Murder in the Smokies (2 page)

It did sound stupid, he had to admit. What ever happened in Bitterwood that interested anyone outside the city limits?

Maybe the truth was his best option. After all, she was technically an old friend, even if they were no longer close. And he might need all the help he could get to figure out who’d killed April Billings.

“I’m here to look into a murder that happened in Bitterwood a little over a month ago.”

“April Billings,” she said immediately.

He nodded. “Were you on that case?”

She shook her head. “She was the first.”

Something about her tone tweaked his curiosity. “The first?”

“Murder,” she said faintly. “First stranger murder in Bitterwood in twenty years.”

“And you’re sure it was a stranger murder?”

Her eyes met his, sharp and cautious. “All the signs were there.”

“I thought you didn’t investigate it.”

“I didn’t investigate it at the time it happened.”

“But you’ve looked into her death since?”

She cocked her head slightly. “Who sent you to investigate this case? Are you with the TBI?”

He almost laughed at that thought. His father had had enough run-ins with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation that both their faces were probably plastered to the Knoxville field office’s front wall, right there with all the other most wanted. “No. Private investigation.”

“You’re a P.I.?” Her eyebrows arched over skeptical eyes.

“Sort of.”

Antoine Parsons returned, saving him from having to go into any more detail. “TBI’s sending their Violent Crime Response Team as soon as they can gear up and get on the road.”

“Good.” Ivy’s gaze didn’t leave Sutton’s face.

She was making him feel like a suspect. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Hawk, why don’t you go on home now?” Parsons suggested. “I’ll wait here for the TBI team and make sure our guys don’t make a mess. Get some sleep and we’ll hit the streets in the morning, see if we can find out why someone would kill Marjorie Kenner in her own home.”

In her own home, Sutton thought. Just like April Billings.

Had there been a connection between April and Marjorie? He supposed they’d been acquainted, at least in passing. At twenty, April wasn’t far out of high school, and her brother had told Sutton that his sister had been a Bitterwood High School graduate, though she and her parents hadn’t moved to Bitterwood until she was a freshman in high school.

Her parents had gone to Maryville with two other couples for dinner and a movie. They’d returned shortly after midnight to find their daughter dead in her bedroom upstairs. Multiple stab wounds washed clean and free of blood. The cotton pajamas in which her killer had dressed her had barely had a drop of blood on them.

“We have potential witnesses to interview.” Ivy’s chin came up, even though she looked bone tired. Sutton wondered if she’d been awake when the call came in about Marjorie Kenner. Pulling an all-nighter with her case files?

He’d been pulling an all-nighter himself, which was why he’d been awake to hear the dispatcher send out a call for units to respond to a 187—a homicide.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Sutton told Parsons. “Leave you two to your interviews.”

Ivy’s hand closed over his arm as he started to walk away, her grip strong. He looked down at her hand where it circled his arm, surprised by a sudden spark of sexual awareness. Her hand was warm and dry, her touch firm, but running through his head like a motion picture were images of her hands on his body, exploring with the same sure, firm touch.

Where the hell had that reaction come from? He and Ivy had never shared that kind of connection back in the day.

Of course, back then, she’d been a skinny fifteen-year-old with sad eyes and a whole lot of pain on her plate, and he’d been a restless eighteen-year-old with one foot already out of town.

“Where are you staying, in case I need to get in touch?” Despite the casual tone she used, Sutton knew he’d be hearing from her sooner or later.

He tried not to let his suddenly fevered brain continue down the sexually charged path onto which it had already wandered. “The motel on Route 4. Stay and Save.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I see. Does Cleve know you’re in town?”

“No. And I’d just as soon keep it that way.” He didn’t know if he could get away with being in town without running into the old man, but he sure as hell intended to try.

“You have a cell phone?”

She wasn’t going to let it go, was she? He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Nice to see you again, Ivy Hawkins.”

Her eyes darkening, she took the card and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans. “Same here.” He didn’t think she meant it.

