Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (22 page)

When questioned, Shawn spilled it all, proclaiming his actions were justified. He said it all began when his father confessed the truth about Shawn’s grandfather—the night before his father took his own life. Apparently Roy had stopped by Shawn’s home, desperate and forlorn because he’d just walked in on his wife, Shawn’s stepmother, catching her in bed with another man.

“Your grandfather was right,” he’d said to Shawn. “The evil ones need to be punished.”

In his hands, Roy carried a white, cardboard box. “Come here, I want to show you something,” Roy had said.

They sat down together. Roy told Shawn about the murders, explained how Shawn’s grandfather, Detective Hurtwick, falsely accused Chester Compton. “It was easy. Your grandfather was a detective, well respected. No one questioned his judgment, and no one had any reason to believe Chester Compton wasn’t guilty.”

Roy lifted the lid, removed a gun, a Colt .45. He said they’d purchased a pair of them together. One was planted at the fake crime scene; the other was saved as a memento. Detective Hurtwick hoped one day it would be passed down. At the prompting of his father, Roy tried killing once, but he botched the job. He’d shot the woman, but she hadn’t died, so he had to fire two more times. Then he vomited and had to call his father for help. In Roy’s opinion, Detective Arthur Hurtwick was a saint, but Roy couldn’t bring himself to do what his dad had done.

For years before his confession Shawn had felt urges, an overwhelming desire to kill, but he fought it, never understanding why he wasn’t like everyone else. When he looked at the box in his father’s hands that night, felt the weight of the pistol, ran his fingers over the pieces of cut fabric taken from each woman’s clothing as a souvenir, he had been conflicted.

A fire was burning hard and strong inside him, a yearning.

The last thing Roy had said to his son that night was, “It’s up to us to make them pay.”

The next day Roy took his own life, but not before posting a letter to Shawn in the mail. In the letter he admitted to ending his own life because he couldn’t bring himself to kill his wife, even after what she’d done. Roy felt like he had failed his father for so long, saying even though his dad was dead, he could feel his father’s presence, watching, waiting. Roy couldn’t live any longer, knowing he’d been such a disappointment.

Upon reading the letter, Shawn had been enraged.

And then the trigger came. The event he needed to satisfy his desires. The local news interviewed a woman making a movie about a dark time in Park City’s history. She’d named it
Bed of Bones
. He stared at the screen, watching her talk about Chester Compton, about the murders, facilitating lies for the world to see. It was time people learned the truth. They deserved the truth. He would find the woman, set her straight.

He’d set them all straight.

CHAPTER 48

Records from the original investigation proved Hurtwick was the one who’d verified Chester Compton purchased the Colt pistol. Since the gun shop was still around, Chief Sheppard ordered a subsequent visit. Hurtwick had lied, just like he’d lied about everything.

Shawn was alive and awaiting a court date. It was no surprise the state was going for the death penalty. I saw death by way of lethal injection in his future.

I gave Willie the good news about his grandfather in person. When I finished, I handed him the box of photos from the storage unit, figuring he’d want them now. He broke down, shedding tears of joy. His only wished his father would have lived long enough to know the truth. I only wished Carlo could have shared the moment with me.

Carlo’s ceremony was held in New York City. I wasn’t invited, and I didn’t care. I attended anyway, strolled right up to the third pew and sat down. Daniela recognized me first. She whispered in Giovanni’s ear. His eyes bulged when he saw me. He said something to an olive-skinned brunette to his left. She was clutching his arm with her hand like she was drowning and he was her life preserver. He started to stand.

I shook my head, crossed my arms.

Not today, you don’t
.

I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I was there for Carlo, whom, after the recent time we’d spent together, I had come to know in a different way. It saddened me to witness Giovanni’s grief first-hand, but I couldn’t talk to him, not yet. It didn’t matter how many times Chief Sheppard reminded me of Angela Rivers and the other potential lives I’d saved, I couldn’t get away from the lives I’d lost.

