The Girl Who Cried Murder Read online

  Mike did as she asked, and she eased His Highness into the portable cage, trying not to let panic take over again, despite how scary she found it that the cat wasn’t fighting her at all. Usually, getting His Highness into the carrier was a battle of wills.

  She snapped the door shut. “I hate leaving Nellie here, in case someone comes back.”

  “I’ve called someone from the agency to guard your house while we’re gone.”

  She looked up at him, surprised. “Someone from your agency?”

  “Yeah. Technically, this is a crime scene. You should call it in to the cops.”

  Her knee-jerk reaction was to shake her head no.

  “Charlie, someone cut your brakes yesterday. Today, they trashed your house and injured your cat. Call the police.”

  “There’s no time. We need to get Hizzy to the vet. In fact, I need to call ahead to make sure the doctor stays around.” As Mike picked up the carrier, she led the way, pulling her phone from her pocket. She dialed the number, holding her breath until someone answered. As she and Mike hurried for the truck, she summarized the situation for the vet clinic assistant, who assured her the doctor would be waiting.

  “Eric Brannon is on his way here.” Mike buckled up and started the truck. “You need to call the police.”

  She sighed, aware he was right. “It’s not an emergency, so I don’t want to call 911.”

  “I have Deputy Trask’s phone number in my phone,” Mike murmured.

  She looked at him. “No.”

  “So there is some bad blood between you two.”

  She waved toward the right when they reached the four-way stop. “The vet clinic is a half mile down this road, on the left.”

  In her lap, cradled by the carrier, His Highness had stopped his heavy panting, giving her a moment’s panic. But when she looked into the carrier’s metal grid door, Hizzy blinked back at her. His breathing had returned to something approaching normal, she realized, starting to feel a little more hopeful.

  The doctor himself, Pete Terrell, greeted them at the door. He was a thick-set, bearded man in jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt under a white coat, with a friendly, competent manner that made Charlie feel instantly better about His Highness’s chances of survival.

  “I’ll wait out here and check to see what’s going on with Eric,” Mike said, pulling out his cell phone. “Is it okay if I call the cops, as well?”

  Charlie’s gaze flicked between him and the vet. “Yes. But not Trask.”

  She followed Dr. Terrell into the exam room and set the carrier on the table. “I found him on the floor. He was bleeding from his upper left torso, around his shoulder. There seems to be a deep laceration there, but I didn’t see any other wounds.”

  “All right, big fella. Let’s take a look.” Dr. Terrell gently eased the cat from the carrier and unfolded the towel holding him still. Blood had seeped into the terry cloth of the towel, but not a lot, she was heartened to see.

  She held His Highness by his back legs, but the cat wasn’t kicking up his usual fuss. He seemed to know he was in need of help and didn’t try to fight.

  A scrubs-clad veterinary assistant came into the room. She nodded at Charlie and took her place with His Highness so Charlie could step back and observe.

  “We’ve got a laceration in the vicinity of the left scapula,” the doctor murmured. “Deep. To the bone. Margins are clean and uniform. I’d say it’s a knife wound. Smooth blade.”

  Charlie pressed her hands to her face, feeling sick at the thought.

  “It isn’t that wide. Looks like a stab rather than a slash.” The doctor looked up at her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I got home from an appointment and my place was trashed. Furniture ripped up, things shattered and crushed. And then I saw blood and followed the trail to Hizzy.”

  “He’s a lucky cat. It looks as if the blade hit the scapula and bounced off before it hit any internal organs. I’m going to want X-rays to be sure.”

  “Of course.”

  A half hour later, the doctor had stitched Hizzy up and transferred him to a cage, hooked up to an IV drip. “To replenish the fluids he lost from bleeding,” Dr. Terrell explained. “We’ll want to keep him overnight for observation, but I think he’ll be okay. Barring any unexpected complications, you can probably take him home tomorrow.”

  Charlie blinked back tears of relief. “Are you sure?”

  “He was a little shocky when he came in, but his vitals have stabilized nicely. He’s young and otherwise healthy, and you got him here quickly.” Dr. Terrell patted her shoulder. “How about Nellie? I take it she wasn’t injured?”

  “She’s fine. Scared and hiding, but fine.”

  “I hope you find out who did this.” Dr. Terrell’s smiling demeanor slipped. “You know, it’s possible His Highness in there scratched whoever stabbed him. I could clip his claw tips and save them for you. Might be some DNA on them.”

  She stared at him, unable to stop a wobbly smile. “DNA on a cat’s claws. I never even thought of that.”

  She returned to the vet clinic waiting room to find Mike sitting on one of the benches, scrolling through his phone. He looked up quickly, his brow furrowed when he realized she wasn’t holding the cat carrier. “What happened?” he asked, his tone cautious.

  “He’s going to be okay, but they want to keep him overnight for observation. You know, pump some fluid into him, keep him lightly sedated for pain. The doctor said I’ll probably be able to take him home tomorrow.”

