Blood Bond

This story is by David Elderton and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

“We found a body, ma’am. It’s—”

Joanne Shepard’s knees buckled at the words. I caught her in time and guided her to the yellow velvet sofa.

She looked at me like a frantic child. “Is it my husband? Did the kidnappers kill him?”

Her twin sister, Maggie, joined her on the sofa. Over the past two days, I’d found the pair couldn’t be more different. Joanne’s world-class beauty and effortless charm beguiled every man in her presence. Her sister, on the other hand, resembled a bitter buzzard with a personality disorder.

I realized I hadn’t finished my sentence. “Ma’am, it’s…”

“It’s what?” Maggie prompted. “Spit it out, Detective.” Her words fanned the flames of an internal inferno of intense dislike that ignited the first time we met.

I ignored her and addressed Joanne. “It’s not your husband, ma’am. This guy’s been dead awhile. Years, probably.”

“You should’ve led with that, Detective,” Maggie said. Her condescension hung in the air like a foul odor. She patted the back of Joanne’s head. “I’m sure he’s okay…” She glared at me. “Right, Detective?”

“We’ll find him.”

Maggie looked across the room at the expressionless maid standing at parade rest and clicked her fingers like a castanet. “You there! Bring me my Hermes purse. And be careful; it’s worth more than you.” The servant fetched the ugliest puke-green purse I’d ever seen and brought it to Maggie. “Excuse me, Detective, I need a smoke.” She pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims, then dropped the Hermes onto the floor. It opened enough to reveal a tiny gold-plated Colt pistol, chambered in .25 caliber: a gaudy but lethal fashion accessory. She exhaled a long plume of smoke overhead. “Continue, Detective. Whose body is it?”

“We’re checking on that, ma’am. You said the kidnappers took Cameron two days ago?”

“Right, but nothing about a ransom. Does that mean he’s… dead?”

“All I know is we haven’t found his body yet.”

Joanne’s eyes widened at my clumsy comment.

“We’re still looking, ma’am. We tracked his cell phone to a remote area, but then the battery died.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, ma’am, I promise.” My shallow smile reflected my shallow hope.

Maggie glared at me. “Tracked his phone?”

“Yes, it’s how we found the unrelated body, but we’re still combing the area.”

My phone chirped with a text, sparking hope in Joanne’s eyes. I swiped the screen and read the message.

Her hope dimmed as she read my face. Maggie held Joanne’s arm, bracing for bad news.

“Ma’am, they found—”

“Cameron’s body?”

“No, ma’am,” I said gently, “the cadaver dog found where to dig… for his body and—” I winced at my verbal ineptitude.

“Cadaver dog?” Joanne asked.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You’re quite the wordsmith, Detective.”

“Sorry. Let’s get in my car, ladies, and I’ll take you there.”

On scene at the remote destination, I killed the engine fifty yards from the yellow perimeter tape. One crew was busy digging while cadaver dogs worked the meadow. “We’re here, ladies. Records show this property belongs to Gustaf Sinclair.”

Joanne’s head bounced off Maggie’s shoulder. “Cameron is here on our property?”

“Your property?”

“Yes, Sinclair is our maiden name. We grew up here until the house burned down and we lost our parents. That’s it over there.”

A fair distance to the west, silhouetted against the horizon, stood a blackened stone chimney reaching to the sky, like a battle-scarred sentry guarding over the forlorn property.

“And that big rock there? That’s my thinking rock. Maggie, remember the last time we were there?” She grinned.

Maggie huffed. “Look, this can’t be right, Detective. Cameron didn’t even know about this property.”

“Somebody did and brought him here… or at least, brought his phone.”

“Do I need to call my lawyer?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Do you need one?”

“Forget it, Detective. Joanne, let’s go.”

She latched onto Maggie’s arm. “No, Sis, I have to know what happened to Cameron. Please?” Joanne beseeched her with sad puppy-dog eyes.

“No, Joanne. We need to go. Now.”

“I should have known. You run away whenever I need you, Sis. It hurts.”

Maggie clenched her jaw. “Fine… but remember; you wanted to stay.”

“Wait here, ladies.” I closed the car door and approached the digging detail.

The sergeant in charge looked up. “Hey, Detective, just in time. We’ve got a white male, recently deceased, wrapped in a blanket.”

