Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (18 page)

There was no point trying to talk him out of it. I knew he wouldn’t listen. I opened my mouth to object then closed it. Having him stay wasn’t such a bad thing. I just needed to keep us both under the radar.

“What are your plans today?” he asked. “You’re still goin’ after him, right?”

I shot him a wink. “Do you really have to ask?”

…

I stood in Maddie’s living room giving her my best “I need your help” stare. I used it often. She recognized it right away.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I need a favor.”

Maddie gave Shelby a once over. “I can tell.”

“I dig your…house,” Shelby said. “It’s so…orange, and bright, and colorful.”

Maddie had never been one to adhere to any specific trend. Her living room walls might have been adorned with massive orange-and-white flowered prints, with an accent wall in the brightest hue of hot pink, but her bedroom was another story. It was black and decorated in a spicy shade of red that men couldn’t resist. It made her relationship with the straight-as-an-arrow Chief Sheppard seem even more surreal to me. I supposed everyone had secret fantasies. Even him.

“I live alone which means I can do whatever I want,” Maddie boasted. “That’s the beauty of flying solo.”

“Sloane lives alone,” Shelby said. “Her house doesn’t look like this.”

Maddie and Shelby laughed in unison. Nice.

“I dig your outfit,” Maddie said.

Shelby blushed. I’d made the right decision bringing her here.

Cade, who’d skipped the pleasantries, stared with an intense fascination at Maddie’s DVD collection. He looked different today, surprising me by slipping on a ball cap instead of his usual hat, which made him look like a bull rider at a summer rodeo. In a ball cap and a button-up shirt with frayed pockets, he reminded me a lot of the country singer, Eric Church. Not bad. Not bad at all.

“Madison, good to see you again,” Cade said.

“Is this cute one yours?” She nodded at Shelby.

He raised a brow indicating “cute” depended on the day. “She is.”

Maddie looked back at me. “What do you two need from me?”

“Can Shelby hang out here today, if you’re not working?” I asked.

“I need to go in for a while. I’ll take her with me.” Maddie looked at me then placed a hand on her hip. “What, you’re afraid of her seeing a few dead people? I’m sure she can handle it.”

Maddie didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t be fascinated by deceased bodies on a coroner’s table.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked.

We walked into the other room.

“Calm down,” Maddie scolded. “Don’t be so paranoid. I won’t let her anywhere near the dearly departed if it’s a problem. She can hang out with my assistants, watch them process stuff.”

“How much do you know about what happened to Shelby?” I asked.

“I’d know a lot more if you returned my phone calls.”

“Maddie…”

“Wade stayed over last night. I know all about it anyway.”

“This guy, he let her go,” I said. “I’m not worried he’ll come after her again. I just don’t want her to be alone, and Cade insists on going with me.”

“Since when did you allow a guy to insist on anything?”

“The killer took his daughter. He has a right to go after him.”

“I got it. She’ll be fine. Go. I’ll talk to you later.”

CHAPTER 38

“Where to?” Cade asked once we’d returned to the car.

“When I met with Butch he told me they’d had a robbery at the museum awhile back. He thought one of his female employees was behind it, but he didn’t have enough proof.”

“What do you know about her?”

“He gave me her name. Karin Ackerman.”

“Do you know where to find her?”

Silly question.

“She has a yoga studio over in Kimball Junction.”

“And she’s there now?” he asked.

“She’s just finishing her last class and is getting ready to start another one.”

“Let me guess—with you?”

“I’ve requested a private session.”

“What would you like me to do?” he asked.

We turned in front of Tranquility Yoga and parked. I tugged the nylon cord on my duffle bag in the back seat, leaned over, and patted Cade on the shoulder. “Would you wait here? If she’s a runner, I might need back up.”

As a detective in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he was used to giving orders, not taking them. But the odds of him taking a yoga class were slim to never-in-this-lifetime.

