The Killer You Know Page 3

  Forrest knew that was the right thing to do. But he struggled to say the words. Rhia was, indeed, a special girl. He didn’t know if he was ready to face all the grieving friends and family.

  But he also knew with everyone in a lather about a potential murderer in their midst, he had to tread cautiously.

  “That’s a beautiful idea, Gladys,” he finally murmured with a faint smile. “Please make the necessary arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to pray. My heart is heavy.”

  “Yes, of course.” Gladys quickly left the room and Forrest exhaled a shaky breath.

  Rhia.

  No more flirty smiles from across the pew.

  No more struggling with his guilt.

  His hands were still shaking.

  He just had to get through the next few weeks.

  God would provide solace and understanding.

  Please, forgive me.

  * * *

  Silas checked into the hotel and, after making quick work of hanging his clothes and setting up his toiletries, he loosened his tie and sank into the small chair by the window.

  Condensation gathered between the window panes from the damp air. Silas could already feel the cold creeping into his bones.

  You’re tired, he rationalized. He wasn’t about to let his imagination start messing with him.

  There was still time to head out to the scene.

  Doing something was preferable to staring at the peeling wallpaper while he waited for his brother’s case file.

  Grabbing his coat, he scooped up his keys and headed for Seminole Creek.

  The road was bumpy just as he remembered. Only the locals swam in Seminole. It was difficult to find and easy to miss.

  But in the summer it was the best place to hole up, drink a few beers and make out with your girlfriend away from prying eyes.

  Except Silas had never much cared for the place after Spencer had been found there.

  None of the Kelly boys hung out at Seminole after that.

  The fact that he could still remember the way was a testament to how it was burned into his memory for all the wrong reasons.

  You had to climb down to the actual creek from a short embankment, which was something someone else had known, too.

  A Jeep was parked on the shoulder.

  Silas pulled up behind the vehicle and climbed out, his gaze sharp.

  Woodland creatures skittered behind ferns and tall trees flanking the wide creek bed. His breath plumed in frosty clouds as he surveyed the area.

  Nothing had changed.

  But then nothing changed in Port Orion it seemed.

  It was as if the town had been caught in a time loop. Nothing moved forward or behind—everything was static.

  He climbed to the top and looked down.

  A huge rock jutted out across the water, a popular jumping point above a deep spot on the creek bed.

  Spencer’s voice echoed in his mind.

  “Silas, watch me!”

  Spencer, the precocious shit, had wanted to prove himself. He was going to jump from the high rock, like the rest of them.

  Their oldest brother Sawyer didn’t approve. “It’s too high for him.”

  “Stop babying him,” Silas had shot back. “You practically pushed me off this rock when I was his age.”

  “I can do it,” Spencer boasted to Sawyer with a tiny amount of pleading. “C’mon, let me try.”

  Silas wanted to see Spencer jump. Everyone babied Spencer and he was sick of it. Why were the rules always different for Spence? “Go on, I dare you, you little mama’s boy,” Silas had taunted with a grin. “You’re too chicken to do it.”

  Before Sawyer could tell him not to, Spencer flipped Silas off and then leaped from the rock, screeching like a little girl the entire way down.

  Silas had laughed until Sawyer had picked him up and tossed him off the rock to join Spencer, saying, “You made him jump. You can make sure he’s okay.”

  Silas’s balls still ached from the awkward way he’d landed in the water.

  Yeah, his brothers had thought that was hilarious.

  The memory of that day faded and Silas returned to the present only to see that aggressive reporter, Quinn Jackson, nosing around the crime scene.

  “Hey,” he called out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is an active crime scene.”

  Quinn looked up, caught, and tried blinding him with a bright smile as if that was going to work.

  The young woman was nice to look at. In another time, another place, he might even be tempted to get her number, but in this current circumstance, he had zero interest so that pretty smile was wasted on him.

  “You can’t be down here,” Silas told her sternly as he joined her. “Exactly what do you hope to accomplish aside from contaminating a crime scene?”

  “Hold on, there, Mr. Grumpy Pants, I’m not stupid. I’m not touching anything on the other side of the tape, I’m just trying to get a feel for the scene. It helps for my story.”

  Silas narrowed his gaze, seeing her for what she was—a soulless shell of a person who only cared about her story.

  Much like the reporters who’d ruined Spencer’s case.

  Over-eager, aggressive and completely disinterested in how their meddling affected the outcome of a case.

  “Get out of here before I call your boss,” Silas growled. “Try to show some respect for the girl who died.”

  Quinn stiffened, taking immediate offense. “Excuse me? I knew that girl. I took her picture plenty of times for the paper so don’t lecture me on something you have no moral ground to stand on. You are the trespasser here. Try to remember that.”

  “Her family is grieving,” Silas returned, disgusted with all press. “The last thing they need is some nosey reporter digging around, contaminating the case. Now, get out of here.”

