Chapter Thirty
Compared to the rest of the house, the bedroom furniture looked in decent shape and the room was decorated with photos of hunting expeditions tacked onto the walls, and smiling faces all around. The bedspread was pink and green camouflage, with matching curtains on the walls and a pair of stuffed bears leaned against fuzzy pillows on the bed.
It was the Pepto-pink walls that caused Jess to blanch. “I think we’ve found our sniper.” She stepped into the room, careful not to trip over a crossbow case on the floor. “The question is how she got from Minnesota to Michigan and why?”
Moving to the photos, she began examining the pictures. There had to be dozens of them. The faces aged and people came and went, but the content remained the same. They documented years of family togetherness.
“Young lady, where did you go wrong?” she whispered and stared at a pair of young women with their arms around each other. Obviously, if one of them was the sniper, she had a family who loved her and a life. Why then had she turned bad?
Sam picked up a handmade bracelet. “Bubba RIP?” he read. “I wonder who Bubba is?”
“Maybe he’s in these pics.” She pulled one off the wall and turned it over. “Me, Kobe, Drew and Pop. 1999.”
Taking the photo to the window, she pushed open the curtains. The foursome was standing by a campfire, smiling and decked out for hunting. The young woman looked like a teenager, with wide hips covered in too tight camo pants, shirt, and an orange hat. She had straight brown hair down to her breasts and a gap between her upper front teeth. Still, she was cute in an outdoorsy way.
“Do you think this is her?” she asked.
Sam joined her. He took a good long look. “The body type fits but no one has gotten a good look at her face.”
“Maybe Summer can run facial recognition.” She went back to the photo wall and began taking them down. The woman was in most of the pictures. Several of the men looked alike, and one had some of her features. Her father? “These guys must be family and friends. The photos go back decades. They are serious outdoorsmen.”
Giving the older photos only a cursory glance, she focused on the newer prints.
“I don’t see any Bubba.” She laid the photos on a nearby dresser. “It’s probably a nickname.”
“Or the dog,” Sam said from the narrow closet. “It’s a nickname for ‘friend’.
She retrieved the first photo and took another look. In the background was a Springer Spaniel with brown speckled ears. “You are a brilliant detective.”
“I know.” He shoved hanging clothes aside and dug around on the shelf over his head. “It’s about time a Brash Girl gave me the recognition I deserve.”
There were many things she admired about him, the way he filled out his clothes, his intelligence, how he challenged her. She also liked his humor.
“I’ll buy you a plaque.”
She thought he said something about finding another sexier way to reward him for his mad skills, but she chose to ignore him, even though her body heated with the idea of seeing him naked again. She’d sort of become obsessed with his body.
But standing in the room of a crazy sniper was not the place to get all warm and fuzzy. So she did a conversational one-eighty back to the investigation.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You’ve never asked permission before,” he said. “Shoot.”
She inhaled and let the question out on a rush. “Why did you give up your professional baseball career?”
A thunk followed. “Dammit!” He backed out of the closet, rubbing the top of his head and glaring. “That’s none of your business. Don’t dig into my personal life, Jess.”
Wow. It was a deep dark secret. Her curiosity amped up into the red zone. “I wasn’t digging.”
Their eyes met. He ran the invisible Detective Wheeler lie detector over her face. “You’ve already snooped.”
“I-ah, well-” Stuttering was a sure sign of guilt. She stopped before she dug a bigger hole.
“Dammit, Jess. Leave my past alone.” He turned back to the closet. She wanted to apologize but wasn’t sure if she had anything to be sorry for. What was the point of internet search engines if you couldn’t find out if the people you let into your life were sketchy, and possibly dangerous?
“Fine.”
She was 100% positive he’d searched her past, for the case, if nothing else. She’d been a suspect. Everyone at the wedding was. So how could he fault her?
Turning back to the picture wall, she vowed to discover his secret. If he had skeletons in his past, she wanted to know what they were before she got in too deep.
