before today?”

  She looked up sharply, realizing what he was asking. “No. No, of course not. Deputy Trask is just— No. This has nothing to do with what happened to my car. I promise you.”

  “You don’t know who tampered with your car. How can you be so sure who it wasn’t?”

  “Trask is a cop. I’m a Winters. Around here, that’s like oil and water.”

  Mike didn’t appear appeased, but he gave a brief nod and turned to the rest of the class. “Okay, let’s get started.”

  * * *

  CHARLIE WAS QUIET on the drive back to her house, a stewing sort of silence that made Mike uneasy. She had managed to pull herself together after her run-in with Archer Trask, doing a creditable job of holding her own in the advanced self-defense class. She had a gangly, slightly awkward way of moving that reminded Mike of a long-legged puppy trying to figure out how to run, but what she lacked in pure grace she made up for in fierce intensity. She fought like a person who’d faced trouble before and would do anything to survive.

  He broke the silence as they took the turn onto Sycamore Road. “You want to tell me about your history with Deputy Trask?”

  She sent a glare angling his way. “No.”

  “Might make you feel better.”

  She laughed. “Trust me. It wouldn’t.”

  He let it go. He had Archer Trask’s contact information. If he wanted to know more about the deputy’s relationship with Charlie, he could go to the source. “You did well today. Hung tough. Good job.”

  The look she gave him made him wonder if the concept of praise was foreign to her. “Thanks.”

  He pulled up at the curb in front of her house. “You want me to go inside with you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure that’s not necessary. Thanks for the ride. Hopefully, I’ll have my car back by the next session.”

  She slipped out of the truck without saying anything further, loping up the flagstone walkway to her front porch. He waited, not wanting to leave until she was safely inside.

  But she stopped with her hand on the doorknob, her body straightening suddenly. She turned to look at him. Even from several yards away, he saw the alarm in her expression.

  He slid out of the truck and hurried up the walkway toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  She met him at the bottom of the steps, her eyes wide and scared. “I locked my door this afternoon before I left. Didn’t I? You were here. You saw me do it, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, it’s not locked now.”

  He put his hand on her arm. “Wait here.”

  But she tagged along, right behind him, as he climbed the porch steps and approached the door.

  She’d already touched the doorknob, so the likelihood that an intruder’s prints were still intact was a long shot. But Mike used the hem of his T-shirt to turn the knob anyway, trying not to smudge anything.

  He braced himself for the possibility of a blitz attack as he pushed the door open. His pistol was locked in the glove box of the truck. Too late to go back and get it now.

  He stepped inside and swept the room, military style. There was no sign of an intruder still hanging around the living room.

  But his handiwork was everywhere.

  “Oh, my God.” Behind him, Charlie’s voice shook as she got a good look at the devastation.

  Furniture was ripped apart and overturned. Picture frames had been smashed to the floor, scattering shards of glass across the hardwood. Porcelain knickknacks had been crunched to dust underfoot, mixing with clouds of fiberfill from the ripped-up sofa cushions. A wood rocking chair lay on its side near the hearth, its rockers now perpendicular, the wood snapped almost in two.

  “Who would do this?” Charlie moaned.

  “You should go back outside,” Mike said as he caught sight of something dark and wet amid the clumps of fiberfill. Something that looked like...

  “Is that blood?” Charlie asked.

  “I don’t know—maybe?”

  “Oh, God!” She rushed past him before he could stop her, disappearing into the back of the house.

  He followed. “Charlie, wait!”

  As he reached a room near the back of the house, Charlie’s voice rose in a wordless wail.

  He skidded to a stop in the open doorway, his heart in his throat.

  Charlie knelt on the floor in front of a Siamese cat lying on its side, blood darkening his smoky fur.

  Chapter Five

  Charlie couldn’t breathe. Her pulse hammered in her ears, deafening her, as she reached down to touch His Highness’s dark fur. “Hizzy.”

  The cat’s blue eyes opened, his head lifting at the sound of her voice. His blue eyes blinked slowly, his breath coming in little pants.

  “Oh, baby, you’re alive.” Tamping down her panic, she made herself breathe, running her fingers over his body. The tremble in her fingers started to dissipate as she found the source of the blood. “He’s got a wound in his shoulder. It’s deep. But he’s st
ill alive.” She looked at Mike over her shoulder.

  He stared back at her, his brow furrowed and his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite read.

  “There are a couple of cat carriers in the mudroom at the back of the house,” she told him. “Just to the left of the kitchen. Find those for me. And there should be dry towels in the bathroom. I’ll need a couple of those, too.”

  She checked her watch. Almost six. But the staff at her vet’s office didn’t leave until six thirty, and she could call ahead, let them know there was an emergency case on the way.

  “Nellie?” she called gently, hoping her nervous girl had stayed true to form and hidden somewhere the moment she realized there was a stranger in the house.

  A plaintive mewling noise came from under the bed. Charlie scooted a few feet across the floor to the bed and looked underneath. Nellie’s green eyes stared back at her, wide and afraid. “Are you okay, baby? Come out and let me take a look.”

  At the sound of Mike’s footsteps coming down the hall, she called out, “Wait out there a minute.”

  Nellie froze, but Charlie made another coaxing sound. The tortoiseshell cat slinked from under the bed and rubbed her head against Charlie’s shoulder.

  Charlie gave the cat a quick check. She seemed uninjured. Charlie dropped her chin to her chest, trembling with relief.

  “Charlie, can I come in yet?” Mike’s soft voice sent Nellie scurrying back under the bed.

  Charlie didn’t try to coax her back out. “Yeah. Did you find the carriers?”

  He entered the room, holding a towel and the two plastic carriers. “Why two of these?”

  “I have a second cat, but she’s okay. She’s hiding under the bed.” Charlie took the towel from Mike and gently wrapped it around Hizzy’s bloodstained body, wincing as the cat uttered a low yowl of pain. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to get you some help.”

  Mike crouched by her and set the carrier on the floor. “What can I do?”

  “Open the carrier door and hold it until I can get him inside.”