  “This is public land,” Quinn said, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing. “I can be here all I want as long as I don’t cross the tape. So deal with it.”

  Silas shook his head. Reporters were all alike. Intent on their own purposes, and damn anyone else.

  “What are you here for?” Quinn asked.

  But Silas disregarded her question and walked away, prepared to tune her out. If she refused to leave he couldn’t make her, but he didn’t have to be polite and suffer idle chatter.

  Quinn took the hint but he sensed she was put out. Small town—she wasn’t used to being on the outside of a local issue. She probably got what she wanted by using charm and sweetness but he got the feeling Quinn was more than she seemed.

  Quinn’s surface was a cultivated act that she’d honed over the years but past the superficial layer of candy was nothing but rock.

  He’d have to watch out for her. She was going to be trouble.

  Silas gave her a covert glance, catching her scribbling notes in her notepad, her nose pinking from the chill.

  What was she writing?

  The creek, high for this time of year, rushed over rocks, creating small whitecaps. Although Seminole was technically a creek, it was quite wide and deep in some areas.

  The gurgle of the water as it traveled was soothing to some—but Silas didn’t care for it.

  Rushing water reminded him of Spencer’s murder.

  Swearing mentally at his inability to stop his brain from throwing too many pieces from his childhood into his way, he realized without the report, he was wasting his time at the crime scene.

  Maybe he’d already known that at a core level but he had to come to test himself.

  He didn’t see the raw, lush beauty of Seminole Creek—he saw the place someone had dumped his brother’s body.

  Oppenshaw had probably been right; his thought process
was too cluttered with shit from the past to be of any use here.

  But he wasn’t leaving.

  Hell, he couldn’t if he tried.

  The pull to remain was too strong.

  Without another word, he left Quinn behind at the scene. It was getting dark, anyway. If she wanted to stumble around without any light that was her business.

  He needed food, a shower and bed.

  In that order.

  Tomorrow he was attacking this case with his head on straight.

  Chapter 4

  Quinn knew when the FBI agent, Silas Kelly, had left the scene, because she found herself releasing the breath that must’ve been pent up inside.

  There was something about the austere man that troubled her.

  He wasn’t friendly in the least.

  But that wasn’t it.

  Okay, so he was good-looking. Older than her by close to ten years, but he wore his age well.

  His skin was clear, his eyes sharp.

  If she was being honest, he probably could double as a model or something.

  But that wasn’t what was pulling at her, either.

  Quinn sensed something beyond the stoic face, the stern glance.

  Pain.

  The man was hiding something really painful, something that he preferred to keep private.

  Which, of course, only pricked at her need to know more.

  Her uncle Leo was always telling her that she was the cat that curiosity eventually killed.

  A little morbid but probably true.

  What could she say? She loved uncovering details that others would rather hide.

  Such as...why was an FBI agent poking his nose into a local case that, on the surface, had absolutely no connection to anything with federal jurisdiction?

  Time for a little fieldwork. Someone in town had to know more about Silas Kelly.

  Seeing as the sheriff was being unaccountably mum on the subject of this recent murder, she’d just have to go to a different source.

  The one man she knew who knew everything about Port Orion was right under her nose.

  Uncle Leo.

  Pocketing her pen and pad, she wandered a few more times up and down the bank, steering clear of the tape, and when she found nothing that stood out, she followed Silas’s lead and left the scene.

  Just in time, too. Her nose felt ready to fall off.

  Quinn popped into the diner to grab some soup—minestrone for her and chowder for Uncle Leo—and went home.

  The best way to get her uncle to start talking was to ply him with his favorite foods.

  Chowder was his weakness.

  “I’m home,” she called out, carrying her bags of goodies. “And I’ve brought something yummy.”

  Leo hollered from his office. “I’ll be right there. I can smell the chowder already!”

  Quinn chuckled and found some bowls to ladle up their portions. She broke off some sourdough bread and liberally buttered it so by the time Uncle Leo appeared she had everything ready to go.

  “You are an angel from heaven,” he said, sinking into the chair at the table, his eyes as round as the soup bowl. “How did you know that I was craving chowder?”

  Quinn pretended to think then answered, “Because it’s a day that ends in Y.”

  “Clever girl,” Leo quipped before dipping in, his expression of glee tickling her.

  Uncle Leo was like a father to her but cool like an uncle. She liked to call him her funcle.

  After a few bites, Leo leaned back and eyed Quinn with suspicion. “All right, out with it, missy...what’s on your mind? You always bring me chowder when you want something.”

  “Not true,” she protested but she couldn’t help the smile because it was true. “Maybe I just love seeing you happy and I know chowder is the way to your heart.”

  “Exactly,” he returned drily. “What do you need?”

  Since there was no further point in denying it, Quinn said, “Okay, since you asked... I need information.”

