Chapter 17
“No, no, no,” Allison Green whined. “This is over. Finished. We caught the bad guy. The people cheered.”
“Edgar is not the bad guy,” I insisted for the fifth time. “Did he know how his coin ended up in the alley behind the florist?”
“He says it isn’t his coin,” Shawn replied, “but his fingerprints were on it, plain and simple.”
I shot my ex-husband a sour look. “Why are you so determined to pin this on Edgar?”
“I’m not,” he protested. “I’m just following the evidence.”
“Sorry, chief, but I’m with Nora on this,” Ezra interjected.
“Big surprise,” Shawn muttered. He sighed heavily. “Go ahead. Tell me why she’s right.”
Oh God, it was starting to feel like when we were married. He would get bent out of shape when I was right, and he was wrong. We didn’t have time for this absurd banter.
Ezra respectfully said, “We’ve gone through his house, his garage, his car, and his office. We haven’t found a single other piece of evidence linking him to the crimes.”
“Then why did he run?” Allison demanded. “Innocent people don’t run.”
“That’s a myth,” Shawn told her. He was starting to act like a reasonable man. “Lots of innocent people run just like the guilty ones. Sometimes people are just scared.”
“In two days, Edgar was injured in a blast and almost got gassed at an AA meeting. I think we can all understand why he might’ve been scared,” I added.
The mayor huffed. “Fine, but if Edgar isn’t the guy, are we sure Carol was alone in this? Maybe she’s the Scented Stalker.”
Ezra cringed at the name. “Nora said she heard a male voice.”
“Through a mask,” Green shot back, losing her already dissipating cool. “It could’ve been staged just like the rest of the visions.”
I wanted to fault her logic, but her reasoning was sound. “That doesn’t mean she hasn’t already set the trap,” I said. “She set up the memories ahead of time. There’s nothing to say she didn’t set the traps up ahead of time as well.”
The mayor let out a frustrated growl. “I just got the town back on my side.”
“And if napalm hits them tonight, you’ll lose them all over again,” Ezra reminded her.
“Fine,” she snapped. She waved her hand at my face. “You guys investigate Carol, and Nora can do her thing. Just solve this matter quickly and quietly. No muss. No fuss.”
I arched my brow at Shawn. He shook his head. I guessed Allison Green was the chief tonight. Oh well, she wasn’t saying anything Shawn wouldn’t.
“I’ll call Judge Watson and have him sign a warrant,” Shawn said. “The sooner we can search Carol’s place, the sooner we might know what the hell is happening.” He clapped his hands. “Four hours until dark, people. Chop chop.” As we were leaving his office, I heard him say, “Mayor Green, this is my command. While I serve at your pleasure, I don’t run my police force at your pleasure. If you don’t like the job I’m doing, fire me. Otherwise, I’ll be the one running my officers the way I see fit. Are we clear?”
I half expected the mayor to argue. Instead, she said, “Clear. It won’t happen again, Chief Rafferty.”
Good for Shawn. I was glad he stood up for himself. He wouldn’t have been an effective chief if he hadn’t.
Out in the bullpen, Broyles was on the phone, and Reese was at her desk reading some kind of flyer.
“Hey.” She waved it at me. “The raft race starts at five. In those homemade pieces of junk, it will take several hours for most of the contestants to go three miles to the dam and back. A lot of them won’t finish.”
“Okay.” I was sure there was a point. “And?”
“They’re set to shoot fireworks off at five after nine when the King or Queen of the Lake is crowned.” She shrugged. “The sky will be lit up like the Fourth of July.”
“The race is on could be a reference to the raft race.” Although I’d seen paint dry faster than these handmade floats could move.
“Wait, what? It can’t be the raft race,” Ezra said, alarm in his voice. “Mason and Ari are competing. They’ve been working on their float at my cabin all week.”
“We have to get them off the water,” I told Ezra, though I wasn’t sure why. If the bad stuff wasn’t going to happen until the fireworks went off, they’d be safe, right? “It’s not logical, but I can’t focus if I’m worried about them.” I needed to know the people I loved were safe. “Gilly,” I said. “She and Scott are probably there. I’ll text her and see.”
