Reunited by Danger Read online

  He pulled a pen and pad from his shirt pocket. He’d retrieved both from his glove box earlier. “I can reach you through Cedar Key, but how about giving me your cell number?” When he’d finished jotting it down, he scrawled his own number and tore the sheet from the pad. “Call me with any updates.”

  “I will. Please keep me in the loop.”

  “You’re there whether you want to be or not. Though you and Ramona didn’t keep in touch with the old gang, you were all pretty tight in high school. These notes tie you together again. Five of you, anyway.”

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. The soft glow of the parking lot light illuminated the concern in her eyes. She fastened the seat belt across her lap before tugging loose the blond locks trapped by the shoulder harness. Her dress rested a few inches above her knees, the fabric a shade his designer sister would call teal. Both the hem and the neckline were more modest than ninety percent of the attire he’d seen tonight. At least on the women. She apparently wasn’t trying to draw male attention.

  She’d gotten it, anyway, until she’d escaped to an empty table at the back of the room. She’d been pretty as long as he’d known her. In high school, he hadn’t been interested. He’d stayed away from girls who were bad news. And Amber Kingston had been bad news in capital letters.

  Now she was an upstanding citizen. But he still wasn’t interested, for entirely different reasons.

  “Be careful driving home.” He stepped aside and closed her door.

  As she moved away, her taillights disappeared into the trees lining the curved drive. A minute later he was in his vehicle, following the same path. He was a little overdressed in his suit, but his plans to cut out around ten and go home to change clothes hadn’t materialized. Shedding the jacket would help.

  He turned onto US 27 and released a sigh. It’d be easy to chalk up tonight’s death to another drunk being careless. They didn’t have O’Dell’s blood alcohol levels yet, but according to several people, the guy hadn’t taken it easy on the booze. People did stupid stuff when drunk. Things like sitting on balcony railings, tempting fate. Except based on the way O’Dell landed, he’d been facing outward when he began his plunge. Had he leaned too far over the railing and lost his balance?

  But that didn’t explain what he was doing up there to begin with. Everyone’s testimony backed up what he remembered—O’Dell was gregarious and loud, not the type to seek out solitude. Which meant someone was lying about not being with him.

  That wasn’t all that was fishy. He didn’t know about Alex, but the other former comrades in crime had all received Facebook messages from someone posing as Ramona, claiming to have cancer. Was that what had killed the real Ramona or had it been something more sinister?

  By the time he reached the sheriff’s office in Bronson fifteen minutes later, he’d come up with a dozen questions and zero answers. On his way to his office, he poked his head into a doorway.

  “Learn anything yet?”

  Detective Frank Mason shifted his gaze from the computer screen. “Alex O’Dell apparently kept his nose clean. Nothing on his record but a couple of speeding tickets. He’s worked for Zanardi Construction since 2012. In the morning, we’ll talk to his neighbors, friends and family members to see if he had any enemies.”

  “Have you checked out Ramona Freeborn yet?”

  “Haven’t had a chance.” The desk chair squeaked as Mason shifted position. Built like a linebacker, his girth filled it. No one would mess with Frank Mason, even without the pistol at his side.

  Caleb rested his palm on the doorjamb. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  He moved down the hall toward his office. Amber had given him a middle name and date of birth. According to the fake Facebook profile, Ramona lived in Fort Lauderdale. That at least gave him a starting point.

  He slid into the swivel chair and removed the notepad from his pocket. While waiting for his computer to boot up, he skimmed his notes, pausing to reread one line.

  “The day is sunny and skies are blue.” The words were from the paper Crime Scene had retrieved from Olivia Chamberlain’s purse. If that was meant to describe Liv, the meaning was pretty obscure. Maybe she was naturally a cheerful person. He hadn’t seen it tonight.

  The message found near Alex made more sense. Sort of. “The kids all adore you, their referee.” Alex was a coach, not a referee. Whoever had written it may have not known the difference.

  He jumped to Vincent Mahoney’s line before flipping the page back. “The day is sunny and skies are blue. All of life’s pleasures surround you.” Did the five lines form a poem?

  He grabbed a legal pad and scrawled what he’d read. Two other lines rhymed. After writing the fifth, he scanned the page.

  The day is sunny and skies are blue.

  All of life’s pleasures surround you.

  Once you were bound, but now you’re free.

  The kids all adore you, their referee.

  A sworn public servant, you’ve answered the call.

  His brow creased. A line was missing, the final word rhyming with call. But no one else had received a note. He and other law enforcement had asked the question of everyone at the reunion.

  He reached for the mouse. Ramona Freeborn. The sixth friend. Had she received a mysterious message, making up the last line of the poem? He leaned forward and, after a couple of clicks, started typing.

  During the next several minutes he found two Ramona Freeborns, one much older and the other slightly younger. When a third one came up, his pulse quickened. The date of birth matched. And she’d lived in Fort Lauderdale. As he read, a lead weight settled in his gut.

  Ramona Freeborn had been murdered.