Kneeling beside the corpse, I lifted the blanket, revealing a man wearing blood-soaked silk pajamas monogrammed with CS. His eyes, wide open behind his wire-framed glasses, and his mouth making an ‘O’ shape suggested he had died surprised.

The cause of death appeared to be a distinctive gold-plated letter opener that pierced his neck crosswise, bisecting his carotid artery on both sides. The hilt had a stylized ‘V’ engraved on it. I knitted my brow; the ‘V’ made no sense.

I returned to the car. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I have bad news. I think we’ve found your husband. And if you’re up for it, could you—”

“Identify the body? Fine. I know it’s not him. Maggie, come with me.”

Joanne leaned on Maggie as they picked their way through the rocky field until they arrived at the gravesite. 

I uncovered the corpse’s face. “Ma’am, is this—”

Joanne shrieked. “Cameron!”

“No! The kidnappers killed him!” Maggie said.

I flicked the blanket further to reveal the letter opener.

Joanne covered her mouth. “Maggie! What did you do?”

A sense of ‘gotcha!’ warmed my soul. “Did you kill him, Maggie?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a lone tear trickled down her cheek. “No, Detective. I did not.”

Dammit, I believed her!

Joanne’s jaw dropped. “If you didn’t kill him, then who—” The setting sun reflected off the letter-opener and caught her attention. She squinted at it like a child fascinated by a kaleidoscope. The instant a hint of recognition appeared, her stunning beauty melted away like a wax mask in July, exposing stone-cold evil wearing a million-dollar smile. She let her hair down, unfastened a few buttons on her blouse, and thrust her shoulders back as her gaze bore into me like a Japanese beetle. “Why hello, tall, dark, and yummy,” she said, licking her lips. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Ahem. Hello, Veronica,” Maggie said.

Joanne smiled at the mention of the name. “Hello, Sis.”

“Forget about him, V. He’s just a broke cop.”

Her alluring smile deflated faster than a popped balloon. “That’s too bad, honey. I would’ve rocked your world.”

Or killed me…

She glanced at the body. “I see you found Cameron. Did anyone miss him?”

“Just Joanne, Sis.”

“Of course she did. She’s not right in the head, you know,” Joanne said.

I turned to Maggie. “What the—”

She leaned close to my ear and said, “Joanne and Veronica share the same body, but they’ve never met each other… if you get my drift.”

I hoped my confusion didn’t show. “Look, Mrs. Shep—”

Maggie elbowed me. “Call her Veronica. Trust me.”

“—Veronica. Did you kill Cameron?”

“Yes, I did!”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason? Besides, it was my turn.”

Maggie’s shoulders drooped at her confession.

The cadaver dog barked at a new spot thirty yards away by Joanne’s thinking rock.

“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for the murder of Cameron Shepard.”

“Oh, how quaint!”

I handcuffed her, put her in my backseat and lowered the window a crack. “Sergeant, get a crew over there. Maggie, why did she report him missing?”

“Because she had no recollection of killing him.”

“How many times has she been married?”

“Cameron was number four.”

Puzzle pieces shifted into place. “This must be a team effort; she’s the beauty. The bait to captivate rich men, and you… you’re the brains. Which makes you an accessory to murder, before, during, and after the fact.”

“Good luck proving it.”

“But you know Veronica kills—”

“Do I? I’m clean, Detective,” she smirked.

 My cell phone buzzed with a text. “Maggie, the coroner just identified the first body as Cedric Carter. Ring a bell?”

“Cedric? Yes, he was Veronica’s first husband. I wondered where he went.”

“Turns out he was pretty rich, too… until someone fired a .25 caliber bullet into his head.”

“Oh, my!”

“Will ballistics match that bullet to the .25 caliber Colt in your purse?”

“Look, I had nothing to do with—”

“And how about the body they’re digging up now? Is there a bullet in his skull too?”

Laughter erupted from the backseat. “No, Detective, Maggie poisoned that one!”

Maggie heaved a sigh. “Oh, hell, just arrest me. I can’t leave her alone. We have a blood bond, you know.”

I cuffed her, but before I put her in the car, I said, “It’s gotta be tough having a sister like Joanne.”

Maggie shook her head. “Joanne isn’t my sister… Veronica is.”