Chapter Eight
Wednesday morning, Chloe started the day with a color and cut followed by a keratin treatment to straighten hair. She was saying goodbye to the last client before lunch when the bell on the front door announced a new arrival.
A tall, thin man with a long blond ponytail and aviator sunglasses, which he didn’t remove, looked around the shop. “I’m looking for Chloe Anderson,” he said.
Nadia, who was cutting hair at her station nearby, turned to Chloe. A head taller than Chloe, with smooth, dark skin and hair tamed into a chic chignon, Nadia exuded calm. Simply being next to her made Chloe relax a little.
Chloe stepped out from behind the counter. “How can I help you?” she asked. Something told her this man wasn’t interested in a facial or a pedicure.
“Jay Kleinman, True Crime Online.” He moved toward her. “I’m working on a story about Sharee Anderson’s death and wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Chloe shook her head and retreated behind the counter once more. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Mr. Kleinman.”
“I’m interested in finding out what your sister was really like.” He continued moving forward until only the narrow counter separated him from Sharee. “My stories always focus on the victims more than the criminals.”
Chloe shook her head, lips pressed tightly together.
“What is True Crime Online?” Nadia asked.
Kleinman pivoted to face her. “Only the fastest-growing true crime community on the web. Did you know Sharee? From her photographs she looks like a very attractive young woman. I’m sure she had lots of friends.”
“You really need to leave now,” Chloe said.
The door opened and Kleinman turned toward it. A middle-aged blonde in a silver ski jacket stepped in. “Good morning, Marsha,” Nadia said. “Come right over to my station.” She sent Chloe a sympathetic look and escorted Marsha across the waiting area.
Kleinman turned back to Chloe. “I won’t take up much of your time.”
“You need to leave,” Chloe repeated. She took out her phone. “If you don’t, I’ll call the sheriff and ask him to escort you out.”
“You don’t need to be so rude,” he said.
She stared him down, silent. Frowning, he turned and walked out. Chloe gripped the counter and focused on her breath, trying to slow her racing heart. Should she have spoken to him about Sharee? Would a story on his site induce someone to come forward with more information?
But the idea of serving up her sister’s story for public entertainment curdled her stomach. Let him find his information from someone other than her.
IT WAS AFTER lunch Wednesday before Chloe made it to the sheriff’s department and asked to speak to the detective in charge of Sharee’s case.
A uniformed woman with the expressionless face of a mannequin led her to a cramped office filled with a single desk and half a dozen filing cabinets.
She sat in a folding chair in front of the desk and studied the bulletin board beside her, the surface covered in layers of memos, notices of regulations, memos marked urgent, and pages filled with small, close type.
She wondered how long ago the paper at the very bottom had been thumbtacked to the board, and if anyone ever read the notices again once they were consigned to this purgatory.
She started when the door opened and a man in black trousers and a dark wool blazer entered. “I’m Detective Renfro,” he introduced himself as he squeezed between the filing cabinets to take a seat behind the desk.
“I’m Chloe Anderson. Sharee Anderson’s sister.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Anderson?”
She opened her purse and took out the envelope of photos and handed it across to him. “I found these in my sister’s room last night. They were in a box pushed far back on the top shelf of the closet. I guess your investigators missed them.”
He took the envelope and spread the photos across his desk, like playing cards in a game of solitaire. “Why did you think we’d be interested in these?” he asked.
“They’re photos of Cameron Douglas, the teacher Sharee got in trouble for pursuing. Him and his family. Sharee apparently took them with an instant camera.”
“Douglas was the reason Sharee came to live with you here in Colorado, correct?” Renfro asked.
“Yes.”
He scooped up the photos and deposited them in the envelope once more. “Any idea why your sister would have these photographs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe…” She hesitated. Detective Renfro waited, gaze fixed on her. “Maybe she took them to show him she could follow him and his family around without them knowing she was there? I mean, it’s really creepy, but maybe that was the point—to frighten him into doing what she wanted.”
“What did she want?”
She resisted the urge to rub her aching temples. “I don’t know. I found the photos last night and since they were of the Douglas family, I thought you might want to have them.”
“Do you think Cameron Douglas had anything to do with your sister’s death?”
