Table for Three-Hold the Blood Read online

  She wanted to talk to Erron about his dream, but no doubt he would be working into the wee hours and Marklon was doing an evening on-call shift. Maybe she'd just research dreams and visions first and then get her bearings on how to start the conversation.

  A quick peck on the cheek and Erron took off, leaving her and Marklon sipping the potent java and awaiting the paper—and, hopefully, news about the severed head from last night.

  Unfortunately, not the best kind of head to be thinking of.

  Drying off from the quick shower she'd grabbed while waiting for the paper to arrive, she slipped panties and a tee on and headed back to the kitchen. She heard Marklon call out.

  "Paper's here."

  "So what do they say? Anything?"

  She stood at the counter pouring another cup of Marklon's stout coffee. The Belgians not only created the finest chocolates in the world, but the strongest coffee as well.

  "Well, the receiving party happened to be the mayor and guests. Apparently, no one is sure if this was a message to the mayor, or something more."

  Marklon sat hunched over the breakfast bar, scouring the article.

  "Who gives a shit who it was for? A freak-ass killer is running around, and some poor woman was slaughtered."

  Leave it to some pigheaded politician to make this about them, she thought, slamming her cup down.

  She leaned over Marklon's shoulder trying to get a better glimpse of the article.

  "Um, hello, I'm a tad older than you and some reading light is necessary."

  His brow cocked impatiently as he waited for her to move.

  "Sorry, old man."

  She maneuvered out of swatting distance barely in time. Marklon was far from old at thirty, but was older than both she and Erron.

  "So far, the reports aren't stating anyone knows the victim. There are no apparent missing persons locally, so law enforcement is checking outside areas by running her image through a face recognition program."

  Setting the paper down he strode over to the pot to refill his mug to brimming.

  Her gut twisted. Someone, somewhere, was missing a daughter or sister. Gah, maybe even a mother. They had some bad news coming, and her heart broke for whoever would be receiving the bad news.

  An idea formed in her mind.

  "Hey, you still have that old emergency scanner out in the shed?"

  "Yeah. Out in the box marked "junk," third shelf toward the back."

  "Junk?"

  "Wasn't sure if I was keeping or junking."

  "So, it's still in the shed why?"

  "Shuddup already. I'm not a pack rat. That's my guy junk out there."

  She couldn't resist. Really, it was his fault for setting himself up. She reached out and grabbed his junk.

  "No, baby, your junk is right here."

  She couldn't avoid the slap on the ass this time.

  She'd returned to kitchen covered in dust and had only just plugged the scanner in when ear-bursting shrieks and static cackled forth.

  Kassshhhttpsshhhhtttttt.

  "Damn, who listened to this last?"

  "Probably my pops," Marklon said. "It was his, but I loved listening to it with him so much he gave it to me. 'Course, he'd also figured out how to use his smart phone apps by that time and didn't need it anymore."

  She laughed as understanding dawned.

  "We spent many hours playing spy while tuning in to all kinds of conversations. I think it was his way for trying to make up for the absence of my mother. His special time of bonding with me. Also helped keep my young punk ass occupied and out of trouble."

  "Aw, and he didn't have the heart to get rid of it, so he gave it you to?"

  "Pretty much."

  He played with the tuning until they began hearing the crackly voices calling out codes. Someone down on the boardwalks had fallen and twisted an ankle. Another citizen had a cat stuck in a tree. Only in their Hickville, USA could one still call about a cat stuck in a tree.

  "Marklon, what do you really think about the similarities between Erron's nightmare and the head? Truth, and, don't tell me I'm crazy, I know you sense something as well."

  "Well, I do think we're jumping the gun in assuming everything's related. One nightmare doesn't constitute—"

  She cut in. "One matching head."

  "That may be. But it's too soon to jump to conclusions, don't you think?"

  Before she could answer or argue, the scanner squawked to life again.

  "Unit 12 to Base."

  Psshshhhkkk.

  "Base, go ahead."

  Silence.

  "We have a citizen claiming a 10-54. En route to check it out."

  Pssshhhhk.

  "Repeat, please. Did you say a 10-54?"

  Silence.

  "That's a 10-4. Kids playing ball out by the county line. By Tate's Woods. Claim a 10-54."

  Pssshhhk.

  "I'll notify Sherriff Masters if you confirm a 187."

  Silence.

  "So, what was all that? Could you figure any of it out?" She prayed all those years of listening with his pops had taught him police codes.

  "Yeah, doesn't sound good either. The code 10-54 is possible body found, and the 187 is if they confirm it is and suspect foul play."

  "The town isn't that damn big. I bet it's the body matching the head."

  "Bet you're right. Sadly, it's better it be that than a new body from another murder."

  "True. What time do you have to go in today?"

  She hoped he wouldn't have to start his shift until later, leaving them with enough time to head out to Tate's Woods to investigate for themselves. If things were left to the local guys, nothing would be found out. Sure, she wasn't a detective or anything, and the local guys were all decent, but the brightest bulbs in the box of 40 watts they were not.

