Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) (8 page)

My impromptu breakfast with Gino had edged out my barn time. Samantha and I had a visit scheduled for today that included lunch, and I didn’t want to miss a second with her. I scrolled through my contacts and called her social worker, William Greene. He was the reason I’d made it through the foster parent training program without bailing. He spotted my fear before I did—and was still helping me every time it cropped up by reminding me that no one’s prepared for parenthood—until they step into it.

He answered in his soulful way. “Peace. What’s up?”

“My girl, that’s what.” The thrill of a fast gallop on a cold morning flew through my belly.

He was silent.

“Today’s my day. Our day. I’m on my way.” I leaned over the steering wheel, closer to the Bluetooth microphone for emphasis.

“Ah, Jo, I heard about your—about Del. I’m sorry.” His voice was too quiet.

“Thank you.” Formality crept into my tone.

“I’m guessing you haven’t received the court order forbidding you to visit her for the time being. I’ve heard some chatter on the matter. What I haven’t heard is a definitive answer.”

He knew I’d been a suspect.
Am I still a suspect?

“That’s been cleared up.” That wasn’t true. I’d asked the amazing trio not to share my whereabouts beyond the three of them for as long as possible. They must’ve honored my request.
Crap
.

“I’m sure it has. Still, let’s wait a while on scheduling a visit, get a little distance between these murders and our girl. Give the system time to push the information through the proper channels.” There was a firmness in his voice that would be too much work to fight.

“Fine. Tell her I love her, okay? Tell her something came up, but I’ll see her in a coupla days. Thanks, pal.” I ended the call without waiting to hear anything else. It wasn’t his fault, but he was handy.

I pulled into a gas station parking lot to regroup. Should I go ride Scooter in my newly freed up time? I called Mitch and asked her to set up a briefing on the murder with me and the two lead FBI agents in a few hours. The beauty of a small town cop shop. They needed all hands on deck, mine included.

“Ah, Chief, you sure that’s a good idea?” Mitch wasn’t about to come any closer to the dynamite hanging in the air between us.

“Yes. A hundred percent. Any minute now, one or both of us will get the call that clears me to the proverbial ‘T.’”
I hope.

“Sure, but…”

“And when it does, why waste time pulling you together?” Prickly heat inched up under my chin.

“Well, even when you’re cleared, and even in an understaffed, overworked little burg like Haversport, it might not be the best thing to have you working this case though, right?”

Only Mitch had earned the right to speak this kind of truth to me.

“So, you think there’s a better cop than me to work this case?” It was a stupid thing to say. My shirt was sticking to my back, my social worker wouldn’t let me see my little girl, my cheating ex was dead, and I was about to get a whole lot stupider.

“Josie…” Mitch sighed.

“I’m sorry. You’re the cop to work this case, and we have a dozen others. But I can’t stay out of this one. I don’t care what the ruling is. I can’t. I won’t.” I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, watching my veins plump up.

“I get it. And I’m all for you putting in an appearance as more of a Chief, less of a suspect. But only if it’s going to help you, not hurt you, in the long run.”

I sighed. “I appreciate you and your concern. I do. Set up the meeting so we’re good to go the minute we get the call.” My voice was crisper than I’d meant it to be. “Thanks, Mitch.”

I hung up before she could reply and headed to the outskirts of town. Instead of riding my horse, I would stop by Riverside and visit my mother while waiting for the phone to ring.

Riverside Place was built ten years ago as an “independent living center for active seniors” in unincorporated Haversport. The town had grown up enough to almost touch it, but it still had that ‘towne country feeling’ boasted about in its literature. Bluffs jutted up in the distance on three sides of the facility, giving the seniors excellent views from most balconies and patios. My mom had called this place home for the past four years.

I parked in my usual spot and signed the guest register. A dull roar floating down the hallway on the right reminded me it was Friday Happy Hour. Oh, brother—I didn’t have it in me today to watch wheelchair-bound ninety-year-old studs flirt with half a dozen adoring fellow residents. Seemed like everyone had a partner—except for me.

Shake it off, sister!
I pushed through my melancholy and pulled myself down the hall. Dick Clark was up on a big screen, and there were streamers everywhere. Who knew what holiday was being commemorated here today. Certainly not Good Friday. It didn’t matter. Silver heads bobbed with simple glee, and I stopped to greet my mother’s friends and neighbors as I kept an eye out for her.

A cane tapped the back of my leg. I turned to face a dignified gentleman, with sparkling blue eyes, in a wheelchair. “Chief! Have one on me.”

Art Spenser held out a plastic cup of something questionable.

I took the offering from his shaking hand and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Art. How are you? You’re looking great.”

His fingers circled my wrist with practiced ease. “Your mother needs you. She don’t look so good.” His crepe paper voice crinkled with worry. “Look in on her?”

“You know she hates these things. Though if you’re here, she usually is too.”
Was she sick? Why hadn’t the staff brought her? Having another bad day?

“Look in on her.” He squeezed my wrist and then let it go.

“Thanks. I’m on my way. Go easy on the ladies.” I winked at him and gave him a quick one-armed hug.

