Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(35)

“Hi, Brody, Stella here. Have you seen Chet?”

“No, isn’t he at the station?”

“He stopped in, then said he was going to interview a witness for the drug bust you two shared last week.” Stella dropped her voice. “But that was an hour ago, and he’s not answering the radio or his cell. The chief has been looking for him. I just thought you might like to know.”

“Thanks. The interview might be taking a long time.” But these follow-up interviews consisted mostly of quick clarifying questions. None of them should take over an hour, and Chet should have checked in with the station in between stops.

He slid behind the wheel of his sedan and turned toward the station. On the way, he cruised past Chet’s place. The former cop still lived in the same house in which he and his wife had raised their only daughter. Brody pulled into the narrow driveway in front of the small Cape Cod in the center of town. He walked up to the stoop and rang the bell. Chet didn’t answer. Brody listened but the house was silent. He cupped a hand over his eyes and peered through the sidelight. The house was dark. Worried, Brody circled to the back of the house.

Where could he be at ten in the morning? He didn’t have any hobbies. Back in his car, Brody called Chet’s home number and cell phone. No answer on either line. He left a message on Chet’s voice mail saying that he didn’t have any new information and was just checking in.

He drove to the station, his thoughts consumed by the dead woman, Chet’s absence, and Hannah’s predicament.

There was nothing he could do about Chet except work the case. But maybe he might be able to help Hannah. He left a message for the cop in Vegas. He did a new search in ViCAP, the FBI’s violent crimes database, with the information provided by the medical examiner. While he was searching for similar crimes and missing women, he’d check the National Crime Information Center to see if there were any missing persons reports in Nevada for a teenage girl named Jewel.

But Brody couldn’t get the violence of the attack on Jane Doe out of his head. Darcy had put it best: the assailant had to be found before he unleashed his rage on another innocent woman.





Chapter Thirteen

Brody pulled into the driveway of the Barrett house. Pizza box in hand, he exited the vehicle. A Honda Accord parked next to his sedan, and a redheaded woman got out.

“Thanks for doing this, Kailee,” he said. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t. I’m glad to help.” Her long red ponytail flipped as she pivoted and walked toward the front porch. Brody rang the bell, and a dog exploded into barking.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Hannah stood in the foyer, blinking at the light as if she’d just woken up.

Brody ushered Kailee into the house. “Hannah, this is Kailee. She’s a police sketch artist. She’s not here in an official capacity, but as a favor to me.”

Hannah brushed a hand through her hair, but instead of settling into place neatly, it remained stubbornly disheveled as if she’d been sleeping on it. Disheveled looked good on her, he decided. Real rather than perfect and polished. Sexy. Not many women could pull off the just-out-of-bed look.

She held out a hand to Kailee. “You worked with Carson, didn’t you?”

Kailee smiled. “Yes.”

“He talked about how nice you were.” Hannah gestured toward the kitchen. “Please come in.”

Brody set the pizza box on the island and opened the lid. “I told you I’d bring dinner.”

Hannah sniffed. “Mushrooms?”

“Of course,” Brody said.

“You seem to know all my favorite foods.” Suspicion laced Hannah’s voice.

“Must be a coincidence,” Brody lied.

She cast him a quick not-buying-it glance before opening the fridge. “I have Coke, beer, wine, and iced tea. Or I could make coffee.”

Kailee slid a sketch pad and thick pencil out of her bag. “I’d love a Coke.”

“Me, too,” Brody said.

Hannah poured three drinks and pulled plates from the kitchen cabinet. Brody opened the box, took out a slice, and folded it. He didn’t bother with the plate. Hannah ate two slices, then broke off a piece of crust for the dog.

Kailee stopped at one, then wiped her hands on a napkin. She lifted her pencil. “Why don’t we get started?”

Brody got up. “I’ll walk the dog while you work.”

Kailee did her best work if the witness was relaxed and open, two words that did not describe Hannah. The fewer people in the room the better.

He headed for the edge of the woods. They skirted the forest at a leisurely pace. The scent of wood smoke tinged the air, and Brody wondered if Grant’s fireplace was usable. The dog sniffed and snuffled along the ground. Brody was in no rush. Kailee would need some time, and maybe if he gave the dog a long walk, AnnaBelle wouldn’t wake Hannah in the middle of the night.

They looped the property twice and started back. A twig snapped. The dog’s head shot up, and her tail went rigid. She lunged into her collar. Brody two-handed the leash as the retriever went from docile to defensive in a heartbeat.

“Easy.” He pulled her back to his side, but the fur on her back was up, and a growl sounded low in her throat. AnnaBelle didn’t growl often. Something was out there. Something only the dog could sense.