Page 25 of Her Dying Secret

“I did get some information. Jon Lee punched a woman in the parking lot of a department store.”

Gretchen gave a low whistle. She picked up a Sharpie and used it to mark the boundaries of Tranquil Trails—from the bank of the Susquehanna River on one side, across Prout Road, to a strip of forest on the other. “Well, well, well, that is certainly interesting.”

Josie wondered if Rebecca had told the truth when she said Jon was not a threat. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Now half past midnight. She had been so absorbed in the case that she hadn’t paid attention to the time. It was late, but she would still make the home study and that was all that mattered.

The door to the stairwell whooshed open and Chief Chitwood strode in. His acne-pitted face was red, which usually meant he was unhappy about something. Although, to be fair, that did seem to be his natural state. He was also dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt rather than the more formal suits he usually wore to work. “Detectives!” he barked. “What in the hell is going on around here?”

Gretchen looked over at him, unimpressed. She hung another piece of the map. “What are you doing here after midnight?”

He advanced on them. “I was on a college visit with Daisy today. God, not that I want this kid to go to college hours away from me. Never mind that. The point is that I had my phone turned off. I had told Sergeant Lamay to give me any important updates. When I got home and turned it on, guess what?” He held up two fists and then made a noise that sounded like an explosion as he splayed his fingers outward. “It blew up.”

Gretchen shrugged. “You should have waited till morning to check your phone.”

He pointed a long finger at her. “Don’t be a smart-ass. No one likes a smart-ass.”

Josie tossed the report on Jon Lee onto her desk. “Actually,” she said. “That’s not true.”

It was an exchange they had often. As usual, he had no patience for the argument. He whirled on her. “Don’t you start, too. Wait. What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

“No shit.” Josie made a fist and used her knuckles to knead the muscles in her lower back.

“What happened to Turner?” he asked.

Gretchen shot him a look so caustic, Josie half expected him to drop where he stood. “Good question.”

“Not sure,” said Josie. “He was on a bank robbery that evidently took all day and most of the evening. Maybe he came in after, but we were out in the field, so we didn’t see him.”

The Chief’s bluster dissipated. His gaze swept toward his office door. Quietly, he said, “I’ll talk to him. I’m sure you just missed each other.”

“Did you lose a bet?” Gretchen called after him. “Is that why we’re stuck with him?”

“Shut it, Palmer,” the Chief hollered back.

“You owed someone a favor?” she pressed.

Josie mouthed ‘stop’ at Gretchen. Then she covered her mouth to quiet her laughter.

Undeterred, Gretchen stepped toward the Chief’s office. “I’m just saying, all those applicants, and he was the best we could do?”

“Seriously,” Josie hissed. “Stop!”

But she could hear the Chief’s frenetic steps as he burst back into the great room. He glared at Gretchen. “One more word, Palmer, and it’s your ass. Not that you’re owed any explanation, because you’re not, but Turner’s got experience. He’s just as qualified as any of you. He worked at a similarly sized department north of Philadelphia. He’s been at this for a long time.”

“I know that,” Gretchen shot back. “I checked. He was profiled in their city paper for taking the lead on the escort serial killer case, which I’m surprised he was even able to solve, given his work ethic.”

“Palmer!” he started to yell, but changed his mind when she turned her back on him, walking over to Turner’s desk—Mettner’s old desk. She placed both hands on the back of the chair and squeezed. She kept her head down and breathed deeply, as though trying to shore herself up. The Chief locked eyes with Josie, asking her an unspoken question, to which she nodded. This wasn’t just about Turner.

The Chief sighed and dragged a hand over his face. His voice softened to its gentlest tone, one that he normally only used with two people: his much younger sister, Daisy, whom he’d adopted, and Josie. He’d become a lot less prickly with her, at least, since she’d helped him solve the murder of his other sister. “Palmer,” he said. “No one is going to be Mett. There is no one I could bring in here who would be satisfactory to all of you. You don’t have to get along. You just have to do the job. You got problems with Turner? Be adults. Figure it out. Now, tell me what the hell’s going on around here.”

EIGHTEEN

Josie arrived home before twoa.m. She took a brief tour of the house, astounded by how neat and clean it looked. Turned out Noah was a hell of a cleaner. In the bedroom, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. They’d put a nightlight in the hallway for when Harris slept over and with their bedroom door open, it gave off just enough light for Josie to make out Trout lifting his sleepy head from the foot of the bed. Josie pet him and kissed the top of his head. He made a snuffling sound and burrowed his face under the covers. Once he was asleep, he rarely woke. As guard dogs went, he was pretty useless, but he made up for it in cuteness. Josie stripped her clothes off and deposited them into the hamper. Then she slid into bed behind Noah, pressing her chest against his back, happy to find him shirtless. She snaked an arm around his waist, her fingers moving slowly upward as she traced the lines of his torso.

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice foggy with sleep.

His skin against hers sent her pulse into overdrive, in spite of the late hour and the exhaustion that tugged at every muscle in her body. She snuggled closer, fitting her legs against the backs of his as she trailed light kisses over his shoulder. He caught the hand lazily tracing the ridges of his abdomen and held it against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath it, strong and steady.

“Want to talk about the case?” he asked.

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