Screaming To Be Solved Read online

  “Lawson, close it up.” She heard Grant’s firm command in the echoes of her mind.

  An arm came around her waist, pulled her to her feet. Even though her legs were too wobbly to hold her, she somehow remained upright. It was the hand steadying her, she realized as a door opened, closed behind her, and the sounds and smells of the nightmare eased.

  The sun hit her face, a welcome light and warmth. So different than the stale, dark place she left behind. She didn’t care about the heat, didn’t even notice it really. The humid, sticky air was better than anything she’d inhaled inside.

  “There, you’re getting some of your color back now.” Until he spoke, Marxie had forgotten Grant was beside her. She’d just walked out with the hand that was leading her, grateful for any direction that pointed to light and life.

  “Feeling a little more stable?” Grant asked, removing the hand that had been wrapped around her waist while keeping the other on her arm to be sure she was steady.

  She nodded. “I think so. I was just . . . I don’t know what happened.”

  He ran a hand over his dark hair and sighed. “It was my fault. I should’ve known it would be too much. Even if you know it won’t be ‘him’, you’re never prepared for what you actually see.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice.

  She’d known it wouldn’t be paradise. Walking in, with the logical part of her brain, she’d known it wasn’t Evan in there. She’d known no matter what was rolled out in front of her, it wouldn’t be the sweet, handsome husband she remembered and loved. But Grant was right; she hadn’t been prepared for what awaited her.

  It was like a shell of her beloved mate had been placed on that metal bed. An alien residing in a body she’d once known so well. A body now ravaged by water and time and neglect.

  The whole thing frightened her, nauseated her, upset her. She was angered, and most of all, fatigued.

  “I can’t. I can’t go back in there,” she breathed with a heavy shudder and collapsed onto a small bench near the entrance to the morgue.

  “No problem.” Grant stood, looking down at her, hands low on his hips. “Will you be okay right here while I go wrap some things up with Lawson?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for helping me. And—“

  “Don’t apologize,” he protested, firm but sympathetic. “This is not something that deserves an apology. And if anyone says it, it’ll be me.”

  He bent, and once again surprising her with a gentle gesture, brushed the hair that hung haphazardly around her face behind her ear. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back and we’ll get outta here.”

  She managed a weak smile as he swung open the door and thought she’d never heard a better suggestion in her whole life.

  TEN

  “I really am sorry about everything today. Sorry about yesterday, too. I hate that I’m on the one to bring all this down on you.”

  After assuring him she did not want to go home, nor could she go back to work for the remainder of the day, Grant had grabbed some food, let her compose herself as he drove her back towards her car with the windows down, then offered to take a walk if she’d like. Now, he pushed his hands further in his pockets as he and Marxie strolled the streets of Historic Downtown Savannah.

  He’d suggested it because he knew she needed it (she’d still been a little too pale, a little too shaky for his comfort), and because spending so much time hunkered over crime photos, minute details, and hours worth of paperwork in the hole the station liked to call his office made him a sap for any outdoor activity. If it involved fresh air, natural light, and a view other than a computer screen or mountains of paper, he was a happy man.

  Add in a perfect summer breeze, the lulling beauty of the finest Savannah had to offer, and a beautiful woman and he considered it a perfect outing.

  Too bad he felt too guilty to enjoy much of it. Too bad he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her as beautiful, or a woman. Too bad he’d acquiesced on her requests, providing her with one of the worst experiences of her life today.

  She stopped to look inside a quaint jewelry shop, dark except for the window front winking brightly with display lights. After considering the stock, she turned and shrugged idly. “It was my idea and insistence that led us to the morgue. You just came along for the ride. The rest . . . well, it’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah but I could’ve warned you. I could’ve told you what to expect instead of standing there like an idiot waiting for your reaction on seeing your husband’s dead body.”

  She winced a little and he realized he should’ve taken more care with his words. He made a firm mental note that she wasn’t a fellow officer but a civilian. Problem was, he didn’t seem to spend enough time with the latter to give what should be easy conversation and good manners. Instead, his life consisted of work, and more work, which included police speak and the life that went along with it.

  “You tried, didn’t you?” she wrapped her arms around her waist as if warming herself and renewed their meandering pace down the sidewalk. “I didn’t listen. I was determined to see him one last time.” She paused, thoughtful, and looked out to the horizon just beginning a brilliant sunset. “I realize now I never needed to see him a last time. Not because of how today went, but because he’s already everywhere. In pictures, all the frames and albums scattered in my home. He’s in my memory—sometimes so clear it seems I saw his smile only yesterday. And best of all,” she brought a hand to her chest, “he’s here. In my heart. I finally grasped that’s what matters most.”

  Touched, he stopped and looked at her, smiled down to the blue eyes glazed with emotion. “Beautifully said. I’ll have to remember that and pass it along to some of the people I meet. Too many I know are in your situation. I think it’ll give them . . . hope.”

  She smiled and touched his arm lightly. “That’s sort of what I felt today. It’s kind of ironic that the sight that literally sent me to my knees shed a whole new meaning for me on missing Evan, on the sorrow I felt for not seeing him after he died. I’ve had him here all along.” She pressed a palm against her breast again and took a heavy breath. “Thank you for going with me. For being there when I needed someone.”

