Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) (15 page)

“What do you mean a
fresh one?
You mean a body?” Trace stepped around Chas and followed the kid’s gaze toward the direction of the old workshop.

“That’s what I mean.”

Chas exchanged glances with Trace.

“She found it, not me,” Woody quickly added, inhaling a long drag of his cigarette. He glared down at Roxy, apparently annoyed that she wasn’t speaking on his behalf.

“Show me,” Trace said. He glanced at Chas. “You should stay with her.”

Chas almost argued. Then he decided his brother was right, Roxy was in no shape to be left alone. When Woody and Trace were gone, he folded his arms over his chest and stared down at her. “You want to tell me what the hell is going on? What are you doing here? I asked you to stay near the police station.”

She took several deep breaths, then looked up at
him, her eyes full of fear. “I got a call earlier this afternoon. I came here to meet someone.”

He raised a brow. “Are you shitting me?”

She didn’t answer.

Swearing, he struggled to rein in his temper. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Someone called me and told me they knew where Dylan was and that he was in danger.”

He wanted to believe he had heard her wrong. There was no way she’d been stupid enough to meet a stranger in a secluded place like the junkyard, without even telling anyone where she was going. There was no way that after she’d been attacked the night before, she’d put herself at risk that way.

But there was, he realized. Because that was exactly what she’d done.

Glaring down at her, he swore. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

“The person told me no cops.”

“So fucking what!” He finally exploded. “Murderers don’t tend to want cops around, Roxy! It makes it harder for them to commit a crime!”

Roxy winced, but didn’t comment.

So angry he could barely see straight, he looked up as his brother headed toward him, Woody on his tail. They had obviously run back from wherever they’d been. They were both out of breath. He knew by the look on Trace’s face that things were bad.

“It’s Abel Flannigan.”

Surprised, Chas blew out a breath. “Definitely dead?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a fly farm. Half of the back of his head is crushed in. He was obviously bludgeoned with something.” Trace glanced at Woody. “I’m going to need you to stick around. You may as well get comfortable.”

Woody grimaced. “I didn’t find the body, she did. I have nothing to do with this.”

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here then? Were you the one who called her and wanted to meet her?” Chas glared at the kid sternly.

“I didn’t call her. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just heading for the workshop when I heard her screaming,” Woody said
incredulously. “Shit, it was so loud I’m surprised the entire town didn’t hear her. She ran smack dab into me and practically had a nervous breakdown.”

“And then what happened?” Chas asked, while Trace got on his phone and called the situation in.

“She told me she found a stiff. I didn’t believe her at first.” The kid apparently realized that involving himself in a police matter hadn’t been the smartest thing for him to do. He was starting to look nervous now. “I didn’t do anything. You’re not going to find a way to pin this shit on me.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Roxy said wearily. She looked up at Chas contritely. “And I don’t think he was the person who called me. His voice isn’t as deep or as raspy.”

“The fact that people can disguise their voices easily over the phone—especially a cell phone with a spotty connection—goes without saying,” Chas snapped at her, and then focused his attention back on Woody. “Where were you last night around eleven PM?”

Woody narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Just answer the question,” Chas ordered firmly.

“I was home, in my bed. Just what are you trying to drag me into now?”

“You have any witnesses to corroborate that?” Trace asked, obviously catching on to Chas’s line of questioning.

“Of course I do. My old man was just awake enough last night when I got home to start a fight with me. I’ve got the bruises to prove it—and so does he.” The boy glowered at Chas. “This is bullshit. I’m telling you the truth. I just got here this morning. I was home all night.”

While Chas normally had his doubts about Woody McClean, something made him believe the boy this time. “How many of your friends were here with you when you heard her scream? I’ll need to talk to them too.”

Woody frowned. “It was just me. I haven’t seen anyone today yet. I told you I just got here myself.”

Chas shot the kid a warning glance. “Do not withhold information from me, Woody. That’s Obstruction. I’d hate to have to haul you in for something as senseless as that.”