Clipping down the hall away from the excitement, my phone vibrated. I turned right and headed into the assisted living wing, tugging my phone out of my pocket. Frank McKinley, Paradise County Sherriff. This was the news I’d been waiting for. It had to be.

“Mac. Thanks for calling.” I threw the words out without thinking. “What do you know?”

“Afternoon, Josie. I hope you’re well. You know I want what’s best for you.” Mac’s deep voice poured over me. Good news? Bad news?

“I know that.” I quieted my tone, tried to calm myself. Mac could not be rushed.

“I know you’re going to want to work a case we both know you should not be working. I know that I’d be wanting to do the exact same thing. I’m not going to tell you you can work this case. I’m just going to tell you that you’ve been cleared to return to work by Dr. Stoklavich.”

I sucked in a deep breath, raised my head to the ceiling, slow-counted to ten, released it. “Oh, thank God.”

“Yes, thank God as I’m sure He’s got a hand in this, and I’m even surer that He’d want His best working the case.” Mac’s message was clear—even if he didn’t want to say it out loud. You never knew who could be listening in on conversations at the courthouse. “And you
are
the best, Chief Oliver. Just be wise about it. And lean on your right hand man.” He ended the call before I could squeak out my appreciation.

I sent Mitch a quick text telling her I was cleared and back in the game while heading to my mother’s room. Just as I reached her door, Mitch responded.

SHOWTIME IN THIRTY MINUTES. NEVER DOUBTED YOU
.


I tapped on the door as I pushed it open. The hum and whoosh of the oxygen machine greeted me. My mother was not in her little living room. I followed the oxygen hose to her bedroom and tip-toed inside. She was asleep, a peaceful smile lending her face a sweetness in the wan light. Her little bird’s body was swathed in a mound of home-spun blankets. I slipped to the side of the bed, touched her arm, and bowed my head.

Dear God, thank you so much for my mother. Watch over her, and please heal her from any physical issues she might be struggling with today. Please give her a strong sense of Your presence deep in her heart, in her spirit, even as she sleeps. I love you, Mighty God. Thank You.

After watching her sleep and praying a moment longer, I left Riverside, going as fast as my municipal plates could take me.

I pulled the squad car into the empty space next to Mitch’s cruiser near the front door of the station. From the looks of the parking lot, she’d gathered the A Team to greet me. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for this show of respect. Of course, it could also be the first subtle sign of impending mutiny.
Hope for respect and be ready to settle for simple acquiescence.

My hands gripped the cool leather of the steering wheel hard enough to send tremors through my arms all the way up to my shoulders. I sat still for several seconds, peering into the tinted glass doorway, as if I had the power to divine what may or may not be happening on the other side of the vestibule.

The door pushed open and a diminutive blonde materialized in the bright sunlight. Even in a drab navy shirtdress, the woman commanded attention. Her cornflower blue eyes smiled as our glances met, and I climbed out of my car. She waited for me to join her on the landing.

“Liz! Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes! What in the world are you doing out here? Waiting for me to arrive so you can give me a police escort?” As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, her darkening eyes confirmed it. My smile froze, and my throat went ice cold.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Liz stood before me, clasping and unclasping her hands. I took a deep breath and squeezed her trembling forearm. It dropped to her side.

“It’s okay, Liz. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. What’s going on?”

“There’s been another murder.”

My head whipped back. Electricity jolted through me.

“A murder? Where? When? Who was the victim? And why are you out here telling me this on the station stairs? Why are we not inside with the boys sifting through the details?” My shoulders stiffened.

“It’s not just that.” Her eyes dropped to the concrete.

“Go on.”

“The guys have been wondering out loud about you. About your absence. About the, well, the other thing…”

“And what else have they been wondering about?” My temples throbbed.

“About whether or not your fitness routine includes any sledgehammering.” Her eyes darted from the sidewalk to just over my right shoulder as she spoke.

“The victim was murdered with a… sledgehammer?” I leaned against the railing, uttering the last word in a whisper. “Who was the vic, Liz?” The cold steel soothed my lower back.

“The victim was also a perp. And honestly, to hear Mitch tell it, half the guys don’t even care who did it, and the other half want to track the killer down and give him—or her—a community service award.”

“He was that bad?” The muscles in my face relaxed, and a gentle warmth washed over me.

“Yes, he really was that bad. And you know him.”

“
I
know him?” My brain wandered through a thick, black forest, as numbness seeped into me. What was she trying to say, without telling me?

“You’ve arrested him on three different occasions. The last one was pretty recent. A few days before the, uh, the other thing.”

I smiled at Liz’s inability to refer directly to the murder of Del and his girlfriend.

But then I frowned. “Deter? Did somebody off Deter?” I pulled my head back, brows arched.

“Yes. The victim is—was—Derrick Deter.” She looked me straight in the eye. There wasn’t a hint of a smile there.

“Somebody killed Deter with a
sledgehammer
?” My first second back on the job, and my professional life just took a major turn off course.

“Yes. But that’s not all.”

“That’s not enough?” I snorted. The news of Deter’s demise was transforming me back into my scrappy self in a hurry. Things could
not
be any worse than this. Which was sort of like saying they’d get better—right?

“It’s more than enough. But it’s not all. He was shot in the kneecap, drugged, and
then
beaten to death with a sledgehammer.”