Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3) Read online

  The sound of a siren in the distance had him jerking his head up. Hubby was coming back.

  “Well, this is fucking inconvenient,” J.P. said to Penelope, who moaned in her unconsciousness.

  He grabbed the nearby lamp and jerked it hard enough to rip the cord from the wall, leaving them in darkness except for the television flickering behind him.

  He ran to the kitchen. Sliding a glove back on over his right hand, he grabbed the kitchen knife he’d left on the counter. He would just have to finish the job. A little messier than he had planned, but he couldn’t leave her alive.

  When he appeared in the living room doorway, an ambulance came to a screeching stop in front of the house. He watched as Steven leaped from the driver’s side. Was he alone? He didn’t see his partner.

  This was definitely going to be messier than J.P. had planned.

  Steven flew through the front door and came to a halt when he saw J.P.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  J.P. cocked his head, staring at Steven.

  Steven looked to Penelope. “What did you do to her?”

  J.P. stayed silent as he assessed the situation. Steven didn’t hesitate long before he charged him. But J.P. had the advantage. He’d trained for moments like this.

  J.P. ducked to the right as Steven’s right fist came at his face.

  Penelope stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. “Steven?” she slurred.

  Steven came at J.P. again, but he was ready. J.P. stabbed Steven with one of the Champagne’s own kitchen knives, driving it up and into Steven’s heart. He pulled the knife out and stabbed again, this time in the gut and twisted. He then shoved him backwards and onto the couch beside his wife. Blood spread out from his body and onto the sofa he landed on.

  “Steven?” she murmured again. Her next words were incoherent. She placed a hand on her husband’s chest. When she pulled it back, she stared at the blood covering it. “Wha…” She could barely speak. She’d yet to even look up at J.P.—the stranger in her house. She was too busy wrapping her fingers around the knife and attempting to pull.

  But it was no use. She passed out again as blood seeped through her satin PJs.

  Another vehicle came to a stop in front of the Champagne house. A petite woman pushed out and ran toward the front door.

  “Oops. Time for me to go.”

  J.P. sprinted to the kitchen and through the sliding glass door, closing it behind him, and disappeared into the night.

  It wasn’t the scene he had meant to create, but hopefully it was enough to get Faith out of hiding and back to town.

  TWO

  FAITH

  There was something off in the air that morning.

  A crisp, cool autumn breeze forced me to hug my light sweater closed as I stepped down out of my trailer and took in the view.

  I had parked my 1969 Airstream at the Kentucky Horse Park Campground back in May, shortly after my nephew was born. Since then, waking up to the view of horses running in the fields each morning never got old.

  Gus meowed behind me. “You can come outside,” I told her. But she simply stuck her nose up in the air and turned toward the bedroom in the back. It was nap time for her majesty.

  A scattering of fallen leaves crackled against concrete. And I swore I could nearly taste the scent of pumpkin spice coming from my neighbor’s place. It was a little early for these signs of autumn, but it was Kentucky, after all. You simply never knew when the weather could change. It could be ninety degrees again by the end of the week.

  My neighbor, though, decided two weeks ago, when it was still ninety degrees, that it was time to invite autumn in. A sweet, young grandmother who went by Darla Jane had spent what some would say was a week’s salary on fall-scented candles at the local Dollar General. She claimed candles in the scents of “flannel” and “sweater weather” made her feel nostalgic and cozy in between times when her grandkids came to visit. What did “sweater weather” smell like? I, certainly, had no idea.

  Dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a cropped sweater, Darla Jane exited her trailer carrying two mugs of coffee. “I made you a latte.” She was forty-five years old and claimed to make enough money working January through April doing tax returns to pay for the expense of traveling the United States in a luxury RV she’d purchased used.

  I unhooked a fitted sheet from the clothesline I had strung earlier that morning, folded it, and set it on top of the laundry basket.

  I took the latte from her. “Thank you.” Her RV was equipped with more luxury than most houses I’d known, including a top-of-the-line espresso machine.

  “How do you do it?” I asked her.

  “Do what?” She sat in one of my outdoor chairs and crossed her legs.

  “Manage to look like a supermodel who has accomplished more before nine a.m. than most do in an entire day.”

  “Well, first of all, this isn’t my first latte. So my life is pretty much fueled by caffeine. Also, I do yoga every morning around six a.m. to start the day. And that’s after I’ve completed a skin care routine that I perfected in my twenties. By seven, I’ve checked my email, and then I spend the next two hours taking care of any business I need to address. So, by some accounts, I have done more by nine a.m. than many do all day. But you’re one to talk.” She waved a hand at me.

  “Meaning?”

  “How many hours did you work on your photography this morning as you simultaneously did laundry?”

  I allowed a smile to play at the corners of my lips, then scoffed as I sipped the latte. “Mmm,” I said. “Creamy, salted caramel.”

  She was right, though. I had spent the morning editing and categorizing the last set of photographs I had taken as I ventured through the Midwest on my way back to Kentucky. I had uploaded some of those photos to various stock photography sites, but I also held on to some as part of another project I was working on.

  “Speaking of photography,” I said, holding up a finger. I set my latte on a side table, then rose. “Be right back.”