  "I know what you're thinking, and I can't. Matter of fact, I need to start getting ready."

  "Damn!" She gave her best pouty face.

  "No! And look I know how you can get. I don't want you going by yourself. Matter of fact, I don't want you involved at all."

  "I wouldn't be by myself. The cops are out there," she countered, not liking that he was telling her what to do. "Plus, I can take care of myself, Marklon."

  So, police detective hadn't been her career choice, whatever. Her gut screamed that something was up and that whatever it was involved her, Marklon, and Erron. Her grandmother always taught her to trust her gut instinct. Right now, her instincts were nagging her to investigate.

  "I don't doubt you can, sweetness. I just don't like the idea of you being anywhere near a dead body. Plus statistics suggest that killers revisit the scenes of their crimes."

  Wow, was he spilling a snippet from his past? Maybe his pops was a cop or something.

  At her impressed expression, he explained.

  "No, not my pops...the Discovery Channel."

  She socked him in the arm.

  "Go get ready. They haven't even confirmed it's a body yet."

  "If you leave while I'm in the shower...."

  "I promise I won't."

  "All right. Good."

  She watched his gorgeous, tight ass as he strutted down the hallway.

  "Hey, Marklon."

  "Yeah?"

  "What's the code again for confirmation of a body?"

  If looks could kill!

  Chapter Two

  Peas and Carrots

  She'd only promised not to leave while he showered. She hadn't promised shit about after, she reasoned en route to Tate's Woods. The scanner had screeched out a 187 and an 11-44. While Marklon had been in the shower, she'd googled police codes. The suspicion of homicide had been confirmed, and officers on the scene had requested the head coroner. She'd figure out how to get past the c
ops once she arrived.

  Marklon would just have to get over being pissed. Her gut screamed more was going on than one killing. Much more, and something in her gut urged her to become involved. Something told her they already were involved, whether they wanted to be or not.

  When she pulled down the small, dirt side road from where she saw the reflections of emergency vehicle lights blinking, she found herself heading deeper into the dense national forest. The only structure in view appeared to be an abandoned barn.

  A cop sat perched at the entrance to stop any lookie-loos from driving up. Shana pulled over, locked the car, and headed toward him, racking her brain to come up with something to say.

  "I'm sorry, miss, no one's allowed any closer."

  The young officer held up his hand and began walking toward her.

  "Wow, what's going on?"

  "I'm not at liberty to say, miss. You best be moving on along now."

  He blocked her path and tried his best to look stern.

  "Is that a body?"

  Sure as shit, he jerked his head in the direction she looked. No, no body was visible, but she'd hoped to frazzle him into a reaction and conversation. Spilling a clue or telling something.

  "And how did you come to be out here, miss?"

  Shit. Now he thought her to be a suspect.

  "Just taking a drive in the country, and I noted all the activity and lights. With all the headlines about the head at that restaurant, I thought...."

  She trailed off, hoping the tidbit would pacify him and open him up.

  Thankfully, before he had a chance to question her any more, as she sensed he wanted to, his radio went off, calling for him to head inside the barn. He shot her a wary look and swore he'd have her arrested if she so much as moved an inch from where she stood. The guys would have kittens if she called them from jail, but she'd be damned if she planned on standing around like some chicken shit moron.

  Moving closer to edge of the woods, hiding as best she could behind the trees, she slowly made her way toward the barn. She'd gotten close enough to hear the officers' voices when Deputy Dumb came flying back out, spewing split pea soup worse than Linda Blair in The Exorcist. She turned away from the sights and sounds of his gagging. His gurgles coupled with the unsightly flying chunks caused the queasies to bubble within her own stomach.

  Whatever was in that barn had to be bad. The deputy was still heaving buckets and showed no signs of stopping. Another officer came out to check on him, and she overheard the visual description he gave on the multitude of gore they'd found inside the barn.

  "Geez, Mac, hold your shit together."

  "Not like I'm...geralff...not...beralff...trying."

  She felt pretty sorry for the deputy as she'd never reacted well to hearing, seeing, or smelling vomit. Heck, she usually ended up joining in as the sympathy puker.

  "I've never seen a body so...so fucking torn up."

  "I haven't either, and you don't see me ralphing everywhere."

  "John, her middle, her...."

  "Intestines?"

  Geralphhff.

  The coroner came out next, talking ninety to nothing about forensic details with a uniformed man who seemed to be the sheriff. Both deputies jerked to attention and trailed behind the coroner and sheriff as if waiting for further instructions.

  She listened closely but heard no sounds from inside the barn. Staying hidden in the trees, she made her way to the back of the barn, hoping to find a window or two.

  A door.

  Hell, yeah!

  Shana peeped around the back door to verify the barn was empty. Since the barn had an open front, she was able to view from one side clear out to the other. Once she saw the coast was clear, she crept in silently, staying as close as possible to the empty stalls.

  She had taken only five steps and one turn in before she had to fight back her peas and carrots. The foul burning bile shot upwards, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress the spewing.

