I crept down the hallway, carefully and quietly, and peeked through my bedroom door, which stood open. No Coltrane. But there was something new there. A plain white piece of paper sitting on my bed. On. My. Bed.
Trembling, I picked up the paper and read: DAVENPORT DESERVED TO DIE. YOU DON’T. STOP PLAYING SHERIFF.
Gravity shifted around me like a slipping transmission and I had to steady myself to stay upright. Someone had been in my bedroom. Could they still be in my house? Where was Coltrane? I was paralyzed with panic. I’m not sure how long I stood there immobilized by fear, but it was a faint scratching noise that brought me back to life. It was coming from the back door. Coltrane.
I ran to the door and almost collapsed with relief when I saw my dog standing on his hind legs looking through the glass on the back door. I threw open the deadbolt and let him inside.
Coltrane nearly mauled me, sniffing every inch of me like he was trying to make sure I was all right. He jumped on me and licked my face, soft whines escaping from him every few seconds. I ran my hands through his fur to make sure he was unharmed and nuzzled into his neck, telling him, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
My heart was beating too fast and I struggled to think what I should do. Someone had been in my home. In my bedroom. Near my dog. I texted Carl’s private number and told him I needed to talk to him ASAP.
Ten minutes later, he stood in my living room, the note now resting inside of a plastic evidence bag. Carl’s face was an implacable mask as I told him about Tabitha’s field trip to the Krisanski farm, my talk with Libby Nichols, my conversation with Brandon Laytner, and my upcoming meeting with the mayor.
“You’ve done something to spook our killer. Problem is, we don’t know which of the many things you’ve done has him or her nervous.”
I thought I detected a note of irritation in his voice. I ignored it.
“My money is on Brandon Laytner. There’s something off about that guy. And the connection to the tobacco leaves and Bennett Nichols is a little too coincidental for me.”
“I’ll go talk to him this morning. Ask him his whereabouts the night Davenport was killed, and earlier today for that matter.”
“And he also may have a reason to want David out of the way,” I said, connections taking shape in my mind. “David said he was going to look at the Invigor8 files in Arthur’s office. Maybe somehow Brandon found out about that? If he already killed once to protect his new wonder drug, it isn’t such a stretch to think he’d do it again.”
“That’s right,” Carl agreed. “And that’s exactly why you need to take a step back from this.”
“Oh, no, no, no, Carl,” I said, standing up. “You are not about to protect me off this story.” I’d worked hard to chase these leads, leads that stupid Spencer didn’t even have, and I was not about to let all that hard work go to waste, especially now that I was obviously getting close to the truth.
“Listen, you’ve been threatened very directly here.” He brandished the bag. “I can’t take a chance of anyone else getting hurt on this.”
“No one is going to get hurt. We can use this—don’t you see? The murderer is clearly watching me—we can use that to bait him out into the open. It’s perfect.”
But he was shaking his head before I even finished my sentence. “Absolutely not. The Tuttle County sheriff’s department does not bait killers, Riley. And certainly not with civilians.”
“But this is an opportunity,” I said, trying to appeal to his desire to solve the case. “This is as close as we’ve come to figuring out who’s behind all of this. We have their attention. Let’s use that!” I wished so badly Holman was there—he’d totally let me be used as bait.
“No way,” Carl said, and I could see from the firm set of his jaw that he was not going to waver on this. His phone vibrated and he looked down to check it. “This is Butter. I’ve got to take it.”
He stepped outside, giving me a chance to think about what I needed to do next. Carl was kidding himself if he thought I was going to step aside on this investigation, but he had been right about one thing: something I’d done recently had won me the attention of the killer. I needed to figure out what it was and then do it again—this time with a plan.
Carl came back inside and explained the call had been from Butter saying that Lindsey Davis, the prosecutor, wanted to meet with him this morning regarding the charges against Thad. He said in light of present circumstances, he was going to request that Ms. Davis not file any charges just yet. And then he said, “Stay away from this case, Riley. I’m dead serious. Whoever killed Arthur Davenport isn’t playing around. I appreciate you helping me out, but we’ll take it from here.”
“I think you’re being ridiculous.”
“I know you do, and I know you’re thinking about blowing me off and investigating on your own. I also need you to know that if I get wind that you’re still asking around on this, I’ll have no choice but to tell Kay Jackson what you’re doing.”
He was going to rat me out to my boss? Frustration, like a roaring river, coursed through my veins. “Now you’re threatening me too, Carl? Nice.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said, his voice softer now. “And if you won’t stay away to save your life, I figure just maybe you’ll stay away to save your job.”
CHAPTER 34
I had never been the kind of girl who punched walls, but that’s exactly what I felt like doing after Carl Haight left my house. Not only did