The olive-skinned brunette girl glanced back at me, flicked her hair, scowled, a look most unbecoming of a lady. If we hadn’t been in a church I might have returned the gesture with one of my own. Instead, I met her gaze, smiled. She could have him—the secrets, the lies, all of it.

An older man sitting on the other side of Daniela said something to her then made the slightest movement with his head. He didn’t want me to catch him looking, even though I had anyway. I was two for two in the icy-glare department.

The services came to an end and I slipped out, hailing the cab I’d paid to wait for me. An exasperated Giovanni sprung from the cathedral doors just in time to see the cab whiz down the road. He was too late.

CHAPTER 49

One month later Maddie extended an invitation to Shelby to attend a seminar she was hosting at a convention center in Salt Lake City on the dissection of human cadavers. Maddie was certain Shelby had a promising future in the forensics department. Shelby agreed.

After the conference Cade and Shelby stuck around for the weekend. Although Cade hadn’t said it out loud, he was worried about me. I could tell. Over the last month I hadn’t taken on any new cases and I hadn’t returned any work-related calls. I hadn’t done much of anything. Cade practically dragged me, but he managed to get me out of the house.

The sedan tailing us from behind was a plain, blend-in-with-the-snow shade of white. This could have been the reason why it took me so long to recognize we were being followed. I firmly believed over half of all Utahns drove white cars. In Utah, a white paint job and a multi-passenger minivan was as abundant as an orange grove in Florida.

“I’m in desperate need of a chai tea. Can we stop?” I reached into my purse, pulled out my wallet, handed Shelby a hundred-dollar bill. Cade tried to object. I cut him off.

“This shop has the best clothes in town,” I said to Shelby. “Go in, see what you think. And take your time. We’re not in a hurry.”

She waved the crisp bill in front of her dad’s face, her eyes dancing with excitement. Who knew it was this easy to satisfy a teenager?

“Thanks!” She looked at Cade. “Dad, can we keep her?”

He laughed. “We’ll see.”

I turned to Cade. “I’ll get out here as well.”

“No, you won’t. The coffee shop is on the other end. I’ll drive you. We’ll grab the tea you can’t live without, swing back here, and wait for Shelby.”

I was hoping by this time Shelby would have high-tailed it into the dress shop. She waited.

I held a finger up, silencing Cade.

“I’ll walk. I need the fresh air. You stay here.”

The only fresh air I willingly participated in was the kind that accompanied spring or summer. But I saw no other way. Cade eyed me through the rear-view mirror like I was deranged. I dipped into the dressing room of the dress shop, hung up the decoy skirt I never intended to try on, and sent Cade a text. Then I embraced the cold again, peering through shop windows along the way like I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to go inside.

The frigid air nipped at my fingers, numbed my toes. I shoved my ungloved hands inside my coat pocket, swished them around, tried to generate even the smallest amount of heat. Not much longer and I’d reach the finish line where a white sedan was waiting, its motor humming, low and still.

I didn’t glance at the car when I crossed the street, passing in front of it. I entered the coffee shop, ordered, and slid into a booth. I sipped my tea, breathed, counted the sugar packets inside a rectangular bowl in front of me. Waited.

A man wielding a wooden cane sat across from me in the booth. He slung the side of the cane over one knee exposing the top, arched silver shaped like the head of a serpent. The eyes were red. Rubies. I stared at the gems, he stared at me.

“Can I help—”

Before I’d uttered the “you,” part of the sentence, I’d bravely taken a closer look at his face. His jawline was square and defined, like Giovanni’s. His fingers strong and wide, like Carlo’s. And even though I’d only seen the side of his face at the funeral, he wasn’t hard to identify.

“Sloane Monroe,” he said, his voice intrepid, unwavering. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Why are you here? Do you blame me for what happened to Carlo? You got Giovanni back. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He twisted his lips into something resembling a smile, but it was like he’d forgotten how to show true sincerity. “I need to be sure you won’t come after him. I’ve lost one son to you, I won’t lose the other.”

