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First Chapter of Storm Surge:
Susie Gordon snapped awake, sensing something, someone in her room.
“Is that you, Ryan?” she whispered into the darkness.
Her son had suffered from nightmares ever since his father was killed in Iraq, often slipping into bed with her at
night. But Ryan was afraid of the dark, and his arrival was marked with the door slamming open, footfalls racing over the
carpet and his thin, warm body scrambling up beneath the comforter.
No one answered, but she felt the presence as surely as she felt her heart thumping in her chest. Something stood in
the corner by the door. Something other than a boy with nightmares.
“This isn’t funny, guys,” she said louder, fighting to steady her voice.
A black shadow moved in the darkness, shifting the air in the room.
“Say something, please.” Her hand slipped off the bed, groping for the nightstand drawer. Sour sweat bled
through her pores as she found and grasped the brass handle.
“You brought the feast to the feet of the Jezebel, so with you the slaughter of infidels shall begin,”
a husky voice whispered, fabric swishing as the intruder moved closer. “All the whores must die.”
Susie blinked several times, trying to make out the shape at the foot of her bed. The red glowing numerals of her alarm
clock cast a bloody glow over her arm as she slid open the drawer, fumbling through paperbacks and sleeping pill bottles for
her .38 special. “Who
are you? Why are you doing this?” she said, her mouth so dry she could barely speak. Her fingers wrapped around the
rubber grip. “I am the
Sword of God.” Her
breath caught in a small gasp. An icy chill swept over her like an arctic wind and she shivered. Sword of God?
“Please don’t hurt me. My kids…they don’t have anyone but me. Please.” Panic rose in
her voice, her body shaking as she fought to keep her head. She struggled to steady the grip in her sweaty hands. The gun
almost slipped to the floor as she fumbled with the safety.
“The spawn of the whore must not be allowed to procreate. The line ends tonight.”
Fear nearly paralyzed her. The spawn of the whore? Her thoughts flashed to her sons, sleeping and vulnerable just down
the hall. This maniac threatened her boys. Rage flowed through her veins, steeling her trembling muscles. She lifted the pistol
and swung it around. “Die,
you crazy fuck!” she screamed.
Blinding muzzle flashes speared the darkness as two quick shots ripped through the night.
******************************* Julie Wolfe flipped through
a current issue of Home and Hearth. Tears blurred the glossy pages and she set the magazine on the glass table in front of
her. She settled back in the deep cushioned sofa, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. She glanced at her daughter who sat
on the leather chair across the small waiting room, reading an R L Stein mystery as her legs swung beneath her, her tennis
shoes brushing the carpet.
“You okay, honey?”
Amy looked up, smoothing a long dark curl behind her ear. “Sure, I’m fine. How are you?” She smiled
steadily, but Julie knew her daughter.
The anguish in Amy’s dark eyes mirrored the same look she had seen in her own reflection that morning. She wished
she knew how to comfort her, but she could barely keep herself together. She
had come to the offices of Pro-Com International seeking protection for herself and her daughter, but looking around now at
the plush expensive furnishings and pricey, flashy art on the walls, she worried more about money.
Ten floors below, sailboats glided and cargo ships chugged across Tampa Bay, the sunlight nearly blinding on its mirrored
surface. Julie turned away from the panoramic view and sighed. She knew this suite must cost a fortune. So did the gorgeous
blonde receptionist in her white silk Nina Ricci suit that easily cost more than all of the clothes in Julie’s closet.
She looked again at Amy,
and contemplated slipping out of the office. Sitting there in her Wal-Mart Capri’s and blouse, she knew she was out
of her league. Why hadn’t
she discussed fees when she made the appointment?
She could go home and look through the yellow pages. There were dozens of firms listed and she had to find someone
today. Someone who wouldn’t bankrupt her.
Julie bit her lip and glanced again at her daughter, a tall, gangly girl poised on the edge of womanhood. Amy stared
down at her book, her face so lovely and innocent it hurt Julie’s heart. This guy was supposed to be the best, and right
now she and Amy needed the best. She would spend every last penny she had, to keep her daughter safe.
