Something Wicked Read Free Page A

of a double homicide earlier in the year, which was still under investigation. The case had languished for months with no new information.
    Savannah walked a few steps closer to the behemoth of a house, her eyes taking in the red tile roof and the wrought-iron filigree of the Spanish Colonial. It was too dangerous to enter, but she wasn’t in need of going inside, as it wasn’t the one with the reported vagrants. That house was coming up on her right—a Northwest contemporary—and, though it was still standing on firm ground, given enough time, it looked to be in definite peril of crashing down to the beach far below. She could smell smoke in the damp air. The nut bag inside had built himself or herself a fire.
    She hoped to God it was in one of the fireplaces.
    Waiting impatiently for Clausen, she let her gaze fall to her own wide stomach, which was already straining her jacket’s buttons. Man, she was going to be glad to be herself again. This “looking like a beached whale” thing was highly overrated, no matter what anyone said.
    Five minutes later Clausen pulled into the drive in a department-issued black Jeep with TILLAMOOK COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT slashed across it in italicized, bold yellow letters. Someone had dubbed the officers bumblebees, which was maybe better than pigs, but the jury was still out on that.
    Clausen, midfifties, with short gray hair and a roundish body, which he was constantly trying to keep from becoming full-on fat, stalked up to her hatless, water coalescing in his hair. “Stay out here,” he ordered.
    â€œBite me,” she returned.
    â€œJesus, Dunbar. Pregnancy has made you unreasonable.”
    â€œCranky, yes, but I’m the voice of reason.”
    He shot her a look that could have meant anything and then headed to the front door and turned the knob. “Locked,” he said.
    â€œMust be a way in.”
    â€œStay here. I’ll go around the back.”
    She bit back what she wanted to say about that and let him commandeer the investigation as he was her senior and felt he was just plain better than she was, anyway. Tamping down her annoyance, she stepped onto the porch and kept her eyes on the front door, flanked by two shuttered windows. The owners of this house had all but abandoned it, as had most of those who owned property here, and she could see the first signs of neglect: blistering paint on the siding, a yard where dandelions and crabgrass were edging out the lawn, a weathered welcome sign that listed to one side.
    Her cell phone blooped , meaning someone had sent her a text, and she glanced down at her pocket, debating about checking it.
    Suddenly the front lock clicked loudly, and the door swung inward. Savannah placed her hand on the butt of her gun, which was sticking up from her hip holster. A man came staggering through, his eyes wild, his breathing rapid. He stopped short upon seeing Savannah. His hair was chin length, matted and separated, and his beard was an uneven mess of brown and gray. If he’d changed his clothes in this decade, she would have been surprised. His denim jeans were more brown than blue, and his shirt was also brown, though she suspected it hadn’t started out that color. She hoped to hell it was from dirt.
    â€œOhhh . . .” he said, his eyes traveling down to her girth. He staggered forward, and she stepped back, her hand yanking out the gun.
    â€œDon’t move,” she ordered fiercely, but his hands reached out and his palms spread over her belly, even while she held up her gun.
    â€œA baby,” he said, his mouth showing a gap-toothed smile.
    Her barrel was pointed at his chin, but he didn’t seem to notice. She hesitated, her heart pounding, and then Clausen shot through the door behind him, saw he was right in front of her, grabbed the guy by his collar, and yanked him backward, hard.
    â€œPolice! Get down on the ground!” he ordered. His own gun had