As if she wasn’t already knee deep into this, whatever it was. She liked him. Mostly. And she loved the sex.
Minutes ticked by and nothing from the grumpy detective. Finally, she’d had enough. The house was too quiet.
“Find anything?” she asked and reached for another photo. Whoever this woman was, she did like hunting. All of the photos revolved around shooting stuff. Heck, her life seemed like a nature show, without a grizzled host and a video crew.
“A couple of shotguns and a buck knife.”
After searching the last of the pictures, Jess took the one with the clearest image of the young woman, shoved it into her back jeans pocket, and moved on. Other than the odd color scheme, the room was fairly normal, if not kind of girlish for a woman in her twenties.
Sam moved on from the closet and closed the doors. He went to the bed and tipped up the mattress. Underneath was a journal. Since it was on Jess’s side, she claimed it and flipped through the pages. There was text, an occasional drawing, and for several pages, hearts with Olive + Hughie forever written in red ink. Interesting.
“Our psycho had a crush.” Jess set the journal on the dresser. The book further humanized their sniper and Jess wasn’t ready to see her as anything but a cold-blooded machine.
By the time they finished tossing the room, they had the photo, journal, and several pictures of the room on their phones.
“I wish we could find something to link her to the notes,” Jess said and puffed out a breath. “There isn’t a computer or printer anywhere.”
“I’m going to search for bills,” Sam said. “Someone’s paying the utilities on this place.” A few minutes later, he called back to her that he’d found a bill, and that they should get going back to the airfield.
Jess tucked the journal under her arm. She did one last critical glance around the room. “Who are you and what do you want with Irving and me?”
With no further answers, she stepped out, closed the door, and braced herself for the return flight.
* * *
The airplane ride back to Michigan was a lot steadier than the initial trip. Chuck had left a plastic bag on the back seat for Jess, having learned his lesson. It didn’t look like she’d need it as long as he behaved. She was not as green as earlier. Sam smiled.
Sam and Chuck talked quietly while Jess took a nap, her head on a pile of old men’s magazines. Chuck had always been a dope, but a really good guy. He’d washed out of the military from too much drinking, but had been sober for two years now. Sam had checked before ever allowing Chuck to fly them.
“Where did you find her?” Chuck hooked a thumb towards the back seat. “I thought you preferred women with cup sizes bigger that their IQ’s.”
Sam snorted. “No. That was you.” Before Chuck killed off most of his brain cells through too much partying in college, he’d been one hell of a first basemen. How he’d ever been accepted into naval flight school was still a puzzle. Yet, through it all, his friend hadn’t changed. He loved women. “You thought women with brains were too much trouble. They didn’t buy your bullshit.”
Chuck chuckled. “That’s right. You liked the honors chicks. Is that where you found her? At some MENSA meeting?” He hooked his thumb again. Despite the whole boot thing, Chuck didn’t hold the incident against Jess. Not really. He’d had it coming.
Sam looked back and his heart softened. Her dark lashes fanned out to cover her eyes and she breathed softly in her sleep. “She’s actually a PI. With Brash & Brazen, Inc.”
Eyes widening, Chuck exclaimed, “Are you serious? She’s one of those hot PIs I’ve seen on TV? I didn’t get a good look at her while she was barfing on my boot.” He spun around when the plane dipped. “Cool. Are any of them single?”
It was cool. Jess was something else.
“Sorry. The other two are taken.” Jess was taken, too, at least for now.
“Do they have a calendar or something?” The pilot was on a roll. “I’d love to see them in bikinis.”
“No calendar.” Thankfully, Jess was sleeping. She’d been exhausted when they arrived and had passed out almost before they lifted off. If she knew Chuck wanted to see her T&A, she’d twist him into a pretzel.
Smiling as a small snore escaped her, Sam knew she had great T&A. But foremost she saw herself as a smart and competent professional. He saw her that way, too.
How far they’d come since the wedding. At this rate, he’d be in love with her before Labor Day.
God help him.