Or maybe she didn’t let them in. Maybe they’d had access to a key.
Fear slid down her throat and settled in her gut. She’d been sleeping in that house all week, confident no one could get in since she’d secured the sliding door her first day there. As soon as she left the police station, she’d stop by Tandy Hardware. Whatever else she tackled today, she’d have the locks changed before nightfall.
She returned her attention to the report. The rest confirmed what she’d learned in the photos. Priscilla had been found lying in bed on her back, dressed in her two-piece flannel pajamas. The initial report listed the cause of death as apparent drug overdose, probable suicide. The prints lifted from the mortar, pestle and syringe were later determined to be Priscilla’s. At the back of the file was a preliminary autopsy report.
She looked up at Alan. “Preliminary?”
“The toxicology report won’t be back for probably four weeks or more.”
She skimmed through stats like height, weight, eye and hair color. The clothing section agreed with what she’d already known. When she reached External Examination, she began to read more carefully. Subject was a well-developed, well-nourished white female. No surgical scars. No cuts or lacerations. There was evidence of light bruising on her upper arms and wrists.
Jessica’s gaze again shot to Alan’s face. “Where did the bruises come from?”
Alan leaned forward to read the line she pointed out. “I don’t know. Tommy and Chief responded to the call, and Chief did most of the investigation. I wasn’t involved.”
Jessica nodded. Autumn said Prissy and Hammy had had a fight the night before she died. Maybe he’d gotten a little rough with her. Or maybe the bruising happened when someone restrained her to administer a lethal injection.
She resumed reading. There was a puncture to the underside of her lower left arm, one inch from the bend of her elbow, a possible injection site.
“Can I get copies of all this?”
“Sure.”
Alan rose from the chair, file in hand, as the front door swung open. Chief Branch strutted inside.
“Oh, hi, Chief. I didn’t expect you in today.”
“I was driving by and thought I’d stop in. What’s going on here?”
Jessica tensed. Branch was looking at her rather than Alan. He’d stopped because he’d seen her car in the parking lot.
Alan answered before she could respond. “I’m copying some things for Jessica.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things on her sister—you know, police report, autopsy report.”
Branch took the folder from Alan. “You go on. I’ll take it from here.”
Alan raised a brow in question, but instead of arguing with his chief, he returned to the report he’d been working on when she arrived. Branch cocked his head toward the door on the right. Gold stenciled letters read Stanley Branch, Chief of Police.
She followed him into the room, and he closed the door behind them.
“So you want copies of Priscilla’s file. There are procedures for that.” He dropped the file onto his desk and settled his girth into the oversized executive chair behind it. “You can’t march in here and expect us to drop everything to accommodate you. Submit a written request, and we’ll see what we can do.”
“You can keep your reports. I’ve already seen what I needed to see.” She turned to go, but before she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
“You know, missy, you’re doing way too much sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I already warned you about stirring up trouble. People who don’t heed sound advice sometimes get more than they bargained for. Accidents can happen, you know.”
She narrowed her gaze and stared him down. “If you think your threats scare me, you don’t know me very well.” Then she turned and strode from the room, out the front door and to her car.
Eight years ago, Buck beat her to a pulp and she ran. As a result, Priscilla endured four years of her own private hell. Now Prissy was gone, her life ended, her future brutally taken from her.
This time Jess wasn’t running. She was older, wiser and tougher. And determined to right past wrongs.
Priscilla’s killer’s and her own.
The Bug shuddered to a stop in the driveway, but Jess didn’t immediately get out. All morning long, he’d periodically checked the window, watching for her to return while trying not to obsess. But she was so determined. And so reckless.
He crossed the street and headed up her driveway. When he reached the car door, the Bug’s engine was still idling. Jess sat in the driver’s seat, phone in hand, scrolling, studying, then scrolling again.
He tapped lightly on the window, trying not to scare her. She started anyway, shoved the phone face down on her leg, and turned wide eyes on him. The next instant, the tension visibly fled her body, and she opened the door.
He smiled down at her. “Did you get a new phone?”
She turned off the car and disconnected the phone from the charger. “No, it’s Priscilla’s. She left it in her friend’s car the night before she died.” She climbed from the car, pulling a plastic Tandy Hardware bag across the seat with her. “It was dead, but I’ve now got it up to fifteen percent.”
He followed her up the concrete walk. “Anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
“What about pictures?” Maybe whoever ransacked the Parker house had been after something on Priscilla’s phone.
“I haven’t looked at those yet.” She unlocked the door and high-pitched barking sounded inside.
“I think someone’s excited to see you.”
Jess frowned. “He probably needs to go out.”
As she made her way into the house, Buttons danced in front of her, barking and spinning in circles. Shane waited in the open doorway as she picked up the leash from the end table and snapped it onto the blue jeweled collar. For the next several minutes, the dog led her around
