“Hey, y’all!” Tiffany called to us as she stepped inside the house, a huge grin on her heavily made-up face. She never tried to hide her excitement at being called out on a job. “Thanks for calling me! Sorry I’m late, but the junior bugs had their dress rehearsal for the Halloween Spooktacular and I had to make sure all the little ghosts and goblins were scary enough.” She laughed and the tinkling sound echoed through the entry. As Tiffany followed Tabitha back to examine the body, I heard her say with barely contained glee, “I’m so glad you called, I was beginning to think nobody was going to die this week!”
But before they got to the office, Carl and Butter walked out of it. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Carl said to Tabitha, who by the look on her face did not appreciate being called ma’am. “I’m going to have to seal off this space. Ms. Peters, you can go on in, as you are official county personnel, but everyone else is going to have to stay clear of the area.”
Tiffany preened at her VIP status and scooted past Carl into the room.
“Carl, what the hell—” But Tabitha’s rant dried up as she turned toward a sound in the entryway. Her eyes went wide with shock.
“What’s going on here?” It was Thad Davenport wearing a brown leather messenger bag and a confused expression. “Tab?”
Tabitha’s face instantly drained of color. “Thad, honey . . .” she started to say, but then stopped, as though she suddenly forgot how to speak.
“Mr. Davenport,” Carl said. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’d like to—”
“What loss?” Thad asked.
“You said you told him,” I whispered to Tabitha.
“Babe,” she said, rushing to his side, “I was . . . I just came over here and . . .”
Just then, Tiffany walked out of Dr. Davenport’s office, pulling off her blue latex gloves. “Yup, he’s dead all right. Poor Artie.”
“What?” Thad’s face was now as white as Tabitha’s. He charged through our group, but before he could get into his father’s office, Carl grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”
“The hell I can’t—” Thad struggled to free himself from Carl’s grasp as Butter grabbed his other arm. “Let go of me. . . Dad! Dad!” Thad’s anguished cries reverberated throughout the cavernous house.
“Let him go!” Tabitha ordered.
“If you’ll both just calm down a moment,” Carl said. “I can explain.”
Thad stopped fighting and yanked his arm back from Carl’s grasp. “What happened? Why can’t I see my father?” His voice cracked, anguish radiating off of him in waves.
“I’m afraid it looks as though your father has been the victim of a homicide.”
“A homicide?” I couldn’t stop myself from voicing the question out loud.
Carl’s mouth hardened into a thin line. He nodded once.
Tiffany broke the silence. “Stabbed. Right in the ticker.” She pantomimed sticking a knife through her own heart. “I didn’t realize it at first, but then—”
“Thank you, Ms. Peters,” Carl cut her off.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I forget with murder cases you have to follow certain protocols, like not telling all the details. You see, I took this online course called Death Scene Investigation? And I learned that—”
“Thank you, Ms. Peters,” Carl said again.
Thad looked like he might be sick. “Murder?” His voice was almost a whisper. “No—I just saw him last night and . . . I . . . he was fine.”
“Thad, Tabitha, I’m going to need you both to come down to the sheriff’s office and answer some questions, fill out paperwork, that kind of thing.” He turned to Tiffany. “Can you call Dr. Mendez? I think we’re going to need to loop in Forensics on this one.” Dr. Mendez was the medical examiner from Richmond. Then Carl turned to me. “Riley, we do not have a statement for the press at this time.”
I’ll admit I had almost forgotten I worked for the newspaper until he said that.
“Sheriff, do you mind if I call my brother first?” Thad asked. “He needs to know.”
I snuck a glance at Tabitha, who stood completely still except for her eyes, which floated between Thad, Carl, and the office where Dr. Davenport lay dead. Something was going on with her; she looked upset, but not surprised. And she should have been, especially since she told me earlier that she thought Arthur had died of a heart attack or stroke. She never mentioned the whole “stabbed in the heart” thing.
“Can we meet you down there, Carl?” Tabitha said. “My fiancé needs time to call his family and gather his thoughts.”
Carl was already shaking his head before she finished. “I’m sorry, but procedure is, we have to take statements right away.”
“I just . . . don’t understand . . .” Thad was saying, more to himself than anyone else.
“Please, Carl,” Tabitha said, more firmly this time. “He’s had quite a shock. Can’t you just let him absorb this for one hot minute?”
Carl wouldn’t budge. “We need you both to come along now.”
Tabitha St. Simon did not like being told what to do. Which is why it was even stranger when her voice softened and she instantly replaced her look of outrage with one of contrition. “Okay, then. We’ll just take my car and see you down there.”
“No ma’am.”
Tabitha’s nostrils flared at the second ma’am in as many minutes.
“Mr. Davenport will have to ride with me,” Butter said.
Struggling to maintain her composure, Tabitha said through clenched teeth, “Why on earth would he have to
