Wicked Tempest: A Kate Waters Mystery (Kate Waters Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

“Are you a coven sister?”

Suzanne nodded.

“My sister was good friends with her. I like to think that Jev saw something different in Thea than what she tries to portray to others.”

“Jev?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Suzanne said. “We all loved Jev. She and Thea were very close. Not to disrespect your sister, but Jev was easily influenced by her.”

Kate knew that to be true. She changed the subject. “Authorities think Brooke’s death was the result of a lightning strike.”

“I heard that too.” Suzanne’s stare hardened on Kate. She sat forward in her chair. “What I don’t understand, though, is why you think Andre had something to do with the dead snake?”

“He came to my house a couple nights ago and threatened me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know why.” Actually, Kate did, but she noticed Suzanne hadn’t mentioned anything about the statue, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to bring it up.

“Well…what did he say?”  

“He wanted to know what Thea and I were doing over at Brooke’s.”

Suzanne stood from her chair. “Was he at Brooke’s?”

In her peripheral vision, Kate saw a shadow move behind the dining room curtain, just before Andre stepped out onto the porch. His eyes exuded hatred. His gaze slipped from Suzanne to Kate. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Kate instinctively took a step back.

“Is it true?” Suzanne said to him. Her voice quavered under what seemed like a suppressed cry. “Did you go over to Kate’s asking about Brooke?”

Andre paused under her stare. Kate sensed a lie was cutting its way out of him.

Suzanne stepped closer to him. Her hand flashed back before slapping him across the cheek. “You fucking bastard.”

She hurried into the house, leaving Kate alone with Andre. He turned a glare full of outrage on her. Kate’s intention to stand up to him had suddenly melted away from her, turned to quicksand beneath her, and threatened to pull her under.

Andre took two quick strides and planted himself inches from Kate’s face. Her instinct was to step back again, but the table was behind her. Her body shook under Andre’s penetrating, rage-filled eyes. She expected his fist to fly up at any minute.

As though enjoying seeing her shake, Andre let his intimidation linger a moment longer before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was all gravel and fire. “You’ll pay for this.”

Kate swallowed hard. “It’s not my shit to own.” She turned for the sliding glass door and didn’t bother looking back, not until she was safe in her car and two blocks away.

Thick rays of gold-blue sunshine pierced through the thinned areas of gray clouds in bands of heaven-like light. It shimmered against the raindrops on the windshield of Wells’ patrol car like jewels. Steam rose from the slick, black pavement outside the Beachside Grill Restaurant. Wells took a bite of something called, The Coastie Dog, a hot dog topped with onions, bacon, shrimp, and spicy mustard.

He watched the traffic stream through town and mulled over the facts in Brooke Jennings’ death. Even though autopsy reports showed no apparent signs of foul play, her friends said someone had been harassing her. Suzanne mentioned that Brooke was afraid. Afraid of who? Andre Singer? The videotape showed him and Brooke walking to their car, arms entwined. They looked to have been in love. He doubted Suzanne knew anything about it, otherwise, she would have mentioned something about that. About them. Maybe she already knew, and if so, that would give her motive.  

He waited for news from John about the two near-identical marks on the necks of Jim and Brooke. Wells presumed there was a link there, somehow, somewhere. The coincidences of their times at the beach, proximity of death, and marks on their neck were too great. There had to be something else he was missing.

Another salty breeze gusted through the window. Two teenage girls walked by with cell phones in hand. They weren’t much younger than Julie, though lately, she had grown up more than he realized. A part of him actually missed her old boyfriend, Chad, whom he’d had issues with because of their talk about getting married. Back then, that was the last thing he had wanted for Julie, to be young, married, and raising kids. He wanted her to live life first, go to college and travel the world, but now that seemed much more treacherous than the sacrifices made with marriage and kids. Who was he to give advice?

Wells steered his thoughts back to work. He opened the City of Portland Driver’s License database on his laptop. He had been studying Andre’s information on the screen when his stomach growled. Wells finished off his hotdog and searched through Andre’s employment and property records. Another lease came up at John’s Landing. It had a lot number. Wells speculated it was a mooring dock. He jotted down the address and Andre’s current employment, Parr Lumber on Walker Road. There was more to do in town, he decided, and started up his car.

Before he headed back, he wanted to comb the area where Jim washed ashore. He doubted he would find anything forensics hadn’t, but just being in the area, becoming part of the scene might help shed light into the mystery behind Jim and Brooke’s connection. Andre’s involvement seemed likely, a gut feeling that grew stronger with each gathered piece of information on Brooke. He asked himself the same thing about Thea. She gave him a different kind of a pull, but one that was just as unsettling.