I entered the building, changed into more suitable clothes, and found Karin sitting on a mat. Her slim yet muscular legs were folded one over the other. Her hair was in a fishtail braid cascading down the side of her neck. Her hands were pressed together, head down, eyes closed. She was either meditating or praying. Several feet in front of her was a basket filled with rolled mats. I took one, sat down, bent my knees, waited.

“You haven’t ever done yoga before, have you?” Karin asked. Her eyelids fluttered open like she’d awakened from a deep sleep.

“Jujitsu mostly. Is it obvious?”

“Your posture is a bit…off.”

I hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. My posture was perfect.

“I’ve been meaning to branch out, try something new,” I said.

It was true. I’d received a red-and-black belt, accomplishing my goal in mixed martial arts.

“What do you know about yoga?”

“Not much,” I said. “I’ve heard it’s relaxing.”

“Depends on what kind you do.”

We began the session with some deep breathing and then moved into some restorative poses, focusing on relaxation. I wanted to get right down to business, ask my questions, but I found myself enjoying the way I felt. The tightness in my body diminished, my stress faded.

We stood and began sun salutations followed by something she called “tree pose.” I shifted my weight to the right, bent my knee, lifted my left leg off the ground, and rested it on my inner thigh, my toe pointed toward the floor. She asked me to fix my gaze on an object in the room and hold it there. Once we mirrored each other in balance, the questioning began.

“Am I allowed to talk?” I asked.

“Do you need a break?”

“I like the pose. It’s just hard for me to stay quiet this long.”

In real life, I preferred to sit back, remain a quiet observer. On the job, it was a different story.

“You’ll get used to it. I’d rather you stay quiet, try to focus.” Her eyes were steadfast, unmoving.

“I got your number from a girl I met at the Park City Museum,” I said.

The statement didn’t seem to rattle her in the least. My delivery was lacking. I tried a more direct approach.

“The girl I met told me she’d gone to the museum when she heard the indie film
Bed of Bones
was coming to the Sundance Film Festival this year.”

No movement. “I’m not familiar with it.”

Although still, I believed her statement. She didn’t seem to have a clue what I was talking about.
Did she own a television?

“
Bed of Bones
was the film they shut down after the bomb went off in the theater.”

She frowned. “Sad. Very sad.”

She was doing a good job keeping her answers brief.

“Yeah, I didn’t know what the movie was about until the girl told me it was based on a serial killer who committed several murders in this area.”

“Murders?”

I had her attention. Now to keep it.

“I guess the movie was about a boy who died after falling into a mine shaft. When they went in to recover the body, they found a bunch of dead bodies down there. The girl said the museum used to have several artifacts relating to the murders, but they were stolen.”

“Hmm. Too bad.”

For such a relaxed pose, she was sweating.

Good.

“I guess now the movie has become national news and police have reopened the investigation, you know, to figure out what really happened. I heard they think the person who robbed the museum might be the same person who bombed the theater.”

Her leg wobbled, her focus lost. She tipped, but held her arms to the side, stopping herself from toppling over.

I had an urge to pat myself on the back. It was, after all, a splendid performance.

“Oops, I know you said I should focus,” I said. “Should we try the pose again? I promise I’ll keep quiet this time.”

“I…I’m not feeling well. I’m sorry. Would you…can we postpone?”

She started rolling up her mat before I had the chance to reply. I walked over, held out my hand. “Here, I’ll put it away for you.”

“No, really. It’s fine. I got it. Why don’t you go? I’ll call you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

I ripped the rolled up yoga mat from her hands, held it out in front of me. The look on her face said a lot of things, but she didn’t say a word. What if word got out that the Zen yoga instructor lost her cool? It wouldn’t bode well.

She stood there, staring. I had to admit, I enjoyed the empowerment.

“You worked at the museum a couple years ago, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I work here.”

“You do
now
.”

“Who told you I worked there?”

“Walter Thornton. Or maybe you know him as Butch. You remember him, right?”

She gauged the distance between where we stood and the door, a mere twenty feet away.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t do it, Karin.”