  Mike’s worried expression cleared. “That’s great news. You ready to go, then?”

  She glanced back toward the hall that led to the overnight cages. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  In the truck, Mike told her there were policemen at the house waiting for her. “I mentioned what happened with your brakes yesterday.”

  She grimaced. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “I figured you’d say that.”

  “So you told them anyway, knowing I’d object?”

  He glanced at her. “This is serious. The brake line alone could have been an accident. But a break-in and the intentional injury to your cat—”

  “Dr. Terrell thinks Hizzy might have scratched the person who stabbed him.”

  “Can they clip his claws for DNA?”

  Charlie gave a small huff of grim laughter. “Yeah. It’s already in the works.”

  “Brannon waited outside your house for the cops. We agreed it was smart to leave the scene as it was for the police.”

  “It was a break-in. Cops barely blink at break-ins.”

  “It was a break-in with injury.”

  She stared at him. “Injury to a cat. That’s not exactly going to warrant a task force around here. The cops have enough real crimes to investigate—drug trafficking, murder, fraud...”

  “The cops can do whatever they’re going to do. But I’m treating this like the threat it was obviously meant to be.”

  Something in Mike’s tone sent a little quiver up her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “If the police won’t take your safety seriously, I will.”

  She stared at him for a moment, struggling for a response. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because protecting people is what I do.”

  “For pay. And I can’t pay you anything. I don’t make that kind of money.”

  “I’m not asking for pay.”

  “You do realize that makes no sense, don’t you?”

  They had reached Charlie’s house. A single Campbell Cove Police Department cruiser sat parked in the driveway, while a silver sedan sat at the curb. “That’s Eric’s car,” Mike said, nodding at the sedan.

  Brannon was still on the porch. He stood and walked
down the flagstone path to greet them. “Officer Bentley is photographing the destruction in your house,” he told Charlie. “He’ll want you to take a look around when he’s done, to see if anything has been stolen.”

  Her laptop, she thought with a sudden rush of panic. In the chaos of dealing with Hizzy’s injury, she’d forgotten all about her computer. Beyond all her work files—absolutely vital for her job—there were the files she’d started to compile of her research into what had happened the night Alice died.

  All of those files were backed up to a cloud archive, so she wouldn’t lose anything. And the security on her laptop was top-notch. It wouldn’t be easy to crack her passwords.

  But if the wrong person got his hands on those research files about Alice, they’d know how much she knew.

  And how much she didn’t.

  She entered the house, trying to control her rising panic. Ignoring the sounds of the police officer moving around in her kitchen at the back of the house, she hurried into her bedroom.

  The laptop was where she’d left it.

  With a sigh of relief, she dropped into the desk chair and opened the lid. The machine flickered to life, the lock screen greeting her.

  She typed in the password to unlock the system and started scrolling through her files, checking to see if there was any sign of an intrusion.

  Everything seemed to be the way she’d left it. As far as she could tell, no one had accessed her Alice Bearden files since she’d last had them open the day before.

  “This is still a crime scene, Charlie.” The twangy drawl that made her whirl around belonged to a barrel-chested cop with a weathered face and a crooked smile.

  “Officer Everett.” Charlie stood up. “I know. I just— I work from this computer, and if someone had gotten in her and messed things up—”

  Bob Everett’s smile widened. “Lord, look at you, girl. All growed up. How’s your mama?”

  Bob had always been a little sweet on Charlie’s mother, she remembered. They’d been schoolmates years earlier, and apparently Bob had never quite lost his soft spot for Marlene.

  “She’s doing pretty good these days,” Charlie said. It was mostly true. Marlene had been married to her new husband for almost four years. “She’s in Arkansas now. With her new husband.”

  “Yeah.” Bob’s expression fell.

  She changed the subject to put him out of his misery. “I guess you want to know if anything’s been stolen.”

  “Well, I’ve been taking a good look around. Everything’s an unholy mess, but the kind of stuff you figure a burglar’s gonna take seems to all be here. Your TV, your stereo system, your computer. The TV and stereo are all busted up, but they’re still here.”

  But they hadn’t done anything to her computer, she thought. Maybe because they wanted to access the files within?

  But why hadn’t they just stolen the laptop while they had the chance?

  “Is the destruction throughout the house?” she asked.

  “Looks like they stopped here. Didn’t see nothing out of place in the kitchen or the mudroom, and the next room down doesn’t look like it’s been touched, either.”

  The only damage in the bedroom was Hizzy’s blood on the hardwood floor. They hadn’t done the sort of destruction here they’d done in the front of the house.

  “Maybe someone interrupted them?”

  Charlie and Bob both looked up at the sound of Mike’s voice. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space.

  “Who are you?” Bob asked.

  “Mike Strong. I’m a friend of Charlie’s.”