“May I help you?”
She looked up to find a tall man with short golden curls behind the reception window. He was thin but muscular, with
a square dimpled chin, wide cheeks and a high forehead. He wore a pale yellow golf shirt with a small polo player embroidered
high on his broad chest. “Hi,
I’m Julie Wolfe and this is my daughter Amy,” she said, gesturing to her daughter as she rose from the sofa. She
slid the strap of her black hobo purse over her shoulder.
He smiled at Amy who glanced up from her book and finger waved.
“Come on back to my office,” he said, and opened the hallway door, gesturing them through.
She noticed his long stare at the receptionist who gave him a solicitous smile and a wink. That figures, she
thought. The woman probably didn’t even know how to use a keyboard.
“Amy is going to wait out here,” she said to the detective as she joined him at the door marked “Private”.
She and Amy had discussed
this in the car on the way. Julie didn’t want her daughter in the room listening to the awful details, and seeing her
mother so upset. She wished she could have left her at home with a neighbor, but right now there was no one within a thousand
miles she would trust with her only child.
Amy nodded good-naturedly, and she forced a smile before the detective closed the door behind them.
Julie followed him up the hallway, passing half a dozen offices, a few with muffled voices coming from behind closed
doors. She tried not to notice how nicely his Dockers fit as he led her to a large corner office. He held the door and waited
for her to enter before pulling it shut behind them.
Inside, glass walls provided glorious views of Tampa Bay to the east and south. Two twenty inch flat panel monitors
sat on his curved glass desk, a neat stack of unopened letters piled on one side, a few trade magazines on the other. A colorful
painting of a tropical courtyard hung on the wall behind him. On the opposing wall, hundreds of books lined built-in shelves,
a mixture of hard covers and paperbacks, mostly law texts and police procedurals, the bindings creased from use. He actually
reads all these. Impressive
“I’m Jack Orten, by the way.” He smiled, creating tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth as he
guided her to a comfortable chair set at an angle to share the view of Tampa Bay with his workspace. He took a seat at the
desk across from her. “Would you like a cup of coffee or a soda?”
Julie shook her head. “So
tell me why you’re here, Miss Wolfe.” “Please,
call me Julie.” She tried to smile but couldn’t muster it. “A friend of yours from the Pasco County sheriff’s
office referred me…Detective Harris…he said you used to work with him in homicide.”
She had liked the detective. A bit rough around the edges, but he was sympathetic and helpful, and her instincts told
her she could trust him. Jack
leaned back in his gray leather desk chair. “Yes, I worked as a homicide detective for six years.”
“That’s what he said. He said you were the best.”
“I appreciate the endorsement, but why do you think you need a private detective?” He set his elbows on
the armrests, teepee-ing his fingers beneath his chin.
“I own a coffee shop in Tierra Del Sol, in the Publix shopping center on highway forty-six.” She paused
to fetch a packet of Kleenex from her purse. “I had a business partner, Susie Gordon…” She plucked a tissue
and dabbed her cheeks. Recognition
flashed in his eyes. “I saw that case on the news yesterday. Pretty bad scene. An unknown intruder killed Ms Gordon
and her two sons while they slept. No suspects, no known motive.”
Julie swallowed, trying hard to compose herself. “One thing that wasn’t in the paper was a message from
the killer.” Tears stung her eyes and burned her cheeks.
“He…he wrote it in her blood, on her bedroom wall, above the headboard.” Sobs overtook her and she
saturated half a dozen tissues before she could continue.
Jack sat quietly as she cried herself out.
“It said ‘you’re next, bitch’.” She glanced up, trying to read his reaction, but his
face revealed nothing. “I think the message was meant for me.”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Why would you think that?”
“Susie was an Iraqi war widow. Her husband Sean was one of the first killed over there, nearly five years ago.
Her closest relatives are an aunt and some cousins somewhere in Idaho. She worked sixty hours a week at the coffeehouse to
keep her mind off her grief. She didn’t have time to make any enemies, or friends for that matter.
