Murder In The Shallows

With any luck, she’d never have to set eyes on Officer Armstrong ever again.

Chapter Two

What the heck was that woman’s problem?

Dylan brushed the dirt from his pants and climbed back on his ATV. He briefly considered overtaking her again—no doubt he easily could—but then what? Listen to more of her crazy talk? An encounter with a man had spooked her. His gaze drifted to the church. It stood abandoned as always. Another few years and the perpetual damp of the swamp, combined with the aggressive kudzu, would reduce the place to rubble.

His fingers twitched on the throttle. Annoyed as he was, he’d seen a moment of pure fear in her wide eyes. Come to think of it, he’d seen the woman around town a few times. Cool as ice, that one. He’d run into her at the grocery store once and had idly taken in her long, toned legs as she bagged apples in the produce aisle. Some sixth sense of being watched must have alerted her to his attention, and she raised her eyes, catching him gawking. Unfazed, he’d offered his customary breezy smile and waved. Instead of responding to his innocent flirtation with a smile—a reaction that, frankly, he was used to from women—she’d pulled her full lips into a tight line, abruptly turned her back on him and jerked her shopping cart in the opposite direction.

Jeff Aiken, his best friend since preschool, had hooted with laughter and nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t think she was impressed with you, dude. You’re losing your touch.”

“Who is she?” he’d asked, checking out her shapely ass.

“Bailey something-or-other. Heard she works at the park and lives near it like a hermit. Not exactly friendly.”

“That’s a shame.” He’d shaken his head, eyes still on the woman, lips curled in a rueful grin.

Jeff had grabbed a six-pack of beer and tossed it in his cart. “Stop acting like you’re still in junior high, and let’s get a move on.”

The memory jogged him to action. Abruptly Dylan changed his mind and gave chase, the wind whipping his face as he accelerated. Bailey what’s-her-name wasn’t getting away so easily this time. If the ice queen was rattled, he wanted to know the reason.

In less than five minutes, he spotted her, riding as fast as that run-down ATV could manage. He gunned the motor, and her head swung around for an instant before she faced forward again, never slowing. Dylan drew alongside her and motioned her to stop. Surprisingly, she obeyed. He exited his ATV and approached where she sat, her arms crossed and her lips pursed just as they were at the grocery store long ago.

“Appears we got off on the wrong foot, Bailey.”

Surprise melted the stone-wall face, and she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know my name?”

He lifted his palms and shrugged. “Folkston’s a small town. We bumped into each other once before.”

“If you say so.”

At her quirked brow, he realized she had no memory of the grocery store incident, which sent his ego into a nosedive. Still, he gave a determined smile, pushed the sunglasses to the top of his head, and held out a hand. “Dylan Armstrong, Charlton County Sheriff’s Office.”

She hesitated a moment, then reluctantly took his extended hand. He tried not to notice the effect of her smooth, warm palm in his grasp or imagine her sleek, tanned body hidden under the khaki uniform—it was hard enough not to stare at her exposed long legs in those shorts as she straddled her ATV.

“Bailey Covington,” she said in exchange, withdrawing contact a beat too soon for politeness. At least she hadn’t wiped her hand afterward.

“You didn’t give me a chance to explain why I’m here,” he said in his most professional voice, determined to keep his gaze from sweeping down to her legs. “I’m sure you’re aware of the two women who’ve gone missing in the area. We’re still searching as much ground as we can with limited manpower.”

A shame that the chopper and boats they’d initially used had proved fruitless in the search. Too many places to hide in this wilderness.

“Of course I’m aware of the missing women.”

“So, this mystery man of yours, do you think it’s related?”

“Possibly. I’m on my way to make a report of what I found today, just in case.”

He strove for patience. “Mind sharing?”

“I’m sure my supervisors will be more than happy to allow yours full access to the report. See you around, Officer Armstrong.”

With that, she again started the ATV and took off in a cloud of dirt, leaving him staring after her.

Rude, yes. But instead of being irritated, he inexplicably grinned. Never one to back away from a challenge, Dylan flicked his sunglasses back down and returned to his ATV. “Go on and run. You haven’t seen the last of me, Ranger.”

