Not One of Us(85)

Was Jori safe from her uncle? I had to protect her, let her know she might be in danger. That there was a madman in her family.

The recording. Mom hadn’t filmed Buddy, but Buddy had spoken. And if his voice was on that tape, Jori would immediately know it was her uncle. Like everyone else, he’d have a distinctive color pattern associated with his voice. I could only hope Buddy hadn’t noticed the recorder.

Panicked, I scanned around the floor for the recorder and couldn’t find it. It had to be nearby. There was only one place I hadn’t yet checked. I rolled Mom’s bloody body to the side. Her arms and neck flopped like a rag doll, and horror paralyzed me. Pretend it’s a bad dream. A terrible, terrible dream. She had fallen on top of the camcorder. The red “on” light was still on, the battery light flickering.

Steps came up the walkway, ponderous and deliberate. I pictured him as he’d stood before us earlier, the way he deliberately raised the gun in his hand and shot us point-blank. I listened harder. There was another person with him. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to—I knew why they were here. Best for him not to leave dead bodies and evidence around. They were coming to dispose of me and Mom. I refused to let them get away with it.

Hide the recorder. The floor was slick with blood, but I grasped the device. Picking it up from the floor felt like deadlifting a ton of barbells. I opened the bottom drawer of the bookcase and thrust it inside, hoping to hell that he’d never find it. Mom had dropped it before he entered our home. Surely if he’d seen it, he’d already have taken it with him.

The steps grew closer.

I slammed the drawer shut with my last reservoir of strength and waited. My lungs and chest burned like a devil’s bonfire, and I coughed up blood.

The latch lifted from the front door, and it began to creak open.





Chapter 39


TEGAN


I dabbed more concealer under my eyes and stared at my reflection in the small rippled silver pane that passed for a mirror. The women’s bathroom in the Erie County Sheriff’s Office was cramped, ugly, and dark. But even in the poor light, the added makeup piled under the dark circles only emphasized them.

So much for that wasted effort. Sighing, I smoothed down my hair and walked down to my office.

“Deputy Blackwell. You’re looking . . .” Mullins took in my haggard appearance. “Um, presentable.”

Not good, just presentable. Weak praise indeed. Not that it mattered. Despite the sleepless night as I lay in bed, replaying the shooting of Buddy Munford, I had zero regrets over killing the bastard. If I hadn’t, Jori would be dead. And who knows how many other lives Buddy Munford would have taken in the future. Jori had filled us in on everything her uncle had confessed to during her kidnapping. Any potential threat of exposure led him to commit more crimes, thus compounding the tragedy. The web of lies rippled outward with each additional murder Munford committed, expanding his chances of getting caught and creating a riptide that innocent bystanders were fatally pulled into.

“Nice job over the weekend, Deputy,” Sinclair added.

I waited for a punch line that never came. Confused, I faced Haywood, sure they had set him up to deliver a wisecrack.

“Not only did you help solve the Strickland case, you also helped take down a major drug ring headed by our mayor, no less,” he said. “Kudos, Deputy.”

“All the credit to Carter Holt on that one,” I protested. “I was just along for the ride.”

“Don’t forget solving the Ensley and Cormier cold cases too,” Mullins said, grinning. “You trying to make us look bad?”

I blinked at all three in confusion. Not only did they appear sincere, they’d each referred to me as deputy instead of the usual rookie.

“Doesn’t take much work to make you jokers look bad.” Oliver entered our office, tempering his words with a wide smile across his weathered face. If he suffered any compunction over shooting Cash Johnson, it didn’t show in his eyes. But then again, Johnson had survived the gunshot; Munford had not. Just as the criminals caught in the drug operation had cooperated in detailing everyone involved in exchange for a plea bargain arrangement, Johnson had confessed to his crimes and how he’d worked for Buddy Munford over the years. We also had Jori Trahern’s account of her kidnapping and Johnson’s role in it.

“We’ve got a small matter to take care of this morning before y’all get to work,” Oliver continued.

Mullins, Sinclair, and Haywood all rose from their chairs and stood at attention.

“What’s going on?” I blurted.

Oliver held up a manila envelope. “Deputy Tegan Blackwell, it’s my pleasure to inform you that you’ve been promoted to sergeant, effective immediately.”

My ears rang with the startling announcement. I’d taken the promotional test last month but hadn’t expected to get promoted—not for months or years, anyway. I searched my coworkers’ faces for any trace of resentment but found none.

Oliver opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper. “Hot from personnel, here’s the official notice along with the pay increase amount you’ll see in your next paycheck.”

I accepted the paper and read the numbers, my breath hitching with excitement. Silently, I vowed to put every cent of the extra money into the twins’ college fund.