  “You’re welcome.” And because he couldn’t help himself when that soft copper hair was tumbling around her face, he pushed the strands behind her ear. When her eyes went round, he moved briskly, not letting his fingers linger as they wanted against the silky strands and slender neck. Instead, he gave her shoulder a friendly pat and started down the softly lit sidewalk, trailing now into the shady areas where homes hundreds of years old stood, elegant and regal in the fading day.

  He let his gaze wander over the swaying trees, the old homes, taking in the rich history he so enjoyed. Anything to keep his eyes—and apparently now his hands—off the woman who needed him as a cop, not a man.

  They walked for a while, with the sky breaking in stunning waves of color and the incoming night air brushing past them. Lovers strolled, hand in hand, friends’ laughter and noisy fun in nearby bars floated by, lapping water from the Savannah River rolled in the distance; reminders of a summer night.

  When they passed a row of particularly remarkable homes, Marxie dropped onto a bench facing the view. “They always amaze me,” she sighed dreamily. “The architecture, the design—it’s completely unrivaled. Whoever was behind these plans was pure genius.”

  “I’ve walked these streets a million times and still get a feeling in my gut every time I come this way.” He lowered himself on the seat beside her, studied the grounds he’d known all his life. “Interesting how a place will do that to you.”

  Marxie made a sound of agreement and crossed her legs, pulling her thin blue dress down over ivory skin. “How can you not get a feeling here?” She gestured in the air. “All this, established by time, continued on by love and admiration, it’s intriguing, thrilling.” And so are you, Grant thought. But he nodded and leaned back against the rigid wood of the bench, letting them enjoy th
e peace in silence.

  His instinct upon seeing her picture in the two year old paper hadn’t been wrong. She was interesting. Different than most of the women he knew. Definitely a 180 from most he’d dated. This woman, with the rosy hair and bright blue eyes had goals, ambitions, a passion for beauty and history. That was quite a change from the few cops he’d taken out, who, over dinner wondered what their next bust would be. Or the giggling gals that oohed and ahhed at everything he said, somehow adding nothing of their own to the conversation.

  Her head was still slightly tilted, contemplating the homes, when she put a hand to his knee and used it as a brace to readjust. “I need some coffee if I’m ever going to stay awake tonight,” she groaned, putting her head back.

  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep. You’ve had another hard day.”

  “I won’t disagree there, but tonight’s agenda is sketches for a big account. Ever heard of Monroe and Williams law firm?”

  Grant frowned. He knew them. They’d gotten off some clients who were guilty as sin. “Who doesn’t?” he grumbled. “They’ve stamped themselves into the community.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled a little, a genuine look of pleasure, and it made him smile to see it. “And they’ll stamp a big paycheck for me if I do what they’ve hired me to. I’m an interior designer, by the way, if you haven’t gotten to that part in your notes yet,” she supplied, laughing a little. “We finalized plans this morning to redecorate their office, so my job’s mostly done there—except for supervising and making sure the contractors are there on time, stay on budget, etcetera, etcetera. Anyway, I’ve still gotta come up with plans for their individual offices . . . That requires coffee.”

  “Not sleep?”

  “Should, but tonight I think the coffee will be better.” She sighed quietly and linked her hands in front of her, rested them in her lap. “No sleep equals no dreams. And I’m really afraid of what I’ll see tonight.” Her voice was weak, the smile she attempted the same, and he found his happiness fading as hers did.

  “Work it is then,” he agreed. And because he didn’t feel like going home just yet, because he wasn’t craving his usual need for space and solitude, and mainly because that intriguing face of hers held a lot of need for a listening ear right now, he added, “Need any company?”

  She jolted a bit and he immediately regretted asking. Dumb. She probably thought it was some lame come on. He’d already brushed at her hair, let his fingers linger too long on that lovely neck. She didn’t know him from Adam. There was no way she was letting him come into her house for a late night drink—even if it was coffee—and do what? Hang out. Even if she would, he knew that feisty friend of hers wouldn’t.

  Not to mention this was yet another out-of-character moment. A break in procedure and unwritten departmental rules actually. But he was leaving the department. Hoping to become more involved in his cases, less distracted by the paperwork and bureaucracy of law enforcement. One of his goals in opening the future Carter Cold Case Investigations was to know his clients better so he could serve them better. This was a great opportunity to test that out, right? This case had already started different than most, maybe this could be his first attempt at seeing what it’d be like to be on his own, with his own agency.

  “Okay.” She finally said after a few moments.

  “Okay?”

  She turned, smiled. “Okay. Company will be good. Needed and good.”

  Why her kindness and acceptance of his invitation made him feel all the guiltier, he couldn’t say. Maybe he thought she might hate him. Might at least resent him for bringing her the news he had. Not to mention he hadn’t gotten very far in his promise to dig up details yet on what exactly happened to Evan.

  Since accepting the case, he’d had precious little time to examine any evidence between juggling other cases, wrapping up loose ends on recently closed ones, and feeling pulled to be certain the young widow’s life he’d turned upside down, yet again, was coping. He was sure she expected him to have some pertinent information soon, if not already, but the truth was, he didn’t have much more than he’d already shared.

