Death is in the Details Read online

  “Mr. Day, do you believe your stepbrother set the fire that killed Sandra and Gordon Reynolds? Have you heard from Ethan Gentry since he was released from prison?”

  Where I would have shoved the leech out of the way and ordered her to leave, Finch merely squared his shoulders. “I do not know if Ethan set the fire. I’ll leave that to investigators to figure out.” He cast a glance in my direction, then returned his attention to the reporter. “No, I have not heard from him. And you need to leave. This is highly inappropriate, and if you had any decency, you would know that already.”

  He nudged past the reporter and joined his wife, who had stepped from the car holding a plate of deviled eggs covered in Saran Wrap—a funeral staple here in the south. She made eye contact with me as well.

  I spun around with the intention of finding my way to my car and leaving, but I was blocked by Agent Justice. I attempted to get around him, but he stopped me with a hand on my forearm.

  “Where’s the fire?” He closed his eyes. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

  “Let me pass.”

  He looked over my shoulder, then back at me. I don’t know what he saw in my expression, but his eyes softened. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I had no intention of leaving with him, but I did let him lead me away. Behind me, I heard several people shouting hello to Finch—or “Doc,” as everyone called him—and I hoped they would corral him and Aubrey and allow me to make my escape.

  No such luck.

  “Faith.”

  I stopped, closed my eyes for moment, then turned to face my brother. “Hi, Finch. Aubrey.”

  “Hey, Faith. You doing okay?” Aubrey spoke with a thick, Louisiana drawl. Her family was from New Orleans—fourth-generation Creole.

  “I’m fine, thanks. How are you doing? Feeling alright?” I glanced down at her gently swollen belly.

  “I’m hanging in there.” She rubbed her belly. She was starting to show, and because it was their first, they didn’t even try to hide their excitement. “I’m just sick about what happened to the Reynoldses, though. First their daughter is assaulted by that poor excuse for a teacher, and now her parents are dead. That poor child.” She looked down at her protruding stomach. “I’ll never let anything like this happen to you, sweetie.” She looked back up at me and smiled. “The books say your baby can hear you speaking to them from real early on.” Leaving her hand on her stomach like a protective shield, she nodded toward Luke. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh.” I looked at Luke. “He’s not my friend. Special Agent Luke Justice, Finch and Aubrey Day.”

  Finch stepped forward and held out his hand. “Special Agent. As in FBI?” he asked.

  “That’s right. I’m investigating a series of deadly fires, including the one that killed the Reynoldses.” I noticed that he lowered his voice. At least he had the decency to know how to behave at a funeral.

  But Aubrey’s ears seemed to perk up. “Oh! You think someone burned the Reynoldses’ home on purpose?”

  “We’re looking at all angles,” Luke said.

  Typical investigator response.

  “Did you photograph the crime scene?” Finch asked me.

  “That’s my job.”

  Finch shifted from foot to foot. “Can I talk to you a second? In private?”

  “Can we do it later? I was just on my way out.”

  “And we need to pay our respects,” Aubrey said, saving me.

  “Then can I call you later?” Finch asked. “We really need to talk.”

  “Sure.”

  Aubrey was pulling on his arm. “I’ll call you later, too, Faith.” She gave me a quick wink and a smile over her shoulder as she urged Finch to come with her. “And nice to meet you, Mr. Justice.”

  I’d nearly forgotten that Luke was still standing there.

  “That’s the local veterinarian, right?” he said. “And he’s your brother? I get the sense that he’s respected in the community.”

  I stared straight into his eyes. “If you’re looking for information, Special Agent, you’re going to have to stop sounding like an interrogator. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a real drink.”

  Boone’s Taphouse was just gearing up for the dinner crowd when I entered, so it wasn’t that crowded. I immediately spotted Matthew Lake and Bella Reynolds tucked into a booth in the back, sitting side by side. Across the table from them were two girls I didn’t know, but who looked like high school students.

  I slid into a seat at the bar. Caine approached with a glass and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon—Elkhorn Reserve. It was a favorite in the area. “You go to the funeral?” he asked while pouring.

  “Yeah. They had a church service and a wake at Janice Jones’s house.” As I took a sip, I swiveled in the stool to study Matthew and the three girls in the back booth. “What do you make of that?” I asked.

  “They’re not breaking the law by being in my establishment, so I’m trying to stay out of it. But I’m afraid as soon as the wrong person walks in, all hell will break loose. Then I’m going to care. A lot!”

  I turned back to Caine. “And the last thing Matthew needs is to be the center of a bar brawl. Or he’ll find himself right back in jail.”

  “Hey,” Caine chastised. “This is not a bar. This is a fine dining establishment.”

  “With a bar,” I said. “And if a fight breaks out, you’ve got yourself a brawl. And a reputation. It takes far less than what’s going on in that booth to get this town chattering.”

  “And hopefully far more than that to ruin the reputation of my restaurant, because don’t look now, but the fed just walked in. That’s something else people are yammering about.”