  “Is this on the record?” he said semi-seriously. “Because I don’t need to be quoted on nothing.”

  “Off the record,” she assured him. “I just need to know some Port Orion history.”

  Leo lost his seriousness. “Oh, then. That’s easy. What do you need to know?”

  Quinn jumped right in. “So, there’s an FBI agent in town, seemingly interested in the murder of Rhia Daniels, and he says he’s from here but I don’t know him. I mean, he’s older than me, but I thought you might have some insight.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Silas Kelly.”

  At the mention of the name, Leo’s gaze shuttered and he shook his head. “Sad story there. Hard to believe he came back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s an FBI agent interested in the Daniels case for?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was hoping I could find out by learning who he is to this town. Can you help me?”

  “I don’t know much more than what was told in the papers,” Leo said, tearing off a chunk of bread to dunk in the chowder.

  “Yeah, but surely there must’ve been chatter. Just tell me what you remember.”

  Leo fidgeted, seeming lost for a minute. Finally, he roused himself when he realized Quinn was still waiting.

  “Sure, sure. Okay, well, it’s a terrible story. Here’s what I remember. The Kelly family used to live here. Good family. Good people. But then something bad happened to the youngest Kelly boy and nothing was ever the same again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you live in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else, you feel insulated against the troubles of the world. So when something real bad happens, it shakes people up, makes them realize that they’re not immune to the dangers everyone else faces. Losing that Kelly boy...and never finding the killer...well, it was just too much.”

  “His brother was murdered?” Quinn’s eyes bugged. “How awful.”

  “And the family picked up and left town as soon as Silas graduated from high school. I heard the family broke up, went in separate directions.”

  Quinn thought of the austere air about Silas and pitied the young kid he’d been. That was some rough stuff.

  “Do you think there could be any connection between Spencer Kelly’s murder and Rhia Daniels?”

  “No, I really doubt it,” Leo answered with conviction. “Whoever did that terrible thing is probably long gone but people who crave closure will grasp at any straw. I can’t blame the man for trying.”

  She couldn’t, either.

  The gears in her mind were moving quickly, testing out theories and possibilities.

  “I imagine if, by some incredible chance, the cases are connected...that would be a pretty amazing coup to solve them both.”

  Leo shrugged as if he thought the possibility was far too remote to contemplate and returned to his chowder, pausing to ask, “What’s with all the curiosity? You think you’re going to bust this case wide open and report on it?”

  “And if I did?”

  “I’d say that’s a helluva long shot.”

  Quinn smiled. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

  Leo’s brief smile felt vaguely patronizing but Quinn let it slide. Everyone was allowed an off day.

  Besides, she had bigger fish to fry.

  First and foremost...she needed to find a way to get Silas Kelly to trust her.

  Given the fact that he seemed to have little respect for the press that would be a challenge indeed.

  * * *

  Silas felt it prudent to let his brothers know that he was in Port Orion. His call to Shaine went to voice mail—not surprising, Sh
aine was always undercover somewhere—so he left a brief message and called Sawyer.

  Sawyer picked up on the first ring.

  “You’re up late,” Silas said, checking his watch. “Working a case?”

  “Yeah, possible fiduciary elder abuse case in Wyoming. Pretty sophisticated operation, too. What’s up?”

  Silas decided to go straight for the meat. “I’m in Port Orion, working a murder case.”

  A beat of silence followed before Sawyer said, “Why? Is it related to Spencer’s case?”

  “I don’t know, but the victim was found in Seminole Creek around the same time as the anniversary of Spencer’s murder. Seemed like a good idea to follow up.”

  Silas could feel the weight of his brother’s concern from across the line. “You know the likelihood that the two cases are related is very slim,” Sawyer said carefully. “I just don’t want you chasing after a ghost.”

  “I’m only here for a few days to sniff things out. If it looks like the cases aren’t connected, I’ll leave.”

  “Will you?” Sawyer didn’t sound convinced.

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Nothing but sadness left in that place. You need to give yourself some closure.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “No, you’re trying to find forgiveness. No one blames you for what happened to Spence.”

  Silas struggled for a minute. That familiar choking sensation pressed on his windpipe. He was to blame. It was his fault. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

  “You were a kid,” Sawyer said. “Spence should’ve gone home like he was supposed to. No one could’ve known what was going to happen that day.”

  Silas knew all the rational arguments—didn’t matter. His guilt still crushed him every day.

  And returning to Port Orion had only dredged up those buried feelings.

  As if reading his mind, Sawyer asked, “How’s it being back?”

  “Weird. Uncomfortable. Sad.”

  “Seems about right.”

  “Nothing has changed. Everything is as it was. Time doesn’t exist here. Mankins is still the sheriff. He should’ve retired a long time ago.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “If it weren’t for Mankins, your ass would’ve landed in jail. He saved your skin more times than I can count.”