“When she wasn’t working she was at football games and soccer games, or taking the boys to the movies.
Her entire life was work and family. She didn’t even know her neighbors. So if there’s no one else in her life,
who else could it mean?”
“What did the police say?”
“They said it probably didn’t mean anything, but I might want to be a little extra vigilant, just in case.”
She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “What the hell does that mean? Extra vigilante?” Her fists balled in her
lap. “They
had a patrol car watch my house last night, but they said with no direct threats, they couldn’t afford the manpower
any longer than that. I have a twelve-year-old daughter, Mr. Orten. I’m scared half to death. I can’t sleep, because
I’m afraid I won’t hear him if he breaks in. What can I do?”
Jack
finished typing notes into his computer. “First of all, we need to figure out why someone would send you a message like
that. Was someone angry or upset with you? Maybe a disgruntled employee or business associate?” he
asked, his voice maddeningly calm.
“You mean maybe we pissed off the owners of the Starbucks down the street?” she said, her fist pounding
the arm of her chair. “Listen, my life very much paralleled Susie’s. I only have time for work and my daughter.
My husband “upgraded” six years back, trading me in for a younger, sleeker model.” Her thoughts flashed
back to the receptionist and her jaw clenched.
“Then he moved to Fairfax, Virginia two summers ago to upgrade his career. They had a son right after, and he
stopped visiting Amy all together. Broke the poor kid’s heart. If anything, I should be the one wanting to take him
out.” She pulled the purse strap from her shoulder and set the bag in her lap, her fingers curling over the soft leather.
“What about alimony or child support? A lot of people argue
over money.” Julie shook her head. “Karl can easily
afford the child support, believe me. I don’t think he gives either of us enough thought to want to speak to us, much
less kill us.” “What
about boyfriends?”
“Not for a while. I dated some jerk nearly three months before I found out he was married. I haven’t heard
a word from him since I confronted him about it, just before Christmas.”
“Was he angry or upset when you broke things off?”
Julie shook her head. “I’d say more aloof than anything. We were at a restaurant…I didn’t
want him making a scene. He just stood up and walked out. Never said a word. I almost wish he had called again, so I could
tell him off, but apparently he moved right on with his life. I thought about calling his wife - for her sake, not for revenge,
but I never located her and to be honest, I lost my nerve.”
“Nobody since him?” He glanced up from his keyboard, his eyes a piercing ice blue.
“No, and I think me and Amy are just fine by ourselves.” ***************************
Jack typed a few notes as they spoke. What kind of idiot would trade in this woman? She was a classic beauty, with
a long, graceful neck, full lips, high cheeks and short, sassy dark hair. And she had spunk, a real fire that sparked in her
dark brown eyes. He felt for her. Her fidgeting hands, her tears told him the depth of her fear and heartache. He figured
she didn’t have a lot of money, and he knew this case would take hours of surveillance and footwork.
“Miss Wolfe…Julie, I believe your case merits some looking into, just to be safe,” he said. “I
must say up front, I concur with the police. I doubt your partner’s murder had anything to do with you, but it’s
always best to play it safe.”
Liar, he admonished himself. But he saw no sense in worrying her more than she already was. He smiled, trying to cover
his concern. “What would you
suggest?” she said, her eyes pleading for reassurance .
“Well, first
we’ll check out your home security. One of my team will watch your house and your business for a few days, to see if
we spot anyone unusual. I’ll let you know names and vehicle types ahead of time. Anyone from my firm will always identify
themselves with a photo ID badge and a password, which you will choose and it will be changed daily. And I’ll need to
know the names and addresses of the ex-husband and boyfriend, just so we can rule them out.”
“That all sounds great, but how much will all this cost?” she asked, her toe tapping away at the Persian
rug beneath her chair. “Two
hundred dollars a day, plus expenses and mileage,” he managed with a straight face, happy to see her eyes light up,
those huge round eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate.
“Great, you’re hired,” she said, sitting a little straighter in her chair. “What do we do now?”