  Investigative records provided details. Her body had been found in the woods five miles from where she’d lived. She’d disappeared late in the evening from her home, where she resided alone, having been divorced for nine months. There’d been no sign of forced entry. She’d either known the killer or had stepped outside and been abducted.

  He moved on to the evidence list. Nothing of significance had been found at the house. In the woods, about ten feet from the body, lay a bloody wooden baseball bat. He’d seen some gruesome things in the line of duty, but the pictures that followed sent bile surging up his throat. Someone had beat Ramona to a bloody pulp.

  More reports came after the initial one. Interviews with neighbors who’d seen nothing. Statements from coworkers saying they couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her. Even her ex had nothing negative to say, claiming their divorce had been amicable, a fact supported by several of her friends.

  There was another piece of evidence—a sheet of paper, apparently carried by the wind and lodged in some underbrush outside the initial crime scene perimeter. As he read the words, a cold blanket of dread covered him.

  The missing line of the poem.

  He reached for the phone but hesitated. Amber would be asleep. But first thing tomorrow, he’d make the call. He had to warn her and her friends.

  Because this final line changed everything.

  TWO

  Amber poured dry cat food into a large mixing bowl, the sound of kibbles hitting metal echoing through the house. Two gray streaks zipped into the kitchen, followed by a yellow tabby and a solid black cat. It didn’t matter that they’d had their fill of moist food before she’d left for her morning run. Having spent too much of their lives perpetually hungry, they still acted as if each meal might be their last.

  Except Tippy. She lay on the kitchen table, proud and regal, working on her after-breakfast bath. She resembled a chocolate point Siamese, but white tipped her feet, face and tail. A snowshoe, according to someone at Sheltering Hands, the Williston cat rescue. Amber had brought in pictures and gotten the official opinion shortly after Tippy had joined the Kingston household.


  A ringtone interrupted her thoughts and she jogged into the living room, ponytail swishing against her neck. She retrieved her phone from the coffee table and frowned at the unfamiliar number before giving a tentative hello.

  “Are you up?” It was Caleb.

  “Just finished my morning run. I’m having breakfast then heading to Walmart in Chiefland.”

  “At seven thirty in the morning?”

  She strolled into the kitchen and Tippy stopped midlick, ready for the petting she knew would be forthcoming. Amber had halfheartedly tried to train her but had given up. That was one of the joys of living alone. There was no one to tell her cats don’t belong on the table. Or that five was too many.

  “I have to be at work later this morning. But I’ve got friends coming for pizza and movies tonight, and my TV croaked.”

  “How about meeting me for breakfast?”

  Was he asking her out? She eyed the green concoction waiting in the blender on the kitchen counter: her breakfast smoothie. “I’ve already got it made.”

  “Coffee then? We need to talk.”

  The seriousness in his tone killed the possibility the call was anything but professional. An irrational twinge of disappointment passed through her. “Is everything all right?”

  “There are some things you need to know.”

  Her stomach tightened. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Huddle House in Chiefland.”

  “Give me forty minutes.” Date or not, she wasn’t meeting him in a ponytail and Spandex. After pouring her drink into a quart-size Mason jar, she hurried down the hall to change into a pair of jeans and a scoop-neck T-shirt. By the time she’d finished, the jar was empty.

  When she arrived at Huddle House, Caleb was inside. She took a seat opposite him.

  “I already ordered. I hope you don’t mind. Since I came from the station, I haven’t eaten.”

  The waitress approached with a plate of eggs, pancakes and hash browns and placed it in front of him. After bringing Amber a cup of steaming water and a tea bag, she left them alone.

  Amber started the tea steeping. “What did you learn?”

  “We don’t have anything back from the lab yet, but I uncovered some disturbing things about Ramona Freeborn’s death.” Beneath the sandy-blond hair, his brows were drawn together, and concern had settled in his eyes.

  She frowned. “I’m guessing Mona didn’t have cancer.”

  “I don’t know, but I can tell you that’s not how she died.”

  A vise clamped down on her chest. “Murder?”

  “She was taken into the woods and beaten to death with a baseball bat.”

  Amber cringed at the mental image his words evoked. “Any idea who did it or why?”

  “No. The case is still unsolved. But the killer left a piece of paper.”

  The vise squeezed harder. “Like what the five of us received at the reunion.”

  He pulled a page from the manila folder lying on the table and handed it to her. “I’ve written out all the messages and put them together.”

  After a brief moment she snapped her gaze to his face. “It’s a poem.” She hadn’t recognized it before. Of course, she hadn’t seen half the lines.

  Caleb took a bite of eggs before pointing with his fork. “Ramona’s line is the last one.”

  She nodded and, as she silently read, something cold and dark settled over her.

  The day is sunny and skies are blue.

  All of life’s pleasures surround you.

  Once you were bound, but now you’re free.

  The kids all adore you, their referee.

  A sworn public servant, you’ve answered the call.

  But one by one, justice will find you all.

  When she met Caleb’s eyes, he was studying her. “Any idea why somebody wants you guys dead?”

  She swirled the tea bag in the mug and watched the liquid darken. She had an idea. It just didn’t make any sense.

