Something to Dye For (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #2) Read online

  Something to Dye For

  (Curl Up and DYE Mysteries, #2)

  Copyright © 2016 Aimee Nicole Walker

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover photograph and interior photos © Wander Aguiar – www.wanderaguiar.com

  Cover art © Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art – www.jayscoversbydesign.com

  Editing provided by Pam Ebeler of Undivided Editing – www.undividedediting.com

  Proofreading provided by Judy Zweifel of Judy’s Proofreading – www.judysproofreading.com

  Interior Design and Formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats – www.champagneformats.com

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original publisher only.

  This book contains sexually explicit material and is only intended for adult readers.

  Copyrights and Trademarks:

  Keurig

  Andrew Christian

  Michael Kors

  Netflix

  Phantom of the Opera

  Dodge Charger

  Miami Vice

  Fiat

  Three Stooges

  The Ellen DeGeneres Show

  Jell-O

  Annalise Keating – How to Get Away With Murder

  Red Lobster

  Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood

  PBS

  American Legion

  Happy Days

  Joanie loves Chachi

  Mimi – The Drew Carey Show

  Care Bear

  Charlie’s Angels

  CSI

  The Price is Right

  Danger, Will Robinson – Lost in Space

  March Madness – NCAA

  Get out of Jail Free card – Monopoly

  Superman – DC Comics

  “Strip it Down” – Luke Bryan

  “Like a Wrecking Ball” – Eric Church

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Aimee Nicole Walker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Amy Keating Casey,

  If I thought of you while writing certain parts of this book, then it stands to reason that you should get the book dedication. I crazy love your enthusiasm for your favorite teams. #GoBucks #Who-Dey #Redlegs

  MY RINGING CELLPHONE BROUGHT me out of a deep sleep. I had to untangle myself from Josh in order to roll over and pick it up from the night table. I squinted sleepily at the display, which said it was an unknown caller.

  “Detective Wyatt,” I said into the phone.

  “Sorry to wake you, Detective,” said a voice I vaguely recognized. “This is Sheriff Arless Tucker with the Carter County Sheriff’s Department.”

  I sat up straight, going instantly on high alert. I knew that the sheriff of our county wasn’t calling me in the middle of the night just to say howdy. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “I’m at the scene of what appears to be a homicide on highway twenty-two and I was hoping to get your assistance,” Sheriff Tucker said.

  I was confused about why he’d be calling me because our jurisdiction didn’t extend out to the county roads and highways. “Sure, Sheriff Tucker, but can I ask why you’re calling me?”

  “The man has been run off the road then shot in the head.” Again, I wasn’t sure where I came into play. “There was no driver’s license on the victim, but we did find your business card in his wallet. Can you come down and ID the body?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” A sick feeling came over me as I realized who the victim most likely was. I disconnected the call and just sat there for a few minutes. If it was indeed Nate Turner, then what the hell was he doing in my county? I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was coming to find me and had brought hell with him.

  Josh let out a sweet sigh and the sound made me want to say fuck it and snuggle back down in the blankets with him. My conscience wouldn’t let me ignore the request for help from Sheriff Tucker though. Besides, all he was asking me for was an identification, even though I found it odd that Nate didn’t have his license in his wallet, but he had my business card.

  I hated to wake Josh when he was sleeping so soundly in my bed, but I didn’t want him to wake up and wonder where I had gone. I slid my hand beneath the cover and placed it at the small of his back while I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  “Gabe,” he said sleepily, “I adore your cock, but I’m too tired to ride your joystick.” He never lost his snark, not even in his sleep.

  “Oh, come on, baby,” I whispered huskily in his ear.

  Josh’s hand snaked out from where it had been tucked beneath his chest and grabbed my dick then squeezed. “Just give me a few hours to rest my asshole and my mouth. Then I’ll be all over this hunk of meat.” His mouth opened wide for a yawn before he said, “Go do what you need to, but be careful. Wear extra layers so you don’t become Detective Numb Nuts. I do have many plans for them.”

  I was quickly learning that Josh used humor and sarcasm to cover just about every emotion he had, especially when he wanted to mask affection and concern. My heart pinched tight in my chest and I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. He would only admit that he liked me. I was willing to accept that L word for the time being.

  I pressed my lips to his ear and whispered, “I really like you.” His only acknowledgment of my words was another sweet sigh as he returned to the land of dreams.

  I threw back the covers and hustled my naked ass to my dresser to throw on clothes. I loved sleeping naked beside Josh whenever one of us slept over at the other’s place, but the moments between leaving the bed and getting dressed felt like days in the drafty house I rented. Flannel and long johns were things I never expected to own when I lived in Florida, but I was a proud owner of several pair of long johns and a variety of flannel shirts. I could’ve moved back to Florida when the relationship that brought me to southern Ohio ended, but something kept me here. I glanced back over at the bed and saw the sleeping form of the man who touched me in ways I had never experienced or even expected. I altered my thinking from something kept me there to someone kept me there.

