Telling Tales Page 7

  “Maybe she wanted to scare me,” Darci said softly.

  Her eyes were locked on the wall, at the stain of red that smeared it. No words…just an erratic line, right down the middle, and palm prints pressed to each of the matted photos that adorned the wall.

  “Well, that’s a given,” Kellan sighed. “You find out somebody opened a door you’re certain you locked, and slid inside your house…you’re going to be scared.”

  “I’m starting to get pissed as well,” she said, lifting her shoulders restlessly, a muscle ticcing in her jaw as she stared at the ruined pictures.

  Kellan suspected he knew what was going through her mind. Certainly, she could throw the frames away, get new ones-the glass over the photos had protected the pictures she had shot. But he knew, even if she did that, they were ruined for her.

  As if in echo to his thoughts, she quietly said, “Some of these are the first photos I ever took. More than fifteen years of my life invested in them. And now they are ruined. I can’t ever look at them again without seeing those bloody handprints.”

  “I’m sorry, Darci,” he said quietly, dipping his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her.

  A dry laugh escaped her. “Yeah. Me, too. But maybe not for all of it,” she replied.

  And the look she sent him from under her lashes had his blood pounding heavy and hot through his veins.

  No fingerprints.

  None. The handprints on the glass and the walls were smooth, like a mannequin. They discovered why later as a deputy searching the grounds had found a pair of vinyl gloves lying beside the mailbox, stained red with paint.

  “Who in the hell are you?”

  “Sheriff?” one of the deputies asked from behind him.

  As he tossed the bag containing the vinyl gloves onto his desk, he muttered, “Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”

  Grady finished reading the report and asked, “Think it’s the same person?”

  “Almost has to be. This town is too damned small. You don’t go all this time with hardly any crimes and then suddenly have two nutcases show up at once,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept, not even for twenty minutes, since the night before…when he had kissed her.

  And then she had kissed him.

  The echo of her taste still lingered in his mouth. She had been so sweet, so hot…the scent of her arousal had flooded the air and he had wished he had more time…time to push her back onto the ground and find the source of that hot, musky scent, ripe and female.

  Nearly thirty-six hours had passed.

  And he still couldn’t forget the feel of her satin skin under his hands.

  “What in the hell are we going to do?” Grady asked, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have the men to watch her full time. And this all has something to do with her. Doesn’t it?”

  “’Fraid so,” Kellan replied, turning to stare out the window. The small sheriff’s office had more traffic in it than it usually saw on a weekend. Late Sunday, yet the small parking lot was full. Those who weren’t there because he had called were there because they wanted to know what in the hell was going on.

  Even the police got curious.

  He’d love to be able to tell them something. Anything.

  Anything more than, No, we don’t know what’s up…

  He was getting pissed.

  ***

  Kim stared at Tricia Casey with tired eyes. “Bryce will be in sooner or later-you know how he is. Why-”

  “We need him here now,” Tricia said icily. “I’ve lost two of my best artists. I’ve got business to do. I do not have time to stand around the gallery. That is why I hired you two and I’m tired of him not doing his job.” Her eyes narrowed shrewdly and she added, “You make an art of avoiding him-why is that?”

  Why don’t you go and find him? Kim thought nastily. But she didn’t dare say that aloud. Not to Tricia.

  Kim really didn’t want to go looking for Bryce. His golden boy blond looks, the way he stared at her, it all made her feel tight and itchy. But Tricia wasn’t going to go looking for him.

  And the only person left was Peggy. Not likely she’d do anything. Even though she was part owner of the gallery, she never did anything beyond work in the small studio in the back. Kim wondered if she even knew who Bryce was.

  Kim trudged down the steps, turning to the right. She could always drive over there-it was nearly a half mile to his apartment, but she had no desire to hurry back to the gallery.

  Resentment brewed in her belly as she remembered the look in Tricia’s eyes. She knew. That knowing, disdainful look… Kim wanted nothing so much as to knock that look off her boss’s face. Like that was really going to happen.

