“This story would be funnier if it didn’t shoot a big hole in my investigation.”
“Yeah, sorry. But we both knew it would be too easy if it was Blake’s doing. Don’t want your job to be too easy.”
I grunt in response.
Vincent chuckles and changes the subject. “No good leads?”
“None. I’m gonna reread the file and do more interviews tomorrow.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s only been 48 hours since we found the bodies.”
“That long, huh? Take care of my sis. I’ll see you in a few.”
“10-4.”
Only 48 hours? It seems like it’s been longer than that, but I suppose that’s because every minute that passes where I don’t solve the crime is another moment that everyone in this town in unsafe.
I grab my duffle that I dropped at the doorway when we got home and pull out my laptop. Using Melody’s coffee machine, I make myself an instant, and settle in for a long night of work.
The thing I need to figure out is motive. The coroner said the vet was tranqued and then killed. The assistant got knifed because she surprised the killer. If the vet was the target, it’s likely one of the women he was sleeping with, but they all had pretty good alibis. Two of them live with their parents. One of them has a roommate, and the last one wasn’t even in town. She was at a conference in LA and had the flight ticket to prove it.
The vet being tranqued before he died is my biggest clue. It means that whoever killed him was smaller, less powerful. They used drugs to subdue the victim before killing him. The other thing that bugs me is that no one heard the dogs barking. Vincent and I heard the dogs from the street when we were staking the place out, but all the neighbors around the clinic said they didn’t hear a thing. Teddy barked at me the first time I came into Melody’s house. Dogs bark at strangers. I tap my fingers against the table and then, on a hunch, start typing. The target of the crime was the vet, and all the women the vet dated or slept with had alibis. The only other person connected to the vet was Doc Wells, who moved to Atlanta to be with his son, Kenny Wells, an architect, but the search results don’t pull up any architects by the name of Wells in the Atlanta area. I check the time. It’s only four in the morning. The state licensing offices that would have a complete list of all the licensed professionals in the state aren’t open for another five hours.
I look at my cold coffee and decide to get some shut-eye. As I’m scraping back the chair, I notice Melody in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb with a bemused smile on her face.
“How long have you been up?” I say.
“I was about to ask the same question of you.” She pushes upright and comes over to pull out the chair across from me. The duffle bag tumbles off, and the contents spill out. Because I’m tired, my reflexes are shot, and she gets to the papers first. Wordlessly, she picks up the packet of letters, tied together with a leather string.
“These look familiar,” she says, setting the pile onto the table.
“Yeah.” I exhale heavily. I don’t know if I’ve felt this nervous since I was in the plane trying to graduate from flight school. I drag a hand down my face. “I said I didn’t respond, not that I never read them.”
Slowly she undoes the tie and takes off the first letter. It falls open easily. I lean back and close my eyes because I don’t need to read it to know what it says. I have it memorized. “Dear Biscuit, I got my first dog. It’s a rescue dog. Vet Wells saw me at the diner after Grams died and asked if I needed some company. I went straight to the clinic with him. Teddy’s hair was all matted, and his eyes were watery. Vet Wells said he pulled about ten ticks off of him. Teddy was in bad condition, but it was love at first sight. That’s how I’m built, you know? Anyway, I loved him and took him home that day. He didn’t trust me at first, but we’re inseparable now. I can’t remember what life was like before Teddy. I think you’d love him when you meet him. Come home soon. Love, Melody.” I recite without having to see the note.
“I probably shouldn’t have said come home soon. You had a job to do.” She refolds the letter and places it on top of the others. “Why didn’t you write back?” she says after a long silence.
“Because I’m not good with words, Mel. I wrote you a thousand responses in my head, but when I put the pen to paper, it sounded dumb. I told myself I’d say all these things when we saw each other again, but Uncle Sam kept sending me on missions, and I figured you were happy, so I stayed away. I see that was wrong, and I’m sorry.” I hold out my hand. “If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”