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  Bitter Past

  An Ellie Matthews Novel

  Caroline Fardig

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  BITTER PAST Copyright © 2017 by Caroline Fardig

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Kim Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I could not do what I do without my fabulous editing team: Julia Maguire, Karen Franklin, Lisa Cook, and Matt Fardig. Thanks to Kim Killion for the awesome cover and Kelly Dougherty for handling the publicity.

  Big thanks to Mitzi Templeton, my forensics professor, and her coworkers at the ISP lab—Kim Early, Susan Laine, and Mallory Johnson for their help and willingness to answer my many questions.

  To Mitzi Templeton, a real-life Ellie Matthews.

  Bitter Past

  PROLOGUE

  A laughing clown with disturbing red eyes stared down from a sign reading “Welcome to Carnival Cove.” With intermittent clouds blocking the full moon, the warm autumn evening was particularly dark at that moment. A gust of wind whirled the fallen leaves and discarded trash littering the entrance to the old water park. As a young man approached the looming gate, an eerie chill snaked down his spine.

  “This place is creepy as hell,” he muttered, shining his flashlight on the weathered sign. “You sure you want to do this?”

  The young woman who had coerced him into coming out here ripped the lid from the plastic bucket she was holding. “Dr. Cooper needs to take notice that the students of Ashmore College are not going to stand for this new research facility of his. You heard how smug he sounded at the protest tonight. He thinks he can get away with anything just because his mother is president of the college. Someone has to put him in his place.” She dipped her fingers into the red liquid and wrote “Death to the Body Farm” across the sign.

  Her companion shook his head, chuckling. “I never thought I’d see you touch pig’s blood, much less vandalize a property belonging to our school.”

  She set down the bucket and picked up a pair of bolt cutters. “This dump doesn’t belong to the school yet. Dr. Cooper bought it himself so he could skip some red tape.” She snipped the padlock securing a chain around the bars of the gate, then removed the chain and tossed it onto the ground. “Typical that he expects everything to be handed to him when he wants it. And if things don’t go exactly his way, he changes the rules.”

  Frowning, he watched her push open the gate and barge into the park, which was now a gloomy and deserted eyesore. Once a happy place where families came to play on hot summer days, Carnival Cove had fallen into disrepair after being shut down years ago. As they explored the park, their flashlights cast shadows of the broken-down picnic tables against the cracked concrete of the retaining walls, where vegetation had begun to creep back. The tall trees above them swayed as another blast of wind whipped through.

  He joked, “Maybe we’re doing the forensics majors a favor by trying to block this thing from happening. I can’t imagine this place being any freakier than it already is. I also can’t get my head around the fact that the forensics profs are seriously going to leave dead bodies out here and let them decompose so students can study them.”

  “They will unless we stop them,” she said, coming to a halt in front of what used to be a snack bar. “Can you imagine donating your body to science only to have some demented professor throw it out here to be ravaged by the elements and vermin of every kind? It’s unconscionable.”

  Shivering at the thought, he approached a painted statue of a portly clown and gave its peeling red nose a honk. The nose crumbled off into his hand. “Sick. This place has horror movie written all over it.” Appraising the message she was painting across the outer wall of the snack bar, he said, “And you’re making it worse. Although ‘Dr. Death Sucks’ is pretty hilarious—and fitting.”

  She walked over and handed him the bucket of blood. “I thought you came here to help me—not to stand around and crack jokes.”

  “I think enough blood has been spilled tonight.” Setting down the bucket, he put his arms around her waist. “Why don’t we go get a drink or something?”

  She shook her head and pushed away from him. “I’m just getting started. Dr. Cooper is never going to know what hit him. Now get to work.”

  Sighing, he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

  He began painting “Say No to the Body Farm” on a nearby retaining wall while she wandered into a section of the park marked “Kiddie Land.”

  The clouds parted, allowing the full moon to shine down on her. As she gazed up at it and relaxed for a moment, she began to have second thoughts, knowing this destructive vandalism wasn’t her style. She hated to stoop to this level. However, the rage she felt against Dr. Cooper and his horrific body farm had overtaken her. She wouldn’t allow this research facility to go forward, no matter the cost.

  As she stood staring up at the sky, she felt a force slam into her gut and an all-encompassing, searing pain rip through her body. A loud crack shattered the quiet of the night. Crying out, she clutched her stomach. Something warm and wet oozed onto her shaking hands. When she looked down, her breath caught at the sight of the blood. She felt another blast, this one exploding through the center of her chest. Falling backward, the last thing she saw was the moon overhead fading from her vision.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Earlier that evening

  “Cooper, you need to relax that death grip you have on the steering wheel,” I said to my colleague as he weaved through traffic on a congested stretch of North Meridian Street in Indianapolis.