  Caleb’s gaze bore into her.

  Finally she released a long breath. “Logan Cleary has always blamed us for his brother’s death.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t have anything to do with it.” Her hands tightened around her mug. “I invited him to join us. Then I got sick and Liv took me home.” The words came out more defensive than she’d intended and she softened her tone. “Landon never showed. But Logan has always blamed me. I don’t know whether he thinks we hurt Landon, but he holds me accountable for inviting him in the first place.”

  She held herself accountable, too. Had for the past ten years. She just tried not to think about it. That was one reason she’d severed ties with all her old friends.

  She sighed. “But why act now? I mean, it’s been ten years.”

  “Logan has spent most of that time in the Army, so he’s been gone. He got out a few months ago.”

  Yeah, that was what she’d heard. She’d run into him during one of his leaves. His animosity toward her was as strong as it had been right after Landon’s murder. And judging from the glares he’d given her at the reunion, it hadn’t faded.

  Caleb poured syrup over his pancakes, the eggs and hash browns now gone. “What can you tell me about Landon’s last day alive?”

  “Same thing I told the police ten years ago. It was Sunday, two days after graduation. He’d asked me out at the commencement ceremony, and we’d made plans for dinner and a movie Monday night. Sunday he texted me and asked what I was doing. I told him I was going out later and partying with friends.”

  “How late?”

  “Late. After Mom and Dad went to bed.” She didn’t have to tell him she’d been sneaking out. He knew. She could see the condemnation in his eyes. Or maybe her guilt was putting the condemnation there. That was something else she avoided thinking about, how her bad choices had affected her parents, especially her father.

  “So you slipped out of the house after they went to bed.”

  The words sounded even worse coming out of Caleb’s mouth. He’d probably never caused his parents a moment’s grief.

  “What happened then?”

  “I climbed out my bedroom window and Liv picked me up down the street. We went to the woods where Mona and the guys were. Raymond had raided his dad’s liquor cabinet, like always. I don’t remember what we were drinking, but we all got pretty wasted.”

  “Then you got sick.”

  She nodded. That had been a regular occurrence, too, drinking till she’d made herself sick. But she hadn’t touched the stuff since that night. First Landon’s death, then her father’s heart attack—two life-changing events in the span of a week had scared her straight.

  “After Liv dropped me off, she went home. The guys and Ramona said they left shortly after we did. No one saw Landon.”

  “You didn’t let him know you were no longer at the party?”

  A wave of guilt crashed down on her. “I didn’t think about it.” Or maybe she had, somewhere between bouts of throwing up. But the thought hadn’t stayed in her pickled brain long enough to act on it.

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  She shook her head, trying to tamp down another pang of guilt. There was something else, but it wasn’t connected to Landon’s murder. Not technically. If she brought it up now, the police would think they had something to hide. And they didn’t.

  Caleb washed his last bite of pancake down with coffee. “Alex’s death is suspicious, but with Ramona, there’s no doubt. She was murdered. The last line of the poem proves it wasn’t random. This is someone’s warped idea of justice.”

  She nodded and Caleb continued. “Frank Mason’s the lead detective on the case. He’s bringing the others up to speed, cautioning them about the danger. I told him I’d talk to
you. But I’d like to meet with all of you and see if you can come up with some possible suspects. Logan is the most obvious. But it could be someone who’d been close to Landon.”

  “I’ll get hold of them.” They’d all exchanged numbers before leaving the reunion.

  The waitress brought the checks and he claimed both of them. After he’d finished paying, he walked her to her vehicle. “I guess you’re off to Walmart.”

  “And you’re headed to bed.”

  “Not yet. Church first. I teach a preteen Sunday school class.”

  After bidding him farewell, she climbed into the driver’s seat. He was going to church. To teach Sunday school. He hadn’t become a preacher.

  But he was still way out of her league.

  * * *

  Amber wheeled her cart into the midmorning sunshine, a large, flat box protruding from the top at an angle. She’d gone with a forty-inch. Anything bigger wouldn’t have fit on the shelf in her entertainment center.

  As she moved down the center lane, she glanced around, an uneasy caution tightening her shoulders. The same uneasiness had plagued her since her meeting with Caleb. Mona was dead, brutally murdered. Alex’s death probably wasn’t an accident, either. Based on the poem, the rest of them were all marked. The question was, “Who’s next?”

  She dragged in a shaky breath and pressed her key fob. Several spaces away, the lights on her RAV4 flashed and the security system beeped. Soon she’d be loaded up and locked safely inside. From now on, she wouldn’t go anywhere without her weapon, whether on duty or not.

  After sliding the box into the back of her vehicle, she straightened to shut the door. Her heart stuttered. Logan Cleary stood at the driver’s-side front quarter panel, arms crossed.

  “Hello, Amber.” He pushed her name off his tongue as if it were something distasteful, then moved toward her, blocking her path to the door.

  Her pulse raced and moisture coated her palms. She squared her shoulders. Whether she was armed or not, he’d have to be stupid to try accosting her at Walmart in broad daylight.

  “What do you want, Logan?”