Screaming To Be Solved Read online

  Already the knots had formed, loosening only when she took the first sip of hot liquid, but they began to tighten again as the sturdy detective set his mug on the table beside him and leaned forward in the antique rocking chair.

  “First, I want to say again how sorry I am.”

  “Sorry for what?” Liz spouted.

  Marxie tapped a touch to her friend’s leg, a sign she should, at least for the moment, back down.

  “He’s sorry for the news.” She turned to Liz now, looked at the familiar blue eyes rather than the hardened brown of Detective Carter’s. “He says they’ve found Evan.”

  “Found Evan?” Liz breathed, her brow creasing.

  “In the river did you say?” Marxie let her gaze slide to the detective as she addressed him.

  “The canal actually,” he corrected. “Fell Street Canal.”

  “No. That’s impossible.” Liz lowered her cup to her lap, held it with one hand while placing the other on Marxie’s arm.

  “I know.” Marxie agreed more than she could express. “But Detective Carter said identification has been made, and it’s—it’s, Evan.” Her voice caught on those two short syllables. She could barely speak his name, could barely entertain the idea that this information was a possibility. All this time had he been lying in the water—cold, dead, alone? “I don’t understand.” She gripped the hand that Liz rested on her arm, seeking some sort of foundation, some footing, a grip on reality that would help her steady the world that had begun to sway again.

  Her eyes welled, her stomach lurched from knotting to churning, and because she knew the numbing feeling of shock so well, she was certain the only thing keeping her from bitterly wailing or violently vomiting the harsh coffee was due to the blessed turning off of the mind when one can’t wrap their brain around incomprehensible circumstances.

  The detective spoke now, wrenching her gaze from the sympathy in Liz’s eyes. “That’s when you came in, Ms. Marksman. I was informing Ms. Vaughn that Officer Vaughn’s body was found three days ago. As I mentioned, he was located in Fell Street Canal, right at the northern mouth as it drains to the river. A barge operator caught a glimpse as he was leaving the port, called police, and the recovery was made. Lab’s have all come back. Just this morning we got positive ID. Though I can’t tell you why, I can tell you with certainty that the body is Officer Vaughn’s.” He paused, stared at Marxie with eyes that softened briefly. “That’s where I think I lost you the first time.”

  “As you would anyone,” Liz said defensively, wrapping an arm around Marxie’s waist and pulling her close. “Have you any idea what she’s been through? You can’t just come barging in here telling her stories that her husband’s been resurrected.”

  “Not resurrected, ma’am, but found, recovered.”

  “Recovered?” Marxie yelped, almost spilling her coffee. “I didn’t even know he was lost. How can this be happening? You need to tell me how Detective.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Ms. Vaughn. As hard as it is for you, and your friend,” he cast a glance to Liz who was glaring at him as if he were last week’s garbage, “I’ve got just as many questions. And I need answers too. I’ve reviewed Evan’s case, and obviously, things don’t add up. I want to find the missing links.”

  Missing links? More like missing boards, or docks, or entire oceans.

  “We can call Evan’s department. I have the number.” Marxie rose swiftly, pressed a hand to her head to squash away the lightheadedness—she wouldn’t go down again, she promised—and prepared to hunt for her purse.

  “There’s no need, Ms. Vaughn.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’ve got the number in my phone.” She side-stepped the mounds of samples littering the floor from earlier. “It’ll just take me a moment to reach Chief Raines.”

  The detective leaned back in the old chair. “I’ve already talked to Chief Raines. He didn’t have answers to the questions I asked and likely won’t have them for you.” The detective’s phone sounded just as he began again. “Ms. Vaughn, I’m reopening the case into your husband’s death.”

  FOUR

  Marxie sat again, just let herself slump onto the soft cushions of the sofa she and Evan had shared that now adorned her tidy living room. The gulp of coffee she’d taken earlier wanted to come up, the unforgiving hot liquid still reminding her of its presence as her scorched throat burned.

  “This is all too much,” she breathed. “I don’t understand. I—I need time to think. To figure this out. To process.”

