Page 4 of Cyn
“Why have the police been dispatched to your home?”Uncle Franklin asked.
She thought about lying. She was pretty damn good at it and had even fooled Franklin a time or two. But Franklin and Chief Harris were good friends, no doubt he’d hear the story regardless.
“I found a body at my gate. Not sure if he sat down for a place to rest and died or if someone left him here, but no signs that anything untoward happened on the property.”
“Are you sure?”
Cyn eyed the message, wondering if her uncle actually doubted her ability to discern a dead man from a not-dead man or if he doubted her ability to discern a crime scene from a dump site.
“Well? Are you sure something didn’t happen on your property?”he texted when more than ten seconds passed and she hadn’t answered. Franklin might appear debonair and sophisticated, but he was an impatient—lovable—prick at times. At least he’d cleared up his question.
“Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t look closely at the body, that’s what Harris and his team are for, but there was no blood, no signs of anything disturbed, and he’s been here for a couple of hours. I’ll log into my system and check security, though.”She didn’t really need to do the latter, her security was top-notch and would have alerted her to any intruders both on the grounds and in the house, but she’d do it nonetheless.
Two more cars drove by, including the chief’s large SUV, distracting her for a moment. They fanned their vehicles around the body and the lights lit the surrounding forest with an eerie miasma of red, blue, and white, while the exhaust pipes poured fog into the air. Idly, Cyn watched them as she brought up the app on her phone that would connect her to her security system. Once the app was open, she dropped her attention to the screen and did a quick scan. As anticipated, there’d been no alarms tripped anywhere on her property.
But the app on her phone was somewhat limited. She could see a log of any alarms that had been set off, and she could see live feeds of the security cameras placed along the perimeter, including the cameras at the gate. But any historical footage, including from even a few hours ago, was saved on a server, so she’d have to wait until she was home to learn how the body had arrived.
“No alarms, but I’ll check the camera footage later,”she texted her uncle. When it didn’t appear that he was going to respond, she locked her phone, slipped it back into her purse, then grabbed her Kindle.
She was well lost in the world of shape shifters and gargoyles when a knock on her window startled her. Her gaze shot up, and she jerked toward the center console, clutching the Kindle to her chest like some helpless heroine. It took her a moment to realize it was Deputy Wexler standing outside her car. Thank god her girlfriends hadn’t been there to see her caught off guard; she never would have heard the end of it.
Rolling her window down, she sucked in a breath as the cold air assaulted her. “How is it going out there?” she asked. Wexler’s nose was red but the rest of his face, what she could see of it between his scarf and the hat he had pulled down low, was pale.
“As good as it can go when a dead body shows up. The chief wants to talk to you now, if you don’t mind?” he responded.
She shook her head and rolled her window back up. Once the car was turned off, she pulled on her scarf, jacket, and hat. After grabbing her gloves, too, she stepped out into the frigid night.
“By all that’s holy it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” she muttered, closing her door as she tried to bury her face deeper into her fluffy cashmere scarf.
“Cold snap is coming,” Wexler said, walking alongside her. “We’ll all be hoping for snow by the end of the week. It will warm things up.”
At one point in her life, the idea that snow would actually warm things up had seemed antithetical. But after twenty years in Massachusetts, they were words to live by.
“You guys find anything?” she asked as the chief’s SUV came more fully into view. From where she’d parked, she’d only been able to see the taillights of the vehicle.
“Doesn’t look like there was a struggle or anything. We don’t know if he died here or was brought here, though,” he said, echoing the comment she’d made to Franklin earlier.
“Young? Old? Anything?”
“The chief is in his car. He thought you’d rather sit inside than stand around while he gets your statement.” Wexler gestured her toward the passenger door, then answered her question. “Young, no more than mid-twenties, we think. In military dress uniform, too. Don’t know much more than that, though, since we didn’t want to poke at him too much. We’ll leave that for Vicki. You know how she gets,” he said, referring to the county coroner.
Cyn laughed. Vicki Jimenez liked nothing more than to pick apart the puzzle of a human body that had left this world under mysterious circumstances. Anyone who interfered with that did so at their own risk.
“She going to start tonight?” Cyn asked, waving to the chief through the window. He had his head down writing something, and between that and his hat, she doubted he saw her.
Wexler shook his head. “First thing tomorrow. She said she wanted to be fresh and well-rested.” As he spoke, he opened the passenger door to the chief’s SUV.
“Well, tell her ‘hi’ for me. I owe her a coffee now that I’m back,” Cyn said, hopping up into the seat.
“I’ll let her know you’re back.”
“Cheers, Aaron,” Cyn said as she swung her legs into the car and reached for the door handle. Wexler gave a little salute, then shut the door.
Cyn shuffled in her seat, getting all her clothing straightened out, then turned to face Chief Harris.
Only it wasn’t Chief Harris.
She froze, then drew back, eyeing the man in front of her. He wore a uniform, but he definitely wasn’t the chief. This man was younger by about twenty years, closer to her age. And with his chiseled cheekbones, slightly off-kilter nose, and strong chin—not to mention his piercing blue eyes that were now focused on her—he wasmucheasier on the eye than the chief. Not that Joe Harris was a bad looking man—in fact, he was quite handsome in a silver fox sort of way—but this man was, well, more her type. At least physically, anyway. She almost hesitated to introduce herself knowing that the moment he opened his mouth, he would probably ruin the fantasies her mind was already starting to conjure. Fantasies that involved cold nights, lit fireplaces, and a bottle of wine. Or two.
