Читать книгу The Killer You Know - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 12

Chapter 3

Pastor Forrest Simms was in his office when two members of his flock came in, eyes and noses red from uncontrollable weeping.

Violet and Oliver Daniels, Rhia’s parents.

“Pastor,” Violet started, turning to her husband and clutching at his jacket. “I can’t tell him. You do it.”

Oliver nodded gravely and swallowed before saying, “We wanted to tell you before you heard through the grapevine... Rhia is dead.”

Forrest felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “How?”

“She was murdered. Someone took our Rhia away. Who could do such a thing?” Violet was seeking answers that Forrest couldn’t give her.

His gut churned as he searched for something to ease their heartache but his thoughts were crashing into each other. He leaned on platitudes to get him through. “She’s in a better place. She’s with Our Father. Take comfort in that where Rhia is, she is loved by the Almighty and knows only peace.”

“I want her back,” Violet wailed, sobbing against her husband’s chest. “She was my baby. My miracle baby. And now she’s gone. Who would do such a terrible thing to such a sweet girl?”

Oliver tried to hush his wife but he was barely hanging on himself. He looked to Forrest with an apology. “We’re sorry for interrupting your private time, Pastor. We just wanted to share the news personally, on account of how close you and Rhia were. She really looked to you for spiritual guidance and we will always keep you in our hearts for that.”

Forrest nodded, his discomfort making his skin itch as if a thousand fire ants were biting him. “She was a lovely girl.”

Violet nodded and Oliver walked with his bereft wife out of the office, leaving Forrest alone for a brief moment before Gladys, his secretary came in, her expression one of shock.

“Rhia Daniels? Did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes.”

Gladys fluttered her hands like a bird trying to take flight and then pressed her hands to her chest as if she was going to faint. “What is this town coming to? The wickedness is overwhelming. I mean, just the other day I was at the grocery store and someone stole cash right out of my purse when I had my back turned. The nerve! And now a murder?” She shuddered, adding, “This brings up so many bad memories. Hasn’t this town suffered enough?”

Forrest nodded, knowing that Gladys was referencing the death of Spencer Kelly almost twenty years ago. He and Spencer had been in the same grade. His death had been a major blow to the community.

Then Gladys thought of something. “Oh goodness, that must be why I saw all those news vans milling around downtown. That means the restaurants are going to be full. Darn if I’m going to get a table tonight now.”

“Gladys,” he admonished and she was immediately contrite.

“Excuse me, Pastor. Where is my head? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. We should host a gathering so people can come and grieve for poor Rhia.”

Forrest knew that was the right thing to do. But he struggled to say the words. Rhia was, indeed, a special girl. He didn’t know if he was ready to face all the grieving friends and family.

But he also knew with everyone in a lather about a potential murderer in their midst, he had to tread cautiously.

“That’s a beautiful idea, Gladys,” he finally murmured with a faint smile. “Please make the necessary arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to pray. My heart is heavy.”

“Yes, of course.” Gladys quickly left the room and Forrest exhaled a shaky breath.

Rhia.

No more flirty smiles from across the pew.

No more struggling with his guilt.

His hands were still shaking.

He just had to get through the next few weeks.

God would provide solace and understanding.

Please, forgive me.

* * *

Silas checked into the hotel and, after making quick work of hanging his clothes and setting up his toiletries, he loosened his tie and sank into the small chair by the window.

Condensation gathered between the window panes from the damp air. Silas could already feel the cold creeping into his bones.

You’re tired, he rationalized. He wasn’t about to let his imagination start messing with him.

There was still time to head out to the scene.

Doing something was preferable to staring at the peeling wallpaper while he waited for his brother’s case file.

Grabbing his coat, he scooped up his keys and headed for Seminole Creek.

The road was bumpy just as he remembered. Only the locals swam in Seminole. It was difficult to find and easy to miss.

But in the summer it was the best place to hole up, drink a few beers and make out with your girlfriend away from prying eyes.

Except Silas had never much cared for the place after Spencer had been found there.

None of the Kelly boys hung out at Seminole after that.

The fact that he could still remember the way was a testament to how it was burned into his memory for all the wrong reasons.

You had to climb down to the actual creek from a short embankment, which was something someone else had known, too.

A Jeep was parked on the shoulder.

Silas pulled up behind the vehicle and climbed out, his gaze sharp.

Woodland creatures skittered behind ferns and tall trees flanking the wide creek bed. His breath plumed in frosty clouds as he surveyed the area.

Nothing had changed.

But then nothing changed in Port Orion it seemed.

