Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (15 page)

“Here, lean against me,” he said. “It’s going to be all right. You hear me?” He had a cup of water now which he tried tipping into my mouth. I felt like a helpless baby bird. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” I said, or tried to say.

Had I said the actual words aloud, or was it all in my mind?

Every bone in my body had turned on me.

I felt a hand come down on my cheek, quick, sharp, slapping me.

What the hell?

“Look at me,” Carlo said. “You’re better than this. Don’t do this! Not now. Not here.”

Not here.

At the station.

What am I doing?

My eyes opened, he came into focus. I looked around. We were in a room surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes.

“I think I blacked out. Did anyone see me?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah.”

He handed me a cup of water. My face was wet, probably from his attempts to force the water down my throat.

“When was the last time you got some sleep?” he asked. “And by sleep, I don’t mean a fifteen minute cat nap.”

“Umm…maybe three, four days ago.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“I thought someone was driving me.”

“They were,” he said. “Now I am. I’m getting you home in one piece.”

“Why?”

My question pained him.

“What do you mean
why
? Despite what you may think, I care. You did your best to help me. I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

I scoffed at his last comment.

People weren’t getting hurt.

They were being sent to an early grave.

Permanently.

CHAPTER 31

The ride home was somewhat of a blur. I felt weak, like I’d been drugged. I requested Maddie have access to the bodies. It wasn’t common protocol to switch MEs in the middle of an investigation, but if I had the will, Carlo had the way. I also said I wanted to keep digging, keep looking, help catch the killer. He said no in a very fatherly kind of way, stating he thought it best to let his people handle the investigation from here on out. The truth of my involvement was out. I suppose he’d decided he didn’t need me anymore.

At some point he seemed concerned I’d be home alone. He asked about my roommate.

Roommate
.

Funny.

Cade had tried calling several times. Shelby wasn’t at the station when I arrived, so I assumed he’d picked her up. Maybe they were already gone. It was probably for the best.

“Looks like someone’s home,” Carlo said when we arrived.

I leaned forward. He was right. The lights in my house were on. Cade’s black Dodge Ram was parked on the street.

“You can…umm…let me off right here,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I came this far. I’ll see you to the door. I’d like to do a quick check of your place before I go.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll let you know if there’s a—”

Problem
in the form of six foot three male wearing a cowboy hat and square-toed, leather boots, leaning against the wall in front of my doorway.

Cade spotted me in the passenger seat and was on the move.

Shit.

“Who’s he?” Carlo demanded.

“The girl you met the other night at my house—he’s her father. He came to pick her up.”

Carlo put his window down. Cade didn’t walk over. Instead he waited for me to put the window on my side down. He stuck a hand in, reached across me. “Cade McCoy.”

Carlo squinted before accepting his hand, the shake between them looking like a battle of grips.

“Carlo Luciana.”

“Luciana. Any relation to Giovanni Luciana?”

“He’s my brother. And you—you’re the detective from Wyoming, right? The one Sloane helped find those missing children last fall.”

Cade nodded. “Is…everything okay?”

If I remained in the car any longer, Carlo would take the opportunity to continue asking questions.

“Look,” I said to Carlo. “I appreciate the offer to put a detail on me, but I don’t want it. Use them to keep an eye on someone else. I don’t want another woman to go missing.”

“Sloane, you need to—”

“No, Carlo. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care if you want it or not. It’s happening.”

I opened the car door, got out, closed it behind me.

Cade slung an arm around me and looked at Carlo. “Nice to meet you.”

Carlo grimaced.

It didn’t matter.

I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I wasn’t with his brother.

Not anymore.

“I thought you might have gone home,” I said.

“Couldn’t leave without knowin’ you was all right.”

I snuck a glance at him, realizing I’d kind of missed the country boy who switched the “were” for “was” in conversation. “I wanted to call. I haven’t had a moment to myself all day.”

“Shelby asked if we could stay tonight, make you dinner. She feels bad about everything.”