WHEN DYLAN ARRIVED at the station, Jeff, his old friend and now a sheriff’s deputy, glanced up from the paperwork on his desk and nodded at the sheriff’s door. “Boss wants to see you ASAP.”

Bailey’s report must have already been filed and read. That was quick. Dylan knocked briefly on the closed door before striding inside.

Sheriff Franklin Chesser was frowning at his computer screen. “Weren’t you patrolling today on Trail Ridge?” he asked with no preamble. “You didn’t see any unusual activity?”

“Only an encounter with a closemouthed, annoying park ranger. I assume you’re reading the report that she told me she would file with her boss?”

Chesser turned the monitor so that it faced him. “Take a look at this video she filmed.”

Two bare metal cots were haphazardly strewed in the otherwise stark interior of the church. The lens zoomed in on a dirty strip of cloth lying on a rusted metal frame. The footage shook as Bailey Covington exited the church and scanned the area outside. The final shot was of a security camera perched in a nearby treetop. Then the monitor faded to black.

He and Chesser eyed one another uneasily.

“Think it has anything to do with the missing women?” he asked his boss.

“Can’t help but make that leap.” Chesser replayed the video, and they watched again in silence.

Chesser closed the video. “I have to be realistic, though. Could be squatters using the cots, and that camera might turn out to be a poacher’s.”

“Maybe,” Dylan agreed.

A dubious silence hung in the room.

“Going to call in the state police again?” Dylan finally asked.

Chesser sighed and drummed his fingers along the scarred pine desk. Dylan understood his dilemma. When Mary Thornton and Amy Holley first went missing, it was determined they were last seen renting kayaks at an outfitting store at the Suwannee Canal entrance. State police had responded en masse. Dozens of them, along with local volunteers, had combed the river where the women had set off. Several boats and even a chopper had searched for six days.

All fruitless. They hadn’t unearthed a single clue.

“Let’s do some preliminary work first. I’ve already spoken with the park manager, Evan Johnson. You and the ranger who filmed this can work together collecting evidence and canvassing the area for more. Bring back that camera, and let’s see what we’ve got.”

“I don’t need the ranger for any of that.”

“It’s called interagency cooperation, Dylan. Politics. Forging partnerships. Besides, she could prove helpful. Johnson claims she knows the swamp like the back of her hand.”

“Not like I’d get lost out there,” he muttered. “I’ve lived here all my life.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Bailey again—he did. But Dylan resented the implication that he needed her assistance.

“Johnson’s the territorial type and wants his ranger to be involved in the investigation. Not a bad idea, either. If those women, or their bodies, are out there in the wilds, she’ll know better than anybody how to track them. Take one of our dogs, too. See if you can pick up a scent.”

“I could collect evidence a whole lot quicker without her,” Dylan muttered again in protest.

“Go,” Chesser said, using a voice that brooked no more argument. “Everyone else is busy catching up with other cases after spending so much time on the search. Bring back the evidence, and we’ll take it from there.”

“I’m on it.” Dylan shoved to his feet.

“Thanks, kid,” Chesser said gruffly. “You know I think of you as my right-hand man. Job will be yours one day soon. Your dad was one of the finest cops in the whole state of Georgia.”

“No hurry.” Dylan meant it, too. He was more than content to work as a deputy and learn all aspects of the job before running for sheriff. He’d already spent over three years on beat patrol and then five more years as captain of the K-9 unit before landing his current position. He wanted to win an election on his own merits, not on his late father’s name and connections.

Dylan quickly collected a beagle, Ace, from the K-9 unit along with a plastic evidence bag filled with two swatches of the missing women’s clothes. Ace settled into the cruiser with him, brown eyes dancing with excitement, muscles taut and quivering in anticipation.

“Going to earn your keep today, boy,” he said, smiling at the beagle’s happiness. Ace had always been his favorite dog to work with.

At the park entrance, he obtained special permission to borrow one of their jeeps and, beagle in tow, returned to the abandoned church. At least Ace was enjoying the outing. His black nose was lifted high in the air, taking in the scents, tail thumping loudly on the seat. Compared to being cooped up in a kennel, this was doggy nirvana.

