Page 28 of Mountain Man Officer

“You said you saw Barbara doing her laundry?” Laundry was in a common area, and any number of residents could have seen her.

“That’s right,” she said.

“Did you happen to notice her hair?” I took a chance.

“Oh yes.” The owner brightened. “She had just had it cut and styled. I remember talking about some of the women who work at the hair salon and how talented they are.”

Bingo. I thanked Lakeview’s landlord and hung up. My next two phone calls confirmed that each of the four victims had been in for a haircut on the day they died. I went back to my desk and did a Google search of the salon. It was owned by a woman named Katrina Marley. I searched her up on social media and found pictures of the salon and all of the people who worked there, including Lindsey. There were pictures of older relatives, maybe parents or aunts and uncles. There weren’t any pictures of children, other than the occasional business photo of clients with their kids. I was generating a picture of Katrina Marley that resonated with my criminal profile. She was an established member of the community with no real family responsibilities and access to all four victims.

I printed out some of the more salient things I had found, chewing over this new discovery. Why would a small-town hair salon owner be selling drugs? If common knowledge were to be believed, the salon was well respected and generated more than enough income. Why would she risk it all to peddle deadly poison to her customers? And why, after the first death, did she continue to distribute a substance she knew could be fatal? If she had all the information I had and ignored it in favor of profit, then I was dealing with a sociopath.

Maybe it wasn’t about the drugs, though. Maybe there was something bigger going on. In Nashville, we had a forensic accountant who could dig into a company’s books to discover if they were doing something wrong. You would need a court order for that, but I didn’t need permission just to give him a call.

“Did you find something?” Cheryl wanted to know.

I shook my head, on hold with the Nashville Police Department. “Hello?”

“Nashville PD, how may I direct your call?” the operator asked.

“Tom Spur,” I replied.

“One moment, please.”

After a pause, Tom picked up. “Tom Spur.”

“Hey,” I welcomed the familiar voice of a colleague, even if I had been running away from life in the big city. “It’s Jason White.”

“Jason!” Tom warmed to me. We hadn’t exactly been friends, but we had shared some friendly banter in the hallways. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said, not wasting time reminiscing. “I’m a detective in a little town called Singer’s Ridge. I’ve got a case I’m working on, and I wondered if you could help.”

“Sure, go ahead,” he responded.

“I was tracking some deaths from overdoses, and I’ve narrowed it down to…” I glanced up at Cheryl and chose my words carefully. “A local business. I’m not sure if the owner is in it for the drugs, though. I’m wondering if they’re laundering money.”

“Mmm,” Tom agreed. “You would need to get a warrant to look at their books, but there are some signs you can look for without probable cause.”

“Go on.” I had my pencil out, ready to take notes.

“Have they made any large purchases recently? Had the floors redone or anything that would bring in a contractor?”

“Okay.” I scribbled down on my notepad.

“How many staff members do they have?” Tom asked.

“Two, I think,” I said, picturing Lindsey and Ava.

“Check to see if there are more, if there are people on the payroll who aren’t doing much.”

“Okay.” I recorded that suggestion as well.

“Check to see if they get any regular deliveries and what those deliveries are,” Tom finished.

“Great, thanks,” I said and hung up.

“What did you find out?” Cheryl asked from across the room.

“Nothing yet,” I said. “Just a hunch.”

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