Dead of Night (Sloane Monroe) Read online

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. I better go check it out. Shelby, go back to bed.”

  “How can I go back to bed now knowing someone or something is out there?”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s probably just an animal, like Sloane said. I’ll take a look just to be sure.”

  He grabbed his Glock from the top of the dresser and exited the room.

  Shelby turned to me. “Can I stay here with you until he comes back?”

  I scooted over, and she sat down beside me. “I didn’t sneak out tonight. I promise. I haven’t done that in ages.”

  “I know you didn’t. If you did, it would be to see a boy, and if you were seeing a boy, your hair would look a lot better than it does right now.”

  She smiled.

  Cade’s phone buzzed.

  Seemed I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want him to get any sleep tonight.

  Shelby reached out to grab the phone, then paused, hand in midair. “Should we answer it?”

  “Nah. He can get it when he comes back.”

  “Why would someone call here this late?”

  “Ever since your dad was made chief of police, he gets calls like this now and then. Most of the time, they’re just silly questions the officers think can’t wait until morning.”

  The phone stopped vibrating for about thirty seconds and then started back up again. When neither of us answered the second time, my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Sloane, this is Shorty. Where’s Cade?”

  “Outside. What’s going on?”

  “I need you to put him on the phone.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  A long pause, and then, “It isn’t. Can you just put him on the phone?”

  Cade entered the room. “You were right. Just a bunch of deer.”

  I held the phone out to him. “Shorty has been trying to reach you. I’m not sure why.”

  He put it to his ear and listened. When the call ended, he looked at me and said, “I’m gonna have to leave for a while.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “There’s been a murder.”

  “Who?”

  He looked at Shelby then at me. Message received. Whomever it was, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of his daughter.

  CHAPTER 3

  When I woke again several hours later, I found Cade sitting in the living room, staring at the logs inside the fireplace, even though it was spring and there was no fire going.

  I plopped down next to him. “That bad, huh?”

  “June Bancroft was murdered last night.”

  I’d only lived in Jackson Hole for the past several months. The name didn’t ring a bell. “Who is she?”

  “A widow who lives in town. I didn’t know her very well. Her daughter-in-law Wren was Shelby’s English teacher last year. I always liked her. She was nice, passionate about her students. That’s what makes June’s death so confusing.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “We’re still gathering evidence. Far as I can tell, though, Wren stabbed her mother-in-law in the chest and then tried to flee the scene.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A neighbor across the street spotted Wren running down June’s driveway. And get this, she was holdin’ a bloody knife in her hand, the one we assume was the same knife that killed June. The neighbor went after her, and when Wren wouldn’t stop, the neighbor held her at gunpoint while she called the police. She said Wren was mumblin’ a bunch of things she couldn’t understand.”

  “Did Wren admit to the murder?”

  “She said she didn’t do it, but right now, everything I’ve seen says she did. If she’s innocent, why was she tryin’ to leave?”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “Tried. So far, she’s not talking. She just sits there, starin’ at the wall, cryin’.”

  “I thought you said she said she didn’t do it.”

  “She didn’t say it to me. She said it to the neighbor.”

  “What happens now?”

  “What always happens. We finish collecting the evidence, and we wait.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The following day I received a call from a man introducing himself as Will Bancroft, Wren’s husband. Between frantic, panicked breaths, he managed to ask me when I could meet with him. Since it was the first job offer I’d received since moving to Jackson Hole, clearing my nonexistent schedule wasn’t the problem. The fact I was being hired as a private investigator for Cade’s case was.

  When I made the permanent move to Jackson Hole, we’d discussed the possibility, knowing it was only a matter of time before our cases intersected with each other somehow. He’d said he would be supportive. He understood I wasn’t giving up my job no matter what his current position. Still, I worried. This wasn’t a regular case. It was a murder investigation.

  I dialed his number, hoping to run it by him first. He didn’t answer. And judging from Will Bancroft’s voice on the phone, Will was a ticking time bomb. I couldn’t just leave him on ice.

  On my way out the door, I glanced in the mirror, arranging my short, dark pixie cut with my fingers. My face looked bright and luminous. Alive. After so many years of pale and pallid, bright felt good. It felt really good.

  Will greeted me at his front door thirty minutes later. He was of average height for a man. With a bald head and a plumpish build lacking any sort of muscle tone, he wasn’t much to look at upon first glance. Then I met his gaze, saw a childlike kindness most people lacked these days. His kind demeanor, combined with a reddened face that indicated he’d been crying, was all I needed. I was sucked right in.

  We walked together to the living room. Sat down.

  “Before you talk to me about anything,” I began, “I need to be honest with you. Cade McCoy is my boyfriend. If that’s going to be a problem, I understand.”

  Will leaned back, tugged at his jawline. “Chief McCoy?”

