Free Blood of Eden by Tami Dane Page A

troubles,” the neighbor said. “It was strange. He seemed to be living with her. But only for a month or so. I believe he moved out only last week.”
    â€œMoved out?” I repeated, giving JT a pointed look.
    JT’s lips thinned. His neck turned red. He swung around and glared at Debbie Richardson’s house.
    Trey Chapman’s car was gone.
    The neighbor continued talking. “Yes, I heard some fighting. And then I saw him packing up his car. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t been back since.”
    â€œHe was in the house today,” I told her.
    She grimaced. “Really? That surprises me. I don’t think the breakup was a friendly one.”
    Now I was confused. Trey hadn’t mentioned that he was an ex -fiancé. I kicked myself for not looking in the bedroom closet. That would’ve told us if he was living there or not. I could say 100 percent for certain that I hadn’t noticed any man gear in the master bathroom. No shavers, shaving cream, aftershave, hair products. No toilet seat left up. That should’ve raised some red flags.
    I was the world’s worst detective.
    All of this raised one vital question: if he’d broken up with Debbie Richardson, what was he doing at the house today?
    â€œDid you notice if your neighbor was sick recently?” I asked. “Did she have the flu in the past couple of weeks? Did she miss work at all?”
    â€œNo. I don’t think so.”
    JT, who was visibly gritting his teeth, handed the woman a card. “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please feel free to call me.”
    We both looked back at Deborah Richardson’s house.
    â€œDamn it!” JT mumbled as he stomped toward the home once more.
    We weren’t going to get back in the house now. Nor were we going to get the chance to ask Trey Chapman if he was a fiancé or an ex-fiancé.
    Walking alongside a visibly frustrated JT, I asked, “Do you think the neighbor’s right about the breakup?”
    JT paused in front of the house. “If she is, Trey Chapman should go to the top of the persons-of-interest list.” He rammed his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to make a call, let the lead detective know what we found out. We need to verify whether they were broken up or not, ASAP.” He went to his car.
    â€œWhat do you think? Workplace next?” I suggested over his car’s roof. “Maybe someone there will know if they broke up.”
    â€œGood thinking.” JT jerked the door open and slumped into the seat.
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    After having a quick chat with Debbie Richardson’s most recent employer, we were stumped. She hadn’t called in sick, not once in over a year. She’d shown no signs of illness prior to her death, and she’d said nothing about any troubles with her fiancé. I spent the car ride back to the FBI Academy staring at the notes I’d scrawled in my notebook. There’d been no mention today of vampires; I decided to ask JT, “Have we given up on the notion that some kind of paranormal activity played a role in this death?”
    Navigating his car onto a freeway that looked more like a parking lot than a highway, JT shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
    â€œSo, do you really believe there are paranormal creatures out there, committing crimes—assault, rape, murder?” When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “I promise, I won’t tell the chief if you don’t believe in ghosts and goblins.” Still nothing. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks the whole paranormal angle is a joke.”
    â€œOkay.” He sighed. The car rolled to a stop behind a school bus packed full of kids. They were making funny faces at us through the back windows. He made one back at them. “You’re not the only one. I have a few doubts.” He inched the car forward when the bus moved up. “I took