The late-afternoon sun scorched Dylan’s skin, and his dark brown uniform felt suffocating as he gathered the collection kit. Lucky for Bailey, her uniform was lighter colored, and she had the option of wearing shorts instead of pants. Speaking of the she-devil, Dylan spotted her slowly roaming the churchyard, mucking up footprints or whatever evidence might actually be at the scene. He suppressed a sigh and approached on foot, the beagle trotting at his side, eager to get to work.

Bailey watched them, no welcoming smile on her face for him or his dog. Evidently she wasn’t thrilled to be working with them, either.

“We meet again,” he said pleasantly.

“Might want to keep an eye on your dog,” she replied in a flat greeting. “Hungry gators and venomous snakes, you know.”

He kept his polite smile in place. “Nice to see you again, too.”

“I’ll show you where the camera’s located.”

Ace offered a friendly yip, but Bailey ignored him and abruptly turned, leading the way to the back of the church.

He trudged through the brackish plants, Ace close at his heel, sniffing away. Bailey came to a sudden standstill and pointed up at a tree. “There’s the camera.”

“Hold this for me a sec.” He thrust the clothing sample bag and evidence kit in her hands.

“Why? What are you—”

“Going to take that thing in,” he answered, snapping on a pair of plastic gloves and grabbing an empty baggie.

“You think that’s wise?” she asked, frowning deeper and casting a wary eye on Ace.

“Did you think we’d just leave it here?” he asked, eyeing the tree for a moment before he found a toehold and pushed up onto the first low limb.

“But if you take the camera, won’t it spook the owner from returning?”

“Can’t leave it and do nothing.” Dylan climbed higher until he came eye level with the camera, which was fastened onto the end of a branch with zip ties. He dug a utility knife from his pocket and inched forward on the limb.

Ace barked and scratched at the tree, not happy at being left behind.

“You could do surveillance instead of removing the camera. See if he shows up again,” Bailey suggested, shouting to make herself heard from several feet below.

“Kill me now,” he muttered. She might not mind living and working outside in the boondocks, but as for himself, he couldn’t imagine anything more miserable than camping in this snake-infested land, slapping at bloodsucking skeeters and biting flies all night in the suffocating humidity.

He popped open his knife blade and slashed through the tie, then carefully bagged the equipment before scrambling back down the tree. Bailey’s hands were on her hips, her look reproachful.

“Hey, if you want to hang around here day and night to see if someone shows up, then more power to you,” he said.

“Maybe I will.”

She lifted the chin of her heart-shaped face, a stubborn gesture he secretly found more amusing than annoying.

“Don’t get any wild ideas,” he warned. “It’s not safe for you to attempt something dangerous out here all by yourself.”

“And to think I’ve managed this job on my own just fine for the past seven years.”

“Have you ever been out in the wilds with a possible kidnapper before?”

“Well...no. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. But who knows what lurks out there?”

Apparently the woman hated to admit a possible vulnerability, but Dylan had to allow that he was the same. “I’m not questioning your courage,” he said gently. “Not many people—man or woman—are cut out to work in a swamp full of reptiles.”

Something fierce flashed in her eyes before she shuttered an emotion brewing below the surface. “My guess is that the reptiles are far safer than some humans.” With that cryptic remark, she nodded at Ace. “Want to check out the church before your dog roams further out?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He followed her to the front of the building, doing his best to keep his eyes from drifting down and staring at her butt, and keep his brain focused on the job at hand. As Jeff had once said, he wasn’t in junior high anymore. Not like he hadn’t seen plenty of action over the years, either. Maybe it was Bailey’s total lack of interest in him that roused a primitive need to make her respond to him.

Inside the church, he breathed a sigh of relief at the slight drop in temperature. Ace trotted past them both to get to the cots. Bailey hastily swept to the side to avoid the brush of fur against her legs.

Sudden understanding flashed. “Are you afraid of dogs?” he asked.

Her reply was much too swift and charged with vehemence. “’Course not.”

She was lying.

“Ace, come,” he demanded, snapping his fingers and pointing to the door.

