She peered through the binoculars and swept the storefront for Herb Reid. The overweight dirt bag was suing Middleton Construction after he hurt his back on the job. His boss, Carl Middleton, hired Wolf Lake Consulting to investigate Reid for worker’s compensation fraud. She hated defending a creep like Carl Middleton. The owner of Middleton Construction became a suspect in last month’s murders before Thomas determined Thea Barlow, Father Fowler’s assistant at St. Mary’s Church, had killed Lincoln Ramsey and Cecilia Bond.
Thinking of Thomas caused Chelsey’s chest to clench. She’d dated Thomas through high school before major depression crippled her. After she’d pushed away everyone she cared about, Chelsey traveled from one failed relationship to the next, never staying in the same town for longer than six months. Her circular life brought her back to Wolf Lake, where she founded the private investigation firm. When Thomas returned to the village, she avoided him, worried she’d relapse into depression if their relationship rekindled. After she found the courage to try again with Thomas, she saw him embracing his neighbor, Naomi Mourning, beside the lake. So she gave up and ended the day with too much wine.
Setting the binoculars aside, she studied her reflection in the mirror. The circles under her eyes darkened each day. She couldn’t recall the last time she exercised, nor could she explain why she appeared soft and fat in the mirror despite her drawn cheeks. Instead of brushing out her hair, she’d thrown a baseball cap on her head this morning after waking up late. Her palm ached from slamming the snooze button too many times.
A bearded, rotund man shuffled between the automatic doors with a cart stuffed with tools. Chelsey raised the camera and zoomed in on her quarry. False alarm. It wasn’t Herb Reid. This was her sixth day attempting to pin fraud on Reid. It was funny how the man hobbled like a ninety-five-year-old after knee replacement surgery whenever he emerged from the doctor’s office, yet had an easy bounce to his step when nobody else was looking. That he was at the home improvement store sounded an alarm in Chelsey’s head. People with ruined backs didn’t rush to Home Depot to complete a major repair project.
The heat built inside the car and turned the interior into a kiln. She considered raising the windows and turning on the AC, but didn’t want to waste gas. The needle sat a tick above empty. Not that she couldn’t afford fuel. Chelsey procrastinated about everything, even simple tasks like filling the gas tank. She never went out. Even Raven gave up asking Chelsey to join her at Hattie’s on the weekend. She reached for the Coke bottle and took a swig. The carbonation hit her nose and made her cough, causing her to spit cola down her shirt. God, she was a mess. After the coughing fit, she guzzled the remnants and tossed the empty bottle into the backseat. She groped for another bottle. Soft drinks weren’t healthy. Hell, she wasn’t even thirsty. She just needed someway to pass the time. Next, she dug into a bag of barbecue potato chips and found only crumbs. She scooped the residue into her palm and shoveled it into her mouth. When your world fell apart, you clung to familiar comforts.
In the row across from hers, a woman in a sun hat loaded mums into a Jeep. The open trunk blocked Chelsey’s sight line to the store. Cursing under her breath, Chelsey tapped her foot as the woman rearranged the potted flowers. The pots were all the same. Why did the order matter? Chelsey’s hand poised over the horn, prepared to blast the incompetent lady with an angry honk, when she finally closed the trunk and backed out of the parking space.
Chelsey spotted Herb Reid pushing a cart with a wonky front wheel through the parking lot. The bad wheel kept pulling the cart to the right, forcing him to overcompensate with his back and legs. Guess the back wasn’t bothering him. A boxed lawn mower shifted on the cart. The push mower had a cutting width of twenty inches and enough horsepower to chew through a forest. How was the injured man going to lift the box into his pickup truck? Chelsey shot a dozen photographs in rapid succession as Reid weaved the cart between two vans and emerged behind his rusted, beaten Chevy.
Chelsey set the camera aside and recorded video with her phone. The supposedly injured man hoisted the box without bending his knees, shrugged it into the bed, and abandoned the cart in an empty parking space. Oh, this was good. She had all the photographs and video she needed to prove fraud. It didn’t make her happy knowing Carl Middleton would benefit. But the law was the law, and Herb Reid wanted to fleece the system.
Reid jammed the key into the lock and paused. His head swung to Chelsey’s Civic as she raised the windows. The man’s mouth twisted into an angry rictus before he stomped in her direction. Dammit. He spotted her.
Chelsey slipped the phone inside her purse and pretended to check her makeup in the mirror. Not that she wore makeup this morning. As she fiddled with her hair, he kept coming. A meaty fist pounded against her window. She raised her palms as if she had no idea what Reid wanted.
“Lower the window, honey. I know what you’re up to.”
After she refused to comply, he pounded harder.
“Hey, I’ve seen you following me all week. Did Middleton put you up to this? Lower the goddamn window, or I’ll drag you out of the car.”
Chelsey pressed the button on her side console. Humid air poured inside the car as Reid leaned his forearms on