  Josh Roman was worth freezing my nuts off.

  Buddy moved from the foot of the bed to take my spot beside Josh, as if to tell me that he’d take watch over my guy. Whoever abandoned Buddy on a cold, rainy night in November did me a solid. I could’ve looked the world over and never found a dog as wonderful as him. “Atta boy,” I said softly before I left my bedroom.

  I remote started my car and made my
self a cup of coffee while it warmed up. My chattering teeth was the only sound I heard in my silent neighborhood on the way to my car. I had learned not to let the sleepy town fool me; evil and depravity lived everywhere and Blissville was no exception.

  I cranked up the heat and navigated my way through the streets of town then the dark county road, being extra careful to avoid patches of black ice. I saw the emergency lights flashing in the distance not long after I left town limits. I pulled over to the side of the road the best I could, without getting my car stuck in the freshly plowed snow from the recent storm that came through. I turned my emergency blinkers on and made my way over to the uniforms standing around the scene of what looked like a car accident.

  “Hold up,” one of the uniformed deputies said when I approached. “This is official sheriff’s business.” His tone of voice was grating and the arrogant look on his face had me instantly disliking him. There was a way of conducting yourself in a professional, authoritative way without sounding like a dick face, but apparently, the jackass missed that particular training session.

  I pulled my badge off my belt and held it up. “I’m here on official business,” I replied calmly, even though his attitude didn’t deserve the respect I showed him. “Sheriff Tucker called me and asked me to come to the scene.” His attitude didn’t improve when I identified myself.

  I heard the sheriff say, “Stand down and let the man through, Billy.”

  The brick wall had no intention of moving, which felt oddly personal to me for a man I’d never met before. As I shouldered past him, I heard the words “queer boy” being muttered beneath his breath. Ahh, that was the asshole’s problem. I might not have known him but he’d apparently heard about me. If I hadn’t been on official police business, I would’ve stopped and confronted him. I had a strong feeling that I’d get my chance in the near future; equally foreboding was the feeling that this thing with Nate Turner wasn’t going away once I made an identification.

  “Over here, Detective Wyatt.” Sheriff Tucker walked toward the single-car accident and I followed behind him. The flashing red and blue lights from the deputies’ cars mixed with the yellow lights of the tow truck waiting for the scene to be cleared so he could haul the car off. The only things that were missing from a typical accident were the EMTs and ambulance, but the presence of the county coroner van explained their absence.

  “Holy shit,” I said when I caught sight of the damage to the vehicle. It had hit a tree head-on and the impact to the car looked hard enough to kill a person without the extra bullet that the sheriff had told me about.

  “Come over to this side,” Tucker said, gesturing to the passenger side of the car. “Let me tell you, someone really wanted this guy dead.” The sheriff shook his head slowly and stepped aside so I could get a view of the victim inside the car. “Ran the plates and the car came back as belonging to a Nate Turner from Cincinnati. That him?”

  I leaned forward and looked inside the car. Nate’s dead eyes stared at me from where his head rested on the deflated airbag. His skin was deathly white, his lips were blue, and dried blood splotched his face from where the bullet entered his forehead. The back of his head didn’t fare as well when the bullet exited his skull, as blood and brain matter splattered the driver side door.

  “That’s him.” I stood up and faced the sheriff. “What the hell happened here?”

  “Looks like he lost control of his car over there,” Tucker lit up tire tracks in snow with his flashlight, “came down the embankment and hit this tree head-on.” Tucker walked around to the rear of the driver side of the luxury sedan and pointed to dents at the corner of the trunk and rear quarter panel. “He was obviously hit before he lost control.” Sheriff Tucker turned off his flashlight and faced me. “The passenger window was broken–either from the impact or done purposely–and the killer leaned in and fired one bullet into Turner’s skull. The bullet exited his skull and shattered the driver side window. We’ve been unable to find the spent bullet or the casing and any usable footprints in the snow were destroyed by the first officers on the scene.” None of that was good news to hear when investigating a homicide.

  Jesus, Nate! You should’ve called the damn cops like I told you. “Damn,” I said to the sheriff. “Someone really wanted to make sure he was dead.”

  “How do you know him, Detective?” Sheriff Tucker asked.

  “He owns a club in Cincinnati that I’ve been to a few times.” My answer was met with a snicker from the dickhead deputy somewhere behind me. I thought our moment of reckoning might come sooner than I first predicted.

