Leslie Parrish - Fade To Black

But, mercifully, she was proved wrong. Finally, after what must have been an eternity of debate in her own head, Winnie slowly-ever so slowly-lowered the gun. And dropped it to the floor.

She was gonna kill that kid.

Having stood at the edge of the campsite and called for Nicholas for the past ten minutes, Tammy Logan was hanging on to her temper by its very last thread. Nicky had already practically ruined this camping trip by fighting with his future stepbrothers, and she’d had to take him to the parking lot and smack his butt. Was it too much to ask for him to keep his mouth shut and not annoy the older boys? Did he have to constantly tag after them, then complain when they rightfully got mad and shoved him away?

Now he’d gone to the park’s public restroom, promising to be back within ten minutes for the start of their big soon-to-be-a-family cookout. He’d been gone twenty.

“You spoiled brat,” she mumbled.

She’d worked hard to bring her long-term boyfriend, Jerry, around to marriage. They’d gotten engaged a few weeks ago and had decided to take the whole mixed crew on vacation for a trial run. And already, her difficult eight-year-old son had managed to annoy everyone. Including her. If he didn’t get his scrawny tail back here soon, she was going to see to it that he couldn’t sit down for a week.

“Everything okay?” Jerry asked, walking over to the edge of their campsite after he’d finished firing up the charcoal grill. “Nick’s not back yet?”

She took his arm, rubbing against him. “He’ll be here soon, babe. Just ran to the restroom.”

“You sure you should have let him go alone?” He stared into the woods, frowning.

The cement building that housed the restrooms was only a quarter mile away. Earlier, when it had been fully light, she’d been able to see its outline through the trees. When Nicky had left, it had been light enough for her to see that bright red ninja backpack he wore, which contained all his “guys,” as he called his action figures.

So it was dark now, big honking deal. They were in a national park in western Virginia, for cripes’ sake, not in inner-city D.C. “He ain’t a baby.”

Jerry rubbed his hand against his stubbled jaw. He might not be the handsomest guy in the world, but he was a nice one, and she was lucky to have him. Not every successful plumber would marry a single mom, a cocktail waitress with a son fathered by an ex-con. He’d been good to her, even trying to make friends with Nicky. And had gotten nothing but lip in response.

“Maybe I should send the boys after him.”

Oh, perfect. His two sons, twelve and thirteen, already hated the kid. If they came back from their football toss down by the lake and found out they had to go hunting for Nicky because he had decided to throw a tantrum and hide, they weren’t going to be very happy. They might complain loudly to their doting dad. Who might change his mind before the wedding.

“Forget it; he’ll come back.”

Jerry shook his head, not convinced. “It’s gotten dark. I think one of us should go look for him.”

“You really want to tromp around the woods when all three of the boys are out of sight?” She rubbed against him, trapping his arm against her full breasts. “You sure you don’t want to make out a little, future hubby?”

Jerry’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.“Later. Humor me, okay? I’m worried about the boy.”

Tammy almost bit her tongue, the desire to let loose an angry rant nearly overwhelming her good sense. For some reason, her fiancé had taken a real liking to Nick. Who the hell knew why. Did she really want him thinking she wasn’t quality mother material for his own children?

“You’re a good guy,” she whispered, kissing his mouth. “I’ll go find him.”

“We can go together,” he said, lifting her fingers to his mouth. Such a gentleman. And definitely a good guy. Way better than she deserved, and she knew it.

Jerry walked away to grab a flashlight and returned a moment later. Taking her hand again, he led her into the woods, which had been bright and cheerful when they’d set up camp several hours ago. Now they were dense and shadowy, the thick leaves overhead completely blocking out the stars that had begun to pop out in the sky.

Cripes. Maybe the kid really had gotten lost. She’d told him to take a flashlight, but hadn’t actually checked to make sure he had done it. It had been more like dusk a half hour ago when he’d left. Now the day had quickly dropped straight into night.

“He’s okay, right?” she said, feeling a tingle of concern for the first time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” But Jerry didn’t sound sure.

“There’s, like, no grizzly bears around here, are there?”

“In Virginia?” He laughed at her. “Not likely.”

Then they walked around the side of the small cement building, and his laughter faded. She followed his stare and saw Nicky’s Orioles ball cap lying on the ground. Beside it was his still-lit flashlight, which was rolling an inch or two at a time, pushed by the nighttime breeze. Nearby was a dark circle, then another.

Oil? It took a second for her to process it. Not oil. As the flashlight rolled another inch, rustling across the dead leaves that had drifted onto the cement walk, it sent light across the stains.

Not black. Red.

Tammy started to scream.

When she had returned to Hope Valley a little more than two years ago, Stacey had felt sure she’d never have to process a murder scene again.And she very much wished she’d been right. Because dealing with the nightmare that had taken place in the Freeds’ drab little house was something she would happily have forgone.

She had spent the entire evening here, accompanied by the county medical examiner and a crime scene processor from the state. Her own jurisdiction didn’t have the manpower for something like this.

Winnie had been taken to the hospital to be checked out. She’d been making a strange wheezing sound as she’d breathed, and Stacey suspected Stan had broken a rib or two before she’d taken him out. Stacey would have to head up there in the morning for formal questioning, and to take the woman into custody. But she’d already put a call in to the DA in Front Royal and explained the situation. She doubted Winnie would face murder charges. Maybe involuntary manslaughter, at most. And with the extenuating circumstances, she didn’t see the woman actually serving hard time.

Dean and the other two special agents had offered their assistance in any way possible. She’d refused. They had another job to do, one which she couldn’t help them with right now. For all they knew, the Reaper was already out trolling for his victim.

Or worse, had found him.

They had no time to mess around with a local murder, especially one that had literally been solved as soon as it was reported. The proverbial smoking gun in the hand of the abused wife-it didn’t get much more open-and-shut than that.

So, accompanied by random professionals who showed up as the evening wore on, she did her job, went through all the motions, as familiar with them as if she dealt with such things on a regular basis. What, she wondered, would Dean think about that?

The things he’d said to her at her dad’s place hadn’t left her thoughts, returning to echo in her head at odd times throughout the evening. And part of her, the part that resented the hell out of having to watch blood-spatter evidence being taken and Stan Freed’s brains being scooped up off the floor, wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wrong .

Another part had to wonder. Because while she truly hated that this ugliness had come to the town she’d grown up in, she couldn’t deny that it felt good to be doing real police work again. She was energized, her thoughts sharp and direct in a way they hadn’t been for a long time. All the haziness, the lazy, laid-back attitude she’d had a little more than a week ago, had been eradicated.