  I looked toward the door and saw Luke chatting it up with the hostess. “How did you know he was a fed?” I asked. But the answer was obvious. Luke’s entire look screamed FBI. He wore a dark suit, a tie loosened at the neck, and his hair was disheveled, like someone who had just had sex or had worked a long, trying day. Since I knew he had just come from a funeral, I decided on the latter.

  “He came in for lunch. I spotted that tall drink of sweet tea immediately,” Caine said.

  I noted that the hostess now had a hand on Luke’s forearm. “Looks like you’re not the only one who spotted him.” I turned back to Caine with a lifted brow, unable to contain a slight annoyance at Luke’s easy way with another woman.

  “So tell me,” Caine said, bringing the conversation back between us, “is it true that Bella’s parents knew about her relationship with the teacher?”

  I shrugged. “If you believe the rumors.”

  Caine’s eyes lifted to someone behind me. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  Luke slid onto a stool beside mine. He looked over at my glass, and with no originality whatsoever, said, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  Caine poured Luke a glass, then tipped the bottle in my direction. I nodded, and he gave me another pour. He then went off to tend to other customers.

  “I figured since you were going for a real drink, I’d find you here.” Luke faced forward, sipping his bourbon.

  “You come to have a drink with me, Agent? Or did you come to question me some more?”

  He turned, and I could feel him analyzing my profile. “You’re an interesting woman, Faith.”

  I shot a lazy look his way. “And what, exactly, makes you the authority on that?”

  “I have eyes and ears. When you walk through a room, people watch you. When you exit a room, people whisper. And when you exit a building, people sigh with relief.”

  My lips curved upward. “Really? You got all that after just a few days of being here?”

  He faced forward again. “If you don’t want to talk about yourself, tell me about your brother. Or we can discuss your stepbrother.”

  “So this is an interview,” I said.

  He motioned for Caine to pour him more bourbon. Took a sip when he had. Facing me, he said, “I’m not just investigating the recent string of fi
res. I’m also looking into the facts surrounding the fire that killed your mother and her husband.”

  My grip around my glass tightened. “It’s been twelve years. Are they reopening the case?” I asked so softly I almost didn’t hear my own voice.

  A more important question was: Did the state truly believe Ethan was innocent? The commonwealth’s attorney had decided not to retry him for murder, but without knowing the evidence that had prompted that decision, I couldn’t say whether it was truly exculpatory or merely driven by a procedural issue. Uncle Henry had told me that a witness had come forward with proof that the prosecutor’s timeline for that night was severely flawed—but that wasn’t necessarily proof of innocence.

  “Not exactly.”

  I drained my glass of bourbon, then stood. “If you truly heard what people said when I left rooms and buildings, you’d know that I don’t appreciate people prying into my life uninvited. You’d also know that most men would warn you to stay away from me, as I tend to bring trouble everywhere I go.” I stepped close to him and placed a palm against his face. “And here I thought I was going to like you.”

  “There’s a lot to like,” he said, his eyes glued to mine. “I think if you gave me a chance… got to know me…”

  What I did next was completely out of character. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since I’d been with a man. Maybe it was because I liked the way he flirted and I knew he was blowing in and out of town so fast that his presence wouldn’t last. Maybe it was because I just fucking wanted to embrace the opportunity. But I smiled, leaned in, and touched my lips to his.

  I’d wondered what his lips would feel like when I was at the wake, but never did I imagine I’d actually feel them so soon.

  They were soft. And he was gentle. Until I felt a slight shift—quick, like a lightning reflex—and he slid a hand to the back of my neck, stood, and deepened the kiss.

  When I pulled away, I kept my lips close to his. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my brother.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Try.”

  Bella and Matthew were in the parking lot when I exited Boone’s, and they appeared to be arguing.

  I took my time walking to my SUV, wanting to see if Bella needed help.

  “Did you promise her my scholarship?” Bella screamed at Matthew.

  “Of course not,” he answered.

  Was Matthew helping Bella get a college scholarship? I imagined her parents might have been thrilled about that. Maybe that was why they’d had him over to their house.

  “Babe,” he said, “you know I only have feelings for you.”

  I had been just about to open my car door, but when I heard this declaration, I paused and risked a glance in their direction.

  Bella leaned her forehead into his chest. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you love me. But I have nothing now. Without that scholarship I’ll never get out of this shithole town.”

  Her parents had been dead only a few days, and she was worried about some scholarship?

  Matthew rested his chin on top of her head. I saw the moment of recognition when his eyes rose and found mine… when he realized they were speaking in a public parking lot. He slowly pushed Bella back. “Let’s get you home. Your aunt will be worried.”

  Bella’s head tilted backward. She seemed to read his face, then followed his gaze until she, too, was looking at me. Her face registered recognition, and her jaw hardened. She marched toward me in quick, long strides. “You! This is your fault. People say you should have seen your brother start that fire—that your word would have kept him behind bars for life. Because he’s out, my parents are dead!”

  That verified that people were, in fact, linking Ethan to the recent fire.

  I hadn’t seen Luke exit Boone’s, but suddenly he was beside me. “Miss Reynolds, I don’t think this is the time or place to attack someone for something you know nothing about.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” she screamed, and I had to remind myself that she was a grieving seventeen-year-old kid.