  “Find something to do, Sampson,” Sheriff Tucker bellowed loudly over my shoulder. Once my ear stopped ringing, I was grateful to have the full name of my new nemesis. Billy Sampson. “You were saying, Detective.”

  “I gave him my card when we met at his club a little over a year ago.” I left out the part where Nate had gotten up close and personal with my ass. It wasn’t relevant to the story. “He called me a little over a month ago and asked me to come see him. He said he needed my help.”

  “What kind of help?” the sheriff asked when I paused to breathe. Damn, I was getting there.

  “Nate’s car had been vandalized one night and then he started receiving threatening emails. He was visibly shaken by the tone of them and I thought he wanted advice on what to do.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “He didn’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t want the police department digging into his personal life or business dealings to find out who was threatening him,” I told the sheriff.

  “So why’d he call you then?” Tucker asked.

  That question was trickier. There was nothing Nate had said during our meeting that indicated that he wanted me to do anything illegal. It was his body language, gestures, and the fact that he refused to involve the police. Someone killed Nate and I owed it to him to be as honest as I could be so that his killer was brought to justice. “I got the impression he wanted to hire me to find the person through non-legal channels. He didn’t say as much, but it was the feeling I had. He wasn’t happy about my refusal nor with me for repeating my recommendation to phone the police.”

  “Let’s head to the station to talk,” Tucker said. I couldn’t tell from his tone if he believed me or not.

  Regardless, I followed him to the Carter County Sheriff’s Department. Once we arrived, he showed me to his office and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. He had his own Keurig setup in his office so I figured why not. It wasn’t like I was worried about them running my prints in connection to ones found on Nate’s car. I had never touched that car, not even at the scene of the accident. I made myself a cup of coffee and relaxed into the chair across from his desk. I had done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide from Sheriff Tucker.

  “Can you recall what the threatening emails said?” he asked.

  “Vividly,” I replied, setting my cup down on his desk. “The first one included a photo of Nate inspecting his damaged tires outside of his club. It told him how easy he could’ve been killed then, but where was the fun in that?” I looked at the sheriff and said, “I’m paraphrasing here. I can remember the content, but the exact wording might be off.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded for me to continue.

  “The other email included photos of Nate inside his house. He was nude in them and doing various things like talking on the phone while holding a coffee cup or looking out the back door in the direction of the person taking the photo. The message said something about it was a shame to waste a cock like his then referenced cutting off his dick and making Nate choke on it.”

  “Ouch.” Sheriff sat back in his chair and I could tell he was fighting the urge to cover his privates. It was a kneejerk reaction to hearing about someone losing their cock. “Was there anything else that you can remember?”

  “Nate said he responded to one of the messages, I think it was the first one. He said that his email was returned with an e
rror message that stated the email address he sent it to didn’t exist. I also noted that the emails were sent at the exact same time of day each time they were sent.”

  “And that was?” he asked.

  “Two in the afternoon.”

  “Do you mind if CSU looks at your car for evidence of damage and are you willing to have a gunshot residue test performed on your hands?” Tucker asked.

  I had never been accused or questioned about an involvement in a crime. I had told Tucker everything that I knew. It galled me to be doubted, but I had nothing to hide from him. “I’ll agree to both things.”

  “Good man,” Tucker said, then rose to his feet. “I’ll send a deputy in here to perform the GSR test.”

  A friendly deputy, who identified herself as Hannah Arnold, performed the test on my hands. I sat in Tucker’s office and drank coffee while I waited for him to give me the all clear. It took him a lot longer than I appreciated, but he finally dragged his ass back into his office a little before six.

  “You’re free to go, Detective.” No apologies for holding me longer than necessary or doubting me in the first place. “If you think of anything else…”

  “…You’ll be the first to know,” I finished for him on my way out of his office.

  I locked eyes with the homophobic deputy on my way out the door. I wanted so badly to let Billy Sampson know what I thought about him, but I knew it wasn’t the right time. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that our time to have words would come. Instead, I puckered up my lips into a kissy face at him and headed out into the cold.

  A chill worked its way down my spine, that had nothing to do with the subzero temperature, as I made my way to my car. I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I was being watched, and not by some camera in the parking lot. This presence was dark and ominous. I looked around me to see if I could find the source, but I couldn’t. Nor could I shake off the feeling that Nate Turner had practically brought his trouble to my front door.

  IT SHOCKED ME HOW addicted I’d become to sleeping beside Gabe, even though it was only a few nights a week. I hated waking up alone, especially in his bed, but I understood it would happen sometimes. I fell back to sleep easily enough after Gabe left because he had worn me out the night before. I swear, the man fucked me like he’d never have another go at my ass. I thought maybe it was the hard knock he took to the head in early December when he investigated the murder of our town’s former first lady.