The little beagle swiftly complied, even if his chocolate eyes protested the order. Ace planted himself in the doorway, his body taut, eagerly awaiting the signal to search. Dylan faced Bailey in time to catch the slight whoosh of breath escaping her throat, signaling relief.

Keep Ace from drawing too near Bailey again, he mentally noted. Ace would never harm her, but even if he told her so, it wouldn’t take away her fear. Whatever encounter she’d had with a dog in the past, it must have been bad to be leery of a beagle—they were like the teddy bears of dog breeds.

Bailey cocked her head at the cots. “What do you think? Suspicious or not?”

“The sheriff suggested it might be squatters or hunters using this place. Catch many trespassers out here?”

“It happens. But it’s not hunting season, and I’ve never come across something as permanent as cots. It’s always blankets or sleeping bags.”

She stepped to one of the cots and leaned over, pointing at the strip of cloth on the metal frame. “And then there’s this.”

Dylan gathered the cloth, placed it in a separate baggie and took close-up photos of everything.

“My fingerprints are on the mattresses,” Bailey admitted. “I flipped them over looking for clues.”

“I’ll make a note of it and get your fingerprints, so we can rule you out in a search.” He dusted black powder along the metal frames and mattresses, then stood and scanned the room. There were traces of dusty footprints inside, but they were blurred and of all sizes. Nothing distinctive. This place must still be a hangout for bored teenagers.

“Maybe the cots are for—” he hesitated a beat and plunged on “—you know, overly hormonal teens using this place to party.”

Skepticism etched Bailey’s face. “Kids today don’t use it near as much as they did back in my day. But I understand that particular motive can’t be ruled out.”

Had she ever used this location for such a purpose? he wondered. But he tamped down his curiosity with determination.

“Now what do we do?” she asked.

“Time to let Ace do his thing.”

Dylan swore the beagle grinned in happy anticipation. He withdrew the bag containing the cloth swatches. Bending on one knee, he held the swatches out, and Ace’s black nose twitched as he sniffed experimentally.

“Seek,” he commanded.

Ace made a beeline to the cots and whimpered as he placed his paws on the mattresses and barked.

“Bingo,” Dylan whispered. This was the first big break in the case—and an ominous one at that. But after two weeks, no one expected the women to show up unscathed.

“Those women were here, then,” Bailey softly stated, eyes focused on Ace.

“Appears so. I’ll load the mattresses onto the jeep, and at the station, we’ll cut them open to see if there’s anything inside. We’ll also check for blood and other DNA markers.”

“I want to be there when you do.”

He shrugged. “Suppose that’s fine. Your boss made it clear he wants you involved in the investigation. But lab samples will be sent to Atlanta, and our forensics sample work is usually undramatic.”

“I didn’t know that. Just inform me if there’s any major finding, then.”

“Of course. I’m going to have Ace sniff around outside and see what we can find.”

This time, Dylan led the way. The beagle ran past him and, nose to the ground, drew them to the side of the building and then behind. Ace methodically made his way to the labyrinth.

“I did a quick walk-through earlier,” Bailey offered. “Nothing jumped out at me, but there could be something small I missed.”

Bees happily hummed around the gallberry plants and swamp gum trees, oblivious to the violence that had potentially been perpetrated in the maze. But he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps the women had merely made a pit stop along the riverbank when they spotted the church and then had simply explored the area.

At the dead end, Ace hurried to the blooming tea rose bush and frantically began digging. White sand sprayed into the air.

A buried body or two, perhaps?

Unguarded, Bailey glanced at him, her brows raised and her blue eyes filled with dread.

“Why don’t you wait for me in the church?” he suggested.

Wordlessly, she shook her head and switched her gaze back to Ace’s frantic pawing. Slivers of gold glinted in the waning sun. Dylan knelt and picked up a thin chain with his gloved hands, recollecting a detail from the case. Both of the missing kayakers had been wearing gold necklaces. One had a cross on it, and the other woman’s had a claddagh. He’d bet anything there was a murderer on the loose and in possession of both those charms.

“A trophy,” he breathed.

Bailey was beside him, her shoulders brushing against his. The contact warmed the cold chill that had prickled down his spine.

“I thought killers kept trophies to relive their crimes,” she said.

