Obsession (Southern Comfort) (31 page)

“I’m going to take Mr. Koch
out, get his prints.  So that we can distinguish them from any other prints we might find,” he told the man when he grew visibly alarmed.

“Oh.  Sure, sure,” he said, and let Mac escort him out.
         

Frowning at the water that squished out of the carpet to soak her shoes, Kathleen walked gingerly into the bathroom.  It matched the bedroom, which, she’d noted as Mr. Koch had been spilling his guts, was even more feminine than the living room.  Lots of flowery fabrics and what Kathleen thought of as little-girl lace
on the neatly made bed.  Not her cup of tea, but then she didn’t have to live here.

An assortment of jars and powders and brushes and other tools of the feminine trade were arranged on the double vanity in
decorative little clusters, along with a delicate glass bowl of potpourri and a jar candle that was surely responsible for the hint of vanilla in the air.

Kathleen touched it with a gloved finger.  The glass was still warm.
 

But it was the
I’M SORRY; SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SUCH A BITCH, written in what appeared to be red lipstick, that really drew the eye.

Kathleen looked up, frowning at h
er own reflection, which was obscured by the message.  It was separated into two lines, the
I’m sorry
considerably larger than the rest of the oddly phrased sentence beneath it.  The first person pronoun suggested that it had been written by the deceased, but she found it a rather strange suicide note – if indeed that was how it was intended. 

Generally, people that took their own lives pointed an accusing finger at
whatever or whomever they deemed had done them so wrong that suicide was the only resort.  Those that did ask for forgiveness tended to do so in such a way that it absolved them of blame. 
I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.

She’d never seen anyone, pushed to that
emotional point of no return, deride themselves in such a manner.  It made for a pretty negative epitaph.

If she had to guess, she’d wager that’s what Michaels had been referring to when he described the scene as
odd.

Turning, Kathleen squished along the tile
– also scrupulously clean, although that could have been due to the fact that it had recently been standing with water – and approached the tub.

The shower curtain – another floral affair – was pushed back, and
appeared soaked a couple inches up from the bottom.

A feminine hand – nails painted a rosy shade of pink – dangled over the edge of the tub. 

From this angle, Kathleen could see bare legs beneath the water, and from the looks of it, the body hadn’t yet achieved full rigor.  That meant the victim had been dead for less than twelve hours, though the ME would have to make that call.  When they got her out of the tub, the livor mortis patterns would give them a better idea of whether or not she’d expired in the position in which she’d been discovered. 

A bath caddy rested across the tub, holding an empty glass
of wine.  A paperback novel, its pages sodden, floated, half-submerged, behind the shower curtain.

Steel
ing herself for what was likely to be unpleasant, Kathleen walked forward so that she could see the dead woman’s face.

And when she did, she stumbled back against the door.

Staring back at her, eyes wide and empty, was Mandy.

“Oh…” Kathleen swallowed down the bile that wanted to rise.  “Shit.”
   

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JUSTIN
held his phone next to the footprint on his garage floor.  The photos Kathleen had taken that morning were pretty clear, and to his untrained eye the prints appeared to be a match.  He leaned back, while James peered over his shoulder. 

“Looks the same to me,” James said.  “Though I can’t tell scale from the photo.  Did you happen to measure it?”

“Yeah, Kathleen thought of that,” Justin said, and located the image she’d taken after placing a ruler next to one of the prints.  “The tread isn’t as clear here, but the outline of the shoe was better so it was easier to get the size.  It’s the same as this one.  Men’s twelve and a half.  My shoe size.”

“
Mine too,” James said.  “But it wasn’t me skulking around trying to get a glimpse of you and the hot cop playing naked games.  I couldn’t go anywhere, considering my car wouldn’t start.  Alas, I was home alone last evening, with nary a brother for company.”

“You can lay off the ‘woe is me’ routine, MacBeth.  I just changed your fuel filter.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while since I manipulated you with guilt.  You were always the easiest mark in the family.  A sad look, maybe a quivering lip, and I could con you into playing with me for hours.”

Remembering endless games of Candyland and building tracks for matchbox cars all over the house, Justin eyed his brother.  “You were a brat.  You’re still a brat.”

“True.  But you love me.”

Because he did, worry was a near-constant companion.  “You’ve been setting the alarm?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got my gun. But it’s been quiet as a crypt around here.  What do you make of this?” James gestured to the shoe print.  “The fact that it’s a man’s shoe, I mean.  That sort of messes up the theory about your psycho ex being the one who’s been skulking around, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Justin admitted, and felt the uncertainty twist his gut.  “I don’t know what to think.  Kathleen is concerned about this guy, the guy who was having the affair with his brother’s wife and supposedly conspired with her to kill him, but I can’t see how he would have connected her with me.  And the rest of it – the coffee, the shower curtain, the cameras.  The sugar in the gas tank.  That makes no sense.  What would he get out of messing with me like that?”

James was quiet for a moment, his breath forming a cloud in the chill of the garage.

“What about the ex?  Kathleen’
s ex, I mean.”

“Corelli?”  Justin shook his head.  “I can’t see it.”

“Dude decked you.” James nodded toward Justin’s eye, which had mostly faded to yellow.  “He was here.  That night.” He pointed to the shoeprint.  “You ran into him on the beach right before you found the coffee.  He’s a PI, so he knows how to pick locks, almost certainly knows about surveillance cameras.  He definitely knows where Kathleen lives.  And I imagine his shoe size is relatively comparable.”

