A Bone to Pick (Widow's Island Novella Book 2) Read online

  “What are you going to do about your mother?” Cate asked.

  “I don’t know.” Tessa rubbed the back of her neck. “Up until now, she’s been okay here by herself until Patience gets home at two thirty. In fact, she’s been generally lucid in the daytime. Her mental state declines in the evening. Henry called it Sundowner syndrome. But I have to reassess Mom’s needs. I can’t have her wandering.”

  “How is the new med Henry wanted you to try?”

  “It’s too soon to know if it’s working.” Tessa was grateful to have a doctor on the island. Her mother did not like to leave Widow’s.

  “How is Patience coping?”

  “Not well. She’s upset and stressed. I’m asking too much of her, but I don’t have many options.” Tessa was spread too thin. Her mother could have been hurt last night. What if she’d headed for Widow’s Walk and fallen over the edge?

  Tessa’s stomach turned as she thought of Samantha—and of the sea crashing on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

  “I can hang out here until Patience gets home from school,” Cate offered.

  “Thank you.”

  But Cate’s help was temporary. There was no senior center on the island. No nursing homes, although that would be an absolute last resort for Tessa. The doctor had warned her that the day might come when Tessa could no longer keep her mother safe. But Tessa would do what she could to keep Mom at home as long as possible.

  But today, she had a murder to investigate. Her mother’s medical expenses would no doubt start piling up. Tessa was going to need her job.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower and put on clean clothes.” She refilled her mug and took her coffee with her. The bedrooms were at the back of the house. Outside her mother’s room, she turned the knob, careful not to make any noise, and opened the door an inch.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” Her mother sat up. She had always been a light sleeper.

  “Hi, Mom.” Tessa walked in and stood next to the bed.

  “I must have overslept.” Her mother reached for the lamp on her nightstand.

  Does she not remember wandering off last night?

  Tessa couldn’t think about the long-term prognosis. She’d be grateful that today, Mom was safe. Tomorrow’s problems would come soon enough. “I have to go to work, but Cate’s in the kitchen.”

  “Is she?” Her mom swung her legs over the side of the bed. She steadied herself with a hand on the bed as she stood, then put on a robe. “I’d better get moving.”

  Tessa closed the door and continued to her own room. She took a five-minute shower, then put on a fresh uniform. After a long, wet night, nothing felt better than dry socks. She heard the shower running in her mother’s bathroom when she walked down the hall to the kitchen. A basket of fresh cinnamon rolls sat on the table in front of Cate.

  Salivating, Tessa slid into a chair. “Are those your grandmother’s cinnamon rolls?”

  “She just dropped them off.” Cate pushed the basket toward Tessa. “She was sorry she couldn’t stay, but her knitting group is headed to the town council meeting to protest the proposed changes to the ferry schedule.”

  Cate’s grandmother had been the head of the Widow’s Knitting and Activist group for as long as Tessa could remember.

  “The council only wants to shift one route by an hour.” Tessa shoved half a cinnamon bun into her mouth. The warm sweetness melted on her tongue and brought back happy memories of sitting at Cate’s grandmother’s kitchen table. Jane Sutton was still a special lady.

  Cate shrugged. “You know islanders don’t like change, even if they know deep down that it’s for the better.”

  Chewing the second half of her cinnamon roll, Tessa turned her head to read the label of the file on the table. “Is that Sam’s FBI file?”

  “Yes.”

  A few weeks before, the discovery of a child’s bones had renewed interest in their friend’s disappearance. The bones hadn’t been Sam’s, but her mother had pleaded with Cate and Tessa to reopen the case, which was the reason Cate had requested and reviewed the FBI’s file. Mrs. Bishop had never believed—or had been unable to face—the fact that her daughter was dead.

  Tessa washed down her roll with coffee. “The file looks thin.”

  Cate frowned in agreement. “Do you remember the talk we had in front of our lockers the day Sam disappeared?”

  As if it were yesterday.