I tapped an SOS into the text box and sent it. That was our never-ignore code. Even if she was in the throes of passion, she would immediately text me back. That was the definition of never-ignore.
“We have to figure out who Carol’s accomplice is.” Ezra’s voice was strained. “If we find him, we can stop him, and then everyone will be safe.”
I nodded. “Yes, yes. That’s what we need to do.”
“Got the warrant,” Broyles said. He gave Ezra a studied look. “I can take Nora to the Billingsly house to do her thing if you and Reese want to go to the lake and find your kid.”
I nodded to Ezra. “I’ll call the minute I see anything that can help.”
“And if I get any non-mystical clues, I’ll call,” Broyles said.
“Okay,” Ezra agreed, his voice tight with strain. “I don’t like splitting up, but I agree it’s best for now.”
I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He embraced me back. “We’ll find the Scent Stalker, and the kids will be safe. Everyone will be safe.” I hoped my words were a promise from the universe and not pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking.
* * *
Carol Billingsly’sfront door creaked open like a spooky invitation. The colonial ranch-style home she lived in had an air of neglected elegance, the original molding on the walls hinted at its former glory. Carol was behind bars, thankfully, but her final words echoed in my mind. You’ll burn, they’ll burn, everyone will burn. You’ll all burn in hell.
We had to find her partner before it was too late. Broyles handed me booties for my shoes and evidence bags before handing me a pair of gloves. He shook his head as I slipped the booties over my Gucci shoes. “This has to be the fanciest outfit I’ve ever seen any cop wear during a search.”
“Not a cop,” I said, then easily put the large-sized gloves on.
He chuckled. “I guess not. Don’t touch anything that looks wet,” he cautioned. “Let me check it first to make sure it won’t eat through your gloves.”
“I’ll happily be guided by you,” I assured him. I remembered Levi’s blistered palms from the nitric acid. I didn’t want any of that.
Broyles took the lead as we made our way through the house. I took a deep breath, letting the mingled scents of old wood, coffee, and a faint hint of lavender fill my senses. The living room had a contrasting mix of history and modernity. The furniture was sleek and contemporary, a stark difference to the intricate, timeworn moldings that framed the room. I ran my fingers along the smooth leather of the sofa.
The coffee table was cluttered with copies of the Garden Cove Gazette. Their headlines were stories of political scandals and community events. Carol’s work, her life, sprawled out in ink and paper. I picked up the top issue, the one that carried the anonymous letter she’d written about me. The sharp smell of fresh print mixed with the room’s mustiness. I got a vision of Carol, giddy, as she read the letter out loud as if it were her victory speech.
Holy cow, Carol seriously hated me. And now that I knew why, I felt pity for the woman who never grew up or learned to take responsibility for her own choices. I was sure she’d spent her whole life lamenting all the bad things that happened to her, all the while never taking steps to make good things happen. What a pathetic waste. However, she’d now crossed a line and was going to have to pay.
“The house is clear,” Broyles informed me. “You getting anything, yet?”
“Nothing helpful,” I confessed. “I’ll keep trying.”
“I did a quick search of the kitchen,” he said. “Regular household stuff. I’m going to check out the garage than the basement.” He pointed to a door off the living room. “Those are the two most likely places after the kitchen for people to store chemicals.”
I rolled my hand at him. “If you find any holler. I might be able to get something from the odor.”
“You got it, Ms. Black.” He winked. “If it stinks, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You can call me, Nora,” I told him. “We’re good now, right?”
He grinned. “Yeah, we’re good. Call me, Tony.”
Excellent. I’d won over the hardnose cop who’d been making my life a little more difficult of late. It made me happy because I actually liked and admired the man. I was putting a check in the win column. I needed all the wins I could get.
I made my way to the kitchen. The scent of lavender was stronger here, probably from the cleaning products under the sink. The countertops were pristine, not a single dish out of place. Carol’s meticulous nature was evident, but there was a sense of emptiness as if her home was missing its heart. I opened the fridge. She barely had the basics: milk, eggs, cheese, and a half-eaten sandwich. No clues here.