  She had to keep getting her paychecks, didn’t she? Carrie was no longer there to run interference. For the longest time, Carrie had made sure Kim would be around because she liked having a lackey. But Tricia couldn’t care less about Kim. And there was no reason to worry about keeping Carrie happy now.

  Turning right on Main Street, she jogged across the intersection before the light could turn green, muttering under her breath.

  Kim do this…Kim do that…

  Cutting across Preservation Park, she hit Lyle Street, scowling as she saw Bryce’s black truck parked in front of his apartment. Jerk. He was home, likely hung over or stoned. Just ignoring the phone.

  As she plodded up the stairs to the small apartment he rented from Letty Miller, she mumbled under her breath. “One of these days, I’m going to get extremely tired of doing everything I’m told,” she groused, banging on the door.

  She realized he wasn’t going to answer. It was too quiet in there. Even when he was hung over, he didn’t sleep that soundly. He should have already yanked the door open.

  Kim was even braced for him to yell at her. But there wasn’t a sound in the apartment.

  Pulling up the doormat, Kim grabbed the key and unlocked the door.

  The smell struck her like a fist.

  Kellan settled down across the table from Kim, studying her pale face. “He’s been dead a couple of days,” he said quietly. “It will be a few days before I know for certain. But there’s nothing you could have done.”

  She nodded jerkily. “That smell…” Lifting her eyes, she said softly, “I still feel sick.”

  “Were you and Bryce friends?” he asked gently, steering her mind away from that. He’d found her kneeling in the grass after Letty heard her stumble down the stairs and the old woman had gone to investigate.

  Now, Letty was fine, her bright eyes snapping almost joyfully. Oh, she’d be infamous now, he knew. She’d had somebody murdered in her apartment. Nothing like that to get people to talking.

  People were weird. Some of them had a morbid fascination with death. Letty was one of them. She followed every murder story that happened in the local area, from Louisville, to Madison, to Indianapolis and back. She knew more about local murders than a news reporter could ever hope to dig up.

  And now one had happened on her property.

  Kellan imagined it would affect her differently if it had been somebody she liked. And she had taken the time to bring Kim a cold rag and a glass of lemon-lime soda to wash the taste of vomit from her mouth, patting her back kindly before she led Kellan to the apartment.

  Letty wasn’t a bad person, just…unique.

  Kim’s hesitant words snapped Kellan back to attention, listening as she slowly said, “No. We weren’t really friends. I knew him, but he didn’t like me.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I honestly don’t think he liked women at all, if you want the truth.”

  “You mean, you think he was gay?” Kellan hazarded, a little confused by her words.

  “Oh, no. I don’t think he is gay. He loves…ah, using? Maybe that’s the word. He loves to talk about all the women he’s slept with, and he can be pretty demeaning toward them. Never around Peggy or Tricia-or anybody else who might try to make him eat his words. Tricia would cut h
im down without blinking…and Peggy could fire him,” Kim said. Then she gave a watery laugh. “I’m still talking about him as though he’s alive. Damn it.”

  Kellan gave her a minute, watched as her hands closed into tight fists and she took a deep breath. Once she had settled, he asked, “You mean an authority figure? Both Peggy and Tricia were his bosses.” Kellan scratched his head. He had known Bryce Bishop, distantly. And the guy was definitely down on the female race, a chauvinistic pig if ever he’d met one.

  “Maybe,” Kim said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “He likes-I mean, he liked-to push around the women he knew he could push around. But he never seemed to try it with those he couldn’t intimidate.”

  “Was he seeing anybody that you know of?”

  Kim chuckled. “Sheriff Grant, you seem to think he actually thought me worthy of confiding that sort of thing,” she said, forcing a tremulous smile. “I wasn’t anything to him. I know how he acted around women just because I saw him at work all the time. But he wouldn’t talk to me about his life. Wouldn’t talk to me about anything.”

