Page 14 of The Sister's Curse
“Maybe not.” I told him about the skull in the mailbox.
Jasper shook his head. “That’s creepy as hell. Makes me think the people in that fancy house have enemies you should look into. They think they own the world, rich people.”
“You’re not wrong. And the father certainly has that kind of air about him.”
He wiggled his bare toes to dry them. “While I’m thinking about it—are you free to sub out to third base in the next game? Ramirez is taking more time with the baby, and we’re down an outfielder.”
“Are you asking on behalf of the cops or the firefighters?” I teased, knowing his loyalties were divided.
“For the cops, of course.”
“Will there be brats and beer?”
He lifted up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll be there.”
Jasper gave me a fist bump and packed his gear, then left me alone at the pond. I chewed my lip. If Jasper thought there was something hinky going on here, then I was certain there was.Forensics hadn’t gotten back to me about that skull, which I’d dropped off earlier this morning, but I didn’t need their input to start poking around the idea of foul play.
I went back to the sheriff’s office to run checks on Jeff and Drema Sumner.
Drema had filed a complaint when she’d found dozens of dead fish scattered on her driveway six months ago. The investigating officer had chalked it up to a benign teenage prank, but I wasn’t so sure now.
A search for Drema Sumner on social media yielded no results, which was interesting for a woman of her age and income bracket. I expected to find a public profile full of pictures of her family, vacation scenery, and what she was eating, but there was nothing. The only people I’d really seen that from were women who lived off the grid and women who were hiding from something.
When I dived more deeply, I found a mention of Drema under her maiden name, Sindley, in the nearby college paper. She was a photographer whose work was at a gallery opening, and it…was breathtaking. She worked in brilliant colors, photographing women tangled in sheets and lounging on cushions, with something of a Pre-Raphaelite feeling. The photos conjured a lush, fleshy sensuality, earthy and vibrant. Alive. And evidently very much appreciated by critics, too. The paper noted that her prints had sold out. I found no other mention of her art, no matter how deeply I searched.
I turned my attention to Jeff. His personal social media showed him golfing, and fishing somewhere in the mountains. His was surface level, just like one would expect for any well-known local figure, not locked down. A search showed that he was the president of Copperhead Valley Solvents, a chemical company perched beside the Copperhead River, that had been running for decades.I made a mental note to see if the company had had any financial woes or sour business dealings.
But Jeff had a past. To my excitement, his fingerprints were already on file; he was questioned about the disappearance of a young woman almost twenty-five years ago, but no charges were filed. Could be nothing, but I was always suspicious when rich kids got questioned and no charges came of it.
I drummed my fingers on the desk. My boss, the chief of the Detective Bureau, had a long memory. Maybe if I shook that particular tree, it would drop some useful fruit. I headed over to Administration, on the second floor of the county jail. The vending machine had just been refilled, and I snagged a pack of Chief’s favorite, animal crackers.
I checked in with the chief’s secretary. “Hey, Judy. Is Chief busy?”
She winced. “You may want to wait a few minutes.”
Shouts rattled behind the closed door. Judy beckoned to me, and I slid into the guest chair beside her desk.
I heard the sheriff’s voice, sharp in anger. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded bad.
Judy rubbed her temple. “They’ve been at it all morning.”
“What about?”
Before she could answer, the door slammed open, and the sheriff stomped out. He was a tall man in his seventies, with a barrel chest, who looked something like Johnny Cash. He did a good job of presenting himself as a benign lawman who liked to kiss babies around election time, but he knew where all the bodies in Bayern County were buried. He had a long list of people who owed him favors.
He didn’t glance at Judy’s desk, and I thought I’d escaped his notice. The door creaked back, almost closing.
I flicked a glance at the door and whispered, “I can come back later.”
Judy looked at the animal crackers in my hand. “You’re okay. You come bearing gifts.”
I peeked through the partially open doorway. Chief’s office was shaped like a bowling alley, with a seating area at one far end and his imposing desk at the other. His desk was littered with a myriad of electronics parts. He was holding a handheld radio, twisting the channel-selection knob and smiling darkly to himself. Maybe he was distracting himself from the conflict with the sheriff.
I knocked on the doorframe, and Chief gestured for me to come and sit down in a club chair opposite his desk.
“New radios?” I chose not to mention the sheriff or their argument.