***

Kate left Andre’s shaken up, but still happy she had stood her ground with him. The sun had set when she pulled into her driveway, and the porch lights were on. The first thing she did was scan the porch for another dead snake on the doorstep. Fortunately, there wasn’t one. While she didn’t want to admit there might be any truth to the curse, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman she had seen and wondered if it really was Rán.

The dim interior of the house brought an even darker shadow to her mood. She locked the front door, took off her coat, and went into the spare bedroom. The statue was still there. She went to her bedroom and picked up the meteorite necklace David had given her off her dresser. She fastened it behind her neck, wanting to be close to him. Her thoughts drifted to Nick. He was an attractive man, and had she been single, she might have accepted his offer to have a drink tonight, but she wasn’t single and didn’t want to be. She was happy with David, believed they had something special, and she hoped he felt the same.

She headed to the kitchen, mainly, the refrigerator. Chips and salsa were likely to be her main course tonight, potentially her last if the curse was real. She sat down at the computer in the dining room and sorted through her mail. One of the envelopes had a United Airway stamp on it. It was a notice about her and David’s travel miles. She opened it and checked how many miles they had accumulated to date: 1,300 miles. Below, she saw the most recent addition from David’s flight, purchased February 3rd, PDX to LAX. That couldn’t be right. She followed the date and dotted line to the flight details again. PDX to LAX, with no layover. It was a direct flight.

It had to be some kind of mistake. PHX was the airport code for Phoenix, Arizona. If LAX was a layover, they would have listed it as PDX-LAX-PHX. That was how they had listed it in the past. She went to the computer, into the United Airway website, and pretended to book a flight to Phoenix. It listed it as PDX-PHX. Kate thought back to her conversations with David, suddenly remembering how he hadn’t wanted her to take him to the airport, said he would just park in long-term. At the time, Kate thought nothing of it, but now, it was obvious: she would have seen his flight plans, that he hadn’t gone to Arizona.

David was in Los Angeles.

Not only had David been withdrawing from her lately, but now, he was lying to her too? She pushed the mail aside. It wasn’t right to pry, wasn’t like her, but why wouldn’t David have told her that he was in California instead of Arizona when he had left her the message? She opened up their bank account and scrolled down to his credit card, clicking on the menu for “most recent transactions.” The last transaction listed McGrath’s Fish House, Santa Monica, California, March 28th.

Kate stood from the chair, her breath stuck in her throat. A fury of thoughts stormed into her mind. She paced the dining room floor, one hand on her hip and the other one on the meteorite necklace. She bit at her lip thinking of how he had acted before he left, recollecting every detail to explain the current situation.

What we have is different… I’ll miss you
…Words he had spoken.

“Goddamn you!”

Kate fisted her hands and squeezed them so tight, her fingernails dug into her palms. Breath heaved out of her like a growl. No, Kate reassured herself. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do this, but she looked at the screen again. It was all there, staring her in the face. LAX. He had lied. Heat rose to her cheeks and tears swelled into her eyes. She fought back a cry. There must be some explanation. Possibly an unexpected transfer and their team had met at McGrath’s. Then a memory unfolded with such force, Kate thought it would tear a hole through her heart. Santa Monica, California. She knew of only one person who lived there. Her name was Robyn Hoyt. David’s ex-wife. An explanation.

Her cry broke through.

***

The Parr Lumber parking lot was located on the side of the building, and at 5 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon, it was still full of trucks, flatbeds, and working forklifts. Wells eyed the lot for Andre’s red Nissan. He found it toward the back of the lot, went over, and peeked inside. Nothing other than tools, work gloves, and empty food bags. He went inside the building.

The man behind the desk took a moment to inspect him as he entered, perhaps more accustomed to men in overalls than those in blazers. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Is Andre Singer employed here?” Wells held out his badge.

“Yeah. He’s in the back, over by siding.” He pointed through a tall gate that rolled to the side on wheels.

No escort. Good. “Thank you.” Wells was fond of covert entrances—the first emotion to cross one’s face, no matter how fast, he thought, always held the most truth.

Wells scoured the paved field of pallets, stocked with two-by-fours, paneling, roofing materials, and other building supplies. The smell of wood, metal, and dust permeated the air. He turned a corner and headed toward the back near siding. Andre was pivoting a forklift and backing a pallet of roofing material at the end of a row. Wells moved to the edge of his peripheral vision and waited for him to notice him. It didn’t take long. Andre was a cautious man.

Wells flashed him his badge. “Andre Singer? I have a couple of questions to ask you.”

