Tin God by Stacy Green Page A

headlights illuminated the metal trailers that lined the drive. Jaymee watched until the bright beams faded away, and the trailer court was left with only the gray glow of the old security light. Blood roared through her veins and pounded in her ears.
    After all this time, all the years of self-loathing and regret, her chance for justice had finally emerged. Debra Davies was still out there, still lying and likely stealing children. Holden Wilcher was no doubt helping her. How many lives had they ruined? Lana had obviously gotten too close. So had Rebecca.
    Jaymee knew she should be afraid, but she felt only rage and adrenaline. Sarah was coming home if it killed her.

9
    Nick met Cage at the police station early the next morning operating on little sleep and nearly a full pot of coffee. Running faster than a movie reel, his mind refused to rest. Why hadn’t Lana confided in him? She could have kept Jaymee’s name out of it. He would have helped find out the truth.
    The truth . The answer to his question stared him in the face with ugly clarity. She hadn’t confided in him because he wouldn’t have listened. Mired in his own workload and ego, he would have brushed her theory off as nothing more than her soft heart and imagination working overtime.
    Shoving the heavy guilt aside, he stepped into the shabby office behind Cage.
    “You’re Lana’s husband. Mighty sorry for your loss.” Detective Charles was a good thirty pounds overweight with a perpetually flushed face. He folded thick hands over a pile of folders and eyed Nick with the caginess of a seasoned cop.
    “Thank you.” Nick and Cage sat in Detective Charles’s cramped office. Nick clutched yet another cup of coffee.
    “Visiting?”
    “Something like that.”
    Charles grunted. His too-small chair squeaked in pain as he shifted to glare at Cage. “Why the hell did you call the medical examiner about Rebecca Newton?”
    Cage adjusted his deputy badge. Nick rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for a jurisdictional pissing contest.
    “Needed to see the body,” Cage said.
    “Why?”
    Cage wagged two fingers in Nick’s direction. Charles grimaced and focused his glare on Nick. “Get to the point, boys. Dealing with the first murder in Roselea in six years is hard enough, not to mention it was the wife of the town’s wealthiest man and happened in one of Mississippi’s grand old homes. The mayor and the chief are already on my ass.”
    Nick tossed the bag with the letter onto Charles’s desk. “This came to my address in Jackson on Wednesday.”
    Charles smoothed the bag and squinted at the typewritten note inside. The detective’s right eye twitched as he read the note. “Wednesday what time?”
    “Midmorning. Turn it over, envelope’s behind it, postmarked in Jackson.” Nick paused for a moment giving the detective time to process the note. “I don’t have to point out the resemblance between my wife and Rebecca.”
    “No.”
    “You see what we’re getting at?” Cage said.
    “Yeah. But mail don’t travel that fast, first off.”
    “You know Rebecca’s murder was most likely premeditated. Could have been sent before.”
    “Royce Newton was in Jackson when her body was found,” Nick said.
    “Yeah, and that’s his alibi too.”
    “Verified?” Cage asked.
    “Man’s got credit card receipts for gas. No hotel, though. Says he stayed with a friend.”
    “You think he’s good for it?” Cage asked.
    “Don’t know.” Charles yanked open a drawer, grabbed a piece of gum, and stuck it in his mouth. The scent of cinnamon filled the tiny office. “He didn’t roll in until noon the day after we found her, even though we’d notified him the afternoon before. Claimed he was too upset to drive. He was nervous enough in the interview. But he’s soft. Missing some backbone.”
    “Rumors are circling about Rebecca having an affair,” Cage said.
    “Yeah, but there’s nothing to back that up. Even Jonas, tour guide savant, doesn’t