  I darted inside my Airstream and grabbed the set of photos I had printed that morning for Darla Jane. When I returned, I held the stack against my chest and said, “Before I hand these over to you, promise you won’t cry.”

  “Cry?” she asked, confused. Then her eyes narrowed. “Are those the photos you took of my babies?”

  While Darla Jane was only in her mid-forties, younger than probably ninety percent of other grandmothers, she couldn’t be prouder of “her babies,” as she liked to call them.

  I handed her the photos, then sat and grabbed my latte. As I sipped, she flipped through the photos. And sure enough, puddles of moisture swelled in her eyes.

  “You promised,” I said.

  Her eyes lifted for a second. “I didn’t promise shit.” She sniffed, while smiling at the same time. “These are incredible. Look at my sweet Catherine. And Cody. And oh-my-God, look at Carson.” When she had completed three passes through the photos, she looked up. “You really have an eye, my friend.”

  “Thank you.” Friend, I thought. How long had it been since someone I’d just met called me “friend”? And since Penelope had blown off our weekly video call last night, hearing Darla Jane say that… Well, it was nice.

  “Where did you learn photography? You’re obviously trained, based on the equipment you used that day. And these pictures are just… wow!” She fanned herself with the photos. “Warms this grandmother’s heart.”

  I shrugged. “I took some college classes.” I didn’t bother to tell her that most of my college learning came from forensic photography classes. I’m not embarrassed by it; I just didn’t wish to have the conversations that might come from mentioning it. “I’ve also studied techniques of other photographers and took some online classes. Mostly, photography for me has been a whole lot of practice.”

  “You’re being modest.” She hugged the photos close again. “I love these. This is the nicest thing someone has done for me in a really long time.”
r />   “You’re wel—” My words were cut off at the sound of a truck crunching against the gravel. A large, black SUV with tinted back windows pulled into the parking spot in front of my Airstream.

  We both stood. My heart sunk to my stomach as I stared at Luke Justice behind the wheel. How the hell did he find me?

  Beside me, Darla Jane said, “What do we have here?” Clearly, she was not intimidated by the site of a federal law enforcement vehicle, and instead focused on the dark-haired man with the oh-so-handsome face chiseled to perfection.

  Luke, who stood at six-foot-two, stepped out of the truck and took a few steps toward us.

  “What we have here,” I said, crossing my arms. “…Is a man who doesn’t know how to take a hint.”

  Darla Jane looked at me. “You know this hunk?”

  “Hi, Faith.” Luke removed his expensive Maui Jim sunglasses to reveal moss green eyes women swooned over. “You’re a tough woman to track down.”

  “Clearly, not tough enough.”

  Darla Jane cleared her throat. Luke held out his hand. “Luke Justice.”

  With a kind, flirtatious smile big enough to stop most men in their tracks, Darla Jane slipped her small hand into Luke’s. “Darla Jane Bloom.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He slid his glance in my direction. “I’m sorry to barge in unannounced, but I need to talk to you.”

  I turned to Darla Jane. “Thank you for the latte. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Sure thing,” she said with a grin. “Thanks again for the pics.”

  Luke followed me inside the Airstream. His large presence inside my home always made the space seem smaller. And though I’d known Luke for almost a year, he still managed to intimidate me.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I asked. “Water? Tea?” Why did I feel the need to be hospitable to this man?

  “No, thank you.” He walked over and peered out the front window. “The Kentucky Horse Park Campground, huh? I certainly hadn’t predicted that.”

  When he faced me again, I set my latte aside, then leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. I didn’t owe him an explanation for why I was parked at the Horse Park. “I guess I don’t have to ask how you tracked me down. Being a federal agent and all.”

  “I didn’t use FBI resources to find you.”

  I lifted a brow.

  “Your Aunt Leah told me where to find you.”

  I shifted slightly. Aunt Leah wouldn’t have given him my whereabouts without good reason. “And how did you manage to manipulate the information from her?”

  “Why did I have to, Faith?” He held up a hand. “Actually, that’s not important right now. I’m not here to argue with you. Something’s happened.”

  I straightened. “What? Is it Aunt Leah? The baby?”

  “No. They’re both fine.”

  I relaxed slightly.

  “It’s Penelope.”

  “Penelope? She missed our call last night. Where is she? What happened?”

  “She’s in the hospital. She’s going to be fine. But Steven is dead.”

  “Oh, God,” I said, reaching out a hand to brace myself. Steven was Penelope’s husband—the love of her life. “An accident? Danny?”

  “Danny’s fine. I think he’s with Penelope’s mother. Let’s sit down.” He stepped toward me, grabbed my elbow, and led me over to the dining table.

  I slid into the booth and just stared at a spot in front of me. “I should have known something was wrong. Something didn’t feel right when I woke up this morning. She hadn’t answered when I called last night. She never blows me off like that.”

  “What time was that?” Luke asked.

  My head shot up. “You didn’t say what happened. Why does it sound like you’re putting together a timeline?”

  “The police aren’t saying much. What I know, I got from Cooper.”

  “Cooper Adams?” I said. “Is this an FBI matter? Oh, God.”

