Chapter 3

3

P acing across the thick carpet in her boss' office, Jenna's nerves danced a freaking tango. Dr. Church should have been here fifteen minutes ago. A quick glance at her watch showed she had a couple hours before she needed to relieve her babysitter.

Mrs. Franklin, her next-door neighbor, was supposed to have the day off. Jenna hated asking for her help today, but she had things to take care of and didn't want Oliver to be around all the negative energy.

"Sorry about that," Dr. Church said as he rushed through the door, his focus on a tablet in his hands. "You know how things can get. Nice and quiet until all hell breaks loose."

Jenna wiped at watery eyes. The stupid tears of sadness and frustration refused to stay away. "Story of my life."

White, wiry eyebrows rose on Dr. Church's wrinkled forehead. "What's the matter, dear?" He set the tablet on an oak sideboard pressed against the wall then rested on the edge of his desk.

Jenna lifted the corner of her mouth at the endearment. Dr. Church was more than a boss. He was a mentor and friend, always taking the time to understand the needs of all his employees. From the doctors down to the janitorial staff. No one was too small in his mind. "I hate to do this to you, but I need to take some time off."

Dr. Church nodded then rounded his desk to sit on the ancient leather chair. "We all need time off. It's important to practice self-care and all that." He waved a hand through the air, as if the gesture incorporated any other reason Jenna could need a few days from work.

Unfortunately, a simple flick of the wrist couldn't cover all the reasons Jenna needed to use her personal time. "I'll need more than a couple days, and I know that will leave you short-staffed. But some things have happened that require my attention."

Concern rippled the corners of Dr. Church's brown eyes. "Tell me what's going on."

Jenna leaned back against the bucket chair across from the desk and stared at the familiar blue-gray walls, the diplomas and family photos hung proudly.

She'd fought so hard for a happy, smiling family. After losing her parents, she'd done everything she could to get Stella sober. She gave up so much for so long, and now that battle would never be won. "My sister was killed last night."

Dr. Church's expression crumpled. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

Jenna shrugged, wishing she had the answer. "Police wouldn't tell me. There's a lot that needs sorted with her death." She didn't want to mention that part of what needed sorted was convincing the police she wasn't involved in any way. She and her sister had their share of problems, but the love had never faded.

"You do what you need to do. Don't worry about the hospital. I'll make sure your shifts are covered."

Her boss' understanding set loose a torrent of fear and sadness she'd struggled to hold back all day. She dropped her head in her hand. "The police showed up at my door. They think I had something to do with the murder. The idea that anyone would ever think I could hurt Stella, let alone murder her, is so overwhelming. I can't even focus on my grief of losing her."

A beat of tense silence filled the room before Dr. Church cleared his throat then dropped his gaze to clasp his hands on top of his desk.

Jenna straightened and apprehension slid down her spine. She'd known Dr. Church for a long time. The man knew something, and whatever it was, he didn't want to tell her. "What is it?"

"I was on call last night. A woman named Stella was brought in. I didn't know she was your sister."

Bile crept up Jenna's esophagus. "How'd she die?"

Regret and pity swam in Dr. Church's eyes. "Her throat was slit. She didn't die on scene and was rushed here. By the time I got to her, she was already gone."

Jenna closed her eyes against the image of Stella being killed in such a gruesome way. Sweat coated her palms. "I can't believe someone would do that."

"That's not all, Jenna. I overheard the officers talking about the crime scene. They found the weapon."

Opening her eyes, she shook her head. Even though she didn't want to know the details, she asked, "What was it?"

"A surgical scalpel."

The late-morning sun streamed its dull beams onto the sidewalk outside Crawley's Confections. Calvin finished the pastry he'd picked up and tossed the crinkled bag in a trash can. He'd needed some fresh air to clear his head after meeting with Jenna, so he'd parked his car on a side street off the town square and took his time strolling to his favorite bakery. The chocolate-filled dough quieted his growling stomach but did nothing to ease the anxiety coursing through his veins.

Loose pebbles skittered under his booted feet as he approached the mud-brown building. His stomach twisted and a familiar anger started to rear its ugly head before he stomped it down. He'd hoped to work in a police station—it'd been his dream to be just like his dad. That dream had been ripped away when Stella had hidden her drugs in his home, the unexpected discovery leading to his dismissal from the police academy and the end of his relationship with Jenna.

