Rita Herron - Cold Case at Camden Crossing

“I’ll give you a hand. But I’d rather you not clean anything until I look around.”

He followed her down the stairs, noting how fragile and tired she looked. No telling what time she’d gotten up this morning, and then she’d driven for hours and walked into this disaster.

It took them three trips to bring everything inside. Chaz retrieved his kit and decided to check the doors and kitchen first, so Tawny-Lynn could at least clean up the kitchen enough to prepare a meal or make coffee in the morning.

She watched him as he shined a flashlight along the doorway and kitchen counter and took a couple of prints on the back doorknob and screen. There was so much dust on the piles of newspapers and table that he didn’t see any prints. Besides, there would have been no reason for the intruder to touch the empty liquor and beer bottles Boulder had thrown into the heap in the corner

“I’m done in here if you want to start cleaning this room while I’m upstairs.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I could eat anything in this house until it’s fumigated.”

He chuckled. “Your father obviously never threw anything away.”

“Or took out the garbage.” She grabbed a trash bag and began to sort the cans and bottles into one bag for recycling, while he headed to the stairs.

He yanked on gloves and set to work. On the chance that the intruder hadn’t worn gloves and had touched the railing, he examined it, found a print and lifted it. Then he realized it was probably Tawny-Lynn’s and asked for a sample of hers for elimination purposes when he sent the others to the lab.

Upstairs, he scraped off a sample of the blood on the dresser mirror and dusted the gilded frame, but found nothing. Then he moved to the bathroom and checked the sink’s countertop, but if someone had touched it, they’d wiped it clean.

He took a generous sampling of the blood on the wall, hoping to learn something from it. Was it human blood?

He photographed the writing, then took pictures of the message on the mirror, as well. Maybe a handwriting expert could analyze it. And if he had a suspect, he could compare samples. The dot over the i in the world Die had a curly tip. The writing also slanted downward at an angle and looked as if someone had jabbed at the wall out of anger.

He paused in the bedroom, his mind ticking as he wondered how the intruder had known this room was Tawny-Lynn’s. It was certainly not as frilly as Peyton’s, and there were dozens of sports posters on the wall, but no nameplate or picture of Tawny-Lynn to give it away. A plain navy comforter covered the antique iron bed, a teddy bear and rag doll sat on the bookshelf above a sea of mystery books, and CDs were stacked in a CD holder by a scarred pine desk.

Which suggested that the intruder had known the family well enough to know which room belonged to her.

And that he or she might have been in the house before.

* * *

TAWNY-LYNN RAKED trash and old food off the kitchen counter and into the garbage bag. She’d already filled up three bags and was going to need a truck to haul away the junk once she finished with the house.

Exhaustion pulled at her shoulders, a headache pulsing behind her eyes. a result of the accident she assumed. Or maybe it was due to the mounds of dust in the house.

She’d have to stock up on her allergy medication.

Carrying that bag out the back door, her gaze scanned the woods beyond. Was the person who’d left her those vile messages hiding out now, watching her? Hoping she’d flee the town as she had seven years ago?

“I don’t want to be in Camden Crossing any more than you want me here,” she muttered.

“Who are you talking to?”

Tawny-Lynn startled and spun around. Chaz stood in the kitchen doorway, his hand covering the gun at his waist. “Did you see someone out here?”

She shook her head, silently berating herself. “No, I was talking to myself.”

His eyes darkened as he studied her. “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?”

“I’m just exhausted,” she admitted. “But I’m not going to bed until this kitchen is clean, so you can go home if you’re finished.”

“Actually I came down for a bucket and bleach.”

She frowned. “What for?”

“To clean the blood off your wall and mirror.”

“That’s not necessary, Chaz. You’ve done enough already.” In fact, it felt too good to have him here. Made her feel safe. Secure. Needy.

She couldn’t lean on him or anyone else.

“I’ll do it once I finish with the kitchen.”

“No way,” he said gruffly. “I don’t intend to leave you here with that disgusting threat in your room, especially after you were in an accident.”

God, his voice sounded almost protective. Odd, when years ago he’d hated her just like everyone else.

He didn’t wait for a reply. He rummaged through the boxes of supplies, grabbed a bucket, a container of bleach and a sponge and strode back toward the stairs.

Tawny-Lynn sighed shakily and rushed back inside, but the wind whistling through the trees unnerved her and she slammed the door. Maybe it was better if Chaz was here, acting as the sheriff, of course, just in case the intruder had stuck around.

Her adrenaline kicked in, and she finished scraping off the counters, chairs, table and floors of junk, carefully stowing any unpaid bills she located, and there were dozens, into a basket on the counter. Next, she tackled the refrigerator, not surprised to find it virtually empty except for condiments that had expired, something moldy growing in a jar, a jug of sour milk and a carton of outdated eggs.

Next she tossed a rusted can opener, a toaster that was so crusted with grime that she doubted she could ever clean it, then dish towels that were mildewed.

When she finished with that, she pulled out the bleach and industrial cleaner and scoured the sink, counter and the inside and outside of the refrigerator. The counters were worn, but after several layers of crud had been removed they were passable. Other things might need to be replaced.

That is, unless she just decided to sell the ranch as it was. Maybe that was best. She didn’t have money to invest in the house. The property held the real value. Whoever bought the ranch could tear down the house and build a new one or remodel this one the way they chose.

By the time she finished and mopped the floor, her body was aching for sleep. Footsteps sounded, and Chaz appeared, his big body filling the doorway.

She was filthy, sweaty and covered in dirt, while he looked so handsome and strong that he stole the breath from her.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he said.

Tawny-Lynn leaned against the counter. At least it smelled better in this room. “It’s been a long day. A good night’s sleep will work wonders.” Although truthfully, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in nearly a decade.

The nightmares dogged her every time she closed her eyes.

* * *

TAWNY-LYNN SWAYED, and Chaz caught her by the arm. “Exhausted? You’re dizzy.”

“It’s just the cleaning fumes,” she said, her voice strained. “I have allergies.”

He nodded, unconvinced. “I’m going to send Jimmy James out here tomorrow to install new locks on the house. Dead bolts, too.”

“I can take care of it,” Tawny-Lynn said.

“Don’t argue.” Chaz gestured toward the mess in the living room. “You have your hands full already.”

She rubbed her forehead, then looked up at him warily. “Why are you helping me, Chaz? I thought you hated me just like your folks and the rest of the town.”

Chaz’s chest tightened at her directness. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t hate her, that he regretted the way he’d treated her after Ruth had disappeared, that he’d shouldered his own share of guilt and had been desperate for answers to satisfy his father.