Fatal Features Page 2

  She tilted her head back, squinting into the sun and shading her eyes as her hair fell out of her face. “That was probably ten hours ago. She was fine.”

  “What the hell could’ve happened?” The words bounced off the dirt, Drew’s bald head still between his knees.

  “What do you bloody fucking think, Drew? Something doesn’t want us here. I told you I saw an apparition this morning, didn’t I?”

  “Um. What?” I tipped my head to one side.

  “I was hauling equipment in this morning and I saw something, out in the trees. A figure wearing a long dress with an apron over it. Just gliding along the edge of the woods. By the time I got a camera and dragged Drew back, it was gone.”

  He sighed. “Have to be an awfully strong malevolent to do something like that.”

  “Let’s step back a bit. There are literally a million possibilities.” I stood. “Sorting them out is best left to the police.”

  “Sorting what out?” Parker’s voice came from behind me and nearly sent me out of my skin. I spun to find him still hugging Mel, her eyes wide behind her square-framed glasses.

  “The producer I was supposed to interview is…” My eyes drifted to Melanie. Parker had helped me out of a couple of tricky spots around murders, but Mel covered City Hall. Budgets and politicians can be stressful in their own right, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react to a corpse twenty feet away.

  “Dead,” Amy blurted before I could find more delicate words. “Dead, dead, dead.” She covered her face with her hands. “Her eyes were so dull. Just staring…”

  I put a hand on her shoulder, hoping she’d shut the hell up. She was traumatized, of course, but that didn’t mean she needed to spread it around.

  Parker’s jaw fell open and Mel’s eyes popped so wide I could see white all around the blue.

  “Clarke?” Parker croaked. “How?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop it. This is not part of some sort of curse, be it Nichelle Clarke or any other variety. It’s an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “You don’t believe in coincidences,” Mel whispered, her fingers flying to her mouth.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, either, yet here we are,” I kept my voice tightly controlled, trying for a calming effect. “We don’t have any idea what happened to her. The best thing for us to do is sit tight until the police get here.”

  “Which will be when?” Parker’s eyebrows floated up.

  “Hopefully not long after we can get ahold of them. My cell isn’t getting a signal. Are either of yours?”

  Melanie blinked, digging in her tiny red leather Coach bag. Poking at her phone, she shook her head. Parker too.

  Shit. Of course not.

  “Okay. So first we have to get to a place where we can call them.” I nodded to Parker. “Can you two go back up the hill to the road and see if you can get through to 9-1-1 while I try to calm things down here?”

  “Happy to.” Parker pulled Mel toward the path. “Be right back.”

  She slugged his shoulder. “That’s bad luck.”

  “This isn’t a slasher movie, baby.” He kissed her hand. “And I used up all my bad luck a long time ago.”

  I smiled at their easy banter, my heart lifting at the thought of their impending happily ever after. Who’d have thought, when I pointed them both to happy hour at the same time last Fall, that our shy-but-striking city hall reporter would thoroughly capture the heart of Richmond’s baseball hero casanova?

  Smiling a self-satisfied smile, I turned back to Drew and Amy.

  “Amy, can you tell me a little more about what happened this morning?”

  “We got here at six-thirty-three, and I couldn’t find Jess anywhere. She’s always early, so that was weird. But like you said, the phones don’t work out here, so I couldn’t call her. We waited. Brought equipment in. Saw the one ghost. Shot the sunrise she said she wanted. Wandered around.” She pointed to Drew. “He set up one of his stupid practical jokes.”

  The realistic head I’d seen in the blacksmith barn flashed through my memory and I lasered in on Drew. “There’s not something you want to tell us, now is there? Like, before the cops get here?”

  He looked up for the first time since he’d planted himself on the ground. “I didn’t hurt Jess.” His tone was hollow.

  “Not what I meant. Is Jess hurt at all, or are you playing another trick on Amy? Because police officers can get pretty pissy about having their time wasted.”

  The sun shone off the bare top of his head as he shook it. “Nothing to do with that. She’s just…gone.”

