“A mutual acquaintance, huh?” She gave him a doubtful glance. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t exactly look like the type Ricky usually hangs out with.”
“Well, you know what they say. Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth?” Appreciation flashed in her eyes as she gave him another quick assessment. “I saw you come out of the house a few minutes ago. Did you talk to Marly?”
“You mean Deputy Jessop? We spoke briefly.”
“What’d she say about Ricky?”
“She wouldn’t tell me anything,” Deacon replied truthfully.
“Doesn’t matter.” Nona stared out at the rain, her expression suddenly forlorn. “I already know he’s dead.”
“How do you know?”
She shrugged, the action not so much one of nonchalance as acceptance. “Because people are dropping like flies around here.”
“You mean the suicides?” Deacon asked carefully.
“You know what I think?” She gave him an anxious look. “I think it’s the weather. All this damn rain. It’s depressing as hell. Enough to make anyone wacko.” She grimaced. “Marly must be freaking out, though.”
“Because of the weather?”
Nona glanced back at the rain. “No, because of the suicides.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated. “Let’s just say, Marly has some issues and leave it at that, okay?”
What kind of issues? Deacon wanted to ask, but he didn’t press her. He had a feeling Nona was a woman who liked to talk, and with a little patience, he’d find out everything he wanted to know from her without having to resort to anything…drastic. “You sound as if you know Deputy Jessop pretty well.”
Nona shrugged again. “Not really. We went to high school together, but we didn’t exactly hang out with the same crowd, if you know what I mean. Marly was the straight-A-honor-roll type of girl while I was—” She broke off and gave him a side-long glance. “You might say I had a different set of priorities in high school.”
Deacon nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I sure as hell never would have pictured her as a cop, though.”
“Why not?”
Nona watched a cloud of smoke drift off the porch. “She’s just not cut out for it. Too much of a goody-goody. Let’s people push her around all the time. Especially her old man.”
“Her husband?”
Nona shook her head. “She’s not married. No, I’m talking about her father. He’s a retired army colonel. Used to be the base commander over at Fort Stanton before it closed. Not exactly Mr. Personality, if you get my drift. I knew some of the guys who were stationed there, and they hated his guts. Said he was one mean son of a bitch.” She paused to take another drag on her cigarette, then expelled the smoke on a nervous laugh. “I don’t mean to bend your ear like this. It’s just…I have a tendency to talk too much when I get jittery.” She tossed the cigarette butt over the porch railing and watched it sizzle in the wet grass. “Smoke too much, too.”
“I don’t mind. I’m enjoying our conversation,” Deacon said.
“Yeah?” Her gaze turned speculative as she gave him another careful once-over.
“You were telling me about Marly Jessop’s father, the retired army colonel,” he gently coaxed.
Nona nodded. “My mother used to be their housekeeper, see. That’s how come I know so much about them. She’s got stories about that family that could curl your hair, let me tell you. She always felt real bad for Marly and Sam, though.”
“Sam?”
“Marly’s brother.”
“Does he live here in Mission Creek?”
“He came back here after he left the service. He’s moved into their grandmother’s old place. Really got it fixed up nice. I even noticed when I drove by there the other day that he has the garage apartment up for rent. Not that I’m interested, mind you.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “You couldn’t pay me enough. Even if it would mean getting to see Sam every day, and that’s saying something for me. Always did have a thing for him.”
Deacon worked to keep his expression neutral. “You say he was in the service? Which branch?”
“The army, just like his father and grandfather. The grandfather was some big shot general at the Pentagon or something. Sam was supposed to follow in their footsteps, but he quit after a few years and came back here to teach school. From what I hear, the old man nearly had a stroke over it. But Mama said he always did try to run those kids’ lives. Stayed on their cases all the damn time. They never could do anything right. I guess it’s no wonder Marly turned out the way she has.”
“What do you mean?”
Nona thought for a moment. “She’s just…different. She has this way about her. Kind of like…she knows things the rest of us don’t? It’s hard to explain, but I guess being strange runs in that family when you consider what her grandmother did.” She leaned toward Deacon and lowered her voice. “Remember what I said about Marly having issues?”
He nodded.
“Well, old lady Jessop hanged herself when Marly was just twelve. Marly was the one who found the body. I don’t think she ever got over it.”
“Be hard to get over something like that,” Deacon muttered.
Nona lit up another cigarette. “Kind of creepy when you think about it, though. Marly was the one who found her grandmother all those years ago, and now here she is a cop, having to investigate all these other suicides. That’s what I call a really weird-ass coincidence.”
Weird maybe. But Deacon didn’t really believe in coincidences.
Chapter Three
Dr. Alvin Pliner, the Durango County medical examiner, snapped on a pair of latex gloves as he approached the corpse with what Marly perceived as an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. Here was a man who clearly enjoyed his job, she thought with a shudder.
“You’ve protected the crime scene, I assume.” He made the prospect sound doubtful.
“Don’t worry, it’s virgin,” Navarro assured him. He gave Marly a slight wink at the medical examiner’s pomposity, and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. Navarro had that kind of effect. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and the .357 Magnum he wore strapped to his hip gave him a certain bad-ass cachet that was downright irresistible.
All the women in town were half in love with him, but no one really knew much about him. An ex-Navy SEAL, he’d come to Mission Creek a little over a year ago to meet with the mayor and the city council, and whatever had gone down in those closed-door sessions had convinced them to hire him on the spot as the new chief of police.
From the very first, he’d been a different kind of cop than his predecessor. Boyd Hendrickson had been an aging lawman who had been all too content to coast along until his retirement. No one could accuse Navarro of complacency. He took an active role in every investigation, but he also remained somewhat of an outsider in the department, eschewing the standard uniform for jeans, boots, and on chilly days like today, a black leather jacket that made him seem cool, aloof and more than a little dangerous.