  In a damp, dark stall lay mangled human remains, which she bet belonged to the head. The woman's remains had been cut clean in half. Her entrails had spilt out into a bloody, bulbous, gelatinous mess that much resembled the images of blood pudding she'd seen. Even thinking such had her breakfast rising. The scent of death clung heavily to the air in the moldy-smelling barn, as did an eerie presence. Nerves frayed, she continued glancing all around to verify she was still alone.

  Still covering her mouth, she stepped closer to examine the remains. A crimson gaping hole sat in the center of the woman's chest where her heart had once beat, and bloody stumps sat in lieu of hands and feet. She might not be a medical detective, but the pools of coagulated blood next to each missing limb seemed to indicate the victim had been alive when they'd been cut off. Even with the visual horror before her, she still had the presence of mind to check around the stall for the body parts. None! Had the killer taken them? The police already bagged and tagged them?

  Then the note snared her attention.

  "A gift for you—Much love—The Chef."

  She shifted her gaze to the side of the note and recoiled from the gruesome sight of a knife stuck through a once life-giving heart embedded into the wall. Thickening blood trailed down in sickening offering to the masses of flies gathering for the feast. Her stomach rolled in revolt at the gore before her. Her soul ached for the terror the poor woman must have endured before death.

  This was personal. Someone, somewhere knew this killer. From what little she'd taken from the police conversations, they hadn't a clue what was truly going on.

  Yeah, big surprise there....not.

  She glanced back at the remains of the tortured woman. Dark sensations encased her in the shadowed barn. A feeling of familiarity squeezed her heart, and fear rooted deeply. Images of slashing and sawing flashed in and out of her consciousness—opened jugular veins shooting heavy streams of blood to pool about booted feet. As the images saturated her brain, her blood turned icy. As if she couldn't move if she wanted to or run if she had to. The vision of a long dark trench coat came into what looked to be a peripheral view. Despite the coat, she made out the stocky build of the person, a man. Hate rolled off him, chokingly thick. A hate so dark, so intense, it bordered on insanity.

  The killer! Panic seized her in a debilitating grip over the onslaught of the vision which linked her momentarily to the killer's memory of the event.

  The static of a police radio shattered the image and had her scrambling back out of the barn and into the woods. She took a few deep calming breaths, trying to shake the overwhelming sense of dread. Shaking from the terror of the experience, she dropped to her knees to gather her wits. Glancing at her watch, she realized that, if she left right then, she'd arrive at work barely on time. With Mari out on emergency leave, they'd be short-handed. Though she wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up, and call the guys to tell them what happened, that would have to wait.

  Tonight would be a bitch shift!

  * * * * *

  She arrived to find Clyde snippier than usual. Of course, she hardly blamed him. Poor guy had been stuck at the restaurant all night while the forensics team fingerprinted everything. He probably never even made it home before his shift to open started. His under-eye bags had bags, and he remained as ghostly pale as he had been the night before. The questioning must have been fierce, and she admittedly was more than a little curious herself as to how the killer got in.

  Hell, the kitchen was a tight area on a good night, as was every other rare nook or cranny. No damn clues how the killer slipped in, placed a head on a platter, and slipped back out. Unless Clyde dropped a bombshell explaining such.

  "It's all my fault." He sighed, looking haggard and drawn.

  "What's your fault?"

  "I'd never done it before, but last night was such a big deal."

  He to
ld her this as if it explained anything.

  "I made that rare specialty course the mayor preordered at home. I left it in my vehicle only long enough to unlock the back door and snatch a milk crate to prop it open with. The police suspect that's when the killer struck, swapping my covered platter with his."

  Well, if that didn't suck and creep you out at the same time!

  "Ahh!" The sudden ringing and vibration from her cell caused her to jump out of her skin.

  "Yeah, me too." Clyde agreed at being over overly jumpy after last night's horrific event before sadly walking away.

  "Hello."

  "Hey, babe, it's me. Marklon told me you talked about checking out Tate's Woods. You didn't go, did you?"

  She caught his irritated sigh. "Uh, yeah, but I'm already at work. Can we talk about this later?"

  "Yes, but talk we damn well will."

  The fact Erron had hung up directly after making that threat meant he was seriously peeved. Oy, she was in for an earful of testosterone later on.

  "Shana! Need you in here, please."

  Clyde sounded worried and stressed. She took off toward the kitchen and met up with uniformed officers.

  "They're shutting us down. They want to go over things again. Why, though, I haven't a clue. I was here all night while they ran their tests. What more can they possibly hope to learn?"

  "Clyde, honey, a women died. Horribly so."

  "Geez, that must have sounded insensitive and crude. Damn, I didn't, I meant...."

  "Believe me, I understand."

  Reaching out, she patted him on the back.

  He raked a hand through his hair, and she knew he was worried about keeping the place going. Tourist activity hadn't been good the past two seasons, and any closures now would only amplify his financial problems. A head served on a platter might make the place known, but it sure as shit wouldn't drum up healthy appetites.

  "You want me to hang around a bit?" she asked.

  Clyde could be an ass, but she knew deep down he was a good guy working hard to make a living.