A quick check had air catching in her throat, but not from fear.
Taking a deep I-can-do-this breath, she looked back at Bell standing only a few feet behind her. “It’s Mr. Acosta. I’m going to step outside to talk to him. I’ll be right back in.”
Her niece’s eyes rounded in what looked like concern. Then, she ran back into the living room.
Vicki, unprepared to face Juan but sensing he wasn’t going away, opened the door.
As he stood there, a summer breeze brought his scent of men’s soap and shampoo to her nose. His already dark hair appeared darker, as if still damp. His brown eyes met hers.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
She stepped out and closed the door. “Look, there’s not a whole lot to say. It was a mistake.”
“I don’t…” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not here about the kiss,” he said.
“Then what?” she asked.
“Bell’s scars. Who did that to her?”
His words ran laps around her head. “How do you know—?”
“She showed them to me to make me feel better about mine. And if you’re half the mother I think you are, you won’t get upset with her. But…I can’t see those scars and not worry—”
His words, the accusation she thought she heard, had her spine lifting and locking. “If you think I did that—!”
“No. I told you, I think you’re a great mom. But I think you’re afraid of the person who did. I’m a detective. I’m picking up all kinds of vibes that you’re scared. You can trust me.”
He had no idea how badly she wished she could. But Joanne from AWACO had warned her to stay clear of the police.
“Was it her father?”
“Please, just—”
“That’s who you thought sent me the other night, wasn’t it? Talk to me.”
She couldn’t. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Is the divorce not final? Does he have rights to Bell? Is that why you’re running?”
“I’m not…”
“I get it, you don’t trust me, but—”
“I don’t trust anyone!” she snapped, and instantly wished she could draw her words back in. But maybe a little of the truth would satisfy him.
“I understand when you come face-to-face with evil, it makes it hard to trust anyone. I’ve been there. I’ve faced a few monsters myself. Like the one who killed my wife and baby. But I’d never do anything to hurt you or Bell. I want to help.”
“Okay, Bell’s father hurt her, and now I have a big problem trusting people. But we don’t need help. And the kiss was a mistake. Can’t we just be neighbors?”
His mouth thinned. “Did he get locked up for doing that?”
“Yes.” And he had, for a few days.
“Is he still locked up? Is he looking for you?”
She shook her head. “Please. I don’t want to talk about this.”
He stared at her, as if finally hearing her. He held his palms up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I get it. I just…If you need anything, please call me.”
She almost said I won’t, but what if she did? “Thank you.” She turned around and went back inside. Her pulse fluttered in a frantic pace at the base of her neck. His words replayed in her head and slammed into her heart. “I’ve faced a few monsters myself. Like the one who killed my wife and baby.” He’d lost a child, too.
Then she saw Bell, standing in the entryway with tears in her eyes. How much had she heard?
“Are you mad because I showed him my scars?”
“No.” She pulled her niece close. “We just have to be careful.”
Chapter Twelve
Thirty minutes later, still running the conversation with Nikki through his mind, Juan pulled out of his garage to do a drive-by of Cindy Bates’s apartment. When he backed out, he noticed a red Porsche parked in Nikki’s driveway. The license plate was Californian.
What if…this was Bell’s father? What if right now she needed help? He stopped his car. A man, a tall, slick-haired blond guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, walked out of her front door. Nikki followed. They stopped at the edge of her porch. Juan studied Nikki, whose smile appeared fake, forced, and fragile. But she didn’t look afraid.
Who was he? Someone she worked with? A boyfriend?
The man laughed, and as he spoke he touched her arm. Juan saw her fake smile fade. Saw her take a small step back. She waved back to the front door as if trying to escape the guy. Juan tensed, waiting to see if the man pushed. He didn’t. He nodded and walked to his car.
So, not a boyfriend but a wannabe.
Nikki, still standing on the porch, shifted her gaze to his car. To him sitting behind the wheel. To him watching her. She turned and went back inside. Confronting her about Bell’s scars had been a mistake.
Juan backed out of his drive, hoping he might find Cindy Bates at home. When he pulled into the apartment parking lot, a cop car with its lights on sat running in front of her building.
What were the chances it wasn’t about Cindy?
None, he realized when he walked up the same steps he’d chased the guy down last night and saw two cops. He recognized both from the precinct as they stood by the broken window into Bates’s apartment. But he wasn’t sure they’d recognize him.
“Hey.” He showed his badge.
Juan explained about the fight last night. They shared that a neighbor had spotted the broken window and the front door ajar at Cindy Bates’s apartment.
“Are you sure this wasn’t done last night?” Officer Danes asked.
“Yeah. This is new.”
“Do you think the guy you collared came back?”
“No. He was arrested and is being held,” Juan said.
“So someone else broke into her apartment?” Officer Hall asked.
“Looks that way,” Juan concluded. “I guess the guy could have used his one call to phone someone to break in. Maybe the drugs were still here. Have you gone inside?”
“Just to make sure no one was in there.”
Juan walked through the door, and the two officers followed.
Last night he’d been riding an adrenaline high and had left to get his stitches before really checking out the place.
“What are you looking at this Bates girl for?”
