Page 10 of Wild Fever
The cameras were high-def, but they weren’t the sharpest in the world.
About the time of death, a brunette walked down the dock, coming from the direction of the Tranquility. She wore a sports bra and spandex shorts. A ball cap and sunglasses obscured her features. Her long raven hair tickled her back. She was in her mid-20s with quite the figure. If that was his girlfriend, I could see how Preston would have been distracted by her. She could induce poor life choices.
She climbed on the bicycle and pedaled away, out of view of the camera.
I couldn’t be certain that was Preston's girlfriend, but she did have a tattoo running along her spine. It was exposed between her crop top and her tight shorts. It was hard to make out the detail of the tattoo, but she fit the description.
She was quite possibly the last person to see Preston alive.
A slew of thoughts ran through my mind. Maybe they had some kind of breakup, and Preston just felt like he couldn’t live without her. By the looks of her, she'd be hard to live without. Then again, she might be hard to live with.
I exported the clip, sent it to my phone, then forwarded it to the sheriff.
I thanked Livy, then we stepped outside. I scanned the parking lot and noticed Paris was conspicuously missing. It was odd to be at a crime scene without her showing up at some point. Perhaps there was a bigger story happening around town.
We hustled down the dock and caught up with the sheriff about the time Brenda and her crew removed the remains. They transferred the body to the dock and loaded it onto a gurney.
We had a little chat with the sheriff as we walked to the parking lot. JD and I hopped into the Porsche and headed over to Whispering Heights to find Janice.
I wasn't looking forward to breaking the news, and I would have to ask a few pointed questions about their relationship. It was like adding insult to injury. A double gut punch.
We headed over to 1412 Oak Lawn Lane. Jack pulled to the curb and parked in front of the white picket fence. It wasn’t a Stingray Bay mansion, but it was a nice place—a one-story teal bungalow with a large veranda, white trim, and a few palm trees standing watch over the property. Colorful flower beds gave the yard life.
We hopped out, pushed through the gate, and strolled the red brick walkway to the veranda. I took a deep breath, then rang the video doorbell.
A few moments later, a figure approached the door. "Who is it?"
"Coconut County. We need to have a word with you."
Janice unlatched the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Her quizzical blue eyes flicked between the two of us, and her brow knitted. "Is there something wrong?”
She was a blonde woman in her late 40s with the friendly face of a schoolteacher. Seasoned by years in the sun, her skin showed the fine lines and wrinkles of her years. Her floral yellow sundress seemed a little too festive for the occasion.
"I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news," I said.
Dread filled her eyes before I finished the sentence. Her lip quivered, and her eyes misted, knowing what was coming next.
I delivered the tragic news in as gentle a fashion as possible.
Her knees grew wobbly, and JD and I steadied her. We escorted her inside and helped her to the couch, where she took a seat. I grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and handed it to her. She blotted her eyes and trembled as she tried to pull herself together.
"I don't understand. What happened?"
I told her how Preston died.
Her eyes rounded with horror, which gave way to confusion. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She could barely eke out a “Why?” with a tight throat.
She sobbed and moaned.
We gave her as much space as she needed.
Like the boat, the house was neat and tidy. Cozy furniture with coastal accents and pastel walls. French doors opened to a small oasis of privacy with a pool.
"I know this is a difficult time, but I have a few questions.”
Janice sniffled and nodded.
"Did your husband suffer from depression?”