She held his gaze a moment longer, reigniting the flood of titillating mental images running through his brain. Then she turned and walked away without a further goodbye.

He took several deep breaths as he walked back to his Ford Ranger, trying to drag his mind back to the questions raised by the latest murder. He’d come to Bitterwood thinking he’d know pretty quickly whether or not he could help solve the Billings girl’s murder.

He hadn’t expected to hear about similar murders. But research had led him to two other murders in Bitterwood over the past couple of months. Three, counting Marjorie Kenner’s. So, maybe not a crime of passion, as he’d suspected of April Billings’s murder.

Back in the truck, he checked his email, though it was too early for anyone from the office to have come through with the information he’d requested. But apparently one of his fellow Cooper Security agents was an early riser; he had an email from Delilah Hammond waiting in his in-box.

“Call me,” it said.

Uh-oh.

He dialed her number, unsurprised when she answered on the first ring. Nor was he surprised that she didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Have you lost your damned mind?”

“Hello to you, too,” he said, stifling a grin.

“You had the good sense to get out of Bitterwood years ago, and you take the first job out of that godforsaken hollow that comes slithering through the office?”

Delilah Hammond had lived in Bitterwood for seventeen years before she got out on a college scholarship. She’d seen her brother Seth sucked in by Cleve Calhoun’s unique brand of larcenous charm and live to pay for it. Sutton didn’t blame her for her reaction. But he knew what he was doing.

“It’s only for a few days,” he said, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

“You are not using your reasonable tone with me, Sutton Calhoun. Tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he lied.

“Yes, you are.” Her annoyance came across the phone line, clear as glass. “I’m not trying to be bossy here.”

“You live to be bossy, Dee. Has anything come through from your contacts on our cold-case search request?”

“Possible hit in the Bowling Green, Kentucky, area.” She sighed. “Promise me you won’t let Cleve suck you into something dangerous.”

“I don’t plan to see Cleve.”

“He’ll find you. He always does.”

“Just because your brother was an idiot doesn’t mean I’m going to be.” He wondered where Seth was now. Sutton hadn’t seen him in years, not since leaving to join the army. “You never talk about Seth.”

“I’m not going to now.” Her voice went instantly hard.

“Heard from him lately?”

There was a long pause on her end before she spoke, her tone resigned. “Not since I left the FBI.”

She’d left the FBI eight years ago. “That long?”

“I guess I ceased being any use to him when I no longer had the pull to keep him out of trouble.” Delilah’s tone was sharp, but Sutton had known his old friend’s sister long enough to see through her shields. Seth’s abandonment hurt her, even though her life had to be a hell of a lot more trouble-free with him gone.

“He’s a fool.”

“Yeah. Well, nothing I can do about that. But I’ll keep on these cold-case requests and see if I can’t come up with more for you.”

“Scan the Kentucky case information and email it to me?”

“Will do.” She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

He snapped his phone shut and leaned his head back against the seat, feeling the effects of his sleepless night. Back when he was a kid, he could stay up all night, getting into one scrape after another, and barely even feel it.

But it had been a long time since he’d been a kid. At thirty-two, he was starting to feel his age and the inevitable effects of time. Inescapable, no matter how hard he worked to stay fit and active.

He had just started the truck when a loud rap on his window jerked his nervous system into red alert. He snapped his gaze toward the window, his hand already closing over the butt of his Glock 17. He relaxed his grip as he recognized Ivy Hawkins’s dark eyes gazing back at him through the window. He hit the button and the window whirred down.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Had to make a phone call.”

She gave a brief nod, her gaze speculative. “I could use a cup of coffee. You?”

He could, but he had a feeling Ivy wanted more than just a cup of joe. “Ledbetter’s?” he asked, speaking of the only decent diner in town.

Her lips quirked. “Where else?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She put her hand on the door frame, her fingers brushing his shoulder. A zing of attraction tugged at his gut. “Why don’t you give me a ride? You can drop me back here when we’re done.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a simple cup of coffee between old friends?” he asked as she settled in the passenger seat.