“He was pretty agitated about her following him and calling him and upsetting his family. Maybe he…maybe she had started doing it again and he decided to…to get rid of her.” Pinned by his unblinking gaze, she wilted.
“We’ve already talked to Cameron Douglas,” Renfro said.
“When your sister was murdered, he was accompanying fourteen high school seniors, along with another teacher and four parents, to a weeklong academic camp at New York University. Multiple people have verified he never left the group. And before you ask, his wife was at home with their two children the whole time. Her sister confirms that, as does a neighbor.”
“I see.” She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. Except she didn’t see. Who else would have wanted her sister dead?
“What makes you think Sharee was still in touch with Douglas?” Renfro asked.
“She told her friend, Leann Royberg, that they were still communicating.”
“She also told her friends that Douglas had promised to leave his wife and children to be with her. And that she had been cut from the US Junior Olympic squad because one of the coaches was jealous of her.” He leaned across his desk, his expression gentler.
“I think your sister was insecure. Understandable, considering she was the new kid. She was trying to impress her new friends, so she told them some things that aren’t true.
Mr. Douglas assured me he hadn’t heard anything from Sharee since he filed the restraining order, and I believe him. ”
She nodded, but couldn’t speak past the knot in her throat. Poor Sharee. Hurting so much she had to make up lies. How had Chloe not seen that?
“Look, I know you’re anxious to find out what happened to your sister,” Renfro said.
“But we know how to do our job. And we’re still investigating, I promise.
” He tapped the envelope. “I’ll hang on to these.
Put them in her file. If nothing else, it’s one more thing that helps us paint a picture of your sister. ”
Her poor, murdered sister. What else had Chloe missed about her? “What about Brian Weeks?” she asked.
“What about him?”
Was Chloe wrong about him, too? “Did you find Sharee’s DNA on his glove?”
Renfro sat back, his expression cool once more. “If I have any information about the case you need to know I’ll tell you.”
They either hadn’t gotten the DNA results yet, or the results hadn’t linked Brian to the murder. Would they go back now and ask Cameron Douglas about the photos? Probably not. He had an alibi that ruled him out for the murder and they had no need to interview him.
Renfro stood. “Thank you for stopping by.”
She left the sheriff’s department, but in her car she opened her purse and took out a single photo.
She studied the image of a smiling, handsome man, two laughing toddlers and a woman with a dark blond ponytail.
A pleasant domestic scene in front of a one-story suburban home.
Chloe couldn’t explain why, but something had compelled her to keep this from the detective.
Maybe because she wanted to know what it had meant to Sharee.
She was still staring at the photo when her phone rang. She hurried to answer when she saw Brian’s number on the screen. “Can I see you after you finish work today?” he asked.
Her heart fluttered. Was he asking her on a date?
“I talked to a couple of Sharee’s friends and I wanted to pass on what they said,” he added before she could reply. “But not on the phone.”
“Oh.” She stifled her disappointment, then berated herself. What kind of woman even considered dating a man less than four days after her sister died? After her sister had been murdered. She checked the clock. “I close at six, then I usually stay and clean up. Can you come by about seven?”
“How about I come at six and help you?”
“Uh, sure. That would be great.”
She was still unsettled when she returned to work. She paused in front of the mirror by the door and smoothed her hair, then ran her fingers through it, trying to fluff it up. She looked pale, purpling shadows beneath her eyes, all traces of lipstick worn from her lips.
Nadia, joined Chloe in studying her reflection. She started to turn away from the mirror, but Nadia put a hand on her shoulder. “Come here and sit in the chair,” Nadia said. “What you need is a little pick-me-up. A little trim. A little freshening up.”
“I don’t know…” Chloe tried to protest, but Nadia guided her to the chair and draped a black cape over her.
“I have plenty of time,” Nadia said. “And you’ll feel better. I promise.”
Chloe closed her eyes as Nadia began combing out and trimming her hair. “You know, you can take some time off if you need to,” Nadia said. “The rest of us will keep this place running while you do what you need to do.”
Chloe opened her eyes and met her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “I would rather stay busy and work,” she said.
“I can understand that.” Nadia resumed trimming the ends of Chloe’s bob. “But if you need time to grieve, or want to get away for a little bit, you can trust us.”
“I do trust you. And thank you. I mean it.”