Justin opened his mouth, closed it.  It made a sick sort of sense.  But…

“No,” Justin said.  “There’s no way he would have had time to sneak into the house that night and shred the shower curtain.  I was with him most of that time, remember?  And anyway.” He shook his head.  “Corelli’s too straightforward.  I made a move on what he perceived to be his territory, he punched me, then he moved on.  He and Kathleen were never that serious.”

“
Are you sure you just don’t want to think that?”

Frustrated, Justin forced himself to consider it.  True, he could barely stand to think about the fact that the man had been involved with Kathleen at all, but he pushed aside the possessiveness that wanted to cloud his logic.  And when he recalled the things both Kathleen and Anthony had said, recalled their demeanor whenever he’d been around them together, he stood by his assertion that neither of them had taken their relationship seriously.

Which made him consider Kathleen’s demeanor last night.  Hell, he didn’t even need to think about his own behavior.  He was in love.  Had been.  Would be.

But Kathleen – had she ever looked at Corelli the way she’d looked at him, as he’d been moving inside her?  They hadn’t said the words – Justin didn’t want to rush her – but… no.  Maybe it was his ego talking, maybe it was wishful thinking, but everything in him insisted that last night had been special.  For both of them. 

He blinked when James snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“What?”

“Shit,” James muttered.  “I knew it.  I’m gonna be the last son standing.  I better move to China or something, or Mom will drive me crazy.”

“China’s not
far enough,” Justin determined.  “Maybe they’ll colonize Mars.”

He smiled when James groaned and dropped his head back on his shoulders.

“Hey.” 

At the light rap on the open door, Justin turned around to find Kathleen
standing in the doorway.  Backlit, her hair was a shiny red halo around her head, and pleasure rushed through him.  He hadn’t heard from her since that morning, so her appearance was as unexpected as it was welcome.

“Hey yourself,” he said, while James gave a little wave. 

“Hi Kathleen,” he said, his tone a bit resigned.  “I was just…”  He pointed out the open door.  “Leaving.  Good to see you.”

She murmured a greeting as he brushed past.

When she turned back around, Justin got his first good look at her face.

“What?” he said, concern replacing the pleasure.  “What happened?”

Kathleen hesitated, then shut the door before stepping fully into the garage.  Her face was pale, her mouth grim.

“What?” he repeated, moving toward her.

“Justin.”  Her eyes were oddly blank.  “The call I got.  This morning.  I’m sorry, but the only way I know how to do this is to just say it.  It was Mandy.”

It took his brain a moment to compute what she said.  “What?”

“Mandy,” Kathleen repeated.  “She’s dead.”

Emotion
s warred in him.  Shock. Loss. Guilt.  And to his dismay, a tiny, tiny thread of relief.

“How…?”  He couldn’t quite finish the sentence.  It seemed macabre.  Insensitive.  But he had to know.

“We don’t know yet.  The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“But… you’re homicide.  If you were called, then clearly she didn’t die of natural causes.”

Kathleen briefly closed her eyes.  “There’s a possibility she committed suicide.”

Guilt took the upper hand, stealing his breath.  “A possibility?”

“Some things at the scene suggested it.  I’m sorry, but I can’t.”  She swallowed.  “I can’t tell you what those things are.  Not while the case is active.  For now, we’re treating it as a suspicious death, pending the autopsy results.  Then we’ll know more.”

Staggered, Justin leaned back against the hood of his truck.  “She filed a complaint against me.  At the hospital.  Harassment.”

“I know.”

His head whipped up at that.

“Part of the investigation,” she said.  “It came up.”

“I wasn’t keeping it from you,” he said slowly.  “I… last night, I didn’t want to talk about her.  I didn’t want her intruding any more.  I just wanted to be with you.  Only you.”

“I understand.”  Kathleen hesitated, then pulled her hand from the pocket of her coat.  “I’m sorry.”  She reached out, and he pulled her toward him. 

The hug was fierce, but not nearly as long as he would have liked.

“I, uh…” She pressed her lips together as she took a step back.  “I need to keep my distance.  For a couple of days or so.  Until this blows over.”

Pure shock made his lungs freeze up.  When he got his breath back, he climbed to his feet.  “You don’t think I… had something to do with this?”

“No,” Kathleen said.  Then more forcefully:
“No.
But I can’t compromise the investigation by being with you.  People know we’re friends.  And some people know we’re… involved.  Unless I want to be yanked off this case too, I have to handle this by the book.  Which means I can’t tell you anything.  And if we’re together, I’ll be tempted.  To talk to you.  Because I… care.  Justin, you know I do.  You know that.”

At the pleading look in her eyes, Justin could only nod.  But he still felt dirty, somehow.  It wasn’t logical, and he absolutely understood her reasoning, but it hurt.

Nothing to do about it, though.

“It’s okay,” he made himself say.  “I understand.”

Kathleen stood there another few moments, her eyes searching his.  Then she turned and pulled the door open.  She paused, her hand on the knob.  Finally, she looked over her shoulder.

“This is purely shitty timing, but I’ll kick myself if I leave here without saying it. 
When I said I care, that was a cop out.  I do care, and I always have, but it’s more than that now.  It’s… more.”

Then she was gone, and Justin was left feeling as if he were caught in an emotional storm.

Kathleen had basically just admitted that she loved him.  Then walked out the door.

Mandy was dead.

From the sounds of things, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t some kind of suspect.  And even if he wasn’t, Mandy had still probably killed herself.

Maybe over him.

Had he driven her to that point?  Or was she simply… unstable? 

Either way, he still felt like hell.

When the door opened again, Justin looked up, but the silhouette was entirely too large to be Kathleen.