Chapter 14

Unlike her daughter Cinnamon, Lava Lambert loved her name. She also loved the sleepy little town they called home. It gave off a pink aura, which made her feel comfortable enough to make an attempt to grow roots there. Being a single parent had been tough on her, yet she managed to raise a very mature and intelligent daughter—one she didn’t always see eye-to-eye with. Lava liked to blame it on their Zodiac signs. She was a Scorpio and Cinnamon was a Leo. Water and fire were complete opposites. She could attest to that. Lava believed in things she couldn’t see or touch, something Cinnamon never could fully understand. Before she would blindly believe in something that wasn’t tangible, one had to provide many facts to Cinnamon’s stern scientific mind. They clashed often, spiritual Lava silent as a frustrated Cinnamon lectured. There never was a declared winner during their many deliberations.

Darkness fell over the sky with a hint of lavender on the horizon. Lava drove slowly, listening to music of the 70’s and humming off-key. She had spent the day at the retirement home on the south side of town, teaching yogi exercises to the able-bodied residents. When Lava had to entrust her mother to the tender care of a retirement home ten years ago, she had promised herself that she would devote a day a week, volunteering at one no matter where she lived. So many of the residents were lonely, rarely getting visitors. Lava had a feeling that she would probably end up in one when she was beyond caring for herself. But she didn’t worry about that now. She was in her prime, even if she was almost touching forty.

She slammed on her car brakes the moment she turned onto her street. Every nerve fiber, every goose bump emitted a chill that almost caused her to faint from over stimulation. Something wasn’t right with the aura. Her intuition told her to run, to turn around and not look back. But she couldn’t. She had a daughter to think about—not her own cowardly hide. With her stomach fluttering with a million butterflies, Lava drove down the street. She pulled into her driveway without noticing the patrol car sitting in front of Roman Ouellette’s house, nor the one across the street at the creepy McHenry house. What she noticed was a tall man of sculptured stone standing at her door, arm poised as if to knock. Her headlights blinded him and he was the epitome of a deer caught in headlights. His badge glowed ominously right before she cut the lights and killed the engine.

Lava hurried out of the car, as he stood waiting. Her bag caught in the door handle, causing her to bounce back against the car. She fought with it, but it wouldn’t untangle. The officer stood for a moment watching her. When it was obvious she was losing, he hurried over to help her.

“Let me do it. You’re making it worse.” His voice was very gruff and full of testosterone, the kind that men of authority love to use. He was six feet, give or take an inch. He towered over her five-foot frame. She felt small and helpless, as he worked to free the handles of her bag. “There you go. You were going clockwise when you should have went counter clockwise.”

“Thank you,” she said, as she took her bag from him, feeling like a character in a Three Stooges film. He followed her to the porch. She climbed the front steps but stopped when she was slightly taller than him. She looked down at him and asked, “May I help you?”

His bemused expression flitted briefly. He mastered it and put on his professional mask. Extending his hand he introduced himself, “I’m Sheriff Eric Eckle. And I’m here to talk to you about the murder of Mrs. Moira Denton and the break-in at the McHenry house.”

WC 8870