  Sighing, Kellan pressed his fingers to his brow. This wasn’t adding up. Darci’s break-in, this latest murder… Even though he gave me reason to kill you last night…

  Through his lashes, he studied Kim’s face. “Where were you, Kim, on Friday night?” he asked softly.

  She blinked. “Friday night?” Shrugging, she said quietly, “Same place I usually am on Friday nights-home alone.” He heard the bitter acceptance in her voice and stifled a wave of sympathy for the girl.

  Running his tongue across the inside of his teeth, he ran the idea through his head. “What are your thoughts on Darci Law?”

  Now she cocked her head, staring at him with a line of puzzlement between her brows. “Darci? We’re not exactly friends…” her voice trailed away and she shrugged. “She doesn’t much care for the people I work for. And Darci has a funny set of rules. She won’t talk to people she doesn’t trust. And since I work for people she doesn’t trust, well, that means she can’t trust me.”

  “Rather astute observation,” he drawled.

  Kim flushed red, her eyes turning sad. “Not an observation,” she mumbled. Licking her lips, she looked down at the table, scratching at the surface with a nonexistent nail. “Darci told me that. Every once in a while, when I worked at Becka’s place, we’d go out for lunch. I tried to get her to go grab a bite with me, once, after I started working for Peggy and Tricia. That’s when she told me that.”

  “How did you feel about that?” he asked. Was there something here?

  “Kind of down,” she admitted. “Darci is…well, she’s Darci.” She flashed Kellan a smile, her nose wrinkling. “You know her. She’s…”

  “She’s Darci,” Kellan finished, chuckling, nodding. “Yeah, I know her. She’s Darci, all right.”

  Kim nodded, rubbing at a small nick in the table. “I was pretty hurt at first. But I wasn’t really surprised. Darci’s got a way of looking at things-black and white.” She swallowed, and when she spoke, her voice was softer, a near whisper. “Beth and Carrie did some kind of underhanded things to Becka.”

  “If it was underhanded, why did you go with them?”

  “Carrie. She…she went. Carrie is how I got my job with Becka in the first place. When she told me, I guess I felt I had to,” Kim whispered.

  “Did you have any reason to be mad at Carrie? Or Beth?”

  Kim sighed. “I don’t know. Carrie wasn’t the nicest of people, I know that. But she got me my job, helped me get the apartment after I got divorced,” she said, frowning. “But she could be kind of mean.”

  Hell…Kim wasn’t stupid, Kellan thought, leaning back and sighing. If she had killed any of these people, she would be protecting herself. Not leaving herself wide open like this.

  “I’d like to do a formal interview, Kim. Just procedure,” he said, studying what few notes he had made in his notepad. “Is that okay with you?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you think is best, Sheriff,” she said quietly.

  ***

  Damn.

  Helluva lot of blood, Kellan thought, surveying the blood pattern. It had sprayed from Bryce’s neck in a geyser before the man had reached up, trying to staunch the blood flow. No defensive wounds…didn’t see it coming?

  He’d died pretty quickly.

  An empty whiskey bottle lay on the floor, splattered with dried blood. How much had he drunk before she cut him?

  He paced into the bedroom, and studied the rumpled blankets. The air was stale. Couldn’t recognize any particular scent beyond that of death. Using his pen, he tried to edge back the sheets a little. Stains…maybe recent. The coroner would be able to tell him if Bryce had had sexual intercourse before he died.

  Was this the he who had been referred to in the note?

  Maybe.

  Bryce had liked to watch Darci. Kellan knew that because he liked to watch Darci and tended to notice when other guys were doing the same. But Darci wouldn’t go for Bryce, Kellan suspected. Not her type. She’d cut him to shreds with her tongue, especially knowing Bryce’s penchant for chauvinistic remarks.

  This might be the he , he thought, nodding slowly. Made sense. Darci was something Bryce had wanted. Would make a woman jealous. But why hadn’t the woman killed Darci?

  And if it was the same killer…why kill Beth? Carrie?