  “Of course. Of course,” Liz soothed. She began to rub up and down Marxie’s arm while Detective Carter picked up his thick mug and in one swallow, finished off his coffee. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, Detective. Explain things.” Liz sent a snarl in his direction. “It’s all a little disjointed right now.”

  Detective Carter looked as if he were about to respond with something less than kind, but his phone signaled again. He pulled a thin cell from his suit jacket’s inside pocket, glanced at the screen. “I’ll be glad to answer any of your questions.” He raised the phone. “But if you don’t mind, excuse me for one moment while I take this.” With a terse “Hello,” he walked into the adjoining kitchen.

  Marxie’s mind was zooming with questions but the fog of shock hadn’t cleared yet, so she sat, motionless and mute. Beside her, Liz mimicked the silence and stillness. Within the townhome’s open living area, a half-wall joined a comfy breakfast nook to the kitchen, allowing pieces of the detective’s muttered call to drift into the living room. Vaughn residence … body … condition of remains, and other haunting words Marxie had pushed to the back of her mind, hoping never to revisit, hung heavily in the air.

  Her nightmare was returning in full force. The days, weeks and months she had worked so diligently to survive were pushing their way back into her reality. Her mind jumped back, digressed, erasing all the progress she had made, upending all the holes she had filled in her wounded heart.

  She shivered—damn the cold that always came—and it quaked her body, enough to rattle the ceramic mug as she bent and placed it in the saucer resting on the table.

  Liz was helping steady her hands and the mug as Detective Carter reentered the room. He brought the coffee pot with him and on a half smile, raised it, almost as a peace offering. He set it on a large, round platter he must’ve assumed was a gigantic coaster. Never mind it was an imported, glass-blown piece from Murano Marxie’s aunt had sent in celebration of her business’s start-up. She let it sit there. She didn’t care. The cold was raking her now, taking her back to the rainy day when she stood before her love’s grave thinking she’d never be warm again.

  Absently, the detective grabbed a blanket neatly arranged on the back of the rocker and with a large stride, bent and placed it over Marxie’s body. For a moment, the mist lifted, gave way to clarity. She stared at him. Cops, no matter how sincere and sympathetic they tried to be, even wanted to be, were just that—cops. While on the job, they had to focus, stay on task, find the evidence, ask the right questions, get the right answers, follow the right trail. Evan had taught her that.

  Arranging a blanket over a shivering woman wasn’t on the list of priorities for a detective looking for information. They usually brought in some psychological professional or lowlier ranking cop to do the job of calming and comforting.

  Unless of course …

  No. No way he’s here to get answers from me, Marxie told herself. No way he thinks I know something about this.

  Liz had taken over and was tucking the warmth around Marxie when Marxie blurted, “Where did you say you were from, Detective?”

  “Didn’t,” he shrugged, turning his eyes on her as he sat again in the old rocker. “Sorry about that, and the interruption. I’m with Savannah-Chatham Metro PD . But I work in and around the whole area.” He waved his hands in a big, wide gesture. “Bryan, Chatham, Effingham, but my base is SCMPD. Was on homicide two years, transferred to cold case, been there for seven as dete
ctive.”

  “You work in cold case?” Marxie asked, pulling the blanket up to cover her chilled shoulders.

  “Yep. You’re a cop’s wife,” he smiled, the first she’d seen him do since he arrived at her door. “You’re wondering why cold case is here.”

  She let herself smile faintly, knowing he was right and sharing some sort of instant, if brief, bond because of it.

  He leaned forward for the coffee, pausing to check with Liz before lifting the pot to pour himself another cup. Marxie would’ve grinned, but didn’t catch the humor in it at the moment. Thank God Liz was there to offer something lighthearted, even if Marxie couldn’t appreciate it as usual. Marxie might be the mother hen when it came to Liz and her endless parade of men, but in all things important in her life, Liz was there for her, to guard, guide, comfort, and be the truest friend a woman could have. She was lucky for that. Blessed because of it.