Heading down the narrow hallway, I noticed a slight scuff on the wooden floor. I crouched down, touching the mark. It was recent, maybe from a hurried step or a dragged piece of furniture. I followed the trail to a small study. The air here was different, charged with a subtle energy. The desk was a modern glass affair, papers neatly stacked, a laptop closed and locked.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with a mix of classic literature and contemporary thrillers. One book, thicker and dustier than the others, caught my eye. I pulled it out, the cover stiff and unyielding. Inside, instead of pages, there was a hollow space containing a small, black notebook. My heart quickened.
The notebook was filled with Carol’s cramped handwriting, detailing meetings, interviews, and something more cryptic: dates and locations, including the Cove Community Church. I didn’t know what the significance was, but I bagged the notebook for forensics.
I realized that Gilly hadn’t called or texted me back. My never-ignore was being ignored, and it worried me.
“Anything?” I yelled at Broyles.
“No sulfur or nitric acid,” he bellowed back. “But there is something you should come see in the garage.”
When I joined him, I was shocked by what I saw. The walls and floor had been painted white, and dead leaves and stems were swept into a corner. Several blushes of pink marked where Starfighter lilies had been smashed against the ground.
“This is it,” I told him. “This is where I had the vision when the lilies were delivered. I don’t know if it was her or her partner, but this is where the stink bomb was made.”
I suspected it was her partner. Her house was spotless. If she’d been the one to clean up the garage after the floral arranging, she would’ve done the job right.
“Basement?” Broyles asked.
I nodded. “Yep. And I’d bet we find a popcorn maker and a box of bullets.”
The basement steps were steep, but I managed the descent without too much trouble, thanks to the injections I received in my knees every six months. I was right about the popcorn stand, wrong about the bullets.
“This is definitely the basement from my first vision.” I sniffed the air, detecting an odor I couldn’t identify. “Is that gas?”
Broyles inhaled and said, “It’s kerosene.”
“Is there any stored down here?” I walked around the area, trying to find where the odor was stronger.
The basement is cold and gray. The air is thick with the acrid scent of kerosene, making it hard to breathe. In my visions, I don’t see faces. They’re always blurry, but there are two people in the room—a man and a woman. The woman’s shape and hair make her easily recognizable. It’s Carol.
They’re whisper-arguing in the corner. The man is wearing a hoodie, and I can see his hair or what his size might be, but next to Carol, he seems...small. On top of that, his voice strikes a chord of familiarity. Carol’s words cut through clear and sharp.
“I’ll pay you the five hundred dollars, okay? Just give me some time,” she snaps, her tone edged with frustration. “I just dropped a thousand for that flower delivery.”
“This was your plan, not mine. I didn’t use my own supplies for free. I’m here for the money.” The man isn’t backing down. “You owe me for the stink bomb, Carol. Five hundred dollars. I need the money. No more excuses.”
The tension in the room is palpable. A clang-clang resounds through the space, sending a shiver down my spine. I recognize the clock from a previous vision.
“I hate that clock,” Carol mutters, her voice dripping with disdain.
The man’s response is quick and defensive. “It’s a family antique. I need you to keep it safe for a couple of days.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms. “It’s noisy and irritating.” She waves off his protest and opens the door to a storage area under the stairs. There are several large canisters of kerosene, at least fifteen gallons each, clearly marked with warning labels. Sounding pleased, she says, “This is what you’ll need for our main event.”
“Oh, boy,” I said as the vision faded, and a sudden realization hit me.
I looked at Broyles. “I know who’s been helping her.” I walked over to the antique clock on the floor behind a pillar. I picked it up and saw a plate inside the face.
“What are you looking at?” Broyles asked.
I showed him the nameplate.
“Daniel Lems.” He looked confused.
“That’s the man who owns the antique furniture shop next to my boutique.”
He furrowed his brow. “And you think he’s Carol’s partner?”
“Not him,” I replied. “It’s his son. It’s Waylon Lems.”