  “No. Coop’s pretty tight with the new police chief.” Luke reached across the table and took my hand. “Steven’s partner called 9-1-1 about eleven p.m. last night. She found them. Apparently she found Penelope unconscious next to Steven. She was covered in blood but did not appear to be injured. Steven was stabbed in the chest and stomach. A knife was sticking out of his body. Danny wasn’t there and thankfully didn’t see his parents that way. As of early this morning, police have yet to speak with Penelope. They pumped her stomach at the hospital, but she has yet to regain consciousness.”

  “Pumped her stomach?”

  “It seems she was loaded up with something. They’re not saying.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “You know they won’t let you.”

  “Do you or Coop have any idea what might have happened?”

  Luke’s eyes darkened further.

  “What is it?” I studied his face. “You don’t think…”

  He squeezed my hand tighter. “Based on what the chief told Coop, there is no evidence of a break-in.” He started to say more, paused a moment, then said, “I think we need to hear what Penelope says after she wakes up.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “Like I said, they probably won’t let you.”

  “Then I want to see the crime scene. Maybe Chief McCracken will let me photograph it.”

  “He’ll consider you too close. Hell, he and his officers are too close.”

  I pulled my hand away from Luke’s and stood. I walked over to the sink and filled a tumbler with water. After taking a drink, I turned. I hadn’t heard Luke get up and approach, but he was right there when I faced him.

  He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry to bring you this news.”

  “Why didn’t you just call?” I asked, grabbing a fistful of fabric at his waist. I surprised us both by allowing him to hold me.

  “Would you have answered?”

  “Probably not. But they have this thing called ‘leaving a message.’”

  He pulled back, and slipping a crooked finger under my chin, tilted my face so that I could look up at him. “I realize we aren’t in a very good place right now, but you know me well enough to understand that I wouldn’t deliver this news over the phone unless I had no choice. Want to tell me how long you’ve been living twenty miles outside of Paynes Creek?”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want if you’ll get me inside Penelope’s house.”

  “That’s completely unfair.”

  “But can you do it?”

  THREE

  FAITH

  Penelope lived in a modest home near the Paynes Creek City Park. It was convenient for Danny, who loved playing at the park’s playground.

  The house was a two thousand square foot ranch with a one-car garage. I remembered when Penelope and Steven purchased the house. Steven wanted to buy a larger house in one of the newer neighborhoods, with a garage that could accommodate both of their vehicles and a riding lawn mower, but Penelope said she wanted a mid-century house with “more character” like the one she grew up in.

  Two squad cars were parked directly in front of the house, and one unmarked vehicle that I pegged as belonging to detectives was across the street. A large, white SUV belonging to the medical examiner sat in the driveway.

  A pang of grief shot through my heart. Poor Steven. And Penelope. How was my dear friend going to get through this? Their love had been damn near worthy of fairy tale status.

  Luke pulled his truck behind the unmarked car. I scanned the area for other vehicles. Of course, neighbors had come out of their houses. Half of them had probably already heard from a “friend” on the force what had happened. The other half was busy making up their own version of the truth. Officers had blocked off the street from media and other gawkers, but the bloodsuckers had already heard and were set up behind the roadblock. “I see Marla Manfield didn’t waste any time staking her claim on true crime real estate,” I said. “Blucking Fudsucker!” Marla’s hair, the color of ground paprika, was tou
gh to miss. As was her heavily made-up face and unnaturally long eyelashes, a look that she felt was necessary for her career as a television sensationalist.

  “She’s certainly a rabid Chihuahua when it comes to staking a claim on a story.”

  Before we were even out of the car, another vehicle pulled up behind us. I turned my head and spotted Chief McCracken, Paynes Creek PD’s recently promoted chief. “The chief is here.” I already knew Mac McCracken. I’d respected him. He was a seasoned detective when I’d worked for the PCPD as a forensic photographer. He’d treated me with kindness, unlike some of the other assholes who had ignored my reports of break-ins a year ago.

  “That was part of the deal I made him. I told him you had information that might be useful.”

  I stared at Luke for a moment. I knew he was referring to the fact that I’d tried to call Penelope the night before. That would be useful to investigators for establishing a timeline. It wasn’t much, but if it would get me inside… “Fine.” I turned to exit the vehicle, but Luke placed a hand on my arm to stop me.

  “The other part of the deal is that you and I talk later.”

  Without answering, I pulled my arm away and climbed out of the truck.

  “Miss Day,” Chief McCracken said as he approached. “It’s been a while. Welcome back to Paynes Creek.”

  “Thank you. It has been a while.” I held out my hand and shook his. “Congratulations on your recent promotion.”

  “Thanks.” There was skepticism in his voice, and he studied my face with a critical eye. “Special Agent Justice tells me you want to photograph the crime scene. And you have information that might be useful.”

  “I would appreciate that very much.” I lifted my camera. “I’m happy to turn over everything I get.”

  “That’s a given, if I decide to let you in.”

  I shifted uncomfortably and glanced toward Luke before turning back to the chief. “You were actually on my very short list of people I wanted to speak to after I got settled back in Paynes Creek.”