Andre’s gaze bounced between Wells and his badge. His face hadn’t changed at all. Nothing moved behind those dark eyes. He stopped the forklift and stepped down to meet him.

“I’m Detective Orwin Wells. Is Andre Singer your real name?”

Andre’s shadow cast over Wells’ face. He was taller than him by at least five inches. “That’s the name I was born with.” His eyes flitted to the other employees watching them. He motioned to the back of the building. “There’s a break room over there.”

Wells followed Andre into the building. The break room was cold and dim and equipped with a sink, microwave, soda and snack machines, and a table. Andre dug for change in his pocket. He pushed four quarters into the slot and punched the Dr. Pepper button. Wells sat down at the square, metal table. Andre slouched into the chair in front of him and snapped open his soda can. His demeanor reminded Wells of a teenager, slack with heavy signs of annoyance, but the calloused hand that held the soda can told him another story, that he wasn’t dealing with an adolescent mind. Andre was a man in his prime and health. All Wells had over him, literally, was age and hopefully, valuable experience. He got right to the point, the only way to start.

“I’m here for a couple of reasons.”

Andre shrugged. “My tabs expired?”

“Didn’t notice, but I’ll check on my way out.” Andre shifted in his seat. “I’m here about Brooke Jennings. How well did you know her?”

“I loved her.”

Good, Wells thought. He wasn’t in the mood for lies or games. “I thought it looked that way on the videotape I saw of you two at the Ocean Villa Condos.” Andre’s eyes widened for the first time. “I’m just wondering if Suzanne knows anything about that. It might interest her to know that her best friend, who is now dead, was last seen with her boyfriend.”

“They weren’t best friends,” Andre replied. “And she already knows, Detective Orwin Wells.”

The comment surprised Wells. If Suzanne had known about Andre and Brooke, it seemed she would have told him. “Are you sure about that?”

Andre took a swig of his soda and leaned his chair back on two legs. “She does now since one of Thea’s little tramps came to the house and told her yesterday.”

Thea again. “Thea’s little tramps?” Wells repeated. “Would you care to give this tramp a name?”

“Kate Waters. Why don’t you question her? I’m sure she’s got a few secrets too.” Andre brought the chair legs back down and leaned over the table toward Wells. “Ask her what the hell she was doing at Brooke’s in the first place?”

“Actually, I have spoken with Ms. Waters,” Wells said.

“What is this all about anyway?” Andre asked. “Brooke died from lightning.”

“I’m following up on the case. Standard procedure, making sure we didn’t miss anything.” Wells made certain he didn’t mention his meeting with Suzanne, just in case Andre was the beating-up type.

“Well then, Detective Wells,” he said, exaggerating his name, “maybe you ought to have a talk with Ms. Wright too. I loved Brooke Jennings. Thea Wright wanted to curse her.”

A fact that Wells didn’t really want to hear again. He tried another route. “Did you know that someone put a dead snake on Brooke’s doorstep the day before she died?” He waited for Andre to respond, but something had silenced him. A look of deep-seated worry crossed into his eyes. He took another drink of his soda.

“She was afraid of someone,” Wells added.

Andre shook his head. “She didn’t tell me everything.”

“But why wouldn’t she tell you that, I wonder? I mean, if she loved you, like you loved her, one would think she would have at least said something to you about it. Instead, she told your girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“They were coven sisters,” Andre replied. “Once again, questions you should be asking Thea Wright. She’s the priestess of the coven, or whatever they’re called.”

“There’s just one more thing I need to know,” Wells said, thinking back to Andre’s statement about Kate spilling the affair between him and Suzanne. He wondered how Kate would have known about that?

Andre tossed his can of soda into the garbage, scoring two. “What’s that?”

“Kate Waters didn’t know who Brooke was, so how would she have known about your affair with Brooke? I know Kate personally, and the Kate I know wouldn’t be airing your dirty laundry unless she had a good reason to.”

“I guess she doesn’t tell you everything, Detective Wells.” He pointed his finger at him. “She came over to my house yesterday, came inside my home, and told my girlfriend about my relationship with Brooke. That, Detective, is a Kate you don’t know.”

It still didn’t make sense to Wells. Something else must have happened. “But why would she do that? That’s what I’m getting at, Andre? Something must have upset her enough to want to confront you?”

Andre leaned back in his chair again, crossing his hands behind his head. His t-shirt stretched across his slim, muscular shape. In a monotone voice, he stated, “Suzanne said Kate had a dead snake left on her doorstep too, and she blamed me for it.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Andre’s expression seemed to be challenging him, Wells thought. Little did Andre know that when it came to harming women, specifically those he knew and cared for, it was one challenge he wouldn’t be losing.