  I nodded. “We also live together.”

  A short time passed, and then, “Is he okay with you taking on a case he’s investigating?”

  Good question.

  “He thinks my wife is a suspect, for heaven’s sake,” he continued. “That’s why I called you. I had no idea you two were together, or I wouldn’t have.”

  I crossed one leg over the other, tried my best to give off a vibe that everything was okay, that my relationship with Cade was no big deal. “I tried calling him on my way over. He didn’t answer. He knew I’d get a case like this sooner or later. We’ve discussed it before. He agreed it was okay. If it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know. For now, I’ll do what I can to help you. Okay?”

  He shrugged.

  “I heard your wife was released on bail this morning after her arraignment,” I said. “Where is she now?”

  “She’s here. In bed.”

  “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “She’s tired. Maybe later. Why don’t we start with me answering your questions?”

  “Mr. Bancroft, you called me today because, as of this moment, your wife is the only suspect in your mother’s murder. You believe she’s innocent, and you want me to prove it.”

  He nodded again. I continued.

  “You ever play the game where someone whispers a phrase in your ear and then you whisper the same phrase into someone else’s, until it’s passed all the way down the line and the last person verbally recites what he heard? Then everyone has a big laugh because what that last person says is never the same phrase the game started with.”

  “Yeah, what’s your point?”

  “You weren’t there when your mother died. Your wife was. I need to know what happened firsthand. From her lips. Not from her, to you, to me. Understand?”

  “If the story is the same, why does it matter if I tell you or she tells you?”

  “Trust me,” I said. “It’s never the same. Even if you had been present when your mother died, no two
people have the same perception of the same event because no two people are exactly alike. I don’t just want the story. I want the story within the story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know yet. And I won’t know until I talk to your wife.”

  What I did know was one simple truth—it was always the little things. Things most people didn’t understand they’d said even after they’d said it. An odd tidbit they deemed meaningless at the time, so they offered it up without restraint and, in so doing, revealed more than they could possibly imagine.

  Will ran a hand across his sweaty brow. “This isn’t how I imagined our meeting would go.”

  “You believe she’s innocent, don’t you?”

  “She is innocent.”

  “Then there’s no harm in me talking to her.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with you talking to her yet,” he said. “I figured we’d meet first and take it from there. I’m the client, right? What I say goes.”

  “You’re right. You are the client. And I understand your apprehension. I’m not going to sit here and try to force you to do anything.”

  I stood.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “Why don’t you give me a call when your wife is feeling up to talking?” I asked.

  “You’re leaving? We haven’t even discussed anything yet.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bancroft. I must insist on doing things my way. I know what I’m doing. I also respect your feelings, and I completely understand if you’d rather hire someone else.”

  I didn’t usually have difficulty laying the ground rules with a new client, but this time was different. He was different.

  “There isn’t anyone else.”

  He was right. There wasn’t. Not for a hundred miles at least.

  As I stood, torn about how stubborn I was being, contemplating what to say next, a door on the opposite end of the room swung open … and in walked the most beautifully freckled creature I’d ever seen.

  CHAPTER 5

  Will looked at the woman who had just entered the room and said, “Wren, you should be resting.”

  She frowned. “How can I when I feel like the entire town is judging me?”

  She tried to step forward. Her legs didn’t comply. Will rushed to her side.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t stopped shaking since the other night.”

  “It’s understandable,” I said.

  She extended a flaccid hand. I accepted it.

  “Please don’t leave,” she said. “I’ll talk to you. I’ll answer your questions.”

  Seeing her now, the dark marks under her eyes, the look of grief and exhaustion, I understood Will was only trying to give her some time to push past her recent ordeal enough to have the conversation she probably wasn’t ready to have yet. Part of me felt like an ass for pushing him so hard.

  “You will stay, won’t you?” she asked.

  “I’ll admit, when I first arrived, I wanted to speak to you personally. Now, I can see your husband was right. You need your rest. I’d be happy to stop by tonight, or tomorrow even. Whenever you feel more rested. I can get started based on what I already know, and you can fill in the blanks for me next time we meet. Okay?”

  She shook her head. “I can sleep later. All I want now is to clear my name.”

  I returned to a sitting position.

  Wren looked at her husband, tried to smile. “Could you … give us a minute?”

  He didn’t move, visibly reluctant to leave her side.

  “I’d rather stay,” he said.

  “Please, Will.”

  He sighed. “I don’t understand, but okay … I’ll go.”

  Wren waited until the door closed and then leaned forward. “I feel terrible talking about what happened in front of him. It was hard enough to do it the first time.”

  For the next several minutes, she rattled off as much as she could remember. When she finished, I said, “So, the last thing you remember is trying to leave the house while the killer was still there?”

  She nodded. “I remember him breathing, standing in the shadows. Watching me.”

