Chapter 5
Krystal Knight stepped through the mudroom door into her kitchen…and stared. Today had been ridiculously long.
And her three boys and husband had promised to clean up. Her birthday was tomorrow and the kitchen had a sink full of dishes, some kind of red liquidy mess smeared into it, and she bet if she opened the door under the sink… Yep.
Trash was overflowing.
Over the last few months it was like her family had turned into ravenous bears since she’d been promoted. There were four of them, and they hadn’t been picking up any of the slack.
She could hear her oldest gaming in the next room, was pretty sure she could pinpoint where the others were based on habits.
And…she wasn’t going to stay. Because if she did, she was going to lose her mind.
Grabbing her keys off the hook she’d put them on only seconds before, she headed right back out. But before she left the driveway, she texted her husband.
Stopped by the house for a minute but got called out. Can you please make sure the kitchen and bathrooms are clean before I get back? The boys were supposed to do it today and I’m tired of being the only bad guy.
She was tired of a lot of things right now, but this wasn’t the moment for that particular conversation.
Of course, on it!
His reply was instant which gave her a little hope, but she still gave it only a fifty-fifty chance of anything being done.
But she shelved that thought as she drove to see Myron Booker—a bookie with the last name Booker. “Can’t make this shit up,” she muttered to herself.
Unlike what was normally portrayed on television, detectives actually had set hours.
She should be home right now, unwinding for the day, but she just hadn’t been able to face getting onto her kids and husband about the state of the house.
And she wouldn’t have been able to relax with the house in such a state.
So she was going to follow up on a lead she’d been planning to hit tomorrow.
She texted her partner to let him know what she was doing and made the short drive to the sports bar Myron operated out of.
Her partner gave her a thumbs-up and said he’d see her in the morning, but to make sure she checked in when she left.
Peter was a solid partner like that.
Ever since sports betting became legal in North Carolina only two years ago, Myron had gotten his license and was fully legit. But he’d been a bookie for a lot longer than that. Allegedly.
And since her dead guy had a bunch of debts, including one to Myron, she was starting with him. Especially since he had a soft spot for her and he might give her extra intel on the others Reed had owed money to.
“Hey, Bill. He in?” she asked as she passed the busy bar. She’d stripped off her Sanctuary Falls pullover in the SUV and put on her normal Columbia puffer coat to blend more.
It was already two deep on a Saturday night and she knew it could get up to three deep later. This place had been around for decades, passed on to Myron from his dad—who’d also had his hand in gray area businesses.
Bill gave her a half smile and nodded. “Yep. He’ll have seen you on the cameras. Just go on back.”
She knocked once, then opened the door without waiting because she was in that kind of mood.
Myron, all six foot three of him, looked up from his desk. “You’re the only one who gets away with that.”
She sniffed once, glanced around the beat-up office—and narrowed her gaze at the old picture of the two of them on the bookshelf. “What the hell is that?”
“Found our old prom picture, decided to frame it.” He grinned, looking like the Cheshire cat.
“You’re an asshole,” she muttered, no heat in her voice as she basically collapsed into the seat across from him.
He frowned at her, as if really seeing her now. “You okay? Want a drink?”
“No. I mean, I do, but no. I’m still working.” Technically. “What can you tell me about James Reed?”
He paused for a moment and she knew he was racking that annoyingly big brain of his. “Owns a couple run-down condos, apartment buildings and some other assets I can’t think of right now. He also owes me ten large.”
She knew about the condo thing from Nick Storm, so at least that lined up. “He’s dead. Murdered.” She didn’t think Myron had killed him, but still wanted to gauge his reaction. And she’d still be looking into his alibi, but ten thousand wasn’t enough for someone like Myron to kill over.
Myron’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Am I a suspect?”
“He did owe you money.” She kept her tone neutral.
“If I killed everyone who owed me money…” He trailed off, laughing lightly. “When was he killed? I can tell you if I have an alibi or not.”
She gave him the time frame and he pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled a name and number on it.
“I was here at the bar last night until about midnight, then spent the rest of my evening, until about eight this morning, with the woman on that paper. Her place has cameras and if she hasn’t deleted her Ring videos, I’m on them.”
Easy enough. “Thanks… So, you know anything more about him? Any enemies, scorned lovers?”
He paused again, tapping his finger on the desk. “He’s not one of my bigger clients, so off the top of my head, I don’t have much. I do know that when I rejected him for another bet—because my instinct told me he wasn’t a good one and apparently I was right—he went to Louis Cain, over in—”
“Wilmington. Yeah, I’ve heard the name.” And what she knew of Cain wasn’t good. The guy wasn’t just a bookie, but into drugs as well. Allegedly.
Myron straightened slightly in his chair, the creak long and loud in the quiet office, his expression startled. “Don’t go see Cain on your own. He’s not like me. He’s got a penchant for violence and he won’t care that you’re a cop.”
She gave him a bemused look. “You worried about me?”
“Of course I am.”
“I have no plans to talk to him alone or on his turf. I know how to do my job.” She’d go with her partner, get a feel for Cain’s bar and see if she could get a warrant.
He leaned back slightly, his expression losing that tightness. “I know you do… You ever think about what-if?”
She blinked. “What if, what?”
“You know, us? If I hadn’t—”
“Cheated on me with Laurie Sajeski on prom night?”
“That was on prom night?” He winced.
“Wow.” Krystal stood, snagged the picture of the two of them off the shelf and tucked it under her arm. “You really are an asshole and you’re losing this now.”
His grin was charming, part of the reason she’d fallen for him all those years ago. But she was older, wiser. And once he’d cheated on her, that had been it. She was never going to put up with that shit from anyone.
They wouldn’t have lasted anyway because he was just too damn selfish, but if she was ever in real trouble, he was still on her list of people she could call for help. So there was that.
“You really never think about me?” he persisted. Because of course he did.
“No.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’ve got a great husband and three incredible boys I can’t imagine my world without, so no.” Though on days like today, she had to remind herself of that. Because she loved them, but she was over this selfish teenage phase.
He sighed, placed his hand over his heart, but didn’t stop her from taking the picture. “You wound me.”
“Yeah, yeah. If you hear anything about Reed, let me know?”
“Of course.”
Once she was back in her work vehicle, she tossed the frame in the back seat, then checked her texts and emails—anything to distract her from going home—and saw a note from their tech with James Reed’s phone records. One phone number was highlighted a couple times and there was a note.
Saw the owner of this one, figured you’d want to talk to them.
When she realized who it was, she frowned. Berkley had exchanged a handful of calls with James Reed, which could mean nothing.
But she needed to talk to her sister immediately.