Libby Drew
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Everything posted by Libby Drew
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Quent decided to follow the same road out of town that Cale would’ve taken to come home the night before. As he drove, he made phone calls. First, he tried Cale’s cell. Elizabeth had said he wasn’t answering, but she was also a brainless twit. Best to double-check her efforts. Cale didn’t answer. The phone rang four times and went to voicemail. Quent opted to leave a message in case Cale checked it. "Where the fuck are you?" he snapped into the phone. Then he hung up. A verbally economic mess
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The rain was falling heavily everywhere in Farther's Run that night. Braden listened to it as well. Occasionally, he felt a drop of water bounce off his nose or his cheek. Wherever he was, the roof was leaking. Again, he tested his bonds. They held fast. Not that he could have done anything had they been loose. His arms had long since fallen asleep. His legs were in a similar state, bound at the ankles. His head ached and he could taste residual blood in his mouth. He cursed fate for alway
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Braden’s office was a mess, but Quent had expected no less. The man was an animal. Despite his thorough search, however, he found nothing of interest that connected the man to either of the murders or to his clumsy extortion attempt. Quent sat behind the desk and grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. A second later, he dropped the pencil with a hiss. He nudged the offending implement into the circle of lamp light and examined it. The surface was liberally pocked with teeth marks. It looked as t
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Cale slumped in the chair next to Drew and tried to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes. Slowly, he rolled his head in the direction of the coffee pot. Drew recognized the craving and leapt out of his seat to pour him a cup. When he handed the steaming mug to Cale, they smiled at each other. Drew took his time letting go of the cup. Quent watched the exchange. When he felt the urge to smile himself, he bit the inside of his cheek. "I’d like a cup myself, Marcus," he snapped. He congratulated
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Cale and Elizabeth didn’t speak to each other at all the following day. Cale suspected Elizabeth wanted to explain what had happened. He simply wasn’t interested in hearing it. She took the hint and left him alone. He stayed in his office all morning, catching up on the daily grind. The work gave new meaning to tedious. More than once, he had considered hiring Jim rather than maintain everything himself. But today he relished the mindless tasks. He signed. He initialed. He tried not to think abo
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Quent and Drew beat Cale to Rob's house. They were in the same neighborhood, while Cale had to drive nearly three miles. Drew was out of the car before Quent had even put it in park. "Marcus!" Quent yelled. Drew ignored him and loped up the front walk. Quent shook his head and took his time joining Marcus at the door. Who cared if Elizabeth suffered an additional ten seconds? It could be ten years, in Quent’s opinion, and still not be enough. When he reached the door, Marcus was banging on
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Quent walked into his house, flicking lights on as he went. Drew followed behind. His eyes roamed curiously over the main room. It was a combination living room/dining room. The kitchen was open to the main living area, separated by a half-wall only. Drew didn’t realize he was staring until Quent interrupted him. "Make sure you get a good look over here too. My desk is fascinating. It gives a terrifying glimpse into my inner child." Drew blushed and focused on his host. Quent was standing
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Cale went to bed early. He was tired and didn’t want to deal with Elizabeth. It was a weak excuse. McCoys didn’t avoid, they confronted. His father had always said so. Since Cale had hated his father, he avoided whatever he could whenever he could. It was petty, but satisfying. Elizabeth came in hours later. As tired as he was, Cale had yet to sleep. He felt her standing over the bed, watching him. After a few moments, she moved away. She undressed in the dark and slipped into bed quietly. Ca
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The most popular man in Farther's Run accosted Quent in the parking lot. “Quent!” Drew called. Quent kept walking. Of course, he didn’t reach his car before Drew caught up with him. That would have been a stroke of luck, and events to date had proven luck avoided him like the plague. “Make it fast, Marcus.” Quent unlocked the door. Drew leaned against the car to catch his breath. “Where are you going?” Quent paused in opening the door. He turned to Marcus. “I’m sorry,” he said with e
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Quent took the rest of the day off. He went to bed at noon and slept, without the magical intervention of alcohol, for twelve hours. He decided waking at midnight feeling rested was disconcerting and vowed never to do it again. He spent the rest of the night actually making notes in his notebook. The next morning, he was at the Farther's Run Urgent Care Center at seven a.m. Little of much urgency happened at the Urgent Care Center at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning. As a result, Quent was able
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Quent needed to sleep, but his unanswered questions were fueling a nervous agitated energy that he couldn’t shake. He was halfway home before curiosity got the better of him and he turned around and headed to the address he'd found for Sarah Cross. Needing to sleep and being able to were different matters all together. He pulled up in front of a small, bright blue ranch and killed the engine. A Volkswagen bug, electric orange, was parked in the driveway. He hoped the interior of the house was ea
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When they reached Marci’s apartment, Quent handed Drew a pair of latex gloves, which Drew accepted and donned without comment. After a quick glance up and down the hall, he reached out to put the key in the lock. Quent stayed his hand and leaned in close to the doorknob. “What?” Drew asked. “It’s all scratched up,” Quent answered quietly. He crouched down and ran his hands over the wood floor in front of the door. “Metal scrapings,” he said as he rubbed his fingers together. “Someone wa
