“Burn ban.” I informed her as I grabbed her Miller Lite and emptied it on the glowing tip. The girls squealed as the beer splashed onto their fancy boots. They gaped at me, speechless—my favorite reaction from a woman, by the way.
Colson rolled his eyes and pulled me inside.
“Can you cool it for a bit? Shit.”
I yanked my arm from his hold, my focus immediately shifting to the scent of stale beer, cedar, and barbecue sauce. My three favorite smells. We saddled up at the end of the bar, ignoring the glances and whispering that followed.
Typically, Frank’s Bar was a flurry of drunken energy. Not that night. That night, the low moan of a Willie Nelson song hung in humid air as thick as the mood beneath it. I’d seen almost every face at the funeral hours earlier.
“Howdy do, boys?” Frank walked up, wiping his hands on an apron that read, Eat my Meat.
Colson and I grunted.
Frank nodded, looked down. “It’s a tough day for everyone. I’ve been there multiple times. The Lieutenant was a good man. Whiskeys?”
“Coffee,” I said.
“I’ll take a Shiner,” Colson said.
We sat in silence until Frank delivered our drinks.
I sipped the coffee, hot, strong, black. Just the way I liked it.
“Okay,” Colson said finally. “What’s Darby still doing at the Voodoo Tree? Aside from muttering half-sentences about witches and strings of garlic?”
“Spinning his damn wheels.”
“Ah, come on. Give the kid a break. We were all new once. I’m glad you’re letting him work with you and I hope you continue to pull him along. Bet he’s jumping up and down to get to work with the infamous Dog.”
“Kid needs more training.”
“Kid needs to get laid.”
“Agreed. I’ve got him searching the park. I did all the important stuff like bagging up the candles, dolls, chimes and shit. What’d he say about it?”
“I want to know what you say about it.”
“Ah, the truth comes out. You didn’t come by my place to check on my well-being. You want to know what I found.”
“True, but I did also want to check on you, Jagg, because you’re an introverted son of a bitch who’s idea of grieving involves a handle of whiskey and a few broken knuckles. And based on what I’ve seen now, I’m glad I dragged you out.” He paused, sipped. “I think you should take a few days off.”
“Fuck you.”
“Listen. I understand being a workaholic. I understand getting personally invested in cases. But in your case, in this case, it’s not healthy for you—”
“What the fuck do you mean my case? This is Seagrave’s case.”
“That’s exactly my point. You know the victim, Jagg. You take it personally—”
“Bullshit.”
“Let me finish. I know you don’t talk about it, but everyone knows. After your dad died, you slept on Seagrave’s couch for six months. I know he was the entire reason you applied to become detective. Hell, the guy gave you a personal recommendation.” He paused. “I knew he meant a lot to you and… under your current circumstance, I really think you need to hand this case off. Give it to someone else.”
“What’s my current circumstance?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re one bad decision away from being fired, Jagg.”
My hand squeezed around the coffee cup, the ceramic cooler than the heat that just rolled up my neck.
“Just think about it. All I’m sayin’.”
I forced myself to take another sip of coffee instead of what I really wanted to do, which was throw it against the wall.
Truth was, Colson was right. I shouldn’t have been on the case. But the moment I got the call that Seagrave had been shot, there was no thinking, no questioning. I drove straight to the crime scene knowing I was going to handle the case one way or another. On—or off—the books. My boss didn’t care that I knew Seagrave. He only cared about getting the job done. If I fucked up? Well, he’d fire me and make the Governor happy. Win/win for him. Bottom line, no amount of whispers or red tape was going to keep me from getting justice for the man who’d taken me in at my darkest time.
I’ll never forget it. It was one month after I’d been discharged from the Navy after being labeled unfit for active duty. Fucking back. I thought I was at my lowest low, but then, one month later, my dad keeled over from a heart attack. Rock bottom, officially hit. My brother wasn’t around, so Colson had dragged my ass to the funeral. My mother had watched from across the street, standing next to a dumpster. Where she belonged. That’s all I’ll say about her.
Jack Seagrave had literally caught me stumbling out of Frank’s Bar six days after Dad’s funeral. I don’t remember the five before.
Jack took me in, sobered me up and gave me the kick in the ass I needed. He was quite possibly the reason I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere with a bottle of whiskey glued to my hand. I owed him my life.
I owed him justice.
“I’m getting the vibe you think this Voodoo Tree is connected to Seagrave’s death.” Colson asked finally, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to drop the case.
“Everything needs to be considered at this point.”
“Any viable reason to assume it?”
“Any reason you’re immediately doubting it?”
“I’m not challenging you. Just asking the questions.”
I stared at him for a moment not liking what I was seeing. One of his own had been slain, but I didn’t see that fight, that hunt to find the killer, behind his eyes. Was it because his thoughts were at home with his pregnant wife and pending family? Regardless, Colson didn’t seem focused and I didn’t like that. Baby on the way or not, Seagrave’s investigation deserved the full backing of the BSPD, and I felt like I was only getting half from Colson.
“God, I hate this fucking case.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Okay. Let’s go over this again. Start from the beginning of the night Seagrave was murdered. The Black Bandit breaks into Mystic Maven’s Art Shop to steal the third Cedonia Scroll—”
“Fourth.”
“Fourth?”
“Fourth. There are four scrolls total. All four were stolen together, a year ago, then sold off. The first three were recovered within days of being stolen. Two in New Orleans, one in Houston. The fourth just turned up here in Berry Springs.”
“The initial report said there were only three Cedonia scrolls.”
“The initial report was wrong. There are four.”
“Does the fourth show a picture of a location around here, like the others?”
I nodded and took a quick sip of coffee. It felt good to be talking about the case with someone other than the mice in my apartment.
“The image of Otter Lake is on one, Shadow River on another, White Rock cliff on the third, and brace yourself my friend”—I shot him a look—“The fourth shows the Voodoo Tree in the park. Sans the voodoo shit, of course.”
Colson’s eyebrows popped. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Okay, now I know why you’re interested in the tree. But how’d you find out about the fourth scroll? I had, like, three people looking into it.”