The smell of breakfast coffee haunts the kitchen. Lisa meant to clean the coffeemaker and load the dishwasher after her parents left for work. Instead, she spent the morning online, reading articles about Willard Steeples’ murder. She barely had time to get dressed before her parents picked her up for lunch. Now she mutters an apology while she clears dishes off the kitchen table. The men sit facing each other, Matt with his muscular arms folded, Steve resting his chubby forearms on the table. She readies the coffeemaker for a fresh pot.
“None for me,” Matt says.
“Me neither,” Steve says. “I had two cups at lunch.”
So did Lisa. Her body is buzzing from the caffeine and anxiety, but she wants more coffee anyway. “Can I get you something else?” she asks. “Some water?”
Matt nods and she brings him a glass of ice water. He seems like the type of guy who chews his ice cubes.
She slides into the chair next to Steve’s.
Matt takes out his phone and sets it to record. Exactly like Steeples, she thinks. “Just so you know,” he says. “This here is informal. You’re not Mirandized, so what you say can’t be used against you in court. I want an accurate record is all. Do you agree to be recorded?”
She looks to her stepfather, who nods.
“I agree.”
“You knew Willard Steeples.”
“Not personally. He wrote a book about Rad Sanders.”
“Conrad Sanders. The serial killer who kidnapped you and Luanda Jakes.”
“Yeah.” Lu’s last name changed to Darlington when Debbie and Hank adopted her. But Lisa sees no reason to help this cop any more than necessary.
“You never met Willard Steeples?”
“No.” Lisa looks straight at the cop, not shifty-eyed the way a liar would. She hopes the cops don’t run her recorded voice through some kind of computer analysis.
“What if I said a witness saw you with Steeples the day he was murdered?”
“You mean Jenna?”
“Who said anything about Mrs. Arlow?”
“She told my mom about seeing me.”
“You’re saying she didn’t?”
“She probably saw someone outside the drugstore, but it wasn’t me.”
Matt leans forward like a Scrabble player eager to slap down the tiles after his opponent creates an opening. “How would you know where Mrs. Arlow saw you?”
“She didn’t see me.”
“Okay, where she claims she saw you.”
“It’s what she told my mom.”
“But she’s lying?”
“She’s probably got cataracts or something.” A corner of Lisa’s mouth crimps up before she can control it. “And she wants to seem important.”
“Now Lisa,” Steve says. “Don’t be unkind.”
“Sorry, it’s the truth.” Lisa could add that Jenna Arlow is the unkind one. The old lady never speaks to Lisa unless her parents are around.
“Do you know Berlynn Green?” Matt asks.
“Who?”
“She lives out near Lake Seville.”
Not another witness. Lisa’s heart flutters and trips. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee suddenly nauseates her.
“She killed her husband this morning with a shotgun.”
Lisa and her stepfather exchange a shocked look, and then Steve says, “I don’t understand how this is relevant to Lisa.”
“The State Police found boots in the house with what looks like blood on them. It’s been there too long to be the husband’s blood.”
The woman possessed by Black Claw. The daemon no doubt walked through Steeples’ blood in the cabin. “Is she …? I mean, did they arrest her?”
“She’s gone. Taken off. We’re searching for her.”
Lisa swallows, a pointless effort since her mouth and throat are dry. “Will they check if the blood belongs to Steeples?”
He studies her for a long moment. “That’d get you off the hook, wouldn’t it.”
“Matt!” Steve chides. “That’s uncalled for.”
Lisa’s cheeks flush with anger. Unlike this dumbass cop, she knows that Berlynn Green is a victim. No doubt poor Mrs. Green was possessed by Black Claw or another daemon when she shot her husband.
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| Photo by Linda Smogor |
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