Page 8 of Little Shattered Dreams

“No, sir. Nothing. I was in bed when it happened.”

Foley’s eyes shifted from Tyler’s face to the red-and-black bead bracelet on his wrist. Over the last several minutes, he hadn’t stopped touching it.

“Nice bracelet,” Foley said.

Tyler glanced at the bracelet and then covered it with a hand, as if he were embarrassed. “Oh, thanks.”

“All right. Well, Tyler, you can go. I’ll speak to you again later.”

Tyler exited the room, and Foley looked at me, a giant smirk on his face as he said, “I see you’re still making new friends wherever you go.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

“No, I don’t believe you can.” He crossed the room, returning to the sofa. Gazing down at Quinn, he said, “You know, for all the things Blackwell was wrong about when he was alive—and the list is endless—there was one thing he got right.”

“And what would that be?”

“Remember all those times he said murder had a way of finding you? I’m inclined to believe it does.”

CHAPTER5

Silas, the county coroner, bent over Quinn, his long, dirty-blond hair falling over his eyes as he scanned her up and down. He tucked the loose strands of hair behind one ear, pulled a rubber band out of his pocket, and tied his hair back. Then he slipped on a pair of gloves, belting out a loud whistle as he leaned in for a closer look at the gaping wound on the back of her head.

“One and done, from the looks of it,” he said. “Bullet entered the back of her head and exited through her right ear. I’d say she died on impact.”

“Guessing he used the couch pillow there to muffle the sound,” Foley said.

Foley glanced at the pillow and turned toward Officer Higgins. “You find the bullet yet or the casing?”

“Nope. Not so far.”

“You might never find them,” I said. “If the killer has any sense, he took it all with him.”

Silas looked at Quinn, at the red spatter on the wall across the room, and back again. “Guessin’ that’s blood on the wall. Assuming she died the moment she was shot, she was moved to the sofa afterward. Based on the trajectory of the blood spatter, she was shot closer to the wall.”

“I thought the same thing,” I said. “Why would the killer bother moving her?”

“Who knows? People do strange things in the heat of the moment.” Silas grabbed a gauze pad out of his tool kit and crossed the room. He lifted the camera dangling around his neck and snapped a series of photos. Then he swabbed a bit of the spatter off the wall, placed it in a container, and crouched down. “There’s a pool of something here, and it’s wet. Carpet’s too dark to confirm if it’s blood though. Pass me the luminol out of my kit, would ya, Gigi?”

I nodded and took it over.

He sprayed it around. Seconds later, a familiar glow emerged.

We had blood.

Silas took more photos, adding, “Luminol is great, but it would be nice if the glow lasted longer. Thirty seconds isn’t long enough.”

While Silas continued spraying, Foley pulled me to the side, his pen and notepad in hand. Round two of questioning was about to commence.

“I’m surprised you chose this place for some downtime,” he said. “Never took you for a woman who would enjoy spending time at this kind of retreat.”

“I’m not. This place is a lot different than I thought it would be.”

“In what way?”

“Too many rules, for starters. I didn’t know when I booked it.”

“You didn’t check it out first? You’re always so thorough.”

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