Woody’s face reddened but he held his ground.
“I just got here and there wasn’t anyone else here. You can believe me or not. I don’t give a fuck. My mother will corroborate my story so there’s nothing you can do to me.”

“What about Tabitha Kennings? Have you seen her?”

“I don’t know where the hell she went. She was supposedly going home last night.” He lit up another cigarette as he snorted. “Maybe she finally got tired of the fat old fart and finished him off. You know Flannigan’s her old lady’s boyfriend, right?”

“We’ve got some units on the way,” Trace said, interrupting the conversation.

Chas nodded, quiet for a moment. Then he looked at Woody again. “I’m going to need to talk to you down at the station.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“You may not have anything else you
want
to say, but I have more questions for you.” He looked down at Roxy, unsure what to do about her.

“I’ll have someone drive them both back to the station, once we get some help here,” Trace said,
taking the issue out of his hands.

There was nothing he could do but nod.

FIFTEEN

Roxy stared at the clock on the wall in the waiting room of the police substation. She’d been staring at the damn thing for the past six hours. She’d heard nothing from Chas, not that she’d expected to. She knew he was still out at the junkyard with Trace, securing the crime scene. At least that’s what the officer at the desk had told her the last time she’d asked. Of course the officer at the desk was the same snotty woman that Roxy had talked to the first day she’d come in here. It was even more evident now that she had a problem with Chas—a problem that was obviously of a personal nature.

To make matters worse, Woody McClean was sitting a few chairs away, a scowl on his face. Clearly he was no bigger on patience than Roxy was.

“Thanks for screaming loud enough to involve
me in this,” he muttered, digging through his pockets. He came up empty. Apparently he was finally out of cigarettes. He’d been stepping outside to smoke one about every ten minutes.

“Next time I’ll try to scream softer,” she snapped, annoyed. Did he really think she was any happier about finding a body than he was?

“I’ve got to hand it to you. That took balls. I mean going out there to meet someone alone like you did.” He smirked at her. “Either that or serious lack of brains.”

She scowled at him. “My brother is missing. I was trying to help him.”

“I don’t think your boyfriend was too happy about that fact.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped. She stared at Woody for several seconds. He stared right back at her. She found herself bristling. “You know, maybe it was you that called me. Maybe you are the one that lured me out to the junkyard today. You were the only one around. I could be wrong about your voice being different. Chas is right about it being easy to disguise a voice over the phone.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m your best case scenario. A cold blooded killer is your alternative.” He snorted then. “Besides, if I did know where Dylan was—which I don’t—I’d never help you out. The kid’s better off on his own.”

She shivered at the truth of his words. Deep down, she knew he was right. She’d been stupid earlier. More than stupid. And stupid wasn’t going to save either one of her brothers.

“Looks like you’ve got a little competition,” Woody said, snickering as he indicated the desk clerk, who wasn’t even trying to hide the hostile glare she was shooting Roxy’s way.

Roxy glared right back at the woman. “I’m not competition. I’m here because I have to be.”

He rolled his eyes. “If the tension between you and Detective Dick was any hotter, both your pants would be on fire.”

“Will you shut up!” she finally hissed, in no mood for any more of his crap. It only figured she’d have to run screaming to the most disrespectful delinquent in town. Now she was trapped with him for God only knew how long.

Another few minutes ticked by and for a change Woody was blessedly silent.

Just as Roxy was about to give up on getting out of the police station by morning, the double doors opened and Chas and Trace walked in, flanked by several other officers, including their younger brother.

Trace motioned for Woody to follow him. Chas indicated Roxy.

When they were alone in his cubicle, Chas sat at his desk and stared at her quietly until she wanted to squirm.

“What?” she finally asked, exasperated. Her nerves were flustered enough at this point. She didn’t need him initiating a staring contest.

“I’m still trying to figure out how in the hell you could have been so stupid.”

She knew she deserved the words. All the same, she bristled. “Is that what you brought me back here to say to me?”

