Shiloh Walker - Telling Tales

Kellan suspected he knew what was going through her mind. Certainly, she could throw the frames away, get new ones-the glass over the photos had protected the pictures she had shot. But he knew, even if she did that, they were ruined for her.

As if in echo to his thoughts, she quietly said, “Some of these are the first photos I ever took. More than fifteen years of my life invested in them. And now they are ruined. I can’t ever look at them again without seeing those bloody handprints.”

“I’m sorry, Darci,” he said quietly, dipping his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her.

A dry laugh escaped her. “Yeah. Me, too. But maybe not for all of it,” she replied.

And the look she sent him from under her lashes had his blood pounding heavy and hot through his veins.

No fingerprints.

None. The handprints on the glass and the walls were smooth, like a mannequin. They discovered why later as a deputy searching the grounds had found a pair of vinyl gloves lying beside the mailbox, stained red with paint.

“Who in the hell are you?”

“Sheriff?” one of the deputies asked from behind him.

As he tossed the bag containing the vinyl gloves onto his desk, he muttered, “Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”

Grady finished reading the report and asked, “Think it’s the same person?”

“Almost has to be. This town is too damned small. You don’t go all this time with hardly any crimes and then suddenly have two nutcases show up at once,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept, not even for twenty minutes, since the night before…when he had kissed her.

And then she had kissed him.

The echo of her taste still lingered in his mouth. She had been so sweet, so hot…the scent of her arousal had flooded the air and he had wished he had more time…time to push her back onto the ground and find the source of that hot, musky scent, ripe and female.

Nearly thirty-six hours had passed.

And he still couldn’t forget the feel of her satin skin under his hands.

“What in the hell are we going to do?” Grady asked, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have the men to watch her full time. And this all has something to do with her. Doesn’t it?”

“’Fraid so,” Kellan replied, turning to stare out the window. The small sheriff’s office had more traffic in it than it usually saw on a weekend. Late Sunday, yet the small parking lot was full. Those who weren’t there because he had called were there because they wanted to know what in the hell was going on.

Even the police got curious.

He’d love to be able to tell them something. Anything.

Anything more than, No, we don’t know what’s up…

He was getting pissed.

Kim stared at Tricia Casey with tired eyes. “Bryce will be in sooner or later-you know how he is. Why-”

“We need him here now ,” Tricia said icily. “I’ve lost two of my best artists. I’ve got business to do. I do not have time to stand around the gallery. That is why I hired you two and I’m tired of him not doing his job.” Her eyes narrowed shrewdly and she added, “You make an art of avoiding him-why is that?”

Why don’t you go and find him? Kim thought nastily. But she didn’t dare say that aloud. Not to Tricia.

Kim really didn’t want to go looking for Bryce. His golden boy blond looks, the way he stared at her, it all made her feel tight and itchy. But Tricia wasn’t going to go looking for him.

And the only person left was Peggy. Not likely she’d do anything. Even though she was part owner of the gallery, she never did anything beyond work in the small studio in the back. Kim wondered if she even knew who Bryce was.

Kim trudged down the steps, turning to the right. She could always drive over there-it was nearly a half mile to his apartment, but she had no desire to hurry back to the gallery.

Resentment brewed in her belly as she remembered the look in Tricia’s eyes. She knew. That knowing, disdainful look… Kim wanted nothing so much as to knock that look off her boss’s face. Like that was really going to happen.

She had to keep getting her paychecks, didn’t she? Carrie was no longer there to run interference. For the longest time, Carrie had made sure Kim would be around because she liked having a lackey. But Tricia couldn’t care less about Kim. And there was no reason to worry about keeping Carrie happy now.

Turning right on Main Street, she jogged across the intersection before the light could turn green, muttering under her breath.

Kim do this…Kim do that…

Cutting across Preservation Park, she hit Lyle Street, scowling as she saw Bryce’s black truck parked in front of his apartment. Jerk. He was home, likely hung over or stoned. Just ignoring the phone.

As she plodded up the stairs to the small apartment he rented from Letty Miller, she mumbled under her breath. “One of these days, I’m going to get extremely tired of doing everything I’m told,” she groused, banging on the door.

She realized he wasn’t going to answer. It was too quiet in there. Even when he was hung over, he didn’t sleep that soundly. He should have already yanked the door open.

Kim was even braced for him to yell at her. But there wasn’t a sound in the apartment.

Pulling up the doormat, Kim grabbed the key and unlocked the door.

The smell struck her like a fist.

Kellan settled down across the table from Kim, studying her pale face. “He’s been dead a couple of days,” he said quietly. “It will be a few days before I know for certain. But there’s nothing you could have done.”

She nodded jerkily. “That smell…” Lifting her eyes, she said softly, “I still feel sick.”

“Were you and Bryce friends?” he asked gently, steering her mind away from that. He’d found her kneeling in the grass after Letty heard her stumble down the stairs and the old woman had gone to investigate.

Now, Letty was fine, her bright eyes snapping almost joyfully. Oh, she’d be infamous now, he knew. She’d had somebody murdered in her apartment. Nothing like that to get people to talking.

People were weird. Some of them had a morbid fascination with death. Letty was one of them. She followed every murder story that happened in the local area, from Louisville, to Madison, to Indianapolis and back. She knew more about local murders than a news reporter could ever hope to dig up.

And now one had happened on her property.

Kellan imagined it would affect her differently if it had been somebody she liked. And she had taken the time to bring Kim a cold rag and a glass of lemon-lime soda to wash the taste of vomit from her mouth, patting her back kindly before she led Kellan to the apartment.

Letty wasn’t a bad person, just…unique.

Kim’s hesitant words snapped Kellan back to attention, listening as she slowly said, “No. We weren’t really friends. I knew him, but he didn’t like me.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I honestly don’t think he liked women at all, if you want the truth.”

“You mean, you think he was gay?” Kellan hazarded, a little confused by her words.

“Oh, no. I don’t think he is gay. He loves…ah, using? Maybe that’s the word. He loves to talk about all the women he’s slept with, and he can be pretty demeaning toward them. Never around Peggy or Tricia-or anybody else who might try to make him eat his words. Tricia would cut him down without blinking…and Peggy could fire him,” Kim said. Then she gave a watery laugh. “I’m still talking about him as though he’s alive. Damn it .”

Kellan gave her a minute, watched as her hands closed into tight fists and she took a deep breath. Once she had settled, he asked, “You mean an authority figure? Both Peggy and Tricia were his bosses.” Kellan scratched his head. He had known Bryce Bishop, distantly. And the guy was definitely down on the female race, a chauvinistic pig if ever he’d met one.