  Bob looked from Charlie to Mike and back, his expression skeptical. “Well, Mr. Strong, I guess it’s possible the intruders got interrupted. I’ll talk to the neighbors and see if anyone saw or heard anything. But I don’t know there’s much more I can do here. I could call in a crew to do fingerprints, Charlie, but I gotta be honest. If they didn’t steal anything, and you don’t reckon they did, what you’re lookin’ at here is plain ol’ vandalism. You’d be better off callin’ your insurance company and lettin’ them handle the claim.”

  Charlie looked at Mike. He sighed and looked away.

  “I appreciate your comin’ by, Officer Everett.” She walked with him to the door.

  Bob turned in the doorway, his expression darkening. “I heard they hurt one of your cats. I hope the little fella’s gonna be okay.”

  “Doc Terrell seems to think so.”

  “Good to hear. You let me know if anything else happens, you hear?”

  “Thanks. I will. And I meant what I said about Mama. I bet she’d love you to drop by and say hello.”

  Bob smiled at her again, looking ridiculously pleased. “I’ll do that.”

  She watched him go, swallowing a sigh.

  “You were right. The cops aren’t going to be able to protect you.” Mike’s voice was close behind her.

  She turned to look at him. “I know. I’ll get better locks. Maybe splurge on a security system. I just never thought I’d need one here.”

  “You can’t stay here alone. Especially without a car.”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t think they’ll be coming back so soon.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, his grip somehow both gentle and firm. “Charlie, look at this place.” He turned her until she faced the chaos that the intruder had made of her once-tidy living room. The sight of her stereo system lying shattered on the floor brought tears stinging to her eyes. She’d bought the system on her twenty-first birthday, after saving up every penny she could during her four years of college. It had been the first thing to ever truly belong only to her, and she’d spent the past eight years enjoying the thing, even as it aged and, in the eyes of a lot of people, grew obsolete.

  She blinked back the tears. “I saw it before.”

  “This isn’t just vandalism. This is terrorism.”

  She twisted her head to look at him. “Terrorism?”

  “Terrorism is more than just bombs in Baghdad or Jerusalem, Charlie. It can be graffiti painted on the wall of a black man’s home or a Jewish man’s shop. It can be stalkers sending threatening notes to their prey. This—” He waved his hand at the mess. “This is meant to terrorize you.”

  “Well, it won’t work,” she said firmly.

  “Good. But you can’t just declare it won’t work and then go on with your life the way it is.”

  “If I change my life, doesn’t that mean the terrorists win?” She meant the question to be flip and breezy, but to her own surprise, it came out angry.

  He reached up and brushed away a lock of hair that had flopped into her face. His fingertips brushed down her cheek before he dropped his hand to his side. “I’m not asking you to change your life. I’m just offering to watch your back.”

  “Why?” The sensation of his touch lingered on her skin. She tried to ignore it, struggling to focus.

  “Because I hate terrorists,” he said simply.

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll stay here tonight.”

  No. That was a bad idea.

  Wasn’t it?

  “There’s no sofa left,” she said, her voice faint.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor in the spare room. I’ve got a rucksack in my truck’s lockbox that has some camping gear.”

  “I can’t pay you,” she reminded him.

  “This is a freebie.” His lopsided smile made her heart flip in response. “I’ll go talk to Eric and then I’ll be right back. We can tackle some of this mess tonight if you like, or we can wait until morning.”

  Oh, what the hell, she thought. She could certainly use his help cleaning up the place. And if he wanted to spend the night on her hardwood floor, roughing it, who was she to say no?

  The truth
was, she’d feel a lot safer with him here.

  She sighed. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

  “And stupid,” he said softly, “is something you’re not.”

  She watched him go, thinking with every step he took that she should call him back, change her mind. Tell him to go home. She’d be fine. She didn’t need him watching her back.

  But somehow, he was out the door before she opened her mouth.

  Releasing a shaky breath, she looked around the living room, taking in the malicious destruction, and couldn’t muster up any regret for having agreed that he could stay the night.

  The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone.

  Chapter Six

  “She’s playing it tough and stoic, but I know she’s got to be scared.” Mike glanced toward the front door of Charlie’s house, remembering the look on her face when she’d seen the blood on the floor. “Brake tampering yesterday, and now this.”

  “And she doesn’t have any idea who could be behind either of these attacks?” Eric’s breath fogged in the cold night air.

  “She says not. I’m not sure I believe her.”

  “You’re staying with her tonight?”

  “Yeah, unless she changes her mind and kicks me out.”

  “And if she does?”

  “I’ll stay in my truck and watch the place from there.”

  Eric nodded slowly, not saying anything for a moment. Finally, he looked up at Mike, his blue eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight peeking through the scudding clouds overhead. “You really do think she’s in trouble, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Mike rubbed his chin, his beard stubble scraping against his palm. “There’s something in her past—I can’t really talk about it, but it’s reason to worry.”

  “Something she did?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Something she was involved in, a long time ago. Someone died, and I don’t know how exactly she was involved, but it’s a place to start looking.”

  “Did the intruders take anything?”

  “Charlie says no.”

  “So they just made that awful mess for the hell of it?”

  “Or maybe as a warning,” Mike said.