One Last Breath by Sarah Sutton (speld decodable readers txt) 📗

back room, next to the counter. The door wasn’t fully ajar, but Tara could see from where she was standing that it was cracked slightly, with light shining through it into the room they stood in.

The shop owner’s head shot in his direction. “Hey!” he yelled. “I didn’t give you permission to go back there.” His hands gripped the counter tighter.

“I haven’t gone back there,” Warren replied, still staring into the room. “Why, should I?”

The shop owner grew flustered, realizing he had just created suspicion. “I have a dog back there,” he sneered uneasily. “He’s uh…he’s sleeping, but he’s not very friendly.”

It was clearly a lie, and Tara knew Warren saw it too. He nodded. Warren would need probable cause to enter the room, and there was certainly something back there that the shop owner didn’t want them to see. Tara threw another question at him, helping to buy Warren more time.

“Where were you Wednesday night?” she asked. It was the night Reese went missing.

Redness seeped to the surface of his skin. Tara’s questions were making him anxious. “Why?” he asked. “I was here.”

“Did anyone else see you here?”

His nails were now digging into the wood. He thought for a moment, as if questioning what he should say. “I was alone,” he finally responded.

He had no alibi. Reese had probably walked right by this shop on the way to the beach. He was looking increasingly suspicious.

Suddenly, Warren walked closer to the back room. “Can you tell me why you have chemist’s beakers in a kayak shop?” he asked. The shop owner’s face grew bright red. Warren stuck his nose in the air, trying to catch a scent he had picked up. Tara moved closer, and after focusing on picking up the scent, she soon smelled it too. Under the lingering smell of marijuana, a potent scent stung her nose. It smelled almost like cleaning products, like ammonia. Tara knew of only one drug that could potentially carry that odor: meth.

Warren walked into the room, while Tara stood by the door frame, keeping her eye on the owner.

“Looks like someone’s been cooking meth back here,” Warren said loudly.

The shop owner opened his mouth, but he was at a loss for words to defend himself. His face grew redder, and he had now certainly created marks in the wood counter with his nail-digging grip. He stood tense, his eyes shifting between Tara and the front door. He was about to run, she could feel it. But she didn’t even have a second to react before…

He hurdled over the counter and took off, springing to the front door. Tara and Warren both whipped around as he flung the door open, fumbling for keys in his pocket. But before he even stepped outside, his foot hit the doorframe, and he went tumbling forward.

It didn’t take long for Tara to be on top of him, cuffing him and leading him to the car. He was clearly high. His reactions were slowed, but Tara didn’t suspect he was on meth. She knew enough about toxicology to know that he would be acting much differently.

Once he was placed in the car, Warren came out into the parking lot moments later. “Looks like a meth lab. I don’t know if it was all the time, though. It wasn’t a lot. My guess is he does it here when the shop is closed.”

“Did you find anything else?” Tara asked. A meth lab was not what they were searching for.

“I went through everything,” he replied. “All the drawers, all the shelving. I didn’t find too much, but I did find these.” He held out three pictures, and Tara took them. They were each pictures of one single girl. One was Reese, one was Alyssa, and the other she had never seen before. They each stood behind the counter, smiling at the camera. “Seems odd he would keep those,” Warren added.

“Who’s this?” Tara asked as she held up the picture of the third unknown girl.

Warren shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think we should find out.”

Tara nodded as they headed to the car. She had her doubts before these images, but now she wondered, could this third girl be next?

***

The shop owner sat in an interrogation room of the police station. They had already learned that his name was Timothy Morris. He had owned the shop for five years, after purchasing it from some guy who wanted to retire.

“And you cook meth out of it in your off time?” Tara questioned.

He winced. He wasn’t going to reply, but they already knew the answer.

Tara slid the images found in his desk across the wooden table. “Can you tell me why you had these?”

He looked down at them, terror flashing in his eyes. “They’re my employees,” he replied. “I take pictures of everyone that works at the shop.”

“And these are the only three employees you ever had?”

He opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again. He didn’t know how to answer. He knew how bad this looked.

“Well?” Tara questioned impatiently.

He was staring at his hands, clasped in his lap, as he anxiously rubbed them together. He looked up. “I know this looks bad,” he pleaded. “But what you’re accusing me of…” He paused, looking between Tara and Warren “That’s just crazy.”

“We didn’t accuse you of anything.”

He shook his head strongly. “I’m not stupid. I know you’re trying to pin those murders on me!” he yelled as he sat up straighter. “I just kept those photos, okay? That’s no crime. But I’m not a murderer!” He settled back into his chair.

“Tell me again where you were Wednesday night?”

He sighed, closing his eyes a moment and then looking at Tara. “I was at the shop,” he started, and then his eyes drifted off. “Doing what I was doing today.”

Tara knew what that meant; he was cooking meth. But he had already stated that no one saw him there. No one knew where he was. She asked him again.

He looked