Chapter Seven Brad
Chapter Seven
Brad
When Mrs. White turned away, I used the toe of my shoe to flick the mangy little cat, who now had my shoelace in its teeth, back into its bed next to me.
The little bugger was impossible to shake and seemed to think it was a game.
I grimaced as I tried to brush some cat hair from my pant leg. I’d picked a bad day to wear a suit.
I saw Bree as she reached the bottom of the stairs and quickly stood up to say my goodbyes. If I needed to stall any further, the little feline was going to end up as a hat.
“Excuse me.” Bree touched Mrs. White tenderly on the arm as she joined us. “I’m wondering if you’d mind if we had a quick look through Shelly’s room? You never know what we might turn up that could help.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” Bree smiled and stepped back to let Mrs. White lead the way. I followed, curious what she might have already discovered.
Holy shit, the girl’s room certainly screamed female.
Who knew there were so many shades of pink and purple to put on your face?
Between this cotton candy nightmare and Lord of the Cats up- and downstairs, I really needed a shower.
That and some bleach on a Q-tip to scrub out my nostrils.
I wondered briefly if I’d ever get my sense of smell back.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for”—Mrs. White waved around with a sniff—“but you’re welcome to look around. She only came home on weekends since she started working.”
“You’d be surprised what a daughter will keep at home instead of her own place.” Bree wiggled a pair of gloves on and headed straight for the vanity.
I moved around some books to seem busy, when really, I was watching Bree dig through the top drawer.
“When I was younger, I used to keep this journal tucked between two floorboards. I kept all my deepest secrets in there, and when I moved”—she closed the drawer and moved on to the bottom one—“I left it. The idea of moving it from the safety of my childhood home was scary. Home is safe.” Her voice trailed off, then she held up a small iPad that was tucked between some notebooks.
“Time may pass, but girls’ habits are still the same. Any chance you know about this?”
“Of course.” Mrs. White nodded. “That’s her iPad.
When her father picked her up from the airport after her trip, she had it with her.
She wanted to spend the night here, then go out with her friends.
She was going to come by to pick it up with the rest of her things before”—she suddenly choked up—“before work. Only she never . . .” We gave her a minute.
Then she pulled open the closet to show us Shelly’s unpacked suitcase.
“May I take this?” Bree asked, holding up the iPad. “Detective Stone has a great IT guy that can get past the password. As soon as we’re finished, I’ll make sure it gets returned to you.”
Mrs. White covered her chest and nodded a few times. “Sure. At this point it’s only stuff, and I’d give up my own life just to find out what really happened.”
Bree removed her gloves and moved to stand in front of the grieving mother.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.
We’re”—she waved a hand between the two of us—“usually on the other side of things, but as a human and someone with a big old heart, can I offer you something for comfort?” Mrs. White nodded as Bree stepped in and wrapped her arms around her.
“My mom always says that a daughter’s hug can be felt through anyone.
On behalf of your daughter, this is her.
” I held my breath, worried that Bree had gotten too personal, but Mrs. White held on to Bree, squeezed her eyes shut, and let her tears flow.
With a painful expression, Mrs. White whispered something to her, then kissed her cheek.
“Sorry to interrupt, but, Bree, we are due back at the station.” I knew we needed to get moving.
“Okay.” Bree smiled warmly at Mrs. White, and they walked arm in arm down to the front door, where she asked us to stop by anytime.
Of course, that was directed at Bree, and I was happy with that.
You couldn’t pay me to return to this house of feline horror unless a fat raise and free dry cleaning were involved.
“You were really good with her,” I said as soon as we left the driveway and I was far away from those cats. “I can see why parents would choose you to find their children.”
“I appreciate that.” She smiled as she pulled out the iPad and rested it on her lap.
“And I think you’ll appreciate what I found too.
” She started to tap away on the screen, and I grinned when I saw there wasn’t a passcode.
She was good. “When we went through her social media on her watch, phone, and laptop, we found three platforms she was on—Instagram, Facebook, and Snapchat. What was odd was she didn’t have a TikTok account.
Everyone her age has TikTok. Hell, even I do.
So when I found this guy”—she held up the iPad—“and saw this funny-looking icon and clicked it, look what popped up.” I pulled over and took the device from her.
“Why hide it?”
“I’m not sure, but”—she leaned over, and I was instantly enveloped in her perfume—“she has a follower that likes and comments on her posts a lot.” She pointed at a name.