  Those were people who had caused Darci problems. Killing them, then Bryce, just didn’t make any sense. Bryce hadn’t really caused Darci problems. He wasn’t worth her time, Kellan suspected.

  So why had he been worth the killer’s?

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  The formal interview with Kim hadn’t yielded anything.

  Kim was a lonely, fairly simple woman without a lot of friends. No, she didn’t know if Bryce was seriously seeing anybody. Yes, she knew a lot of people who could be mad at Bryce, but Bryce had been pretty much a bastard. He’d pissed off almost everybody he met at some point in time. Yes, she was at home Friday night, all night, alone. No, she didn’t have a boyfriend.

  Kim didn’t have the spine to do any of this. Wouldn’t have the spine to sneak into Darci’s home, try to scare her…hell, Kellan doubted she had the brain.

  Or the fire. Although the murders had been quick, there was something…heated about them. Kellan couldn’t get past the thought that whoever had done this had some deep hatred inside of her.

  Kim didn’t seem to have that kind of passion.

  Somebody with heat inside them…he ticked through the people in his head whom he knew were acquainted with all the victims. Well, Darci had heat, but he knew she hadn’t done it.

  The murders had left her sick.

  Plus, he also believed what she had said… I’m too lazy…hatred requires energy.

  Yes, it did. A lot of energy.

  Tricia? Hell, that woman was an icicle. She didn’t have heat inside of her. Hatred was heat.

  Maybe Peggy…but he dismissed that idea before it even formed. She was a listless, lifeless being, the only heat he’d ever seen from her was in the paintings and sketches she sold.

  Della.

  He couldn’t think of a reason for her to kill Bryce, but maybe if he looked… There was certainly reason for Della to be angry with Carrie, if Della had finally figured out how badly Carrie was using her, how Carrie had lied. Somebody unbalanced would have a hard time dealing with anger in a logical manner.

  Was Della the type to fly over the edge with her rage?

  Possibly. She had certainly lit into Darci, from what he had heard, when she thought Darci was screwing Max. And he’d seen signs of her temper, knew she could sometimes react…irrationally.

  Maybe it was time to talk to Della a little bit.

  Chapter Five

  “Where was I?” she repeated, staring at him with flat, dark eyes. Della Bennett ran a hand through her dark, curly hair and lifted a cigarette to her mou
th, puffing twice before blowing out a stream of smoke through her nostrils. “Here. In bed, with Max,” she said, shrugging. “Why, you think I killed Bryce? That worm?”

  “I didn’t say anything of the sort, Della,” Kellan said, tapping his pen against his thigh.

  “Mmm. Maybe not, but you’re trying to pin down my whereabouts for the night he was killed. Can’t think of any other reason why you might be asking,” she drawled. “Max is at work, but you’re welcome to check with him.”

  “Oh, I will,” Kellan said.

  She shrugged. Couldn’t care less…he read the body language, the look in her eyes, and even though he finished running through his questions, he added everything up to one simple fact. She couldn’t care less about Bryce.

  She wasn’t his killer.

  His killer had cared, maybe obsessively so.

  “What about the day Carrie died?” he asked.

  Her lips curled up in a wry smile. “Max can tell you about that, too. I was busy ripping him a new asshole for daring to mess with another woman,” she said, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray. “He told me I was crazy and he didn’t know what in the hell I was talking about.” An odd look passed through her eyes and she added softly, “He was telling the truth. I didn’t admit that to myself until just a few days ago. He wasn’t messing around on me, not with Darci, not with anybody.”

  “So you know Carrie was lying? Mad about that?”

  “Of course, she wasn’t lying.” Della frowned at him. “Hell, I don’t know who started the rumor. Carrie was just telling me what she thought was going on. I don’t know where she came up with the story. Can’t ask her, either,” she said sadly.

  “You don’t think Carrie made it up, to cause trouble with you and Darci?”

  “Hell, what’s the point in that?” Della asked.