  Tessa nodded. “She wanted us to sneak out with her that night. She had pot and was getting a ride from someone. Neither one of us was willing to break the rules to go with her.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “If one of us had either been willing to go, or to tell on her . . .” Cate left the implication hanging, but Tessa knew exactly what she meant.

  Would Sam still be alive if she hadn’t gone out alone that night?

  “We were fourteen,” Tessa said. “We can’t blame ourselves for what happened to Sam.”

  Cate nodded. “My brain knows that.”

  “But the heart isn’t so easily convinced,” Tessa finished.

  Cate rested her hand flat on the closed file. “Copies of our interviews with the sheriff are not in the file. Nor is there any mention of the fact that Sam was going to meet someone.”

  Shock pushed Tessa back in her chair. “I remember telling the sheriff.”

  “We both did. We talked about it afterward.” Cate’s eyes were grim. “Was the FBI agent there when the sheriff questioned you?”

  “I remember two other men being in the room.” Tessa closed her eyes and tried to recall the interview—the hard chair under her butt, her stomach churning, her heart knocking, dread gathering like a tornado in her chest. Opening her eyes, Tessa blinked the memory away. She wiped clammy palms on her thighs. It had been a truly horrible day. “But I can only picture the sheriff. The other faces are a blur.”

  Cate sighed. “That’s all I remember too. It feels as if the other men were strangers.”

  “Didn’t the sheriff note who else was present during the interview?”

  “He did not.” Reproach sharpened Cate’s voice.

  Tessa rubbed her temple. “I’ll request the file from the sheriff’s office. Cold case files are stored in the mainland station’s basement. Maybe the sheriff didn’t share all of our statements with the FBI. He could have looked into it on his own.”

  “That’s possible. The previous sheriff had been old school. He might have been territorial about the FBI sticking its nose into his case.” Cate toyed with the edge of the file. “How will Sheriff Griffin feel about you pulling the case file?”

  “I don’t see why he would object. It wasn’t his case.” Tessa did a quick calculation in her head. “Sheriff Griffin wasn’t even with the department back then.”

  “Let’s not tell Sam’s mother yet,” Cate suggested.

  “I agree. She’s never left that house in case Sam were to come back.” Tessa thought for a moment and then continued, her voice thick. “Other than Sheriff Griffin, no one needs to know what we’re doing.”

  “We’re just reading files for now.” But Cate’s voice echoed the doubt in Tessa’s own mind.

  There’s more to Sam’s disappearance than we were told.

  Tessa could feel it.

  She stood and stretched a kink out of her back. “Now I’d better get back to my current murder.” She went to the counter and filled her travel mug with fresh coffee. Then she grabbed another cinnamon bun and a napkin. “Please thank your grandmother for the rolls.”

  “Will do.” Cate reached for another bun. “I’m going to need bigger jeans if I don’t stop eating these.”

  “You and me both.” Tessa laughed.

  She went into the foyer and grabbed her uniform jacket. Then she went out onto the porch and stepped into her boots. Shrugging into her jacket, she walked to her vehicle and slid behind the wheel.

  She should head to Dante’s residence now to search the premises. But as she prepared t
o turn out of her driveway, her phone beeped with a text from Bruce: FOUND SOMETHING.

  She’d stop at the station before searching Dante’s home.

  Tessa drove in the opposite direction to the tiny satellite sheriff’s station in town. The small building housed two desks, a restroom, and a single holding cell. A minifridge and microwave crammed into the corner were the only concessions to the deputies’ personal comfort.

  She went inside. Crime scene evidence cluttered one desk. At the other, Bruce studied a driver’s license through a magnifier under a goosenecked desk lamp. His rumpled uniform looked like the same one he had been wearing the previous night at the crime scene.

  He looked up as she passed the desk. He was clean cut and young looking, but his brown eyes were older than his years. “I’ve been looking through Dante’s wallet. He has an Oregon driver’s license.”

  “Maybe he forgot to get a new one when he moved here.” But she’d thought Dante’s accent had sounded like he was from the East Coast.

