A Deep and Dark December(9)

“Maybe.”

“But you just said—”

“I’m asking questions. Working through the possibilities.”

Ham walked up behind Pax and clapped him on the shoulder. “I told you he was good.”

“It’s a good thing he’s sheriff,” Pax responded. “None of the rest of us has any experience with a scene like this.”

Pax didn’t catch the way Ham’s gaze dropped or the way his lips pressed down at the corners, but Graham did. His father didn’t like being lumped in with the rest of them.

“Let’s get out of here.” Graham motioned for them to move ahead of him. “The less people through here, the better.”

They moved into the living room. Curtains pulled tight over the windows caved the room, making it difficult to navigate now that the sun was almost down. Graham pulled a flashlight off his belt and switched it on.

“I can hit the lights,” Pax said.

“No. No one touches anything. The lab guys will bring in their own lights. Pop, why don’t you hang out on the porch? I want Pax to go with me to take a look at the other rooms.”

“Sure.” Ham moved to the front door, his shoulders hunched and hard.

Graham knew his dad felt put out to pasture, but he wasn’t a cop anymore. He was supposed to be taking care of himself, not unnecessarily stressing himself. Besides, this wasn’t kids stealing candy bars from Lucky’s or making sure Billy Dean got home after drinking himself under a bar. This was murder. The scene was complicated and ugly. There was so much more going on here than the small town sheriff deputies were prepared for. He doubted if most of them had even seen a dead body before.

“How about I stop by when I’m finished if it’s not too late?” Graham offered Ham in consolation to get him to go home and rest. “Run a few things past you, get your take on things?”

Ham gave a firm nod, his stiffness easing. “Sounds good. Your mother made coffee cake this morning. I’ll save you a piece, make us some herb tea.” He said the last as though the words were bitter. Losing his coffee had been nearly as difficult as losing his job.

“Only if you spike it.”

“Only if you don’t tell your mother.”

“Tell her what?” Graham watched his father turn up the collar on his trench coat and go out the door with a backwards wave.

“That was a good thing you did,” Pax said so only Graham could hear.

Graham shook off the compliment. Having his dad around complicated things. He couldn’t be Ham Doran’s son and sheriff. His men had already shown deference toward their ex-sheriff. He didn’t want to have to compete with his father for the deputies’ loyalty while working his friend’s case.

“Let’s take a look at the other rooms.” Graham started out with Pax following.

They edged down a short hall to a bedroom. The room Greg had shared with his brother and where Graham had slept on the floor during sleepovers. Graham swept the beam of his flashlight around the room. Old memories competed with the new emptiness of the space. The only furniture in the room was an upright dresser that had seen better days. The drawers stood open, gap toothed and forgotten. They’d been cleaned out, but Graham ran the light over them top and bottom as best he could without disturbing them, remembering how Greg liked to tape things to the bottom to hide them from his brother. Nothing.

They moved on down the hall to the only bathroom. It, too, had been stripped. Its bare bones exposed, the scent of baths and showers long since gone. All that remained was the slight stench of mildew and neglect.

The last room was the largest, the master bedroom. Graham could still remember the smell of Greg’s mother’s perfume. It hung in the stale air—another ghost of better times. This room stood empty except for a handful of orphaned hangers in the closet.

He had so many memories of better times spent here with Greg. The house was small, but it had sheltered the Lasiters for years. There was nothing left here but the carcass of a home, picked clean of its warmth and spirit.

“I think we’re done,” Graham said.

“Yeah,” Pax replied on a heavy exhale.

They made their way back to the living room. Pax went outside while Graham took a moment to wander around the largest room of the house. He could almost smell the chocolate chip cookies Mrs. Lasiter would have waiting when they came home from school and hear Mr. Lasiter yell for them to be quiet while he watched his show. Memories of time spent here with Greg floated in and out with the reality that the Lasiters would only ever be that now—a memory.

He paced the room, ending up back at the front door, having achieved nothing except a raw ache in his belly. He stopped on his way outside to examine the front door. The key stood out proud from the lock. He hit it with the beam of the flashlight, noting what appeared to be particles of soil stuck to it, confirming what Erin had told him. Stepping out on the porch, he found the pot Erin must have pulled it from. Soil topped the rim and some of it had spilled over onto the deck of the porch.

Erin.

He caught her watching him from the back of his cruiser. She looked pissed. And cold. He cursed himself for leaving her out here all this time, then chuckled under his breath as he imagined all the ways she’d probably been cursing him. He checked in with Pax and told him to have the crime scene guys photograph and enter the key in the door as evidence. He rattled off a few more instructions, conscious of Erin’s gaze boring into the back of his head.