Shadow Point Deputy. Julie Anne Lindsey
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Rita rose on shaky legs as images of the coroner’s van crossed the communal screen, a turbulent Ohio River in the background. An old factory and a dozen feline silhouettes anchored the scene.
Her ears began to ring as she strode conspicuously to the door, bumping into people and chair legs while watching the television for any last-minute announcements.
The wind was brisk and nippy as she shoved free of the coffee shop’s warmth and safety onto the sidewalk where anyone could see her. Namely a nefarious deputy and the other man from the docks. The one who’d had blood on his dress shirt. She hurried to the little borrowed car and shoved her purse and laptop bag across the console. Rita locked the doors and checked her mirrors before dropping her forehead onto the steering wheel.
Think.
The men she’d seen at the docks had murdered someone. She’d heard the splash. Seen the blood.
And the men had seen her.
She raised her eyes to scan the street and sidewalks around her once more, begging her mind to focus. She couldn’t stay at the coffee shop without someone noticing her imminent breakdown. She couldn’t go home or back to work. The bad guys had already been there. She paused at the thought. Bad guys. Was this even her life?
“What do I do?” she whispered to her windshield. They know who I am. Where I work and live. What did they want? To kill her? Why? She hadn’t seen anything. Couldn’t even identify them. Though she had gotten a good look at the deputy who came to her office this morning and could give a rough description of the other guy—size, height, weight, but not much else. Her gaze traveled slowly to the bag on her passenger seat. The pen. What if it was evidence in a murder investigation, and she’d wadded it in tissues and stuffed it in a plastic baggie? There could be fingerprints or DNA evidence or an imperceptible thread. Forensics could find anything, and if the killers knew she had something linking them to the crime, they’d definitely want it back. So what should she do with it?
She considered tossing it out the window.
Her head spun as she pulled carefully into traffic. She should’ve told Deputy Garrett what had happened. Something in her gut said he had nothing to do with the man at her office or the crime scene. Deputy Garrett was trustworthy, and he would help her. There was no more doubt as to whether or not she’d been present for what she thought she’d been present for. She was a witness, albeit probably after the fact, to murder. And she was in danger.
It was time to do what she should’ve done all along.
She slowed at the traffic light and dug through her bag for the handsome deputy’s business card. She’d call him as soon as she got to wherever she was going. Where was that?
The light turned green, and Rita lowered her foot against the gas pedal. The sun-bleached hula girl on her brother’s dashboard bobbled. “Oh, no.” A new and terrifying realization slid like ice into her stomach. If the bad guys knew who she was, where she worked and lived, then they also knew what she drove. And her little brother was currently driving it!
Rita applied brute force to the narrow pedal, racing through downtown, then over the bridge and across the river. She dialed Ryan repeatedly from every traffic light and stop sign.
No answer.
Her mind conjured ghastly images of her new silver truck rolled onto its top or sinking in the river, Ryan trapped inside.
“Hi, Ryan,” she told his voice mail as calmly as possible. “It’s me. Listen. I’m sorry, but I completely forgot I had a thing today, and you can’t use my truck. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I finish my thing.” She cringed. Ryan would never accept her flimsy excuse without explanation, but she couldn’t offer him anything more. Bringing him in on her mess would put him in danger. “Anyway, I’m on my way to your place now. I’ll just trade you back real quick. Sit tight and I’ll be there in ten.”
She bit her lip, hating the lie. She’d promised Ryan long ago that he could always trust anything she said, and until now, she’d held tight to that promise. Hopefully he’d forgive her when she was able to explain the gruesome truth.
Rita switched to back roads as the campus came into view. Main routes and intersections were bogged with student traffic and puttering locals. The little hatchback took corners with ease as she cut through the rear entrance to Ryan’s neighborhood. Her much larger truck would’ve barely passed through the narrow alleyways with cars parked on both sides. If his car didn’t smell like a gym bag filled with burger grease, she’d agree to trade with him more often.
Finally, the home Ryan shared with two other students came into view.
The only vehicle in the driveway was another old compact.
“No.” Rita pulled up to the curb and stared. Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering her calls? Again, the scary images beat a path through her mind. Please, she sent up a silent prayer, don’t let anything happen to my baby brother.
Her phone buzzed against her lap and she jumped.
Ryan’s name appeared on the screen beside a tiny envelope. He’d sent her a text message.
She released a happy sob and swiped the screen to life.
Taking exam. Can’t talk.
He was at school. She wiped her eyes and pulled in long, thankful breaths. Everything was fine. Ryan was safe. She was safe. All she had to do now was switch the vehicles and report everything she’d seen last night to Cole Garrett.
No problem.
The drive though the campus was steeped in nostalgia. Fall was in the air. Mums were in bloom. Even the leafy green trees had begun to change into their pretty fall uniforms. Rita had made memories to last a lifetime on those same streets not too long ago.
Students filled the corners near streetlamps, watching the lights, waiting to cross. Probably headed to class or on another adventure they’d miss dearly someday too soon. College had been Rita’s only taste of freedom before becoming the surrogate parent to a grieving teenage brother just two months after graduation.
The main lot for student commuters was nearly full. She circled twice before spotting her truck among a pack of even larger pickups. She pulled Ryan’s car into an empty spot several spaces away and tucked his keys under the floor mat. Much as she hated to interrupt him again, especially knowing he was trying to take an exam, she sent a text to let him know his car was there and her truck was off-limits for the day.
Your car is in the lot with my truck. DO NOT take my truck. I’ll be back for it. Meeting a friend.
She frowned at the little screen and sent a happier follow-up.
Good luck on your tests!
Rita pocketed the phone and kneaded her shaky hands, then fumbled Deputy Garrett’s card into her grip. The sooner she unloaded the truth about what she thought she’d seen last night, and the possible murder evidence from her bag, the sooner she’d feel like herself again.
She double-checked for anyone who looked as if they might be following her, then began the trek across the giant lot toward a busier portion of campus. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, bringing the phone into view and tapping the numbers against her screen.
COLE LEFT HIS cruiser in the middle of the road beside West’s and jogged around a line of news vans and local reporters. Crime scene officials tramped the soggy ground near the body recovery site, and a woman in a county coroner’s office jacket picked through the area blocked off by yellow tape.
Cole had lost track of the fancy black car after leaving Rita Horn’s place, but something in his gut told him the vehicle was significant. The timing of its appearance and haste of its departure were undeniably suspect, and given the break-in, Cole sensed