  Double shit. I sighed.

  “Amy, how did you find her?”

  “I was just checking the buildings with the EMF meter, taking new readings so we’d be ready when she got here. I went into the pub and she was slumped over the table. I called her name, then I went over and, you know, shook her shoulder. But she didn’t move.”

  Slumped over a table? “Like she passed out?” I mused aloud.

  “That’s what I thought,” Amy nodded. “Until her head rolled back and I saw her eyes.” She squinted her own shut against the memory. “So dull. Not blinking. Just staring. I screamed and screamed, but I couldn’t move. And then Drew came.”

  I slid my eyes to him. “You saw her, too?”

  He nodded. “Her head was bent back and sideways at an angle that looked…unnatural.”

  My stomach wrung at the horror clear in his voice. “Like her neck had been broken?” The question came out in a hoarse whisper as I glanced toward the trees Parker and Mel disappeared into.

  In more than eight years covering cops, I’ve seen just about every way a person can die, be it homicide or accidental. A broken neck that doesn’t involve a long fall or a car crash?

  Murder.

  I stepped backward. Twice. If Jessica Fanelli had been murdered inside that pub…odds were pretty good I was looking at her killer.

  And my friends and I were stuck in the woods with these people until we could get ahold of the police.

  So much for a safe little holiday feature story.

  Four

  Breathe, Nichelle. Think.

  Amy’s eyebrows disappeared under the magenta hairline. “You okay?”

  I flashed a smile and nodded. “I thought this story was supposed to focus on people who’d been dead for a while. That’s all.”

  Drew grunted, dropping his head back between his knees. “Jess. Oh, God. How could this happen?”

  I fixed my gaze on a small star tattoo on the nape of his neck. If he wasn’t genuinely upset, there was no justice in the acting world. But was he upset because she was dead, or because he had something to do with it?

  “Have y’all seen anyone else today?” I asked.

  Amy shook her head. “The caretaker was supposed to be here at seven, but she never showed up.”

  “Caretaker?” I glanced around. “That’s an actual thing?”

  The corners of Amy’s full lips tipped up. “Not like for the haunted mansions on Scooby Doo or anything. She lives as close to nearby as a person could, comes by a couple times a month to check for squatters, make sure the place hasn’t burned down. Jess and I talked to her on the phone to set up the shoot.” Her tone dropped at the mention of the victim, her eyes falling shut.

  Before I could ask another question, I spotted a slight form in dark pants and a white button-up shirt rounding the corner from the blacksmith shop. I blinked.

  Still there.

  Phew.

  She raised an arm, and I mirrored the gesture.

  Amy twisted around and scrambled to her feet. “You see it, too, right?”

  “Pretty sure that’s because it’s a person,” I whispered.

  Isadora McIntosh introduced herself with a firm handshake and a wispy voice, tendrils of white hair floating around her head with an almost ethereal quality.

  “I’m so sorry I’m getting a later start than I thought,” she said. “Samson got into some mischief this morning, an
d he wasn’t happy with me for trying to get him out of it.” She held up her left hand, a white bandage covering the back of it.

  “Cat?” I guessed, smiling.

  She nodded. “My lovies are all special, but Samson is the king of our castle. He’s a good boy. Just has an impish streak.” Smiling, she swept her right arm toward the street leading to the rest of the buildings. “Here it is. Cobwebs, dust, and all. What can I do for y’all?”

  I put out a hand and smiled. “Nichelle Clarke, Richmond Telegraph. I’m writing a feature on the legend of Four Winds Faire for our Sunday front page.”

  “The newspaper and the TV?” Mrs. McIntosh’s watery hazel eyes popped wide. “My, aren’t we getting fancy? How nice of you to come all this way.”

  I pulled out my phone and clicked on the recorder, relieved to have someone else to talk to. “How long have you been the caretaker here, ma’am?”

  She looked around. “I guess it’s going on ten years now. Doesn’t seem like it could’ve been that long. Every year flies faster then the one before it, I swear.”