“Puff the Magic.” She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous name.
“But more importantly look at what they wrote here.” She leaned over farther, and I fought the urge to touch her.
“Hang on, that’s the outfit she was wearing when she was killed.”
“Yes, and look what Puff wrote.”
“‘Hope to see you tonight, maybe you should wear velvet.’” She read out loud. “So, it’s probably a he, and he knew she was going to be there, and from what I can see on here, he was pretty obsessed.”
“Interesting, considering she never posted on any of her other sites that she was going to be there.” I tapped my finger on the wheel as I thought. “Does her boyfriend follow her on there?”
“Um . . .” She tapped around, and I watched her fingers play with her chain as she concentrated. “It doesn’t look like it, unless he uses a fake name and background.”
“I think maybe we question him on that.”
“Agreed.”
“Two for two, Bree.” I turned, and our faces were inches apart. She didn’t move. She just stared at me, then her gorgeous brown eyes moved down to my lips, and that same crackle of electricity zinged through me as it had the other night. “Nice job.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, and I felt my jeans tighten. She pulled back, and I finally relaxed my body and breathed in deep. “We should get to the lab. Oh, and I need Smith to look into this as well.” She showed me an evidence bag that held a napkin with a phone number on it.
“And that’s the part I don’t want to know about, but for what it’s worth, nice find.”
“Thanks.” She grinned.
“Yeah.” I checked my blind spots and eased back onto the road. I wished I didn’t love it so much when I made her smile like that.
The lab was white, cold, and sterile, but despite the overall feel, my buddy Wes loved his rock music, so when we walked in the door and Chickenfoot blasted at us through his speakers, I just grinned at Bree.
“This wasn’t what I expected.” She laughed.
“Just wait.” I opened an inner door for her, and she stepped into the smaller lab, and her face lit up. “Yeah, Wes loves his music.” One wall was covered from floor to ceiling with posters of rock bands.
“And this is allowed?”
“When you’re as smart as Wes, yes, they leave him alone to do what he does best. Music and science.”
Suddenly the door swung open, and Wes, in his white lab coat and goggles, held up the envelope I’d given Bostwick to give to him the other day. “My favorite detective’s here.” He beamed as he turned down the music. “And he brought me a treat?”
“This is Bree Jaminson, our newest consultant. She’s also a PI.”
“Consultant?” He eyed Bree playfully.
“Let’s go with PI.”
“Yes, let’s.” He peeled off his eyewear and looked Bree up and down. “So, does this PI carry cuffs?”
“No.” Bree smiled. “No gun either.”
“What?” Wes’s eyes popped. “So, what does a pretty thing like you do when you catch someone or you’re attacked?”
“I’ve been lucky enough not to have dealt with that yet, but if the moment arises, I have pepper spray.”
Wes looked at me. “Yet,” he repeated grimly. “Good God, man, you’d better stick to this little thing like glue or get her a weapon. Now I say that, maybe you’re on the right track.” He smirked and wiggled his brows.
“Don’t worry, Wes, I’m on it.” I shook my head at his sly grin and had to laugh. “So, you said you found something?”
“I did.” He turned his playful expression on Bree again, and I rolled my eyes—he was such a flirt.
“The substance found on the envelope is the very same that was found in your two victims. It’s butterfly root moss, like you said.
” He nodded at me. “It has a very special quality. Highly concentrated and very poisonous.”
“So, chances are this one”—I handed him the envelope, now sealed in a plastic evidence bag, that we’d gotten from Mrs. White—“will test the same.”
He held it up and studied the coloring. “I’d put down good money that it’s the same. I’ll run tests regardless, but your killer risked a lot to send these.”
“But there wasn’t any DNA found?”
“No.” Wes shook his head. “And to be honest, the fact that there was a green smudge on both envelopes leads me to think he did it on purpose to screw with you guys. There’s no return address, and they were mailed from the main post office in town.
You could check the cameras, but it would be nearly impossible to pinpoint who actually mailed them.
” His mouth dipped like he wished he had more for us to go on.
“The postmark doesn’t really make sense on the timing of the death, and why send one to Sophia, who is alive?
Though this was obviously done purposefully, I can’t see the point of it. ”
“I agree.” I added, “It feels a bit like an afterthought.”
Bree studied the envelope. “So why do it?”