  “It’s also fake.”

  “Are you sure?” Tessa hung her jacket on a peg on the wall. She crossed the small space to look over Bruce’s shoulder.

  “I’m sure.” He turned over the license and pointed. “No microprint.”

  Shocked, Tessa leaned closer and followed the tip of his finger.

  Microprint was a security feature on driver’s licenses from most states. To the naked eye, microprint appeared to be a solid line, but when magnified, text was easily readable. The back of Dante’s Oregon driver’s license should have had a microprint line repeating the word Oregon, with the last occurrence of Oregon intentionally spelled incorrectly.

  “Well, damn.” She straightened.

  “It’s a pretty good fake, though.” Bruce set the license on the desk.

  “But why did he have one? And who was he?” Tessa paced to the empty holding cell and back. “Call the medical examiner’s office, and let them know the name of the deceased is now in question. If the dead man is in the system, it won’t take the ME long to get his real identity.”

  The medical examiner should be able to electronically submit the fingerprints into the Automated Fingerprint Identification System (AFIS).

  “Have you found anything else?” Tessa scanned the evidence laid out on the spare desk.

  “Not yet.” Bruce gestured to the organized piles. “I’ll keep at it.”

  “Kurt should be back soon. He’ll help. Don’t forget to take a break. We don’t have many deputies, and we all work overtime when necessary, but you need to eat and sleep. And I’m sure your fiancée would like to see you at some point.” Tessa gave the air an exaggerated sniff. “A fresh uniform wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Noted.” Bruce grinned, the smile taking years off his face. “I’m meeting Julie for lunch. I’ll be sure to shower first.” Julie worked as a nurse in Henry’s office.

  Tessa retrieved her jacket from the peg by the door. “I’m headed to Dante’s place.”

  Even with his identity in question, it was easier to think of him as Dante than the victim.

  She went out into the cold and climbed into her patrol vehicle. Jerry’s place wasn’t far from her house via a trail used by mountain bikers and horseback riders. But the forest on this side of the island was protected from further development, and the road made a huge loop around it. Fifteen minutes later, she turned into his driveway and parked in front of his bungalow.

  The house looked like it belonged to a little old lady, not a bachelor of sixty. Painted bright yellow with white trim, it was small and dainty, with neat flower beds that were filled with blooms spring through fall. Even on a gloomy December day, the house looked cheerful.

  Tessa walked up the steps onto the front porch. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. Shading her eyes with her hand, she leaned close to the skinny window alongside the door but didn’t see anyone inside.

  Leaving the porch, she followed a brick path around the bungalow. There was no sign of Jerry.

  She crossed fifty feet of grass. The property hadn’t been an active farm in many years. The barn had been painted white to coordinate with the house. Thick woods sat behind it. Tessa knocked on the door. When no one answered, she tried the knob and was surprised to find the door locked. No one locked their doors on the island, but Dante hadn’t been a native.

  A rattling sound alerted her to someone coming. She turned around. Jerry was leaning a mountain bike against the side of the house. He removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars by the chin strap. Then he walked across the backyard toward her, his face grave.

  “I heard about Dante,” he said.

  Of course he had.

  “I need to get inside.” Tessa gestured toward the barn.

  Jerry dug a set of keys out of his pocket. “No problem.”

  “Did Dante live alone?” Tessa asked.

  “Yep.” Jerry unlocked the door and stepped aside.

  “Do you know if he had a cell phone?”

  “He did not.” Jerry gave a small smile of approval. “He had an answering machine hooked up to the landline.”

  “How long has he rented from you?” Tessa asked.

  “Almost a year.”

  “Did he pay on time?”

  “Eight hundred dollars on the first of every month,” Jerry said. “And he was a quiet tenant, which I appreciated. I need my chill time.”

  “Did he have your Jetta last night?”

  “Yes. I prefer my bike when the weather is cooperative, so I let Dante use the car whenever he liked. The keys were in it. He’d leave gas money on the seat if he borrowed it.” Jerry reached for the doorknob.

