“That’s great,” Bree said.
“So, can I go on the trip?” Luke asked, his chin lifted in defiance.
Bree sighed. “No.”
“You’re not being fair.” His voice turned sullen. “You haven’t even met him. Mateo wanted to come over last night, but you weren’t here because you were working. Whenever you have a big case, we barely see you.”
The comment stung. “I’m sure he’s a nice young man, but my answer is still no.” Bree kept her voice level and calm. Inside, her gut was twisting. “One college student isn’t enough supervision for twelve high schoolers.”
Luke didn’t speak again as he grabbed his backpack and headed out the back door. Bree took a deep breath and made a mental note to ask her brother, Adam, to spend some time with Luke. An artist, Adam was nervous about a new painting he’d delivered to the gallery. Time together would benefit them both.
“Luke’s being a jerk,” Kayla said.
Bree pressed her lips flat to suppress a grin. “Mind your own business. Luke will be fine.” She wished she actually felt the confidence she was projecting. “Someday, I might make a decision for you that you don’t like.”
“Well, I still won’t be a jerk to you,” Kayla said around a mouthful of food.
But Bree feared teenage Kayla wouldn’t be as amenable as grade-school Kayla. “I really hope that’s true.”
Dana started her fancy coffee machine.
Kayla carried her empty plate to the sink. “Can you drive me to school, Aunt Bree?”
Bree checked her watch. She wanted to get to the office early, but her niece loved having Bree’s attention all to herself now and then. For Kayla, Bree would wait. “Yes.”
“Yay!” Kayla raced from the table. Her feet thumped up the stairs.
Dana set two cups of cappuccino on the table. “Rough night?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw a news report about a shooting and assumed that’s what you were working on. Do you want to talk about it?”
Bree pushed away the empty bowl and reached for the mug with two hands. The kitchen wasn’t cold, but remembering the scene, she appreciated the warmth that seeped into her fingers through the ceramic. “Double homicide, execution style. One of the victims is Eugene Oscar.”
Dana’s mouth dropped open for a few seconds. “As in your former deputy Oscar?”
“Yep.”
“Fuuuuuuck.”
“Exactly.” Bree sipped the cappuccino. “We notified next of kin, so his identity will be on the news. I need to schedule a press conference for sometime today.”
“The reporter said there were two victims.”
“Oscar’s mother.” Bree sighed, then gave a brief description of the murders.
“When you suspended him, you strongly suspected he was involved in some shady business. I suspect you’ll find several people with motive.”
“The prosecutor decided not to charge him. The physical evidence just wasn’t there. My suspicions were irrelevant if I couldn’t prove the shadiness.”
Dana gave her a look. She had a long, distinguished career as a homicide detective. Her ability to slice through evidence to the heart of the matter made her a great sounding board.
“I know,” Bree agreed. “His death closely follows his forced retirement. Those two events could be related. Then again, he might also be involved in sketchy business unrelated to the sheriff’s department.”
Dana’s forehead wrinkled. “Too many possibilities this early in the investigation.”
“We have his electronics.” Bree’s mind whirled. “I’m hoping the techs find something on his computer or phone.”
Dana crossed her fingers in support. “Go get dressed. I’ll make more cappuccino.”
“I need a gallon.” Bree rose and set her bowl in the sink.
“Done.”
Upstairs, she showered, dressed in a clean uniform, and contained her messy hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. Then she stopped in the kitchen for a second cappuccino and took it into her home office to check her work email while she waited for Kayla.
It was far too soon to receive any information from the medical examiner or forensics. Most of the emails were routine paperwork. She opened a message from one of the county supervisors bitching about the latest quote for the sheriff station renovations. Scanning the rest of the email, she rolled her eyes even though she was alone.
The supervisor was asking if they really needed two holding cells. Seriously. Bree resisted answering. Her current mood did not allow for the necessary diplomacy. She moved to the next message and froze at the embedded close-up of an erect penis. She scanned the text above the image. You’re going to choke on my cock . . . The message deteriorated into a stomach-turning rape fantasy.