It wasn’t in me to chase after any man, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“What I do or don’t do isn’t any of your business.”

He leaned forward. “My dear,
everything
is my business.”

I fingered my gun under the table. “I’m not your
dear
.”

He laughed. “Fiesty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Get up and get out,” I said. “I’ll only say it once.”

I wondered if any woman had ever spoken to him like this before. I felt honored if I was the first. He was old. I didn’t care who he was or what he was. All I saw was a fragile, worn-out bully who belonged in a rest home, not sitting in front of me, in my town, in my territory.

“We will sit here as long as it takes for you to listen,” he said.

“I believe I made myself clear. And now I’m getting up, and you’re leaving town.”

He turned his palms up. “The choice is yours. I will have my say, one way or the other. If necessary, you can join me, and we’ll take a ride.” He paused then said, “I can understand now what my son sees in you, what they all see in you, but don’t misunderstand the affection I have for my children to mean I’d hesitate to spare your life.”

He said this thinking it would create a sense of shock and awe. I stood. “Fine. You stay I’ll leave.”

“Do you think I go anywhere unprepared?” he quipped. “I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, my dear. You have a single gun. Your hand is probably resting on the hardened steel right now, feeling it, trying to decide what you want to do. Look behind me. See the white car in the parking lot? Good. Now look inside.”

“Oh, I’m looking. I’m just not seeing.”

“Look again,” he said, without turning around. “Pay particular attention to the two gunmen sitting in the front seat. They’re my men, you see. Two men, two guns. Drawn, I might add. All they need is for me to raise two fingers. So you see, I have two guns pointed at you right now.”

“Had,” Cade said, coming up from behind. “Anticipation is everything.”

Mr. Luciana turned, staring unaffected into Cade’s eyes. Outside his so-called gunmen were being escorted into the back of one of Chief Sheppard’s squad cars, their pistols, confiscated. This time when Mr. Luciana smiled, it was as genuine as the rubies staring through the eyes of the snake. He saw Chief Sheppard. He saw Coop. He didn’t know who they were, but he didn’t have to—he was familiar with the drill.

“I have to admit,” he said, gazing at the two of us, “this is a shock. And what a pleasant one.”

At first I didn’t grasp his meaning. He looked at Cade, who was looking at me, and he was pleased. “Maybe my coming here wasn’t necessary after all.”

Mr. Luciana tried placing a hand inside his breast pocket. Cade stopped him. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just getting my cell phone.”

Cade reached out, snatched it away from him. “Not today, you’re not.”

CHAPTER 50

I leaned over the sink in my bathroom, gazed into the mirror, for the first time realizing it wasn’t just me I saw staring back. It was my sister. Ever since her death, I’d kept my hair long. I hadn’t changed the color. I hadn’t changed the style.

Maybe because it reminded me of her.

Or maybe because it made me feel like she was still with me.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t noticed it before. It was just one more thing holding me back, keeping me from embracing my own future. For all of the advice I’d given Shelby about moving on with her life, suddenly I felt like a hypocrite.

I pulled open the top drawer, took out a pair of scissors, sliced them together in the air. Still sharp. I held them up to my ears and cut.

Things were about to change.

THE END

All of Cheryl Bradshaw’s novels are heavily researched, proofed, edited, and professionally formatted by a skilled team of professionals. Should you find any errors, please contact the author directly. Her assistant will forward the issue(s) to the publisher. It’s our goal to present you with the best possible reading experience, and we appreciate your help in making that happen. You can contact the author through her website by clicking
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About Cheryl Bradshaw

Cheryl Bradshaw is a USA Today bestselling author. She currently has two series: Sloane Monroe mystery/thriller series and the Addison Lockhart paranormal suspense series. Stranger in Town (Sloane Monroe series #4) was a 2013 Shamus Award finalist for Best PI Novel of the Year, and I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe series #3) was a 2013 eFestival of Words winner for best thriller novel. To learn more:

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