“Did you two have a chance to talk?” I asked.

“It was more of a screaming match for the first hour, but we both agreed things need to change. She needs to take more responsibility for her actions. She’s almost an adult. It’s time she started actin’ like one.”

A brisk wind sailed past. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders. Cade removed his jacket, draped it over my shoulders. Always the gentleman. We’d reached the porch, but he didn’t seem ready to go in. There was movement behind the peephole on the other side of the door. Shelby.

“And you—what do you need to change?” I asked.

“It’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on?”

“I can’t keep waitin’ for Shelby’s mother to come back one day.”

I never knew he had been.

He looked like he wanted to eat his words. “Oh, no. It’s not what you think.”

“How do you know? I haven’t said anything.”

“It’s just—you looked like you didn’t understand what I meant.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

I was about to get one anyway.

“I haven’t wanted my ex back for a long time. It’s just…Shelby needs her. My mother does what she can, but she’s gettin’ older, and besides, it’s not the same. Shelby needs someone to do the things I can’t.”

“You
can
,” I said. “One decent, loving parent is far better than two dysfunctional ones.”

“Sounds like you had it rough.”

“There were good days and there were bad. By the time I was in high school I’d practically raised my sister, Gabrielle, all by myself. My mother did what she could. She loved us. But the abuse she received from my dad changed her as a person. She was stifled in many ways, never allowed to be her true self. And when you’re not yourself, how are you supposed to raise two children?”

The front door swung open. Boo bounded out, prancing in circles around the two of us

“You two comin’ in or what?” Shelby asked.

Cade looked at me. “I feel guilty, like we’re invading your space. We can stay at a hotel tonight. I’m not tryin’ to get in your way, especially after all you’ve done.”

“Stay. Having you here will keep me distracted.”

“To be honest, I kinda wondered if the guy in the car was Giovanni.”

“Is that why you made a mad dash for the car the second we drove up?”

He grinned. “I have no idea what you mean.”

I socked him in the arm.

Shelby backed inside the house with a smile on her face wider than the Brooklyn Bridge. She pushed the door closed so it was only open a crack—like there was any chance we’d believe she wasn’t still listening.

“How are things with Giovanni anyway?” Cade prodded.

“They’re not. He left. We’re not together anymore.”

“Are you—”

“Dealing with it. I have plenty of other things to worry about right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have already asked. How’s it going?”

“Not tonight. You can ask me tomorrow, just not today.”

“I understand.”

He didn’t, but I appreciated the sentiment all the same.

The smell wafting through the kitchen air, was, to be honest, not the most inviting aroma I’d ever breathed in. Shelby seemed so proud of herself, there was no way I was going to dampen her spirits. Cade, on the other hand, was a man.

“Shelby, did you burn somethin’?” he asked.

With Boo in one hand and a spatula in the other, Shelby indicated her displeasure at his criticism. “I did what the recipe said, Dad.”

Emphasis on the word “Dad.”

“I’m sure it will be great,” I said. “I’m going to get changed.”

I’d taken my top off before I became acutely aware my bedroom door wasn’t shut all the way. I caught a glimpse of a boot and heard the words, “Hey, Sloane, I’m going to—” He stepped forward, took one glance, and backed out.

“The dinner, it’s not going to work,” he hollered through the bedroom door. “I told Shelby we’d go pick up some food and bring it back.”

“You don’t have to—I’m sure I have something that will work.”

“We looked in your fridge. You don’t.”

What did he expect? Most of the time I was cooking for one.

“You have a preference?” he asked.

“No sushi. Anything else is fine. I think I’ll take a bath while you’re gone. I could use one.”

“We won’t be long,” he said.

CHAPTER 32

I decided to forego the bath and opened my laptop instead. The file Butch forwarded was ready and waiting. I clicked play, and voila,
Bed of Bones
started rolling.