Her dark-eyed gaze sharpened. “Because it ain’t.”

Chapter Two

Bitterwood sat at the edge of farm country, which meant Ledbetter’s Diner opened well before dawn to accommodate the early rising farmers and their work crews. It had also become a favorite place of anyone who worked a night shift, as the coffee was always hot and strong and the prices reasonable.

Ivy and Sutton bought coffee at the counter and took the drinks to an empty booth near the back of the diner. Sutton’s lips curved slightly as he sat across from her, reminding her just why she’d fallen so hard for him back when she was just a kid. When he smiled, he could take a girl’s breath away.

“When we were kids, this place was
the
place to eat, remember? Everybody with two dimes to rub together came here to get Maisey Ledbetter’s peach cobbler.” He took a sip of coffee and made a soft sound of contentment that traveled all the way down Ivy’s nervous system to make her toes tingle.

She noted her reaction with a combination of dismay and resignation. What had she expected? There’d never been a time she could remember when she hadn’t been completely susceptible to Sutton Calhoun’s charms.

“With homemade vanilla ice cream,” she added with a reluctant smile. “The redneck equivalent of lunch at Spago.”

Sutton’s laugh was tinged with surprise. “What do you know about Spago?”

“You think just because I stuck around this hick little town I can’t use the internet? Or maybe even travel now and then?” She’d planned her words to come out light and teasing, but she just sounded defensive. Exactly the opposite of what she’d intended.

“Of course not.”

She pasted on a smile. “I’ll admit I’ve only been to L.A. once. And I didn’t get anywhere near Spago.”

“Same here.” He shot her a disarming grin that made her feel as if she was about to melt into a puddle on the booth bench.

She had to get a grip. She wasn’t ready to forgive Sutton Calhoun for abandoning her when she’d needed him most. And she sure as hell couldn’t afford to trust him again.

“But you didn’t invite me here to talk about travel or even peach cobbler, did you?” He took another long drink of coffee, meeting her gaze over the rim of the cup.

“Why did you really come back here?”

“I told you. I was hired to look into an unsolved murder.”

She took a sip of coffee and swallowed, letting the pause linger before she casually asked, “Since when does Cooper Security do private investigations?”

His dark eyebrows arched. “What do you know about Cooper Security, Ivy Hawkins?”

“Top-notch risk management firm. Stellar reputation for doing the tough, scary jobs that a lot of firms would never take on. Specializes in corporate risk training and dangerous security jobs.” She hid a smile at the hint of admiration in his expression. “But I’ve never heard of them doing any private investigation before.”

“We’re branching out.”

“Sounds more like a step down from all that excitement.”

“Depends on the case. We only take cases where we think we can make a real difference.” He set his cup of coffee down, running his finger over the rim. “It was our chopper pilot’s idea, actually.”

“Your chopper pilot?”

“One of the company owner’s cousins. His wife was murdered a long time ago. It took him over a decade to finally find her killer. Last year, he mentioned in passing that he wished he’d had the Cooper Security resources to work with back when the case hadn’t been quite so cold.”

“And your boss decided to open an investigations division from that one offhand remark?” She didn’t hide her skepticism. It seemed like a pretty random way to make a huge corporate decision.

“I imagine Jesse had already been considering the possibility.” This time, Sutton was the one who sounded defensive. She could tell that he respected his boss and the company. “J.D.’s remark probably just crystallized the whole idea for him.”

“So you’re here as a P.I., then. You know, it might have been nice to give the local law a heads-up.”

“Might have been,” he conceded with an unrepentant smile.

“But you didn’t. Why not?”

He took another long sip of coffee and didn’t answer right away.

Impatience clawed at her belly as she waited, until she couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “You don’t trust the local cops?”

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “That’s an interesting question. What made you ask it?”

“Your clear reluctance to make yourself known to the local authorities, for one thing. Maybe you think we can’t be trusted.”

“I didn’t hide from y’all at the crime scene.”

“You didn’t exactly announce yourself, either.”

