But he was a man with secrets. He clearly didn’t want her asking questions. Was he concerned for her safety, or had he been tasked with keeping her from digging too deeply?
Whatever his motivations, he was wasting his time and energy. She was seeking justice for Prissy, with or without Shane’s support.
The first item on her mental to-do list was getting the police report. Maybe even the autopsy report, if it was available. Early on a Saturday morning, Chief Branch wasn’t likely to be at the station. She would get a lot further with Alan or Tommy.
She had just unlocked her car door when her phone rang. Instead of a number, blocked stretched across the screen. She slid into the seat and put the phone to her ear.
“Jessica.” It was just her name, but the coarse whisper made it sound like a threat.
Dread rippled through her, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. “Who is this?”
“Leave Harmony Grove now. If you don’t, bad things will happen.”
The line clicked dead.
She stared at the screen, but it didn’t hold any answers. Only a handful of people in Harmony Grove had her cell phone number. Shane was one. So was BethAnn. She’d given her number to Autumn, too. None of them would make a call like that.
Then there was Hammy. From the little contact she’d had with him last night, he wasn’t much more likely than the others. But he’d tossed the receipt with her number onto the coffee table, and Spike had gone into the room as she was leaving. Unlike his younger brother, Spike was likely. He’d probably just put words to the silent glare he’d given her in the hallway.
Whatever. He could make all the threats he wanted to. She wasn’t leaving until she had answers.
When she arrived at the tan stucco building downtown, she breathed a sigh of relief. A Harmony Grove police cruiser sat in the parking lot, but it didn’t belong to Branch. His had chief prominently displayed on the side. He drove it everywhere, whether he was on duty or not. He was proud of his position and reminded the residents of Harmony Grove of it as often as he could. If not with the car, then the uniform and exaggerated swagger that he always carried with it.
She parked next to a royal blue ‘68 Mustang, which she guessed belonged to Alan. Before she could get out of her vehicle, her phone rang. It was Autumn. Her car was ready, and she and her dad were leaving now to pick it up. Jessica thanked her, promising to retrieve the phone when she left the police station.
She slid from the Bug’s driver’s seat and hurried inside. The chief was nowhere in sight. She’d been right about the Mustang. Alan sat at the desk, bent over a report, pen in hand. He looked up when she entered and flashed her a friendly smile. “You’re here bright and early. What’s up?”
She took a seat opposite his desk. “I’d like to see whatever you have on Prissy’s death.”
“Sure.” He rolled his chair across the vinyl tile floor and opened a file drawer without getting up. “I don’t know if this will give you what you’re looking for. It was a pretty open and shut case.” He rolled back to the desk, turned the folder so she could view it right side up and flipped back the cover.
In the front was an envelope holding about a dozen photos. She removed the stack and began to thumb through them. The first several were pictures of Prissy lying in bed. Although her eyes were closed, she didn’t look peaceful. Maybe it was the way her head lay rotated to the side, or the way the sheets and comforter were twisted around her. Maybe it was just knowing she was dead. It all seemed surreal.
The next photo showed her nightstand. Next to the lamp sat a white ceramic mortar and pestle. Did she crush the oxycodone? Why not just swallow the pills? The answer came almost immediately. A close-up of Priscilla’s hip revealed a syringe tucked into one of the folds of the bed sheets.
Jessica laid the photo down, suddenly feeling cold and hollow inside. She looked at Alan and shook her head. “No.”
“Maybe you should skip the pictures.”
“The oxycodone was injected?” She stared at the picture. “Prissy wouldn’t have done that. She was terrified of needles. She never would have injected something she could have swallowed.”
“Maybe she outgrew her fear of needles.”
Maybe. But enough to inject something when she had a choice? Not likely. It was just one more piece of a very ugly puzzle.
She moved the picture to the back of the stack. The final two were shots of the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. The closet door was open, and a pair of jeans hung over the back of the desk chair with a blouse draped on top. Other than that, nothing appeared out of place. Priscilla obviously hadn’t been responsible for any of the mess Jessica had encountered when she arrived. Her little sister had grown up to be as neat as when Jessica had left. Always the perfect little princess. Except it was looking as if she had somehow managed to get herself killed.
Jessica slid the photos back into the envelope and removed two stapled pages from the folder. It was the police report. They’d responded to a call from Edith DelRoss that Priscilla hadn’t shown up for work and wasn’t answering her phone. Branch and Tommy Willis arrived to find no sign of forced entry. All the doors and windows were locked, so they’d had to forcefully enter through the front door.
She stopped reading. Whoever injected the