“We have some paperwork to go over, and then I’ll see what I can find out about the investigation. Are
you working today?” he asked her, making mental lists of things he needed to do.
She shook her head. “I took the day off. I wish I could close the shop longer – I closed yesterday…the
day after. I know this sounds terrible, but I just can’t afford to close our doors for long. If our customers can’t
get their morning fix at our shop, they’ll go to Starbucks or one of the other coffee shops around town. We have…I
have a couple of retired ladies and three high school kids who work part time. They’re taking care of things for me.”
“Okay, I’ll come by your house later and I’ll take a look at your security system.”
Julie gave a tired laugh. “That won’t take long. He’s a four year old lab-rotti mix. Pretty mellow
guy, but I guarantee he’d defend me and Amy to the death.”
“All right, then we’ll take a walk through and see what needs to be done. I know a good security system
isn’t cheap, but it’s a good investment, especially for a single mother. If nothing else, you’ll have peace
of mind.”
She nodded. They went through contracts and he took down the address of the ex-husband. She didn’t know where
the boyfriend lived, only that his name was Richard Dempsey, and she gave Jack a description. She was pretty sure he lived
in Tampa. “I was
so stupid. All those excuses he dished out about why we had to meet here or there and why he supposedly only had a cell phone.
He told me he was a marketing manager for some advertising agency in town. Now I wonder how much of anything he told
me was true.” She shook her head.
“I think I still have a picture of him somewhere, from when we went on one of those sunset dinner cruises in
the bay. I’ll check, I hope I didn’t throw it away…or use it for dart practice,” she smiled without
looking up. They agreed to
meet at her house at four and he saw her and Amy to the exterior door. He watched them standing by the bank of elevators,
Julie’s arm around her daughter’s shoulder, holding her against her. They looked so alone and vulnerable as they
stepped into the metal cube, the doors sliding shut like hungry jaws and swallowing them down its mechanical throat.
“She’s
pretty.” Tiffany said through the reception window as Jack stepped back into the waiting room.
“Yes, I suppose she is.” He took a deep breath, knowing what was coming.
“Did you sign her?”
“Yes,” he said, hurrying towards the hallway door.
“Standard fee?”
“I told her two hundred.”
“Per hour?”
“Why are you grilling me?” he frowned, trying to look stern as he strode into the hall beside the reception
area. “Because
one look at her and I knew she couldn’t afford us, Jack.” Now Tiffany was frowning. “Why didn’t you
send her over to Dittmer’s? They’re good and they’re cheap.”
“They’re not as good as us, not by half. She’s scared, and she just needs to feel safe in her home,
Tiff. We all know how that feels, don’t we?” He saw her resolve slipping, and a wave of guilt swirled through
him. That was a low blow.
The images came too quick, too clear, even after all these years. Chicago, a two story brownstone, his childhood home.
The two masked gunmen, prowling through the Orten’s halls late one winter night. He saw himself, ten-year-old Jack,
being dragged from his bed to find his older brothers lying on the floor of their parent’s room, unconscious, hands
bound behind their backs. Jack closed
his eyes, forcing the images away, burying the memories, like some pirates evil plunder, deep into the dark sands of his mind.
“All right. I suppose one pro bono case isn’t going to break us.” Tiffany conceded, probably mistaking
his closed eyes as exasperation, not the crushing wave of anxiety he was battling right then.
Jack opened
his eyes, relieved to find himself in the relative safety of the present, his .9 mm pocket pistol resting heavy and cool against
his thigh. Hey, are you packing heat or are you just happy to see me?
A spry elderly woman pushed through the outer door, a whirlwind of
energy hurrying across the waiting room and into the private entrance. She tossed a canvas tote onto the glass topped reception
desk, her breathing quick, her cheeks flushed. She lifted a straw hat from her short gray curls, setting it beside the bag
and the flashing switchboard console as she unbuttoned the light jacket she wore despite the August heat.
“Sorry I’m so late. Thanks so much for filling in, Tiff,” she said, smoothing a flower print blouse
over tan slacks. “You know how those doctors are. You make an eleven o’clock appointment and they keep you waiting
an hour and a half, as if I have that much time to spare at my age.”