“And that’s your only reason for wondering if I don’t trust the local LEOs?” He was the one who looked skeptical now.

She didn’t miss his use of the acronym LEO, short for Law Enforcement Officer. He could talk the talk, it seemed. But could he walk the walk, as well? “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“No, all I did was agree that I probably should have made a courtesy call to the local police. You’re the one who ran with the idea of that the cops can’t be trusted.” He leaned toward her. “Do you think it’s possible a cop could be involved, Detective Hawkins?”

She didn’t answer.

“How’s your mama?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Unchanged,” she answered flatly.

“Just like my dad.”

She arched an eyebrow. Odd thing to say about his father, considering. “I suppose once you get in the habit of a certain way of life,” she said carefully, “it’s hard to make a change.”

Apparently that was one thing from their shared past that had remained the same. She still had a weak-willed, naive mother who, though she recently turned sixty, was still going from man to man in search of some ill-defined, unachievable romantic bliss, leaving Ivy to clean up her messes and, one time at least, directly suffer the consequences of her bad choices. And Sutton’s daddy had spent most of his adult life skating the edge of the law, somehow managing to avoid more than the occasional slap on the wrist and a day or two in the local lockup.

Of course, Cleve Calhoun hadn’t been causing much trouble for anyone in the past few years....

“I came here thinking I’d be looking at just one murder.” Sutton broke into her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you could make my job a lot easier by telling me April Billings’s murder is unrelated to the others?”

“Depends on who you ask,” she said drily. “Some people around these parts think we just hit an unlucky streak.”

“Four stranger murders in Bitterwood, Tennessee? In under two months?” Sutton’s eyebrows rose. “One hell of an unlucky streak.”

“Not everyone is convinced they
are
stranger murders.” Her coffee had already started to go cold; she shoved the cup away with a grimace.

“There are people on the force who actually think these women were killed by people they know? Four different people they know?”

She shrugged. “Apparently Bitterwood is a seething hotbed of suppressed homicidal passions.”

Sutton laughed softly. “Okay.”

She’d figured if she ever set eyes on Sutton Calhoun again, he’d suffer in comparison to her lingering girlhood memories. Nobody could live up to that idealized image of vigorous youthful masculinity.

But damned if the grown-up version didn’t come awfully close. His smoky hazel eyes had an unnerving tendency to smolder when he smiled, a reminder that he might be more honorable than his swindler father, but he was just as dangerous a charmer.

“I do think the murders are connected,” she admitted. “The victimology might lead you to think otherwise—”

“Because they’re different ages and had different lifestyles?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How’d you learn all this information so fast?”

“Research.” At her look of skepticism, he inclined his head slightly. “Someone at Cooper Security has a former army buddy who now works for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”

“Someone in the crime lab,” she guessed.

“I honestly don’t know. He just emailed me the information. I didn’t ask any questions about his source.”

“So you know there are plenty of similarities between the murders, even if the victims’ ages and lifestyles aren’t that similar.”

“Crime scene similarities, sure. Late-evening times of death, the first three, at least, killed with a knife from the victim’s own kitchen. But none of the murders take place in their homes. They were all killed somewhere else and returned to their homes after death. No evidence left behind.” His eyes narrowed. “Which I suppose
might
raise the question of whether your perp could be a cop. Is it a theory you’re seriously entertaining?”

“There are a lot of theories I’m entertaining at the moment,” she admitted. “We still don’t know how he gains entrance. Never any sign of a break-in. And how do you stab women to death and leave zero evidence at the scene? No excess blood, despite the bodies often being partially exsanguinated. Little sign of a struggle.”

“He seems to surprise his victims when they’re vulnerable,” Sutton said thoughtfully. “Late at night, when most people are in bed. These women were all attacked when they were asleep, I’d bet.”

For a second, an image flitted through her mind. She saw herself, head down on the desk in her study, dead asleep. It was as if she were looking at herself through someone else’s eyes. She tamped down a hard shudder.

