Haven’s Bard is the local watering hole, but due to its location, it pulls in unsavory characters. Through the years, word of the troubles the town has with that place has spread as far as Knox Harbor.
The wind rouses, and shivers race down my spine, but it’s hard to tell if it’s the breeze coming off the water or the scene playing out in front of me.
The ominous black bag, a grim harbinger of death, is tightly zipped shut, concealing the lifeless form of Chelsea Grayson. The twenty-two-year-old vanished without a trace a week ago, leaving her family gripped with worry. But I knew her fate before tonight.
I just can’t say that to Skiver or anyone else overseeing this case.
“What’s your take?” I ask, looking away from the body bag.
“We know she wasn’t working the night she went missing, and nobody at the Bard recalls seeing her that night,” he says, detailing the conversations that were started upon Chelsea going missing.
“Any camera footage that can confirm that?”
He huffs a laugh. “That place doesn’t have cameras. It’s the kinda place that thrives on seedy shit. Can’t have footage that would get the place closed down for good.” He sighs. “Besides, based on what she was wearing, she wasn’t at Haven’s Bard.”
“You sure about that? Maybe that’s the very reason she’s in that bag over there,” I say, tipping my head in the direction of her body.
“You could be right, but I doubt it.” He clears his throat, spitting onto the ground beside him. “Chelsea was smart. Too smart to be prancing around Haven’s Bard in a dress like that. She knows the types of people who frequent that place. I just don’t see it. That red dress is a stark departure from what anyone would wear in that area of town.”
“Any place in town that would make sense for her to be that dressed up?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Falls Haven isn’t that kinda place, Detective.”
This whole damn night is raising unsettling questions about the circumstances leading to her disappearance. Nobody I’ve spoken to can place Chelsea anywhere around town that night. But clearlyshe was here, and I intend to get to the bottom of what transpired, leading to her being killed and dumped in the harbor.
I look down at my phone to find several text messages from Malone.
Malone
Call me. It’s important.
I turn to Chief Skiver. “Excuse me for a minute.”
He nods his head, and I move off to the side, pulling up Malone’s number. Eric sent that last text ten minutes ago. Hopefully shit didn’t blow up in that time.
One of the main reasons I like Eric as my partner is that he’s reliable. He respects my boundaries, refraining from unnecessary interruptions when I’m off duty, unless the situation is truly urgent. And when I’m deep in a case that takes me away, he employs all available resources to resolve an issue before reaching out to me. So the fact that he’s texting and calling me at damn near midnight on New Year’s Eve tells me something is wrong.
“Buddy, we have a problem,” he says by way of a greeting.
“Fucking spit it out, Malone. I’m dealing with a dead body over here.”
He sighs heavily down the line. “Fine. I’ll just haul her ass to jail, and then you can fuck off with your bitching because I called and you were too busy.”
Her?
Now he has my attention. There isn’t one person I can think of that he’d call to get my permission to take in.
“I’m listening,” I drawl.
“Man, don’t shoot the messenger, but I was doing my rounds at Wintersgate Cemetery, and found a vacant car at the gates. I decided to investigate, and, well…” He blows out a breath, and I’mabout to snap at him to hurry up with his long-winded story, but his next words come and knock the air from me.
“There were trespassers, and one is Alyssa.”
A range of emotion rushes through me before settling on confusion.
“She wasn’t actually in the cemetery, but the others were.” Eric stops, clearing his throat. “And they were attempting to burn a scarecrow.”
My face screws up, and I shake my head. “What?”