The warning was one-hundred-percent selfish on my part. I hadn’t realized how sore I was after a few short minutes of stretching. Yoga was far more challenging than it appeared. And I didn’t want to run. Not right now. Too bad I didn’t always get what I wanted.

Karin broke into a sprint, her body colliding with a brick wall named Cade McCoy, who had impeccable timing.

“Answer the question,” he said.

Karin’s expression resembled a terror-stricken, wild bird locked inside a cage.

I eased up.

“Can I get you some water or something?” I asked.

“You weren’t here for the class, were you?”

“I’ve been meaning to try yoga,” I said, “but no.”

“Who are you?”

I offered my name.

“I know you broke into the museum after your shift one night. I know you took everything from the display. I can take you to the police right now, or you can give back what you stole. You give it to me, we’ll leave, and we won’t tell anyone.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Cade chimed in.

“And you will,” I said. “Right now. We’ll escort you to your house if necessary.”

“No, I mean I really can’t. I don’t have any of it.”

“So you admit you took items that didn’t belong to you?”

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Why then?” I asked.

Karin grabbed a yoga mat back out of the basket, snapped it open, sat down. “My head is spinning. I need to sit.”

It seemed awkward, but we joined her on the floor.

“After I left the museum one night, I was met at my car by a man.”

“Describe him,” I said.

“Older. Early seventies, maybe. Normally I would have maced the guy in the face, but he was frail and weak. I didn’t see him as a threat.”

“What did he want?”

“Everything from Chester Compton’s display. He said if I got it for him, he’d pay me five thousand dollars. Cash. You have to understand, I’m not a thief, but I’d been saving for three years to open this studio. Five thousand would give me the rest of the money I needed.”

“Justifying it doesn’t make it right,” Cade said.

“Did you at least ask him why?” I asked.

“I tried. He said it never belonged in the museum in the first place. The way he talked about it, you would think the items were his, but almost everything we had was donated. Most of it had been taken as evidence after the murder and was released to the museum as part of the town’s history.”

“What were his terms?” I asked.

“The five thousand was a one-time deal. In exchange, I wasn’t to ask any questions. I had two days to complete the job. He told me to wear gloves and to keep the lights off when I did it. There were huge windows in the place, so he advised me to stick to a flashlight, not turn on the lights.”

“Where did you make the exchange?” I asked.

“In the museum parking lot, same as before.”

“And after?”

“I was paid. He told me he wanted me to continue working at the museum for a couple months to avoid suspicion. Then I was to quit. If anyone asked questions, I was to deny knowing anything about it.”

“Butch suspected you,” I said. “He knew.”

“I know. It was the longest two months of my life. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt for what I’d done.”

“Not enough for you to come clean though,” I said.

“If I had, I’d only have incriminated myself. I had no idea who the man was. I’d never seen him before, and I never saw him after. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”

“Karin, how much do you know about what happened all those years ago?” I asked.

“Everything. Butch made us sit in on a presentation before we unveiled it to the public so we’d be able to answer most questions thrown our way.”

“I’m going to tell you something the public doesn’t know yet,” I said. “And it needs to stay between us. Do you understand?”

She bobbed her shoulders up and down. “Sure, okay.”

“I mean it. If I have to come back here because you blabbed to someone about what we talked about today, no amount of mace will keep you safe enough from me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I get it.”

“The murders are happening again,” I said.

“What…what do you mean?”

“Three women were found yesterday, dead, their bodies frozen.”

“Where?”

“Same location where the other women were found in the fifties.”

“How? The mine shafts are sealed now.”

“This time the women were arranged above ground.”

“It can’t be. Chester Compton is dead.”

“Someone else is trying hard to keep his memory alive.”

She cupped a hand over her mouth like she was experiencing a wave of nausea.

“I need you to think back,” I said. “Try to remember the times you met with this guy. If there’s anything you can tell me, anything you can remember, I need to know right now.”