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Quent left the crime scene team to their work. Not before throwing in his two cents, though. "Busy week, isn't it?" he asked a pert little blond while she snapped pictures of the blood splatter. As predicted, she made a face and a scathing comment on his lack of sensitivity. "You're so very easy," he said in parting and trudged back to his car. He slipped into the front seat and pulled out the printout on Marcus. He'd run the kid's driver's license through the computer and come up with next
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Quent's cell phone rang a little after midnight. Even from his slumped position on the couch, he managed to answer on the second ring. "Quent," he barked. He eyed Cale, who was asleep in the chair across from him. "Thank fucking God," a panicked voice said. "This is Drew Marcus." "No," Quent replied, "this is a nightmare." He reached out with his foot and kicked Cale awake. "What? Never mind. Listen, I'm over on Powder Mill Road. There's been a…I don't know. Marci's…dead." Qu
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After dropping Cale off at home, Quent had driven to the station. Apparently, Cynthia's murder had shocked the town's other petty criminals into taking a day off – everything was quiet. For which Quent was supremely thankful. Rob was manning the silent phone. He grinned when he saw Quent walk through the door. "Any leads, Chief?" "Don't call me that." Quent brushed by his sometimes-competent deputy and retreated to his office. When it looked as though Rob meant to follow, he slammed th
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Cale didn't move until he felt more in control. Then he swiftly made his way out of the apartment and down the stairs. He circled around the back of the house to reach the car, feeling far too off-balance to deal with polite goodbyes. But as he passed behind the tall hedge that circled the outdoor patio, he heard whispering. He slowed his pace despite himself and strained to pick up the conversation. He recognized both Marci and Jim's voices, but little else. There was, however, no mistaking the
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Quent dialed Directory Assistance. Obtaining Marci's home phone number, he dialed it one handed as he drove. Cale was starting out the window, ignoring him. "Hello, you've reached the Patterson residence. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Or, you can try me on my cell…." Quent memorized the cell phone number rattled off at the end of the message. He tried it next, and Marci picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" "Ms. Marci Patter
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Elizabeth tore through her wardrobe as though possessed. The victims of her little temper tantrum, thousand dollar dresses and equally expensive shoes, littered the floor of the large walk-in. She was so involved in the destruction that she never heard Cale come in. "What are you doing?" he asked in shock. Surprised, she spun around. For a minute, they stared at each other. Then Cale broke the silence. "Quent is on his way over. He said he has some questions for you." Elizabeth we
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The ride back to Cale's house was quiet. Cale appeared withdrawn and Quent wasn't feeling charitable enough to ask what was bothering him. He'd considered having Cale accompany him to his next stop, but whatever had upset his friend at Stahl's house had made him moody as well, and Quent was happy to drop him off at home and continue on alone. Cale climbed out of the car with a tired goodbye and Quent drove away before he'd even made it up the front steps. A sullen and moody Cale bored him.
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Cale rounded the corner of the house and Jim’s huge four-car garage came into view. He'd heard of the famous garage, of course. It was twice as big as Jim’s house and a never-ending source of gossip in town. He was curious himself to see what lay within, but apparently his curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied today. All four automatic doors were closed. He walked around the side of the building and spied Quent alongside an old jeep, his hand on the hood. Not wanting to startle his friend, Cale c
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The trip to Jim Stahl’s place only took ten minutes. It was, however, on the opposite side of town from the McCoy Mansion, which was a good indication of just how small Farther's Run was. Still, it was scenic – a shaded drive through wooded valleys and sun-drenched fields. This particular morning, Quent couldn't help but hate it. Occasionally, his picture perfect town turned his stomach. Much lurked beneath the surface, hiding behind tall brick walls and formal gardens. The previous night had sh
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Quent made his way back down the vast expanse of manicured lawn toward the body, taking notice of how the activity was finally dying down around the crime scene. The body itself was being bagged, getting ready for its long trip to the coroner’s office in the next town over. Farther's Run didn’t have a coroner. It didn’t have a medical examiner. It didn’t really even have a police force, but it did have Quent. For most people, that was enough, but in this case, outside assistance was necessa
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Moonlight filtered down through the trees, illuminating portions of the body. Fortunately, the full dramatic effect – especially for those with weak stomachs – was lost in the deep predawn shadows. Blood coated the ground around the twisted corpse of the woman – mostly in large splatters, but some in small pools. Her strawberry hair lay in a tangle around her neck, and her too-tight sweater dress was bunched in a knot high on her sticky, stained thighs. Cale wrinkled his nose in distaste at the
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One small town, two murders, and countless suspects. Irreverent police chief, Quent, and his reluctant side-kick, Cale McCoy, must discover the truth behind the crimes before anyone else loses their life. Circumstances become even more complicated when new kid in town, Drew Marcus, turns out to be the biggest mystery of all.
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"Will, could you come here for a minute?" Jon's voice penetrates the fog of numbers and figures circling in Will's head. Annoyed, but only for a moment, he looks up from the stack of papers in front of him, keeping one finger on the column he was tallying. "Yeah?" Jon glances over his shoulder, then points at the computer screen. "What the hell does this mean?" Fighting the desire to sigh, Will abandons the problem he was figuring, stands, and stretches. His back cracks loud enoug
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