It began the same way Butch said it had in real life. Two boys discover a mine shaft, the youngest falling in, plunging to his untimely death. Fast forward to a swarm of detectives and cops arriving at the scene, soon learning a small boy wasn’t the only thing waiting at the bottom of the mine.

I saw seven bodies in the dirt of the mine bed, all placed feet first to form a circle, their arms crossed over their chest, facing a sky they would never see. Behind their heads were gnarled-looking wooden crosses, each bearing the crude etchings Butch had spoken of before.

According to the actor playing lead detective, the women had all been taken between Draper and Salt Lake City, Utah, all within months of each other, over a span of four years. Before the gruesome discovery, there were no clues, no tips, nothing leading investigators to the abandoned mine shaft in Park City. When the women went missing, it was like they’d vanished. Every case had gone cold.

I pressed the fast-forward button on the remote and hit play again when a ranch house was displayed on the screen. I expected the scene to cut to the inside of the house where maybe police would be conducting a search, finding the typed confessions, among other things. I was wrong. Melody Sinclair had added backstory, reverting to a time when Chester Compton was still alive. I watched in disappointment. She’d recreated what she assumed had happened—a movie scenario. It was a clever idea to be sure, but since Chester was dead when they eventually linked the murders to him, there was no way most of what I was seeing could be verified.

I watched the screen. A middle-aged Chester Compton sat at a small, wooden desk, his head down, feverishly typing away on an old typewriter. The camera zoomed in on the words as his fingers pressed the keys. A scripture passage from the book of Proverbs. No big revelation there. Then justification on why
she
had to die.

Then, a door opened and a woman came in. Chester stood up, and they embraced. He said her name.

Pearl.

His wife.

Pearl gazed at the typewriter, her eyes shifting from left to right, leading one to believe she was reading the words he’d typed. This part was mere speculation on Melody Sinclair’s part, pure fiction as far as I was concerned since Pearl never admitted to knowing anything about the missing women. Maybe it was this sliver of an embellishment that caused the words LYING TONGUE to appear on Melody’s grave marker.

My phone buzzed.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for three days!”

It was Maddie. She didn’t sound pleased.

“I’m sorry. My life has been a whirlwind ever since we got back.”

“How is it any different than any other time?” she quipped.

“Did you talk to Carlo?” I said.

“I did.”

“And?”

“At first it was a resounding
no
. Katherine Gellar, the other ME, had an absolute come apart when she found out I wanted access to the bodies. Then her son got whacked in the head by a hockey puck a few hours ago at his game. She begged them to allow her until tomorrow morning to look over the bodies.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over well,” I said.

“Yeah, they want them processed now, before another woman goes missing.”

“Lucky for you.”

“I’ve downed two cans of Red Bull already. ‘Lucky’ isn’t even close.”

“You’re at the lab now then?” I asked.

“
Her
lab—dealing with
her
people, but hey, I’m here, just like you wanted.”

“And?”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” I asked.

She had a gift for leaving me hanging.

“We’ll get to it. First, what questions do you have for me?”

“Were they all killed at the same time?” I asked.

“I can’t be certain. Rigor and lividity is hard to determine because of the condition in which their bodies were found. I will say this…stomach contents indicate they were killed soon after they were taken. Whatever food they consumed before their abduction, it’s still there.”

“What do you mean?”

“The GI tract empties within twenty-four hours, but with these ladies, I can tell what their last meal was. Easiest way to explain it is the food is frozen in time along with the bodies.”

“What about the gunshot wounds, anything there?”

“All three women had contact wounds, meaning the gun’s muzzle was pressed against the skin when it was fired. I found significant charring on the skin surrounding the wound on all three vics.”

“The wounds wouldn’t happen to have been made by a forty-five?”

“How did you know?”

“I’ll explain later,” I said.

“With Melody Sinclair and Victoria Broderick, the bullets were through-and-through. With Brynn Rowland, the bullet’s lodged inside her skull. I can see it on the x-ray.”