“Is something wrong?” Sutton asked.

She shook her head. “No. And yes, we believe they were attacked when they were asleep. Clearly he takes them and kills them somewhere else—explaining the lack of blood and other evidence where the bodies are found. Then he returns them to their beds. That’s a crazy way to kill people, but that looks to be how all four murders happened. What are the odds they’re unrelated?”

“Nonexistent.”

Well, damn,
she thought, her heart sinking.
I’ve just spilled my guts about a serial murder spree to a civilian just because he’s sexy and I’m weak. What the hell have I done?

As if reading her mind, Sutton leaned toward her, laying his hand on top of hers on the table. “You know I’m not going to use anything you told me in any way that would hurt your case.”

Her skin seemed to burn where he touched her. She pulled her hand away. “Make damned sure you don’t. And if you find anything I need to know, you’ll call me. Right?”

“Call you at the police station?”

She almost flinched at the thought. The last thing she needed was a call from Sutton Calhoun coming through the department phone system. Might as well put a sign on her back—stupid girl detective can’t keep her mouth shut
or
solve a case without outside help. “Cell phone,” she said, pulling her business card from her wallet and pushing it across the table to him.

He sat back and studied the card for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I never would have figured you for the detective type, back in the day. I thought you’d be a teacher or something. But now that I think of it, the clues were all there. You were always a curious little thing. Always saw a mystery in everything. Remember that time you thought old Mr. Valery had killed his wife because you hadn’t seen her in days?”

She smiled. “Well, I was right that she was missing. How was I supposed to know she’d had a fight with him and gone to stay with her mother for a few days?”

He grinned. “Good thing I talked you out of calling the police.”

“You just didn’t trust the police in general.”

His smile faded. “Yeah, we Calhouns didn’t exactly have any friends in blue. You never called the police if you could avoid it.”

“And here you are a private eye.”

“And you’re a detective.” He cocked his head, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you a little young to be a detective? You’re what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

“Twenty-nine. I’m pretty sure I made detective so quickly because the force didn’t have a female investigator.”

“Trying to meet a quota?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it worked out this time, for both of you.” His smile looked genuine, but Calhouns were notorious for their easy deceit. “You’re working a job you’re obviously good at, and the force benefits from a good detective who also gives them a box to mark on their diversity checklist.”

“No need to feed me a line of bull, Calhoun. I don’t have the clout to get you in on this investigation. Or keep you out.”

One dark eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t comment. A tense silence continued between them after that, until she broke it by suggesting they head back to the crime scene.

Once they were belted into the truck, Ivy asked, “How long have you been with Cooper Security?”

“Two years.”

“What did you do the other twelve years? How long did you stay in the army?”

“All twelve years. I went straight to Cooper Security from the army. One of the boss’s brothers-in-law knew me from there, and I was ready for a change of pace.”

“Change of pace? From one dangerous job to another?”

“Slight change of pace.” He nodded in concession.

“So, an army buddy vouched for you? I’d assumed Delilah Hammond must have gotten you an interview or something.”

“I don’t think Delilah has many kind thoughts about anyone or anything from Bitterwood,” he said with a wry smile.

“No, I don’t suppose she would.” She and Delilah hadn’t been best friends or anything, but she ran into Delilah’s mother occasionally, usually on a drunk and disorderly call. Once she sobered up, she was a typical proud mother, telling all the cops at the jail about her daughter, the former FBI agent who was working for a big international security firm.

“I hear some amazing things about your company,” she added as they headed back toward the crime scene. Dawn had broken while they were at the diner, and the sun was creeping closer and closer to the mountaintop horizon. “Y’all took down the president’s chief of staff last year, right? For corruption and conspiracy to commit murder?”

“I wasn’t directly involved with that.” His tone was careful, and she supposed she might be treading on classified territory with her questions.

“Delilah was, though. At least, that’s what her mother claims.” She smiled wryly. “I’m sure she’d be horrified to know Reesa brags about her from the drunk tank. I remember how she felt about her mother’s drinking.”