Amanda Stevens - Killer Investigation

Reid glanced away. The proximity of the crime scene to his place niggled. Another coincidence, surely, but ever since he’d heard about the murder, he hadn’t been able to shake a dark premonition. For days he’d had the feeling that his house was being watched. He’d caught sight of someone lurking in the shadows across the street. One night he’d heard the knob at the back door rattle.

The incidents had started at about the time Dave Brody had been released from prison. The ex-con had stopped by the office as soon as he’d hit town, strutting like a peacock with his smirks and leers and ominous tattoos. He blamed his incarceration on Sutton & Associates, claiming the attorneys that had represented him pro bono—in particular, Reid’s father, Boone Sutton—had suppressed a witness that could have corroborated Brody’s alibi.

Why he hadn’t gone straight to the source of his resentment, Reid didn’t know. He hadn’t even been out of law school when Brody had been sent up, had only worked peripherally on the appeals. Yet he was apparently the attorney Dave Brody had decided to target for the simple reason that Reid was now the most vulnerable. Without the money and prestige of the firm backing him, he was the easiest to get to. Knock out the son in order to get to the father. But Brody would find out the hard way that Boone Sutton didn’t cave so easily, even when family was involved.

Reid hadn’t reported the incidents because police involvement would only provoke a guy like Brody. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time an irate client had harassed him. Best just to ignore the creep, but still the location of that murder scene bothered him.

“Look, to be honest, I don’t know what any of this means,” Reid said. “I just knew that I wanted you to hear about that magnolia blossom from me.”

He expected another argument; instead, she nodded. “Okay. Thank you. I mean it. I haven’t been gracious about any of this. You caught me off guard. That’s my only excuse.”

“I understand.”

“I’m not usually like this. It’s just...” She seemed at a loss. “You and I have a complicated history.”

“To put it mildly,” he agreed.

She drew a breath. “Fourteen years is a long time and yet here we are, back where it all started.”

He smiled. “History repeating.”

“God, I hope not.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“You know what I mean. Everything was so intense back then. So life and death. I don’t think I could take all that drama these days.”

“That’s why we have booze. Adulthood has its perks.”

“I don’t want to numb myself,” Arden said with a reproving glance. “But a little peace and quiet would be nice.”

“You’ll have that in spades here,” he said as his gaze traveled back into the foyer. “Are you sure I can’t help you with those bags?”

“I can manage.”

He lingered for a moment longer, letting his senses drink her up as memories flowed. Man, they’d had some good times together. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d missed her. Arden Mayfair wasn’t just his ex-girlfriend. She’d been his best friend, his soul mate, and a true and enthusiastic partner in crime. He hadn’t had anyone like her in his life since she’d left town. Oh, he had plenty of friends, some with benefits, some without. He never lacked for companionship, but there was no one like Arden. Maybe there never would be.

“I guess I’ll say good-night then.” He wondered if she noticed the hint of regret in his voice.

“Reid?” She crossed the room quickly and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. She was like quicksilver in his arms, airy and elusive. Before he had time to catch his breath, she’d already retreated, leaving the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo to torment his senses.

He caught her arm and drew her back to him, brushing her lips and then deepening the kiss before she could protest. “Welcome home, Arden.”

She looked stunned. “Good night, Reid.”

Arden finished unpacking and then took a quick shower, dressing in linen pants and a sleeveless top before going back downstairs to decide about dinner. There was no food in the house, of course. No one had been living in Berdeaux Place since her grandmother’s passing. She would need to make a trip to the market, but for now she could walk over to East Bay and have a solitary meal at her favorite seafood place. Or she could unlock the liquor cabinet and skip dinner altogether. She was in no hurry to venture out now that twilight had fallen.

At loose ends and trying to avoid dwelling on Reid’s visit, she wandered through the hallways, trailing her fingers along dusty tabletops and peering up into the faces of forgotten ancestors. Eventually she returned to the front parlor, where her grandmother had once held court. Arden had a vision of her now, sitting ramrod straight in her favorite chair, teacup in one hand and an ornate fan in the other as she surveyed her province with quiet satisfaction. No matter the season or temperature, Evelyn Mayfair always dressed in sophisticated black. Maybe that was the reason Arden’s mother had been drawn to vivid hues, in particular the color red. Arden supposed there was irony—or was it symmetry?—in the killer’s final act of placing a crimson petal upon her lips.

Enough reminiscing.

If she wasn’t careful, she could drown in all those old memories.

Crossing over to the French doors, she took a peek out into the gardens. The subtle glow from the landscape lighting shimmered off the alabaster faces of the statues. She could hear the faint splash of the fountain and the lonely trill of a night bird high up in one of magnolia trees. Summer sounds that took her back to her early childhood days before tragedy and loss had cast a perpetual shroud over Berdeaux Place.

Checking the lock on the door, she turned away and then swung back. Another sound intruded. Rhythmic and distant.

The pound of a heartbeat was her first thought as her own pulse beat an uneasy tattoo against her throat.

No, not a heartbeat, she realized. Something far less sinister, but invasive nonetheless. A loose shutter thumping in the breeze most likely. Nothing to worry about. No reason to panic.

She took another glance into the garden as she reminded herself that her mother had been murdered more than twenty-five years ago. It was unreasonable and perhaps paranoid to think that the real killer had waited all these years to strike again. Reid was right. The magnolia blossom found at the murder scene couldn’t be anything more than a coincidence.

Arden stood there for the longest time recounting his argument as she tried to reassure herself that everything was fine. A jury of Finch’s peers had found him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. He would never again be a free man. And even if another killer did prowl the streets, Arden was as safe here as she was anywhere. The property was sequestered behind brick walls and wrought-iron gates. The house had good locks and, ever since the murder, a state-of-the-art security system that had been periodically updated for as long as she could remember. She was safe.

As if to prove to herself that she had nothing to fear, she turned the dead bolt and pushed open the French doors. The evening breeze swept in, fluttering the curtains and scenting the air with the perfume of the garden—jasmine, rose and magnolia from the tree that shaded the summerhouse. She’d smelled those same fragrances the night she’d found her mother’s body.

She wouldn’t think about that now. She wouldn’t spoil her homecoming with old nightmares and lingering fears. If she played her cards right, this could be a new beginning for her. A bolder and more exciting chapter if she didn’t let the past hold her back.