Jack covered his mouth with his fist, hiding his smile.
“It’s no wonder they call us patience. You have to have the patience of saint to sit in those places with
their outdated parenting magazines – parenting magazines in a geriatrics office, mind you, and those horrid droning
talk shows,” she ranted as she hung her hat and jacket on a stainless coat rack in the corner.
“That’s a different kind of patient…with a ‘T – S’, Aunt Ev,”
Tiffany corrected, unable to help herself, Jack knew. His sister was a wordsmith and if she didn’t enjoy kicking ass
so much, she would have made a great teacher.
Evelyn Tanner dismissed her with a wave. “Toe-may-to, toe-mah-to, it’s all semantics, dear.” She
looked at Jack. “One useful tidbit I did catch on the twelve o’clock news, which they managed to sneak in between
Geraldo and Jenny Jones, is that hurricane…Helen, I believe, was just upgraded to a category three. She’s moving
pretty fast, too.” “Yes,
I’ve been tracking the storm on the internet. Where is it now? South-west of Cuba, right?”
“Yes, and they’re predicting she’ll strengthen to a CAT four before she hits the Gulf tomorrow night.
You know we’re in the cone of probability, Jack,” she said seriously.
“And so is every county in the state from Collier up to Okaloosa. And you know that will change a dozen times
as the hurricane gets closer.”
“We’re due for a direct hit.” Her gray eyes narrowed.
“There hasn’t been a direct hit in Tampa for more than fifty years. I wouldn’t worry about this one,”
Jack said, trying not to smile.
“You just wait and see, mister smarty pants. And if I were you...” she shook a finger as she looked back
and forth between the siblings, “I’d be stocking up on water and canned goods.”
“Which we’d just have to leave behind when they evacuated us…” Tiff said impatiently as she
pulled off her long blonde wig and ruffled short titian curls with her fingertips. “If the hurricane does come this
way, we’ll all pile into my Escalade and head up to Atlanta for a few days, okay? That should be plenty far enough inland.”
Great-Aunt Evelyn, who had seemed old when they moved in with her after their parent’s death, had apparently
reached a comfortable level of aging and stuck with it because she looked exactly the same to Jack as she had nearly twenty
years ago. He knew from
a secret background check, shame on him, that she was pushing seventy-nine. The four siblings had been wary of hiring her,
but they all agreed they owed her a try and she turned out to be an invaluable asset to the company.
The switchboard was fully automated, with most calls routed to specific departments. Each department had their own
clerical staff, many of them located in other states and countries, but Evelyn did much more than answer phones. She kept
everyone’s schedules on excel databases, knew the names and contacts for their entire extensive client list and oversaw
the accounting department, making sure accounts were invoiced and paid. She kept the entire operation running like a Ferrari
in sixth gear.
“Now if you’re finished prophesying doom and destruction, you’ll have to excuse me. I have to go
try to hack into Gulf Coast Bank’s customer database. And to think, I’m actually getting paid for all this fun.”
Tiffany smiled and headed down the hall.
“I know she thinks I’m senile, but I’m not,” Evelyn said, watching her Grandniece disappear
into her office along the corridor before turning back to Jack.
“She does not, nobody thinks any such thing. You’re as sharp as Ann Coulters’ tongue.”
Evelyn gave him a look, but she was smiling as he leaned and kissed her deceptively soft, wrinkled cheek. “Just
don’t worry yourself sick, okay? Remember Charlie? He was headed straight at us, and at the last minute he made a sharp
right at Punta Gorda.” “I
know, and that just makes me more worried. We’ve gotten off too easily. It’s our turn.”
Jack sighed and excused himself, stopping along the hall by Tiffany’s office. Hers was not as grandiose as his
and her furniture far more eclectic. The bright colored silk throw pillows on her red velvet wing back chairs reminded him
of a Bohemian garage sale. A short bookcase filled with every computer manual ever printed stood against one wall, topped
with a tiffany lamp and several small statues of cats. Cats stretching, cats playing, cats curled up in sleep.