  “Special Agent Luke Justice—FBI.”

  “Justice?” She laughed. “What kind of name is that? Like I expect a worthless cop like you to get me justice.”

  Matthew had enough sense to back slowly away. Bella Reynolds really was an arrogant and angry teenager.

  “Mr. Lake,” said Luke, “I think it’s time you get Miss Reynolds to her aunt’s house. And if I were you, I’d stay clear of each other, or you’re going to find yourself right back in jail.”

  “Oh, didn’t you hear?” Bella said. “They’re not gonna let Matthew be a teacher anymore. Because of dicks like you, he’s got to find a new job.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was calling him a dick because it was slang for cop, or if she was simply calling him a derogatory name. Probably both.

  “He doesn’t even get a trial. And we didn’t do anything,” Bella continued. “You’re the one who should be put on trial.” She was yelling at me again, and it was taking everything in me not to slap sense into her. “You lied, and now your brother is out, and he’s killing people again.”

  “Okay… Let’s go.” Matthew physically turned Bella and pulled her toward his car. When he had her settled in the passenger seat, he gave us a low wave. “Sorry. She’s just upset about her parents. I’m taking her to her aunt’s now.”

  When Matthew pulled out of the parking lot, Luke asked, “You alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I turned back toward my car, but Luke pushed his way between me and the open door.

  “You okay to drive?”

  “I said I was fine.” I stood there, letting his eyes burn into mine.

  He seemed on the verge of asking me another question, but thought better of it. Stepping aside, he watched me slide behind the wheel and shut the door. Instead of taking a moment to catch my breath, I turned the ignition and drove out of that parking lot without looking back.

  Six

  The next night, with the Spotted Cat matchbook sitting in the cup holder beside me, I turned my vehicle into the quaint, bordering on seedy, lounge. It was nestled beside a budget motel just across the county line from Paynes Creek. I parked, hopped out, and strode inside.

  The place was dim, and a terrible five-piece jazz band played in one corner. One look at the trumpet player—an overweight, red-faced man dressed in a football jersey two sizes too small—made me worry he might keel over if he blew too hard. I hoped he didn’t; I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to perform CPR tonight.

  I walked along the edges of the room, scanning the faces of the people sitting at the small round tables, looking for anyone familiar. I then made my way toward the bar, where a couple of men sat with two stools between them. Travelers, maybe. I figured there were two kinds of people at the Spotted Cat: tourists and regulars. This wasn’t the type of establishment that drew new locals in on a daily or even a weekly basis. It was the same people night after night, plus those staying at the motel next door.

  Which made me wonder how a matchbook with the Spotted Cat logo had landed near my fire pit. Was it simply that the lounge was situated close to Paynes Creek? Maybe Finch or Uncle Henry had been in here and had dropped the matchbook the last time the family gathered around the fire pit.

  A couple of waitresses walked between the tables carrying trays of drinks. I noted that all the servers were female, and they wore short black dresses with white aprons—like something right out of the seventies. Such a getup took the women’s movement back forty years.

  I walked to the other end of the bar, as far away from the door as I could, and sat at a corner table that would allow me to see the door and the entire room. A waitress brought me a glass of water, and I ordered a glass of red wine.

  And I waited.

  For what, I wasn’t sure. But since Paynes Creek PD hadn’t taken the fire and break-in at my property seriously, I would.

  The band played a couple more songs, then took a
break.

  As I sipped the house wine, which wasn’t terrible, I twirled the matchbook in my fingers and studied the faces of the few people who entered. But by the time I’d drained my wine glass, I’d decided what I was doing was stupid. What did I think I was going to find? An arsonist? Someone easily recognized as a stalker, who had broken into my trailer while I was sleeping, lit some candles, then built a large bonfire? Would I know the person?

  I pulled a ten from my pocket and set it under my glass. I was about to stand when I saw him.

  He strolled into the lounge and walked right up to the bar like he owned the place. But he didn’t stop there or grab a stool. He lifted a section of the hinged wooden bar top, ducked behind the bar, and started tying an apron around his waist.

  Ethan is working at the Spotted Cat?

  I sank lower in my seat, wishing I could somehow disappear. My heart thumped so hard in my chest that I placed a hand there to hold it in. I became lightheaded, and a ringing erupted in my ears so loud I thought I might pass out.

  I could almost smell him—how I remembered him. Not the smell of cheap cologne that he wore when he went to school or out with friends or other girls, but the smell of soap and fresh country-living air—the way he smelled when he hung out with me at home, playing video games or doing the chores Mom and Eli assigned us.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the napkin in front of me. A drop of red wine had created a splotch that looked like a watercolor painting. Another deep breath, and the volume of the ringing lowered slightly. Another, and my heart slowed a little.

  When I had calmed enough, I looked up again. There was no way for me to exit the lounge without walking the entire length of the bar. He would see me for sure.

  My waitress returned, blocking my view of the bar and of Ethan. “Can I get you anything else, hon?” She was chomping on a piece of gum. Her hair, the color of onyx, was piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. She was probably in her late twenties, though she was aging prematurely; the lines around her eyes and lips told me she was probably a smoker.