  She covered Liz’s hand with hers now and squeezed.

  “To answer your question,” Detective Carter began after a short sip from his refill, “there are a few reasons. First, any case can become instantly cold when a closed one, like Officer Vaughn’s, is re-opened due to new evidence or new suspicions on involved parties. Added to that, any time a body is discovered well after death, cold case is usually notified. Second, I’d say this time around it has more to do with the circumstances than the age factor of the case.” He cleared his throat. “Not to toot my own horn, ma’am, but I can be a bit stubborn. If I want the answers to something, I’m not likely to stop until I find them. I’d like to think that’s why the chief put me on this.”

  “Isn’t this out of your jurisdiction, though?” It was Liz’s first question in non-accusatory tones since bounding down the steps. “Evan and Marxie lived in Bryan County. He worked there, died there.”

  “But he was found here,” the detective said. “That means SCMPD has jurisdiction. With county lines blurred, Chief Burns thought a drifter like me might be most beneficial. As I mentioned, I’ve worked in both areas. Done work throughout the southeast, actually. I’m hired out by other departments as needed. Smaller municipalities that don’t have a dedicated department, don’t have trained staff or specialists available for cold cases. Anyway, my base is here, with SCMPD. And I’ve been asked to reopen and investigate what happened to Officer Vaughn. I’m happy to do it.”

  “Hmmm.” Liz made a sound and nodded, looked to Marxie for her response. Since she had grown very weary, Marxie said nothing. All she knew to do in this moment was wait. Wait for more details from the man who was her only link to information on this new, disheartening twist to what had been a closed book.

  “Often times,” he spoke again, quieter this time, “it’s best not to have those who worked with the deceased investigate a case like this, conflict of interest and so on. And maybe reason three why I’m here and someone from Officer Vaughn’s department is not.”

  When she sighed, the detective’s eyes narrowed and he nodded briskly, brushing his hands on lean thighs and rising. “Guess for now, Ms. Vaughn, I’ll leave you be. You no doubt need some time to process this. I’m leaving you in good hands, I assume.” He inclined his head toward Liz. “Someone who’s capable of getting you what you need.”

  “I am indeed.” Liz huffed.

  “I’ll be reviewing everything I can find on Officer Vaughn, new and old, speaking with his department further in the meantime. I’m leaving my card in case you need anything or have any more questions before we speak next.”

  Marxie had a thousand questions, a million thoughts, but she didn’t voice them. Even with the caffeine pumping through her system, she was awfully fatigued. All she could think about was curling up in her soft bed and weeping for a very long time, hoping that when she awoke, this would all be a forgettable dream.

  Detective Carter fished in his jacket pocket, came out with a small card. He bent and placed it on the coffee table between them. Tapping it, he eyed her. “Call if you need me. Day or night.”

  Marxie slowly, absently nodded.

  “Again, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Don’t worry, Ms. Vaughn,” he smiled at her again, really a very beautiful and warm smile, she thought dimly, “I’ll put everything I’ve got in this. And for a fellow cop, it’s double the time.” He tipped his head in her direction. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  Liz took over the duties of hostess and rose to accompany him to the door. When they stepped out into the sticky summer heat, he turned to Liz. “I know I don’t have to tell you, but look after her. This is hard.”

  From her position tucked in the sofa, hearing every word, Marxie couldn’t agree more. This was hell.

  FIVE

  She had slept a great deal, and wept more than that. Now, refreshed physically at least from the five hours Liz had left her to nap, she wandered into the kitchen and poured a fresh cup of hot coffee—Liz’s doing, too, no doubt.

  It was dark now. The sun had set maybe half an hour ago, she thought, glancing to the weathered white clock on the wall that read ten o’clock sharp. One thing she loved about living in the Eastern Time Zone, in the summer, the sun stayed out literally almost all day. She felt so alive and hopeful in those long days when the bright ball lingered and fought to stay over the horizon.