  Dr. Dudley Cooper grimaced. “I would like to get to my aunt’s home as soon as possible so that we might diffuse the situation before resorting to calling the police. According to my father, the sidewalks are already teeming with student protestors, and the fundraiser isn’t supposed to start for another hour.”

  I appreciated Cooper’s concern. This was his big night. The fundraiser gala at his aunt’s mansion was to raise money to fund his plan to establish a new research facility for Ashmore College, where we were both professors.

  “True, your patrons might get nervous if they find out how much the Ashmore students oppose your body fa—I mean, outdoor forensic anthropology research facility.” I hoped he had missed my slip. He hated it when I called his baby by the protestors’ not-entirely-inaccurate moniker of “body farm.”

  Zooming around a slow driver in front of us, he said, “Well, not all of them oppose it. For every student protestor, there are a dozen students who are either in favor of or at least neutral to the facility. Unfortunately, they’re not the ones who are making their feelings known.” He flicked a worried glance at me. “Ellie, how in the world do you get them to listen to you when you talk about the facility instead of complain and…and attack your integrity?”

  Even though every professor in the forensics department had been doing his or her part to sell the students on the idea of a body farm, Cooper, as head of the proposed facility, had taken most of the flak. After he had made the official announcement last week, it hadn’t taken long for a few opinionated, outspoken students to whip up some righteous indignation and feel the need to cause a stir. There had already been a thrown-together picket march in front of the science building and an organized protest on the campus front lawn that managed to gain local news attention.

  Students
seemed to have myriad reasons for protesting the facility. Some were grossed out, some were scared, and some were worried about the environmental impact. A number of others were protesting because that’s what they did—their interest in hot-button issues often came across as more of a hobby than a crusade. Still, Cooper took every negative comment as a personal attack.

  Smiling, I said, “It helps that I haven’t been branded ‘Dr. Death.’ I’m only his lovely assistant.”

  That got a chuckle out of him. “That you are. But you’re still much better at talking to these kids than I am.”

  “I’m not a fancy-schmancy PhD like you, and they know it. Plus, I live with a college kid. I speak the language.”

  “I’m sure it’s quite helpful that your sister can keep you in the loop of what our students are doing and thinking.”

  Smiling, I said, “True, but sometimes when Rachel overshares, I wish I were out of the loop.”

  When we got close to Cooper’s aunt’s home, a sprawling red brick Colonial estate in an old-money neighborhood, the surrounding area was crawling with young people. I recognized most of them as Ashmore College students. They lined the sidewalks on either side of the street, likely breaking a few dozen neighborhood association rules, but no laws—yet.

  Cooper wiped a hand down his face. “Ellie, I’m sick about this. I’m appalled at the overwhelming negativity of our students. I thought this would be a grand opportunity for their study.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. I checked out your not-so-angry mob. It’s mainly composed of the usual loudmouthed tree-huggers who protest everything. They’ll be onto the next popular cause soon enough. The body farm—”

  “Outdoor forensic anthropology research facility,” he corrected me.

  “Yes, that. It’s your dream. If you can make them understand why it’s important to you, they’ll respect you for it,” I said, hoping to build his confidence. He needed to be on his game tonight during the fundraiser, not worrying about the idiot protestors.

  “You think so?” he asked, a hopeful expression lighting his face.

  I lied, “Of course.” They would eat him alive if given the chance. “But maybe let’s not get into a debate with them tonight. Is there a back way into your aunt’s house?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I grimaced upon spotting the editor of the school newspaper, Eli Vanover, taking photographs and videos and jotting down notes as he spoke with the protestors. This would be front-page news in the next edition of the Ashmore Voice. The protestors’ hand-lettered signs read “Peace for the Dead,” “Say No to the Body Farm,” “The Human Body Is a Temple,” and one that made me chuckle in spite of my loyalty to Cooper, “Dr. Death Sucks.” Among the students, hired security guards were stationed at intervals on the sidewalk, making me wonder if someone thought things had the potential to get dicey out here.

  Cooper pulled to a stop in front of the home. A valet attendant appeared to help me out of the car while another got in and drove the car away. I didn’t know it was possible to hire a valet service for an event at a private residence, but then again, I’d never been to a party like this before.

  Before Cooper and I could hurry to the front door, one of the girls stepped out into the street and let out a piercing whistle, quieting the other students. “Dr. Cooper,” Vasti Marais called, holding up a hand to silence the lingering grumblings from the crowd.

  Cooper turned around to face Vasti, almost as if he couldn’t look away. There was something magnetic about this girl that commanded immediate attention. An international student from South Africa, Vasti had been president of practically every organization on campus at one time or another. Her striking beauty, lovely lilting accent, and unabashed ambition set her apart from her fellow students.

  I hissed, “Don’t engage, Coop. Not tonight. Especially her.” Grabbing his arm, I tried to pull him with me up the sidewalk, but he was rooted in place.

  She zeroed her gaze in on him. “What do you have to say about the negative impact your research facility is going to create both environmentally and ethically?”