  Thanks to the array of widely popular detective shows on TV, the general population thought crime solved itself in a neat and tidy thirty minutes. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Normal circumstances and cases took days, weeks even.

  Cold cases were ten time more tedious. They required mounds of paperwork, searching for witnesses that were dead, gone, or just didn’t want to talk about a decade old case. Evidence had been collected years earlier and was stale or sometimes only available in pictures or on paper, often obtained by a past investigator the current detective could no longer speak with.

  Cold cases weren’t fresh and exciting to the community anymore. Many people with details had no motivation to come forward anyway. Apathy was a cold case detective’s greatest enemy.

  Take today for instance, Grant had tried to get info out of Lawson but the guy just didn’t have anything to give, or wouldn’t give up what he did have. This two year old case wasn’t a pressing issue for the medical examiner when he had a nineteen-year old girl fresh on the slab that had come in a day earlier and was all over the news.

  “My official report on the Vaughn body is not yet complete,” was the exact bull he’d tossed at Grant. Who needed official? Anyone with two eyes could see Evan Vaughn had been shot. The poor man had two bullet holes in him—one to the chest, one to the head. If the first hadn’t killed him, the other sure would’ve sealed the deal.

  But Lawson, airing on the side of caution, would not rule cause of death until a complete and thorough examination had taken place. That, in turn, meant Grant had nothing to pass on to Marxie.

  Tomorrow, he told himself with a silent vow, he would grind it out of the M.E. He was due answers just like anybody else. Just because his case was a few years old didn’t mean his results had to sit on the back burner.

  If Marxie was offering him a night of conversation and coffee based on the assumption she could leak out more details from him, she was sadly mistaken. The only thing he’d be good for was company.

  And maybe, as she said, that’s just what she needed.

  Just as he was thinking how much he enjoyed being in someone’s company who didn’t need to fill the time and silence with constant conversation, he felt a solid weight hit his shoulder. Fearing she’d slumped over from another lightheaded spell, he quickly shifted. But after a glance over her peaceful face, he pulled back, smiling, and let her head fall the rest of the way onto his chest.

  She was sound asleep.

  He chuckled lightly, wrapped a sturdy arm around her to ward off any chills from seeping through that pitiful excuse for a dress, and spoke into the night. “All right, if you insist, coffee at your place.”

  He liked what she’d done with the weathered town home on the north side of town. Being in the space, he understood why she was successful in her work.

  The design, all beachy in nature, soothed and energized him. It wasn’t overdone, though. No typical female eccentrics, just small, simple touches of femininity here and there—the lacy white curtains, the frilly pillows, framed candid photos. But all in all, it was a nice place. A place a man could enjoy.

  He liked that it wasn’t cheesy as so many of the beach homes he’d visited were, or themed like most of the homes on Isle of Hope. The place had just enough feeling to give him the sense he was right where he wanted to be with all his worries somewhere else.

  He hoped the carefree mood drifted to Marxie. After he’d nudged her awake for the trip home, her eyes were shadowed, her face pale. He trusted being at home, away from the trauma she’d experienced today would put that rosy red back in her cheeks.

  Now she was really in her element, he decided, suppressing a grin while she continued her tour of E.M Vaughn Design. He thought it exceptionally clever she had turned what was once an old shed next to the townhome into her business. Currently, she was walking around the ch
arming little space, filling him with details.

  “Here,” she tugged a navy linen curtain back displaying a tidy work space, “is where the magic takes place.” She smiled, and her whole face lit with it. He let the grin he’d been holding back spread to his lips and chuckled in response.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Something funny?”

  He held up both hands, palms facing her. “Not at all. I just like seeing a woman enthusiastic about something besides breaking someone’s neck. You have to remember, most of the women I know are cops. Not many of them get excited about colors and paint and light fixtures.”

  Her eyes softened now, laughter in them, and she let a light, wonderfully female giggle escape. “I am a little overboard sometimes. Liz has to keep me in line and not let my imagination run away with me. I think she thought I was insane—and maybe I was a little crazy—when I decided I could open a business on my own.” She looked around her cozy shop and beamed pride and accomplishment. “But it’s turned out just right. Maybe even better than I expected. And might I say with some vanity,” she wiggled her eyebrows teasingly, “the hard to please Rick Williams is quite happy with my work thus far.”

  “He would be.” Grant muttered under his breath. Give that man anything with two nice legs and a pretty face and he’d be satisfied with whatever they did—as long as it got him into the woman’s bed. It was rumored that Rick Williams had taken a client or two to bed in return for his representation, and it was fact, that even though he was completely unethical and a pill to work with, he’d also wounded the heart of a fellow cop or two (after bedding them of course). That, Grant did not take kindly to. The thought of the slick lawyer leading sweet Marxie Vaughn to his frequently visited bed sent a cold chill down Grant’s spine. Odd that the cold turned to a quick burst of hot anger that felt strikingly similar to jealousy. Ha, howdaya like that? Not only was he intrigued and protective, but also jealous. Perfect.