The back of her black enamel desk was lined with China and crystal and soapstone felines. The burnt umber walls were
decorated with frolicking Siamese and Burmese immortalized in oils and watercolors.
The cats had belonged to their mother, Elise. The treasures had adorned Tiffany’s childhood room at Ev’s
house and she was quick to surround herself at work with the only remaining tangibles she had of a mother she hardly remembered.
Her one large window held a great
view of the bay, though most of the time she kept her blinds half closed, claiming the suns reflection on the water gave her
headaches. To Jack her office seemed oppressively dark.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked with a smile as he came around her desk, sinking into one of the
soft chairs. Years of dealing with his sister and Aunt Ev had taught him, always ask women sensitive questions with a good-humored
smile. At least if you wanted to keep your head on your neck.
“Do what?” She looked up from her computer, brows arched, large blue eyes wide, her fingers poised over
the keyboard. “The wig
thing…when you cover reception.” He rose from the chair and stood by the bookcase, slowly turning a small crystal
kitten. She shrugged. “Anonymity.”
“Anonymity from what?” He fought the urge to cross his arms, a defiant gesture, instead jamming his restless
hands in his pants pockets. “Any
of our clients. If I’m tailing a foreign funds transfer specialist suspected of embezzling from First National Bank,
I don’t want Mary Poppins back there running up to me on the street yelling ‘aren’t you that receptionist
from that big detective agency?’”
“Tiff, I think you’re just a little bit paranoid,” he said, his jaw aching from holding the forced
smile. He took cautious steps towards the hall, feeling her eyes boring into his back. He quietly shut the door and continued
to his own office. Tiffany
worried him sometimes. Hell, she worried him all the time. She had been paranoid about her identity ever since the publicity
after their parent’s murders. Reporters hounded them relentlessly, trying to sneak around their temporary police guardians
to catch photos of the traumatized children.
Tiffany faced a second trauma when a fuzzy snapshot of her standing stoically between her brothers at their parent’s
graveside somehow appeared on the front page of the Chicago Times, and she had determined to fly under the radar ever since.
He wished he could
help her, but he had no idea where to start. His track record with women wasn’t great. Communication with the opposite
sex had never been his strong suit, and that included his sister. He had no trouble grilling suspects, male or female, but
in social situations women made him uneasy. He never seemed to know the right thing to say until thirty minutes after a conversation
ended. Only then he was a veritable cornucopia of clever retorts and witty remarks.
He closed his door behind him and started reviewing his notes. Usually he would take a ride to see his old partner,
Tom Harris to discuss the Gordon murders, but it was already after two and he’d barely have time for a phone call before
leaving for Julie’s home.
“Hey, Jack, how’s civilian life treatin’ you?” The familiar deep voice boomed over the phone.
“Pretty good. When are you coming to work for me?”
“When people stop killin’ each other here in Pasco. They can’t afford to lose two of their best homicide
dicks.” “I guess, but
give it some thought, okay? I’d double your paycheck.”
“You’re killin’ me here. Don’t tell Angelina about the dough, she’d knock me out and
steal my badge just so she could resign on my behalf. Bad enough we took such a pay cut when I left Brooklyn so’s to
increase my longevity chances by not gettin’ shot at twice a week.”
Jack chuckled. “Okay, I won’t bother you again until next time we talk. I was actually calling about the
Gordon murders. What can you tell me about the case?”
“Ah, Ms. Wolfe must’ve called you. I meant to give you a heads up, but it’s been crazy. A bad scene,
this one.” “I
believe it. She’s pretty shaken up. She told me about the blood message and I wanted your take on it. How worried should
I be?”
“Well, the murders were cold. One shot to the head. The break-in was flawless, the back door lock jimmied. No
hairs, no fibers, no fingerprints, the scene was clean like I’ve never seen. You know Locard’s Principle. Usually
you pick up somethin’ the killer left behind. He’s a ghost, this one. Everything points to a professional hit
except for that message on the wall. That was pure rage. Slash pattern letters written with a crucifix dipped in her blood,
and then he crammed the thing – several times – into her vaginal cavity. There was a lot of tearing inside.”