  Cooper became flustered, for some reason unable to gather his thoughts. “I… There is no… There will be no negative impact. This facility will help to assist law enforcement across the country and across the world in better understanding—”

  “You’ve been saying that all week in the canned speeches you’ve been giving us,” Vasti interrupted. “We want to know what you personally are going to do to preserve the dignity of the people whose bodies you’re going to desecrate.”

  The crowd shouted a semi-unison “Yeah!” in support, causing the security guards to tense.

  Cooper walked out into the street and shouted over the noise, “This is not the venue I wish to use to speak about the new facility. If you’d please disperse, we can talk about it next—”

  Vasti wasn’t backing down. “No, Dr. Cooper, we want to know now! This morbid experiment of yours is a violation of human rights!”

  Cooper held his hands up in an effort to quiet the crowd so he could be heard. After he had regained their attention, he said, “As I’ve said before, these cadavers will be no different than any that we already use at the school for study. Faculty and students alike are expected to treat our deceased research subjects with the respect they deserve. Most of you should already be aware of this.”

  Vasti frowned. “And what about the safety of the people living in the area around your body farm? Decaying human bodies left out in the open will attract predators, especially vultures and rodents, not to mention feral animals. It would be a big temptation even for household pets. How do you plan to deal with that?”

  “The facility isn’t going to be in the middle of campus, Ms. Marais. The site I have chosen is in a rural area a few miles away. Don’t worry. You’ll all be perfectly safe from vultures and feral animals. If you want to know the particulars, please consult the article in last week’s Ashmore Voice. The article they ran was surprisingly informational.”

  His condescending comments seemed to incense the students, especially Eli Vanover, whose expression darkened as he stepped out into the street and trained his phone on Vasti and the protestors, who all looked ready to explode. The security guards came out into the street as well, hands at the ready on the pepper spray cans clipped to their belts. This was rapidly becoming a disaster, and I’d bet anything the video Eli was taking would go viral before the gala was over.

  Thrusting the sign she was holding in the air, Vasti turned to her fellow protestors and cried, “No body farm, no way! Not ever, not today!” They joined in her chant, causing her expression to turn to one of haughty satisfaction.

  It was evident from the change in Cooper’s posture that he knew he’d been bested. He returned to where I’d been waiting on the sidewalk. Running his hands through his sandy hair, he lamented as much to himself as to me, “I don’t know what went wrong. I didn’t think this facility was going to meet with such opposition. Sure, my father wasn’t convinced, but I didn’t think I’d run into this.”

  I hated seeing him like this. “Cooper, come on. It’s not the end of the world. We can call in some noise complaints to the cops, and they’ll come over here and make the protestors leave.”

  He shook his head. “It’s over. The board is going to pull their support. I’m certain of it.”

  “Come on. No offense, since your family owns the place, but you know as well as I do that the Ashmore administration doesn’t care what the students think. If you’ve already been promised the board’s backing and you finish securing your funding tonight, it’s a done deal. Screw the protestors.” I gave him a gentle shove toward the house. “Now go in there and rub elbows with your parents’ rich friends and get the support you need—financial and moral.”

  My pep talk seemed to help him a bit. Heaving a heavy sigh and trying to paste on a smile, Cooper turned his back on the protestors. He politely motioned for me to go ahead of him up the si
dewalk toward his aunt’s home and trudged along behind me.

  A man in all black—suit, shirt, tie, and sunglasses—blocked our entry to the front door. As we approached him, he slipped his sunglasses off to focus his piercing blue eyes on me.

  Cooper said, “Good evening, Rob.”

  “Dr. Cooper,” the man replied, his voice low and scratchy as he shook Cooper’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  Cooper turned to me. “Ellie, this is Rob Larson, my father’s head of security.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Cooper’s father was a former mayor of Indianapolis who was now running for US Senate. Sure, he was important, but I didn’t realize he needed a whole security detail. I couldn’t help but flick my eyes across Rob Larson’s broad, muscular shoulders. He looked more than capable of protecting anyone from pretty much anything.

  Before Cooper could make my introduction, I extended my hand, and Rob clasped it. “Ellie Matthews. I teach at Ashmore College with Dr. Cooper. Nice to meet you.” I said, smiling up at him.

  He held my hand for an extra moment before releasing it. “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Matthews.” He smiled back at me. “Have a good time tonight.”

  I wasn’t quite ready to leave Rob Larson when Cooper took my arm.

  He said, “Let me introduce you to my father and my aunt.”

  Steeling myself for a long night of useless introductions to people I’d never see again, I let Cooper lead me into the home’s cavernous entry hall. We were early to the event, but the band had already begun playing and the drinks were flowing—perhaps in an attempt to focus the guests’ attention away from the protestors outside.

  Cooper led me to a group of older people talking and sipping champagne. “Mother, Father, Aunt Vivian,” he said.