  Wrapping her hands around the thick, sky blue ceramic mug, she walked into her equally bright blue bedroom and smiled softly—the colors always did lift her spirits. Even though the ocean was just a short drive away, she had her own little piece of heaven in her downstairs space, decorated in what she liked to think of as cottage coastal.

  Its antiqued furniture and aged, whitewashed décor met by splashes of silver frames; terra cotta pots and vases bursting with tendrils of grass or bundles of white lilies; glass hurricanes stocked with sand-colored pillar candles, all gave her peace and tranquility in a space she was proud to call her own.

  Her bedroom was casual, the distressed taupe headboard used to soften the intensity of the wall, the crisp white linens on the bed lending a clean, relaxed feel.

  Switching on the light and setting her coffee on the waist-high dresser, she tumbled onto the mound of sea green and white striped pillows—the only other touch of color she’d allowed in the room—and sighed. Maybe a shower would do some good, she thought, staring through the adjoining door to the bathroom beyond. It might take away the last of the fatigue the nap hadn’t been able to. Or at least momentarily hold back the next wave she was sure would come.

  She had just talked herself into facing the rest of the evening—calling her parents with the shocking news, arranging her schedule to go visit Chief Raines tomorrow—and then getting that shower, when a spear of light caught her eye. She blinked, shifted to avoid another reflective beam, and stopped.

  Her heart gave a quick jolt. Her eyes filled and burned as she focused on the reflector. A silver frame, the ceiling’s light playing off its shiny surface. She’d seen the picture a thousand times, kissed it often, but today, the brightly smiling faces were different. It hurt to see Evan that way, alive and happy, wrapped in her embrace.

  She was on his back, arms linked tightly around his chest, and she was laughing, a big open-mouthed joyful look, her eyes squinted closed with the humor. His grin was wide, showing beautiful white teeth and a dimple winking in one cheek. The setting sun had captured the blonde streaks in his hair, the red in hers. The short lacy train of her dress billowed in the wind. Waves broke on the shore in the background. The love in his eyes was tangible, reaching from the photo, touching her heart.

  Their wedding day. The most perfect of her life so far. It was simple, small, but joyous nonetheless and effortlessly romantic.

  The beach had been their favorite spot. Well, Evan’s at first, since he tanned so easily and the water was his second home. Marxie wasn’t as lucky with the tanning—curse the skin of a redhead—but she’d come to love it as he had. The wind, the sounds and smells, the feeling.

  They had fallen in love on the be
ach. Shared their first kiss while the wind slapped against them and the waves crashed beyond. And they had pledged their lives to each other on the sandy shores in front of forty of their closest friends and family.

  And now, she sobbed silently as she reached forward, grabbed the silver framed paradise and hugged it to her chest, he’d been trapped in the water he’d once loved. He’d been alone in the cold, drifting aimlessly, while she was busy rebuilding, moving on, distancing herself from their love so she wouldn’t hurt so much.

  She fell onto the pillows again, letting the guilt consume her, the aching finally reach her heart and the shock of the news that Detective Carter had brought hours ago settle into her conscious.

  The door of grief she had closed reopened like a floodgate and it was pouring into her. She couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. It had been too long since she cried for her loss, for Evan’s injustice, for the complete unfairness of all that happened.

  Now this new twist. The news today hadn’t been that a miracle had happened and Evan was alive, ending her nightmare, but that he was “recovered,” found somewhere no one even knew to look. In Marxie’s heart, he had died all over again. She had gotten through it once. Could she again?

  Staring at the wall, she watched the blue begin to swirl and blur. Even when she wiped the tears away, her eyes filled again and the salty drops tumbled over before she could catch them. Soon she couldn’t see that bright blue at all. It was vanishing into a blob of liquid color as her eyes clouded with the tears. So she just closed them all together, shutting them tight while she clung to what had once been joy.

  And finally, crying herself into it, she slept.

  She awoke sometime in the middle of the night. Startled at first to see a body lying in her floor, she quickly recognized the bright blonde hair; Liz was spread out in a make-shift pallet below Marxie.