  “Do you have any idea where he was in the room?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You said you could hear him breathing. Focus on that for a minute. Where was the sound coming from?”

  “All around me. First I thought he was by the door, then in the corner, then behind the sofa. It was like he was nowhere and everywhere at the same time. There was a breeze blowing from the ceiling fan. It made it hard for me to pinpoint his exact location. I panicked, started dialing 9-1-1. He reached over my shoulder, snatched the phone from me.”

  “So, he was behind you.”

  “When he took my phone he was. When I stood up, tried to run, he wasn’t. He must have still been watching me though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “One minute I was running for the door, the next I woke up next to June with a knife in my hand that had previously been sticking out of June’s chest. My head was throbbing. I don’t know how long I’d been out. I reached out to June. Her body was cold, rigid. No pulse. I knew then that she was dead.”

  “When you tried to escape the second time, why run to your car? Why not run to the neighbor’s house instead?”

  “I never got a good look at the killer. I had no idea who I could trust. I no longer had my cell phone, and I couldn’t find June’s, so my first thought was to get out of there, get back home to my husband, tell him what happened, then call police.”

  “The neighbor saw you run out of June’s house with the murder weapon in your hand. Why take the knife with you?”

  She frowned. “Are you here to interrogate me or help me?”

  “The best way for me to help you is to ask all the hard questions, the ones you don’t want to answer.”

  “I was in shock. Not only was June dead, someone knocked me out and then staged the scene to make it look like I did it. I panicked, then I ran. It wasn’t until I reached my car that I realized I’d taken the knife with me. I remember looking up at the street lamp, then down, seeing June’s blood dripping from the tip of the knife onto on my skirt.”

  “Tell me about the neighbor.”

  “I heard a noise, someone yelling. I looked up. June’s neighbor was headed in my direction. She had a gun in her hand. All I could think about was why she was coming after me, and what she was doing outside at that hour.”

  “Did June have any enemies?”

  “She always spoke her mind, but no, I can’t think of anyone who wanted to harm her. The last time I saw her was earlier that night. We’d all gathered together for Sunday dinner just like we always do.”

  “Who’s we?”

  Wren gave me the names of everyone at the table, and then said, “It wasn’t a typical Sunday dinner.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “June wasn’t herself. She’s usually outspoken to a fault. She stayed quiet through most of dinner, and then she passed around some wine and announced she was selling her house and moving to a place called Seal Beach.”

  Having been raised in California, Seal Beach was a place I knew well. Most people thought of the city and envisioned the ocean, the pier, the people in the active retirement town. Not me. My mind had never been content enough to settle on green pastures. When I thought of Seal Beach, a mass killing came to mind, one that had occurred about ten years before at Sunny Shore Diner. Seven killed, five wounded. The moral of that story? Don’t piss off your waitress, and always leave a tip.

  “Why did your mother-in-law want to move to California?”

  “To be with a man she met on the Internet.”

  “Had June ever mentioned the man before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did she mention his name?”

  She gave me his name, first and last. Sebastian Ayres. Her eyes opened and closed. She was getting woozy. I didn’t have much time.
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  “How did June’s children react to the news of the boyfriend and the move?” I asked.

  “Everyone was in shock. Simon stormed out. Patty and Will tried to reason with her. It didn’t matter. She’d made up her mind well before she said anything to us.”

  The doorbell sounded. We both turned.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Will walked from the bedroom, where he’d been waiting, and passed in front of us. He walked over to the door, answered it. From where I was sitting, I didn’t have a clear view of the person he was talking to on the other side, but I didn’t need one. I peeked through the blinds and recognized the truck parked outside.

  I turned around just in time to see Cade enter the room. Eyes wide, he wasn’t smiling. He placed a hand on his hip, looked at me, and said, “Sloane? What are you doin’ here?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Wren feverishly chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes focused on her fingers tucked in her lap. Will sat next to her, his hands brushing up and down her arms as if he were warming her in front of a fire. Neither spoke.

  “Would you excuse us for a minute?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I walked outside. Cade followed.

  “I can explain,” I said.

  “What in the hell is goin’ on?”

  I relayed how I came to be there, icing the cake with, “When I moved here, you said I could take a case. Any case. You said you wouldn’t let it get in the way of our relationship. Remember?”

  He crossed his arms in front of him, leaned against the door of his pick-up truck, and looked at me like he was trying to find a way to “undo” our aforementioned agreement. He could slice it any way he liked. There was no way to undo what was already done.

  “I know what I said. I just didn’t think—”

  “I’d take murder cases anymore?”

  “Look, Sloane, this is a homicide investigation, and right now, she’s our prime suspect.”

  “Are you worried about the conflict of interest? Or what people in this town will say if they learn the chief’s girlfriend has taken Wren Bancroft on as a client?”