Page 2 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

The medical examiner had already been summoned.

She would need to give the official declaration, but the damage was clear enough.

Bree’s gaze was pulled to the blood-splattered lamp and ceiling.

Separate from the arterial spray, these smaller spatters had been flicked from the bloody murder weapon after it left the victim’s flesh.

“That’s one nasty wound,” Zucco said from the kitchen. “And what’s the deal with the position of her head? It almost looks like they tried to rip it off.”

The victim’s head was tipped backward and twisted at an odd angle, as if the killer had tried to make her bleed more—or faster—or possibly tried to break her neck.

She was a petite brunette with shoulder-length hair.

She wore pale gray lounge pants and a matching loose sweater.

Blood had soaked her lovely outfit, run from the cushion, and dripped to the floor, where it had spread in a large puddle and dried.

Her feet were bare, but a pair of sheepskin slippers sat between the couch and the square cocktail ottoman.

A wooden tray on the ottoman held a single mug.

A tea bag string and tag dangled next to the mug’s handle.

She spotted a possible smudge from a shoe at the edge of the blood puddle, but no bloody footprints walking away. Either she was wrong about the smudge and the killer had moved backward as the blood spread, or they’d removed their shoes before stepping out of the puddle.

Bree leaned forward to get a better look at the victim’s face. One cheek was pressed into the leather. Her face looked fine, but Bree wouldn’t want to show the remains to a family member for identification purposes, not with that wound. “Are we sure the victim is the homeowner?”

“The tile guy said it was.”

“Did you see a purse anywhere?” Bree glanced around.

Zucco jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “On the table by the glass doors.”

Bree backtracked to the kitchen. A folding snack table stood behind the power tools.

The purse on it was black, medium-size, and appeared stylish to Bree, who admittedly had no sense of style whatsoever.

Bree released the metal clasp. The contents were organized.

She withdrew a black leather wallet and opened it to view a driver’s license.

“Kelly Gibson, age forty-five, brown eyes, five feet, three inches tall. Description fits.” She carried the wallet back to the family room and compared the photo to the victim.

Kelly’s cheeks were a little thinner than in her license photo, as if she’d lost weight, but her features were the same. “Looks like her.”

Bree looked through the rest of the wallet. “Cash and credit cards are still here.”

“Purse was in plain sight,” Zucco said. “Not a robbery.”

“No.” Bree retreated to the kitchen and returned the wallet to the purse. “The ME should be here soon. Chief Harvey and Investigator Flynn are both on their way.”

Matt Flynn was Bree’s part-time investigator.

The rural sheriff’s department budget didn’t allow for a full-time detective, but Matt worked as a civilian consultant whenever a difficult case popped up.

He was also her live-in ... boyfriend?

Boyfriend sounded casual—and young. What did people in their thirties call the man who shared their life and their home?

They weren’t engaged, but they were definitely in a committed relationship.

“Start recording the scene. I want pictures and videos of everything. Check all doors and windows for signs of forced entry.”

Bree went outside and gulped the cool, damp air. Two more patrol vehicles had arrived. Her chief deputy, Todd Harvey, walked toward her. She summed up the scene. “The snow is almost gone. The yard is going to be a muddy mess in a few more hours.”

“I’ll get a couple of deputies to search the surrounding area ASAP.”

“Include the whole block in case the killer parked in front of another house and walked over here.”

Todd nodded. “We’ll do a door-to-door too. Maybe a neighbor saw something or captured the killer on a home security camera.”

“Kelly Gibson has a doorbell camera. Let’s get access to it.”

“Have you seen her phone?” Todd asked.

“Next to the body,” Bree said. “Rory should be able to gain access.” Rory MacIniss was the digital and tech expert in their forensics department.

Todd gestured toward Antonio. “What do you want to do with the tile guy?”

Bree glanced at Antonio, who stood in the street between his van and Juarez’s cruiser.

His hands were shoved into the pockets of his parka, his shoulders hunched.

“Have a deputy accompany him to the station. Get him to sign a statement. We need his fingerprints and shoe tread impressions for elimination purposes. Run a background check. If nothing relevant pops up, he’s free to go. ”

“Do I need to make any calls?”

“The ME is on her way. Matt should be here any minute. I’ll call forensics now.

” Bree glanced back at the house. “We’re going to need more deputies.

As soon as we have an approximate time of death, we’ll start that neighborhood canvass.

Have Marge check real estate records on the house.

Copy me and Marge on everything you’re doing in case you have to leave suddenly. How’s Cady?”

Cady was Todd’s girlfriend—and Matt’s sister. She was ready to have a baby any day.

“Uncomfortable but good. Scared but excited.”

Bree smiled. “If you need to go, you go.” She waved a hand to indicate the crime scene. “This is not as important.”

“No worries. I won’t hesitate. She’s my world.” A dazed look crossed his face. He shook it off. “But the doctor said it could be another two weeks, so I’ll get back to work now.” He pointed to the house. “Because that woman deserves justice.”

Kelly Gibson had been killed in a horrific act of brutal violence. Whoever had killed her could not be allowed to get away with murder.

An angry male voice yelled, “What is going on here? Kelly!”