He'd spent the last few years building up his PI firm. His business may be miles away in his hometown of Water's Edge, but he made a point of maintaining good relationships with the law enforcement in the entire county. The officers of Pine Valley were good people, and he hoped they'd open up a little regarding the investigation into Stella's murder.

On a huff of breath, he opened the door and nodded to the gray-haired woman who sat behind a glass window. "Morning. I have an appointment with Officer Cruz Sawyer."

The woman smiled and buzzed him through the door that separated the officers from the little entryway where she served as gatekeeper.

Low murmurs of conversation shrouded the square room filled with on-duty cops. A familiar organized chaos flowed through the station. The buzz of anticipation as officers worked at their desks and took incoming calls pulsed in Calvin's veins. Owning a business had given him freedom he never realized he craved, but a piece of him would always regret not being a part of the police force—part of a team.

Not wanting to make conversation, Calvin dipped his chin and headed straight for Officer Sawyer's office. He'd been here enough times to remember the lay of the land. The door was open, allowing a full view of a scowling Cruz Sawyer bent over paperwork to anyone who peeked inside.

He knocked on the doorframe, choosing to stay on his feet near the exit. "Morning, Cruz. Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

Cruz set down the pen he'd been using and waved Calvin in. "Happy to help in any way I can. What's going on?"

Calvin glanced over his shoulder than closed the door before stepping further into the room. "I have a few questions about last night's murder."

Cruz frowned. "Stella Simon?"

"Yeah," Calvin said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. "Can you tell me if the department has their sights set on a suspect, and how much of that evidence is circumstantial?"

Cruz snorted and leaned back in his chair. "The fact that you're here tells me you already know part of that answer. I'm wondering why you're interested."

Sighing, Calvin rubbed small circles in the middle of his forehead. "I know the victim and her sister. The sister came by to see me. She was pretty shaken up. I told her I'd see if there was any information you could pass along."

"I can't tell you what's going on, but I can tell you she has a reason to be nervous."

The confirmation of Jenna's fears spiked his blood pressure. "I respect the process, but just know, Jenna could never kill anyone. Especially not her sister. She loved her more than anything." The truth of that statement stung. When push came to shove, Jenna had picked Stella over him. Disregarding all the ways her sister had hurt them both.

Picking up the discarded pen, Cruz used the end to scratch the back of his neck. "I'm aware of Dr. Simon's reputation in the community. Hell, my wife's even spent time with her over at the shelter. I can promise you my brother and I will work this case the same way we do every other one that crosses our paths—fair and with an open mind."

"Appreciate that. If anything pops up you can pass along, give me a call." Calvin plucked a business card from his wallet and handed it over.

Cruz nodded. "Will do."

Calvin waved then maneuvered around the cluster of officers and cluttered desks to the front of the building. He pushed open the front door with more force than necessary, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air as he stepped outside.

Wind blasted against him, and he pulled the ends of his black leather jacket together and huddled against the cool breeze. Worry coiled in his core. He trusted the police could do their job well, but Jenna didn't deserve to be dragged through the mud while they figured out what had happened to her sister. Maybe he could poke around a little. Figure out what details the police were chasing and find a way to clear Jenna's name.

No, working with Jenna to uncover what happened to Stella was out of the question. Being with her, learning about what her life was like now, was more than he could stomach. He needed to put this entire morning behind him. Dive into something new and get his mind far away from Jenna Simon. The truth would come out sooner or later. Jenna would be fine.

A white gazebo sat in the middle of the town square. He took a minute to appreciate it. Appreciate the well-kept grounds filled with marble benches and elegant lampposts that belonged in a cheesy movie. The trees had started to turn, the leaves a brilliant display of colors. The outline of the Smoky Mountains reigning supreme in the background.

A small smile cracked through his gruff expression. This was what he needed. To take a second and find the pleasures in the simple things around him. Not get caught up in someone else's disaster. With a little less anger in his stride, he hurried toward his truck.

Making the turn away from the square, he quickened his pace and shoved his hand in his jacket pocket for his keys. He'd wasted enough energy on Jenna. He needed to toss her in the far corner of his mind just like before. Better to forget her.

His truck came into view, and he stopped, confused at what he saw. The corner dipped down in the front, setting him on high alert. He approached slowly, scanning the area for anyone lingering nearby. When no one stood out, he stalked to the front bumper and adrenaline zipped through his veins.

He crouched with his hands at his sides so he wouldn't touch the small piece of paper trapped against his tire with some sort of knife, the wheel flat. Three words were scrawled across the white space.

Leave it alone.