“She’s a possible witness on a cold case,” Juan said.
“So was last night and this break-in a coincidence, or do you think the two cases are connected?”
Juan considered it. “More than likely has to do with the drugs.”
Other than what looked like a mess created by last night’s scuffle, the place was spotless. Normally, someone strung out on drugs wasn’t a neatnik.
Paintings in cheap frames hung on the walls. Real paintings, not prints. And the artwork was excellent. He remembered Mrs. Noel saying that Cindy and Abby both liked art. One painting was of a tire swing with a little girl in it. The other was a beach scene with a child holding a seashell.
He walked into the bedroom. In the corner was an easel with a half-painted picture of a young girl on a carousel horse. Bates liked painting kids.
For some reason there was something slightly familiar about that painting. Like he’d seen it before. Did Bates copy famous paintings?
He went to the bedside table and opened a drawer. There was a journal. More poems. He read one.
Oh, my lie. Oh, my sin. Oh, my friend.
I know my place. Where you stay. Beneath the birds, and where the angels sing.
On a prayer. On a wing. But no, I still sing. I still swing.
You live in the mirror and I see your face.
As intricate as lace.
I sit here, while you rest there in my place
I cry tears for you. I cry tears for me.
I cry tears for who I used to be.
And the angel I can no longer see.
Juan wasn’t a poet, but even he could see that Bates’s real talent was with a paintbrush and
not a pen.
He headed to the bathroom. The only things in the medicine cabinet were condoms. He realized something that felt off. Bates didn’t have one prescription. Which was odd. Drug addicts usually had several pain prescriptions that they’d convinced doctors to give them.
In the cabinet drawers, he found a bottle of hair dye, a brush, and some makeup.
Stepping out into the living room, he saw the cops were back on the balcony. Spotting a frame facedown on the carpet, he picked it up. In it was a photograph of two young women with a baby. He recognized the blonde as Abby Noel. The redhead had to be Cindy Bates. The baby was probably Abby’s daughter, Lacy.
The frame had the word Sisters written across the bottom. They did look enough alike to be sisters.
He stared at the baby Abby held. Was there really a bond between Cindy and Lacy? Enough to send birthday cards every year. Or were those cards just a way for Cindy to nurse her own guilt?
He looked back at the photo, at Cindy’s face. “You know who killed Abby Noel, don’t you?”
* * *
Sweetie barked. Juan pushed his cards aside and pulled away from his dining room table. “Don’t deal me in on this one. I gotta take her out,” Juan said.
“Why don’t you just let her out?” Billy asked.
“I can’t. She keeps getting into the neighbor’s yard.” He got up from the table.
“The neighbor who gave you the black eye?” Billy asked, pointing to the left and grinning.
“Yeah.” Juan frowned. The guys were having way too much fun at his expense over his incident with Nikki.
“How many times have you seen her since she kicked your ass?” Connor asked.
The guys all laughed. Juan ignored the question, grabbed the leash, and went to walk Sweetie in the backyard. She tugged her way to the fence, sniffing as if trying to sense whether anyone was on the other side. Obviously there wasn’t anyone in Nikki’s backyard because Sweetie then tugged him in another direction and did her business.
He was letting the dog inside when he heard Nikki’s back door open and then the voices. Giving the dog a nudge through the door, he lingered on the patio.
“I like your mom,” a little voice said.
“I do, too,” Bell answered.
So Bell had a friend over. Could the man leaving earlier have been…?
“My dad said your mom was pretty,” the other kid said.
“She is pretty,” Bell said.
“She’s not as pretty as my mom was,” the child spoke again. “What are we looking for?”
“My mom’s necklace. She lost it somewhere out here. She’s really sad. It was special. A gift from my…”
“Your dad?” the little girl asked.
“No. Her sister.”
Her sister? But Nikki had told him she didn’t have siblings. More lies? But why?
“Do you miss your dad?” Bell’s friend asked.
“No,” Bell said a little too harshly.
“Why not?” the child asked.
“He wasn’t a good dad like yours.”
Juan’s gut tightened.
“What did he do?” the child asked.
Juan held his breath and listened.
“Mean stuff.” The two words came out with caution and caused Juan to tighten his fists.
Silence followed Bell’s reply, and then she asked, “Does your dad ever do mean things?”
“No. He loves me a lot.”
“Do you miss your mom?” Bell asked.
“Yeah. I still cry sometimes. I hate cancer. That’s what took her away. And sometimes I’m afraid I’ll get it.” Another pause happened. “How did your dad die?”
Die? Juan waited for Bell to correct her.
“His boat exploded.”
Juan ran a hand over his mouth and recalled not believing Nikki when she told him she was divorced.
“It blew him up, too?” Bell’s friend asked.
“Yeah,” Bell answered. Then, “Have you ever read Charlotte’s Web?”
“I can’t read yet. Is it a good book?”
“Yeah,” Bell answered. “You should get your dad to read it to you. Mom reads it to me almost every night. Charlotte’s a big black spider and she dies. She dies all alone.”
“That’s sad. I don’t think that’s a good book.”
“Yeah, but first she saves Wilbur. He’s a pig. He’s sad when Charlotte dies, but then he meets Charlotte’s children. And he gets happy again.”
