Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) Read Free Page A

a few deep breaths and headed to the boathouse. Sorry God. We’ll talk later.
    At the bottom of the hill, a shudder ran through me, forging iron posts where my feet had been. Shivers jiggled up and down my spine, and the hair on my arms spiked up. I headed toward the water. A few months ago, I had walked out onto the dock with Del. He, laden with a fragrant bag of pastries, walked with one arm too firmly wrapped around me. I, for one mad moment, was stiff with the certainty that he wanted to shove me into the icy waters. How had I not seen the end of my marriage coming? And where was God when I needed Him? Why hadn’t He stepped in and stopped the destruction?
    Reaching the bench, I thumped down on it. How stupidly proud of this bench he’d once been, and of how he’d “requisitioned” it from the city. “ What’s the difference between ‘requisition’ and stealing, Del? ”
    “ Can’t you just shut it, Jo? Or are you going to ruin another day in paradise for me? ”
    We see what we want to see. I sat a moment longer. If this bench could have taken me back to the way things were, would I have stayed seated? Or would I have been strong enough to get up, move, and find my own path forward?
    I jumped up and walked to the boathouse. Over-sized porthole windows flanked the doors facing the lake. Someone had moved a large storage cabinet in front of one of the windows. A piece of dark cloth hung crookedly inside the other. Odd.
    The heavy plank doors hung open several inches. Were Del and Tamra inside? Gentle splashing against the dock, the breeze flowing through the river birch, and morning birds all sounded in the early spring air. No noise came from within the shed. What were they doing, if they were in there? Do I really want to know?
    I conjured up the image of my porcelain soup tureen, with its hand-painted tulips and violets adorning the edges and smooth, white, rabbit-shaped handle. Andy’d made it clear I had to ask for the few remaining things I really wanted back, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.
    Ask permission. A streak of fire raged through me. I shook my head to extinguish it.
    I closed to a few feet from the boathouse door. Something was very wrong. Dizziness rolled over me as an assault of thick smells wafted out between the heavy doors. I braced my feet, willing myself to stop moving forward. Even though the scents were repulsive, I leaned in.
    I could reach out and touch the doors. Every fiber of my being screamed ‘ don’t .’ I leaned in a little further. Until it hit. An odiferous attack—a tangy metallic mixed up with mildew, turpentine, rust, and earthworms.
    There was the telltale buzzing. I put my hand on the door handle, creaking it open several more inches. The buzzing gave way for a moment. Positioned within five feet of the door, as if it were pointing, was a bloody deck shoe.
    I followed the line of the shoe to the edge of a dark red pool of blood—the way to my husband and his lover, holding each other closer in death than he and I had ever been in life. Then, I ran out of breath. I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
    I clenched my hand over my mouth, backed away from the boathouse, turned, and threw up.
    Automatically, I pulled out my work cell and hit 9-1-1. “This is Haversport Chief of Police Jo Oliver, calling from my home at 1020 Loon Drive in Wauconda. Reporting a double homicide. Of my husband and his mistress. I found them on the floor of my boathouse on Bangs Lake.”
    Dispatch asked rapid-fire questions, words floating around me, dreamlike.
    “…double homicide …your husband, ma’am?”
    “Yes, my husband and his mistress.”
    “Ma’am?”
    “Officer Del Reed. And his girlfriend. Send out teams stat .”
    I hung up while she was asking me to stay on the line, scrolling through pictures to find Nick’s chiseled features, his flawless olive skin. I pressed my thumb against his cheek and waited for the solid comfort of his voice in my ear. Please be