It was as if the town had been caught in a time loop. Nothing moved forward or behind—everything was static.

He climbed to the top and looked down.

A huge rock jutted out across the water, a popular jumping point above a deep spot on the creek bed.

Spencer’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Silas, watch me!”

Spencer, the precocious shit, had wanted to prove himself. He was going to jump from the high rock, like the rest of them.

Their oldest brother Sawyer didn’t approve. “It’s too high for him.”

“Stop babying him,” Silas had shot back. “You practically pushed me off this rock when I was his age.”

“I can do it,” Spencer boasted to Sawyer with a tiny amount of pleading. “C’mon, let me try.”

Silas wanted to see Spencer jump. Everyone babied Spencer and he was sick of it. Why were the rules always different for Spence? “Go on, I dare you, you little mama’s boy,” Silas had taunted with a grin. “You’re too chicken to do it.”

Before Sawyer could tell him not to, Spencer flipped Silas off and then leaped from the rock, screeching like a little girl the entire way down.

Silas had laughed until Sawyer had picked him up and tossed him off the rock to join Spencer, saying, “You made him jump. You can make sure he’s okay.”

Silas’s balls still ached from the awkward way he’d landed in the water.

Yeah, his brothers had thought that was hilarious.

The memory of that day faded and Silas returned to the present only to see that aggressive reporter, Quinn Jackson, nosing around the crime scene.

“Hey,” he called out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is an active crime scene.”

Quinn looked up, caught, and tried blinding him with a bright smile as if that was going to work.

The young woman was nice to look at. In another time, another place, he might even be tempted to get her number, but in this current circumstance, he had zero interest so that pretty smile was wasted on him.

“You can’t be down here,” Silas told her sternly as he joined her. “Exactly what do you hope to accomplish aside from contaminating a crime scene?”

“Hold on, there, Mr. Grumpy Pants, I’m not stupid. I’m not touching anything on the other side of the tape, I’m just trying to get a feel for the scene. It helps for my story.”

Silas narrowed his gaze, seeing her for what she was—a soulless shell of a person who only cared about her story.

Much like the reporters who’d ruined Spencer’s case.

Over-eager, aggressive and completely disinterested in how their meddling affected the outcome of a case.

“Get out of here before I call your boss,” Silas growled. “Try to show some respect for the girl who died.”

Quinn stiffened, taking immediate offense. “Excuse me? I knew that girl. I took her picture plenty of times for the paper so don’t lecture me on something you have no moral ground to stand on. You are the trespasser here. Try to remember that.”

“Her family is grieving,” Silas returned, disgusted with all press. “The last thing they need is some nosey reporter digging around, contaminating the case. Now, get out of here.”

“This is public land,” Quinn said, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing. “I can be here all I want as long as I don’t cross the tape. So deal with it.”

Silas shook his head. Reporters were all alike. Intent on their own purposes, and damn anyone else.

“What are you here for?” Quinn asked.

But Silas disregarded her question and walked away, prepared to tune her out. If she refused to leave he couldn’t make her, but he didn’t have to be polite and suffer idle chatter.

Quinn took the hint but he sensed she was put out. Small town—she wasn’t used to being on the outside of a local issue. She probably got what she wanted by using charm and sweetness but he got the feeling Quinn was more than she seemed.

Quinn’s surface was a cultivated act that she’d honed over the years but past the superficial layer of candy was nothing but rock.

He’d have to watch out for her. She was going to be trouble.

Silas gave her a covert glance, catching her scribbling notes in her notepad, her nose pinking from the chill.

What was she writing?

The creek, high for this time of year, rushed over rocks, creating small whitecaps. Although Seminole was technically a creek, it was quite wide and deep in some areas.

The gurgle of the water as it traveled was soothing to some—but Silas didn’t care for it.

Rushing water reminded him of Spencer’s murder.

Swearing mentally at his inability to stop his brain from throwing too many pieces from his childhood into his way, he realized without the report, he was wasting his time at the crime scene.

Maybe he’d already known that at a core level but he had to come to test himself.

He didn’t see the raw, lush beauty of Seminole Creek—he saw the place someone had dumped his brother’s body.

Oppenshaw had probably been right; his thought process was too cluttered with shit from the past to be of any use here.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Hell, he couldn’t if he tried.

The pull to remain was too strong.

Without another word, he left Quinn behind at the scene. It was getting dark, anyway. If she wanted to stumble around without any light that was her business.

He needed food, a shower and bed.

In that order.

Tomorrow he was attacking this case with his head on straight.