  Tessa stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to wait outside.”

  “Okay.” He stepped back. “I’ll be up at the house if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Tessa said. “I’m going to have questions for you when I’m finished.”

  She donned gloves and opened the door. The blinds and curtains were closed, shrouding the interior in darkness. All she could see was the swath of light streaming through the open door. Though she heard nothing, the hairs on the nape of her neck lifted. She felt eyes on her. A floorboard creaked to her right. Her hand landed on her sidearm automatically. She drew her weapon.

  A gray cat zoomed across the wood floor, hissing. Tessa placed a hand on her chest. Her heart thundered. Sweat dripped down her back.

  Breathe.

  She felt for the light switch on the wall, but it wasn’t where she expected it to be. She reached for the flashlight on her duty belt. Before she could pull it out of its loop, fabric rustled.

  Tessa’s racing pulse jump-started again. She spun around just in time to see a dark hooded figure lunge out from behind the drapes. Something whirled toward Tessa’s head.

  4

  Tessa ducked. A floor lamp whooshed past her head. She pivoted, sweeping her handgun around as she moved, but she couldn’t shoot what she couldn’t see.

  The hooded figure rushed at her like a bull. She turned to evade his charge but wasn’t quick enough. Tessa was five seven and very fit. Outnumbered by male cops on the Seattle PD, she’d made a point of lifting weights, running, and hiking to stay in top shape. She was strong for her size. Her attacker wasn’t overly big, but he had momentum. Their shoulders collided, and Tessa stumbled backward.

  Dropping one hand to the floor, Tessa recovered and spun on the balls of her feet. But he was already looming over her.

  An arm swooped down. With no time to bring her weapon around, she raised a hand over her head to block the blow. The blade of his hand struck a nerve on her forearm. Her fingers opened on reflex. Her gun dropped to the floor and skittered across the wood planks.

  Tessa grabbed for her attacker’s arm with both hands. She couldn’t grip the slippery leather of his jacket. She drove an elbow hard into his rib cage.

  He grunted, and the air rushed out of him. He spun behind her and grabbed her in a bear hug, hi
s black-gloved hands linked at her waist. He pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her off the floor. Her feet kicked in the air.

  She went limp, maximizing the effect of her weight. Then she smashed her head backward and struck his face. Something squished, but no blood spurted, so she must not have hit his nose. He twisted his face out of reach.

  There was no space between their bodies. Tessa could not strike him. There was only one vulnerable area she could attack. Reaching behind her, she closed her fist around his testicles and squeezed hard.

  He dropped her as if she were on fire. “Bitch!” he wheezed.

  Tessa fell to her knees. The impact with the hard floor rang her bones from her kneecaps to her teeth.

  The man turned and scrambled for the open door.

  She stumbled to her feet. By the time she made it to the doorway, her attacker was fifteen yards away and limp-running for the woods.

  She could catch him.

  She dug into the floorboards and pushed off. She managed exactly one stride. Then her feet tangled with an object, and she went down hard. Her lungs expelled air like fireplace bellows. Something tugged at her trousers, and pain sliced through her leg.

  “What the—?” Her pants leg was caught on a nail protruding from a floorboard. She pulled it free.

  In the doorway, the cat arched its back and hissed. With an angry yowl, it bolted around the barn and disappeared. She’d tripped over the damned cat.

  Tessa levered a knee under her body and stood.

  Where is he?

  She scanned the meadow. The figure had disappeared into the trees. She’d smooshed his balls. He wouldn’t be moving too quickly. She broke into a jog, intent on catching him.

  The high-pitched whine of a small motor cut through the air.

  Tessa stopped. He was on a dirt bike or ATV. Leaning on her thighs, she caught her breath. The sound of the engine drew farther away. She rapped a fist against her leg.

  Damn it.

  She entered the woods. About twenty feet inside the tree line, she found ATV tracks. There was no way she could catch an ATV on foot. She went back out of the trees to the barn.