“They do. Not sure why a chain was left behind and buried. If this is a trophy, and we don’t know that it is, the suspect will have some warped reason in his sick head. Maybe to mark the spot where he killed one or both of them.”

“As good a reason as any, I suppose.” He felt her tremble beside him. “Though I’m still going to hold out hope both women are alive.”

He held no such optimism. Not that he needed it to sustain him in a serious crime investigation. Instead, it was the need for justice that drove him.

Work completed, Ace lay down and awaited the praise due him.

“Good boy.” Dylan patted him and then rolled the necklace in the palm of his gloved hand before sealing it in an evidence bag. The sun beat down on his back, and the honeybees droned as they collected nectar. The scent of roses perfumed this unholy spot where two women might have met their death. He and Bailey grew quiet, a shared moment of respectful silence.

Violent death had possibly marked this spot. Now to test that theory and stop a killer before he struck again.

Chapter Three

“Sounds like a tough day. A creepy day.”

As usual, Miss Lulu succinctly summed up everything in her tidy, no-nonsense way. Bailey rocked on the older woman’s front porch glider, bare feet dangling, and sipped from a mason jar of sweet tea. In the deepening twilight, fireflies danced and glowed like drunken pixies. For the first time in hours, she felt relaxed.

“It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had at work,” she allowed.

“Could be dangerous,” Lulu warned. “You living alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Bailey snorted. “You’ve been doing the same most of your life. Besides, we have each other for neighbors.”

Their cabins were nearly a quarter mile apart, and Bailey was glad to have her as a neighbor. They were kindred spirits, even if over three decades apart in age.

Lulu nodded, smoothing back her black hair shot through with silver. “And we have our shotguns. In case of trouble.”

Bailey dearly hoped she’d never have need to use the weapon. Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d only imagined raising it in case of an encounter with an aggressive black bear.

Much as she’d enjoyed the evening and the supper of duck fried rice and collards, it was time to shove off. Lulu always retired early and rose with the sun.

“I’ll get the dishes,” Bailey offered. As Lulu started to stand from the rocker, Bailey gestured for her to stay. “I’ve got it. Least I can do after all your cooking.”

Ignoring Lulu’s grumbling, Bailey reentered the cabin. She filled the chipped enamel sink with hot water and a squirt of dishwashing liquid. Truth be told, she enjoyed washing dishes. As her hands soaked in the warm water and fragrant pink dishwashing liquid, she gazed out the window. It was like a prayer, a meditation, as she cleaned and rinsed each plate before placing it, glistening, in the drying rack. But the piercing headlight beams of an approaching truck dispelled her peace. This wasn’t exactly a hospitable stretch of road she shared with Lulu. Unpaved and wracked with deep mudholes, it led nowhere.

Faint consternation gave way to deep misgiving when the truck stopped abruptly halfway between her and Lulu’s cabins.

“Expectin’ company?” Lulu asked, entering the kitchen to stand by her side.

“Not hardly. You?”

They both watched and waited, but no one emerged from the vehicle.

“Nope. I don’t like this,” Lulu muttered. “Not after what you found in the church today.”

“Where are your binoculars? I can’t make out who it is.”

“Binoculars, heck. I’m gettin’ my shotgun.”

“No need for all that,” she chided, though she’d be lying if the thought of a loaded weapon didn’t offer some comfort. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Lulu reluctantly thrust the binoculars into her hands.

Bailey raised them. At the familiar shock of sandy hair, she groaned.

“Who is it?”

“One of Charlton County’s finest. Name’s Dylan Armstrong.”

“What’s he doing parked here?”

“That’s what I aim to find out.”

Lulu’s dark eyes narrowed. “You sure it’s safe?”

Another reason she felt close to this woman. Their mutual mistrust of lawmen. Lulu had never enlightened Bailey as to the exact reason for her mistrust, but she’d assumed Lulu had suffered from the same callous treatment she’d once received while seeking help from the law. Treatment she’d experienced thanks to Deputy Sheriff Dylan Armstrong Senior.

There it was. A third time in one day that she’d been forced to recall a past she’d rather forget.

“Everything’s fine,” Bailey assured her. “I’ll send him on home.”