“Among other things.” He sighed as he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “The fact that you could have been killed goes without saying. You were
stupid and careless and ignorant. You’re lucky you didn’t arrive at that junkyard a few minutes earlier. If you had, it might have been you that we found in that Cadillac tonight. Do you realize that?”

Her skin chilled and she bit her bottom lip. “I know it was stupid. I should have called you.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You were supposed to be meeting with Briggs today. I thought you were helping him deal with Devon.”

“
He
was meeting with Devon, not me,” she answered quietly. “He never asked me to join them.”

Chas cursed. “This is unbelievable. I can’t leave you alone for one minute.”

“You’re the one who cut me loose, Chas. Don’t forget about that.” She glared at him. “I know you’re angry with me and I know I was stupid. Enough said.”

He sighed, obviously frustrated. Shutting his eyes, he took a minute to calm down. “I need to know everything you can tell me about that phone call. Start with the number.”

She dug into her purse and pulled out her phone, then cursed when she remembered it was dead. “The number was blocked.”

“Naturally.” His scowl deepened. “Tell me what you can about the caller.”

She frowned. Nothing about the caller had been that remarkable. “It was male. Deep, but quiet.”

“What else? Did he sound young or old? Any accent?”

“He could have been young or old,” she said, frustrated. “I couldn’t tell over the phone. No accent. Just a deep voice—and scratchy, like I told you before. He told me he knew where Dylan was and that he was in danger. He told me to come alone.”

Chas was thoughtful for a moment. “He called your cell phone. Is it listed publically?”

She hadn’t thought about that before. “No. I don’t give it out to anyone really. Myles has it, of course. My former boss and landlord in Seattle have it. I don’t have any other friends. But I did give it to Scott Briggs today.” She looked at him. “You have it. You called me in Seattle.”

He met her gaze evenly. “I got it from your Aunt Myra’s address book.”

A chill washed over her. She’d forgotten about that. Of course Aunt Myra had kept her phone number in her address book.

He rubbed his stubbly cheeks wearily. “Look, it’s been a long day and night. I’m taking you back to my house. We both need some sleep. Tomorrow you need to go see your brother. I need answers about what happened to Myra Tavish and I need them now. It’s going to be up to you to get those answers.”

“And if Devon doesn’t give them to me?”

“You sit there until he does.” Chas looked up as Trace poked his head into the cubicle.

“I’m out. I need to go see Willow tonight. Are you going to be…” Trace’s expression was easily readable as his voice broke off.

“I’m fine. Just go,” Chas snapped irritably. Trace let out a whistle as he left.

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake,” Roxy said, once Trace had left the room. “I was worried about Dylan and I didn’t think things through. I was
stupid.”

Chas frowned but he didn’t scream at her. “It’s been a long night and I’m still pissed off. We probably shouldn’t talk any more right now unless you have something to say that will help with this investigation.” He grabbed his keys and stood up abruptly, obviously assuming that she had no more useful information for him.

“Okay,” she eventually said and followed him out of the building.

The drive to Chas’s house was made in silence. Once she was settled in his room a few minutes later, she sat down on the bed, her head pounding. She massaged her temples, desperate to ease the tension. The minute she tried to shut her eyes, she saw Abel Flannigan’s bug infested face again. Her stomach rolled and she breathed deeply, her eyes focusing on the ceiling the way they’d done the night before.

She couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was getting to her. Everything was getting to her. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She crept out into the hall and peered into the
living room. She saw that the television was on, the volume muted. The lights were off. Chas was sitting on the edge of the couch, a tumbler of something in his hand. There was a whiskey bottle in front of him on the table.

She just watched him for a while. The moment he was having seemed too private to interrupt.

“Do you need something?”

The words startled her and she jumped. His voice sounded different—dark and controlled. She shivered involuntarily. “I was just checking on you.”

He snorted at that and took a swig of whatever he was drinking. “I’m a big boy. Go to bed.”