  So she was the only one, then. “What’s the most unusual thing you’ve seen here in all this time?” I asked.

  Amy cleared her throat and I shot her a tiny nod. Yes, we’d have to break the news about Jess to this sweet little old lady. No, I wasn’t excited about it. And I wanted a couple of quotes from her before we had to tell her there was a(nother) dead person on the premises.

  Mrs. McIntosh sighed. “I suppose it would have to be the black bear that wandered into the barn. Just this summer, it was. Baby bear got himself stuck in there, scared to death. The game warden had to come all the way from Stanford, and he said the momma might come looking for him. So far I haven’t seen sign of her, but you young folks watch yourselves, especially around that barn.”

  Ghosts, I wasn’t afraid of. Bears? Hell yeah.

  No barn. Check.

  “But you’ve never seen any, you know…” I raised my eyebrows, letting the sentence trail.

  “Come again?” She smiled.

  “Ghosts. She wants to know if you’ve seen any spirits, gotten a bad feeling. Anything that could tell us what killed Jess.” That came from Drew, in a clipped, harsh tone that made everyone gasp.

  “Pardon?” Mrs. McIntosh looked confused. “Killed who?”

  I sighed. Thanks, big guy. “I’m afraid there’s been an…incident this morning, ma’am.” I shot a sideways glance at Amy, whose shoes suddenly became the most interesting thing in her world. No help. Fine.

  “The producer for the TV show has passed away unexpectedly,” I said gently.

  “Passed away? You make it sound like she died in her sleep. Her bloody neck was bloody broken!” Drew again. I resisted the urge to tell him where to stick his temper. Mostly because I didn’t want to get myself on the wrong end of it.

  Mrs. McIntosh drew in a sharp breath, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Lord a mercy, what are you people doing out here?”

  Good question. I let my eyes skip from Drew to Amy, neither offering an answer. “Currently, we’re waiting for the police,” I said.

  “If your friend could get ahold of them,” Amy muttered. Mrs. McIntosh gave no indication that she noticed.

  I crossed my fingers and tried for a reassuring tone. “I know this is upsetting—” I broke off in the middle of the sentence when Parker jogged out of the tree line. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

  I met him halfway, the dirt sending up little puffs of dust with every long, hurried stride.

  “Please tell me you got a signal.” I kept my voice low.

  “I didn’t, but Mel’s phone just barely picked up enough to get a call through. The dispatcher said we’re in an unincorporated area, whatever the hell that means.”

  “Dammit.” I pinched my lips between my teeth, blowing out a slow breath. “What that means is that there’s not a local police force.”

  “Um. There are places where there’s not any cops? How is that possible?”

  “It’s not common. But out here in the middle of nowhere…” I snapped my fingers. “That’s why the bank is paying a caretaker. Because there aren’t any cops to check on the property.”

  “So what does that mean?” Parker ran one hand through his already-messy hair.

  “You told them there was a body?”

  He nodded.

  “They’ll send the state police. Hopefully there’s an officer nearby.”

  His eyes fell shut, his breath coming out in a whoosh.

  “What?”

  “Now I get it. The dispatcher, she said the state police have a jackknifed truck and a twelve car pileup on 64.”

  Son of a…so no cops. No ambulances available either. I fought to keep my breathing even.

  “Where’s Mel?”

  “I told her to stay in the car and keep the doors locked until we came back. Let’s get the hell outta here, Clarke. I’ll vouch for you with Bob.”

  I shook my head, my stomach sinking again. “We can’t. We’re witnesses.”

  “No we’re not. I didn’t see a damn thing. Neither did you.”

  “We don’t know that. We just know we don’t think we did.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a ten count. “Look, I don’t want to stay here any more than you do, believe me, but we have to wait for the cops and give statements. It’s not only shitty and immoral to bolt, it’s more than a little illegal.”

  “But there’s a wreck. How long will that be?”