“I’m not happy yet,” the little girl said.
“Me either,” said Bell.
“It’s hot out here,” the friend said. “Let’s go back inside and play in your room. But you don’t have a lot of toys. You need to come to my house and play.”
“I used to have a lot,” Bell added on a sad note.
“What happened to them?”
“We had to move.”
“Why didn’t you bring them with you?”
“We were in a hurry.”
Why were you in a hurry, Bell? Juan heard the door open, then close. Shit. Perhaps he should be embarrassed at eavesdropping on kids, but damn it, he wasn’t. Why all the secrecy? Why the lies?
How could he get Nikki to trust him enough to tell him the truth?
* * *
After a few more hands of poker, the guys started saying their goodbyes and heading for the door. Everyone left except Connor and Mark. Juan started gathering cards and poker chips. He’d already filled them in on the phone calls from Bates’s old landlord and her sister and about her apartment being broken into, but he suspected they’d hung out to talk about the case. Which would have been fine if his mind weren’t focused on the conversation he’d overheard between Bell and her friend.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Bates has already skipped town,” Connor said, snagging a couple of beer bottles and tossing them in the trash.
Juan stood up and slid the cards back into their poker box. “That’s what I thought, but there was still a lot of her stuff in her apartment.” Juan heard voices outside the front window and turned to peer out. Nikki and Bell stood in their driveway with the man in the Hawaiian shirt and another girl about Bell’s age.
The man was all smiles, his attention on Nikki. Not that Juan blamed the guy. She had on jeans that did wonders for all the dips and curves beneath, and a red tank top that hugged her breasts. Again, not overtly sexy, just girl-next-door gorgeous. He remembered Bell’s friend saying, My dad said your mom was pretty.
“Juan?”
“Yeah?” Juan turned from the window, knowing he’d tuned out.
“Did you want to keep Annie’s potato salad? If so, give me another bowl. She swore if I didn’t bring her bowl back she’d put me on the couch. I’ve lost two of her bowls at our poker games already.”
“See, that’s why I don’t want to live with a woman.” Connor laughed. “She’ll take away sex for a damn bowl.”
Mark chuckled. “It was an idle threat. She likes my body too much.” His gaze went back to Juan. “You want it or not?”
Laughter, kid laughter, sounded outside and he turned back to the window. Connor moved up next to him and pulled back the blinds. “What’s got your attention? Oh. So that’s her, huh?”
“The kickass neighbor?” Mark, carrying the bowl of potato salad, moved in beside Juan and opened the blinds to see out.
“Who’s the guy in the Porsche?” Connor’s tone hit a nerve. “You got competition?”
“Stop.” Juan pushed away from the window and motioned for them to do the same.
Mark cut him a grin. “You really got a thing for her?”
“It’s not like that,” Juan lied.
“Then what’s it like?” Mark glanced down at the potato salad.
“Yeah, what’s it like?” Connor held open the blinds again and leaned in.
Juan tucked his hands in his jean pockets. “Something’s up with her.”
“What do you mean?” Mark’s eyebrows rose in curiosity.
He confided in his two partners about the lies he’d caught her in.
“Did you run her through the system?”
“Yeah. She’s got nothing.” He went on to tell them about hearing Bell say she wanted to go back to Arizona, about Bell’s scars and finding no social media page, and even about discovering a Nikki V. Hanson who was dead.
“If she’s lying about her name, she could be running from the police.” Mark’s tone came out all cop.
Juan felt suddenly protective. “But it could be the wrong Nikki Hanson.”
“Could be.” Mark shrugged.
“You think she did that to her kid?” Connor’s expression darkened.
“No,” Juan answered. “She comes off like a great mom.”
“You know abusers can be normal people.” Mark pulled the potato salad spoon out of the bowl and ate a bite.
Juan exhaled, accepting that he didn’t really know Nikki well enough to defend her, but…“I know, but I’m telling you it’s not that.”
Mark moved into the kitchen with the potato salad. Juan followed. “Seriously, I don’t think she’s done anything. I think she’s scared.”
“Of her ex?” Connor, who’d followed, pulled a chair from the kitchen table.
“I was thinking that, but…” He told them about confronting Nikki about her ex and her telling him he was wrong, then what he’d heard Bell say about her dad dying in an explosion.
“Well, that’s not good.” Mark leaned against the counter.
“I know, but maybe the kid just got it wrong. Maybe Nikki told the kid her father was dead. I mean, I couldn’t blame her, considering what he did to the girl.”
“There’s a lot of maybes there.” Mark dropped the spoon into the sink. “I need a—”
“Here.” Juan went to the cabinet, pulled out a bowl, and handed it to Mark. Then he went back to the table.
“Not having a presence on social media is suspicious.” Mark emptied the salad into the plastic bowl.
“I know,” Juan admitted.
“You’re not thinking she’s part of the witness protection program, are you?” Connor asked.
“No.” Juan had considered it and ruled it out. “The feds do a better job. They would have deleted the Myspace account. My gut says she’s in trouble and just doesn’t trust anyone.”
Don't Breathe a Word Page 12