“A cross? Must be some kind of religious freak.”
“No shit. Very Exorcist, except the only fuckin’ head spinnin’ is mine, tryin’ to figure out
who the hell would do somethin’ that messed up. Seems like whoever went to the Gordon’s was only after the mother.
I think the kid’s was just collateral damage, since they was shot once while they was sleepin’, then left alone.”
“Was there anything
significant about the cross?” Jack lifted a pen from his desk and started tapping the unopened stack of mail.
“Nah. Not that I could tell. Just a plain wood cross, nothin’ fancy. Maybe forensics will come up with
somethin’ on it.” Jack
glanced over his notes. “According to Julie, Susie Gordon didn’t have any enemies, or friends.”
“Which, if you think about it, makes your new client an ideal suspect.”
Jack had thought about it. If Mrs. Gordon had no friends or enemies, then who would benefit more from her death than
her business partner? “No, I’m not buying that. First of all, she was genuinely shaken, and scared. And secondly,
the sexual assault – that was passion – hatred.”
“Yeah, I agree. Besides, I already checked with Susie Gordon’s attorney. If somethin’ happened to
her and her kids, then her half of the business went into a trust for some war widow’s fund, to be paid out upon the
sale of the coffee shop, which must occur within six months of her death. Julie Wolfe was the witness to her will.
Of course Julie has first right of purchase to her half of the business, but if anything, Susie’s death is creating
a bigger financial burden on Julie, at least in the short run. Her finances ain’t bad, but she’ll definitely have
to take out a loan for the buyout.”
“Not to mention funeral costs. Who’s paying for those?”
“Part of Susie’s husbands military benefits are takin’ care of the funerals. I also talked to the
employees and they all said the same thing. Julie Wolfe and Susie Gordon was closer than most sisters. They watched each others
kids, spent holidays together, that sort’a thing.”
“What about the religious angle?”
“Susie Gordon had no religious affiliations that anyone was aware of. Her kids had attended some Friday night
youth group thing at one of those non-denominational churches once in a while, but Susie never got into it. She’d take
the kids sporadically …Christmas, Easter, but I don’t see any connection there.”
“Does Ms. Wolfe know about the crucifix?”
“No, she found the vic, but all she really saw, as you can imagine, was the writing on the wall, no pun intended.”
“What about Julie’s ex and the old boyfriend?”
“The ex has an air tight alibi. He was out of the country on business. We’re not real worried about a guy
she only dated a couple of months and hasn’t heard from in almost a year. You can track him down if you want. We’re
focusing on Mrs. Gordon, seeing if maybe she had some secret life no one else knew about…a boyfriend or somethin’.
We’re also talkin’ to other business owners in the area, friends and enemies of the kid’s, see if we turn
up anything. And we’re talkin’ people at the boy’s school, just in case there’s somethin’ there.”
“So what do you think about the threat?”
“I think just like I told her. She should be careful, for sure, but without any real evidence we don’t
have the budget to put her under protection. That’s why I sent her to you.”
“Which means
you think she needs someone looking after her, but the police aren’t springing for it. Okay, thanks for the heads up.
Let me know if you get any breaks in the case, okay?”
“You too. We’re talkin’ to the neighbors again today, see if maybe someone remembers somethin’.
We talked to her employees but we still want to question some of the customers, especially the regulars. The shop was closed
yesterday, but she opened again this mornin’. The place was a zoo. The press was there, of course.”
“Of course. They wouldn’t miss anything this sick and twisted.”
“And all the damn curiosity seekers, as if they expect to see blood on the floor or something. Fuckin’
vultures, all of ‘em. But somebody out there knows somethin’, even if they don’t know it yet.”
“That’s usually the case. Something insignificant. Thanks again, Harris.”
“No problem. And Jack…?”
“Yes?” “Keep
askin’, okay?” “Every
time I call,” Jack said with a smile as he hung up the phone.
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