  I tipped my head back and forth. “They’ll send troopers from Richmond, so…three hours?” I tried to keep my tone bright, because it would be at least four if 64 was clogged up with a traffic mess. I just didn’t want to freak him out any more than he already was.

  His emerald eyes drifted to Amy, Mrs. McIntosh, and Drew. “What the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

  I bit my lip. “You go get Mel. I’m going to find out a little more about what’s going on here.”

  He nodded, turning back for the trees, then spinning to me again. “You be careful.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You say that like I’m ever not.”

  It wasn’t my fault crazy seemed to fall out of the sky around me. Cosmic joke? Sure. But not my fault.

  He nodded to my sling. “The evidence is on my side. I will be right—”

  I raised my untethered palm. “Don’t. Let’s not invite more bad luck to this party, huh?”

  He took off at a full sprint, and I returned to the morose little threesome—Drew was back to staring at the dirt, Amy was still fascinated with her shoes, and Mrs. McIntosh had two fingers pressed to her lips, her breath coming too quickly.

  I forced a bright tone. “The police are on their way. We just have to sit tight for a bit,” I lied, tapping one finger against my lips. Speaking of cars…“Y’all drove here, right?” I asked. “Where did you park?” We’d left Parker’s new convertible up at the road when the GPS decided we were hopeless.

  “Back there.” Amy raised her arm and pointed to the other end of the main street. “There’s a dirt road that goes around to what used to be the staging area for the performers. The woods haven’t quite reclaimed it.”

  I stood. “Miss Fanelli knew about this?”

  Mrs. McIntosh let out a sob, leaning back against the post. “Seemed like such a nice young woman.”

  I turned a raised eyebrow to Amy, who nodded, though I couldn’t tell if it was at me or the caretaker or the both of us.

  “Jess scouted the location,” she said quietly.

  Turning, I started down the street. The best way to put Parker and Mel (and myself, for that matter) at ease would be to figure out what was happening. Maybe something in the victim’s car would give me a place to start.

  Five

  Just past the apothecary, I found a white cargo van, an army green Chevy Silverado that had seen better days when Reagan was in office, and a shiny blue Infiniti convertible.

  Surely the van was Drew and Amy’s vehicle.
r />   The truck had to belong to Mrs. McIntosh.

  And the convertible’s top was down.

  Hot damn, was I going to get a break?

  I hurried to the front of the little coupe, laying one hand on the hood.

  Cold.

  It was parked in the shade, but even so that meant the engine had been off for at least a couple hours. It was a rental, of course, confirmed by the little “enterprise” barcode on the windshield. Rounding the bumper, I took a quick inventory of the interior: venti Starbucks cup in the driver’s side holder, plastic hotel room key card in the shallow console, bright red lip balm sphere in the door handle.

  Nothing terribly helpful.

  I spotted a trunk release button on the left side of the dash and curled my index finger, pressing it with my knuckle.

  The loudest, longest beep in the history of man ricocheted off the trees before the catch popped free.

  Scrambling around back, I peered inside. Impressive space for such a small car.

  A pair of sneakers, a manila folder, and two sheets of paper. Not exactly what I was hoping for.

  I leaned closer. Socks stuffed inside the shoes, and a hotel receipt from the DoubleTree in Charlottesville.

  She’d already checked out of the hotel? I looked at the dates. Night before last to this morning.

  Maybe they had a tight shooting schedule.

  Or she had some sort of event back home.

  Both perfectly plausible. But given that she was dead, there could very well be something else at play.

  Million dollar question of the day: What?

  I didn’t want to touch anything before the police arrived, so I couldn’t see what was on the other sheet of paper. My eyes scanned the receipt again, stopping in the top left quadrant.

  On the number of people in the room.

  Two adults, it said.

  Curiouser and curiouser. Behind the receipt, the unmarked folder held an inch-thick stack of papers.

  It wasn’t compromising anything if I didn’t move it. Mostly.

  Striding to the tree line, I snapped a forked stick off a low hanging oak branch, hurrying back to the trunk.