Marly dropped her gaze and tried to focus on Dr. Pliner as he moved his gloved hands with quick efficiency over the body. “He’s dead all right. Did you notice the blowback on his right hand? GPR is going to turn up positive, I can almost guarantee.”
“So you think it’s another suicide,” Navarro said quietly.
“Lucky Number Four,” Pliner agreed. “Although not so lucky for this poor bastard. I’ll be able to tell you more about time of death after the autopsy.”
He continued to poke and prod the corpse until Marly, still in danger of losing the contents of her stomach, had to leave the room. She walked down the hall into the living area and stood gazing around.
The room was sparsely furnished with a battered old sofa and recliner arranged around a small TV. The walls were decorated with Houston Astros and Harley-Davidson memorabilia, and the dining room table was strewn with mechanical parts,
probably from the vintage Harley she’d seen under the carport. Marly could picture Ricky sitting there at night, listening to a baseball game on TV while he painstakingly restored and rebuilt piece by piece what had undoubtedly been his pride and joy.
Being in his house, examining his personal belongings was a little too much like having a glimpse into the man’s private dreams, Marly thought. She didn’t want to poke and prod into every aspect of his life, rip away the last vestiges of his dignity. All she really wanted was to go home, climb into a hot shower and wash that awful scent from her hair and from her skin. And from her memory, if possible.
She wasn’t like Navarro. She wasn’t the kind of cop who could walk away from a gruesome scene and put it out of her mind. Ricky Morales’s death would eat at her. His sightless eyes would haunt her sleep for years to come.
Handing out traffic citations was one thing, but all these deaths…
Marly hadn’t signed on for anything like this, and she toyed with the idea of handing in her resignation. She could just walk out the door and not look back, and no one would really be all that surprised. If anything, the people who knew her best were shocked that she’d stuck it out for this long.
Quitter, a voice inside her taunted. A voice that sounded very much like her father’s.
Well, better a quitter who could sleep at night, Marly reasoned.
Navarro had once told her that she had what it took to be a good cop. She had all the right instincts, he’d said. But did she have the guts?
It was a good question, and one Marly still wasn’t sure she could answer. Especially now, when her instincts were telling her something she didn’t want to hear.
Something bad was happening in Mission Creek. Something…evil.
And Marly didn’t have a clue how to fight it.
WHEN DEPUTY JESSOP FINALLY emerged from the house, she hurried down the porch steps without even a glance in Deacon’s direction. For a moment, it looked as if she were fleeing from the devil himself, and Deacon wondered if he should follow her. Find out what the hell was going on. But then one of the police officers who’d arrived on the scene just after the medical examiner called out to her and she paused. She turned and—reluctantly it seemed to Deacon—walked over to consult with her colleague.
Deacon studied her carefully, noting the flicker of emotions across her face, the almost convulsive movement of her hands. He remembered what Nona had said about her earlier, that she wasn’t cut out to be a cop. She was too much of a goody-goody. She let people push her around.
Maybe.
But in the few moments they’d stood talking in the hallway, Deacon had glimpsed something that made him think there was more to Marly Jessop than met the eye. She possessed the kind of innate courage that had allowed her to stand her ground even in the face of what she had obviously perceived as grave danger. That courage was buried deep, he suspected, but it was there, nonetheless. And if he was right about the nature of these recent deaths, she would need every ounce she could muster in the coming days. They both would.
As if sensing his scrutiny, Marly glanced up and their gazes met across the yard before she quickly looked away. But in that moment, something passed between them. Attraction—at least on Deacon’s part—but something else, too. A flash of understanding or perhaps even precognition that their paths had crossed for a reason.
Lifting a hand to the back of her neck, Marly continued to speak with the other officer. After a moment, he returned to his squad car and drove off while she sloshed back over to the porch.
Nona, who had been smoking quietly as she observed the exchange in the yard, tossed her cigarette over the rail. “You gonna finally tell us what happened to Ricky or what?”
Marly climbed the steps slowly. “I’m sorry, Nona. Ricky’s dead.”
“I already know that.” Nona’s tone was hard as nails, but her eyes glittered with emotion. “I want to know how it happened.”
Marly’s gaze slid to Deacon’s. “Nona, would you mind waiting for me at your house? I need to have a word with Mr. Cage here.” When the woman started to protest, Marly laid a hand on her sleeve. “I’ll come over as soon as I’m finished and tell you what I can.”
Nona sighed. “All right, but don’t leave me hanging, okay? Ricky and I go way back. We may’ve had our differences, but I’ve got a right to know what happened to him.”
Marly waited until Nona had exited the porch before she turned back to Deacon. She tilted her head to gaze up at him, and Deacon realized suddenly how tiny she was. How young she looked with her dark blond hair chopped off short and plastered to her head. She wore no makeup, and the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose gave her a wholesome, girl-next-door look. But her eyes—an odd shade of gold—reflected a hint of bitterness that made Deacon wonder about her past.
Something tightened inside him, and not for the first time, he wished he was someone—or something—other than who he was. He wished he was the type of man who could have a woman like Marly Jessop.
He could have her. He had the power to make her his. All he had to do was look deeply into those golden eyes and make her want him. Make her believe that she couldn’t live without him, that she would do anything in the world to have him. And just like that, she would be his.
For a little while. Until she learned the truth about him.
Then she would hate him. And she would have every right.
Reluctantly he broke eye contact and turned his gaze to the rain. Beside him, Marly stirred restlessly, as if sensing more than he wanted her to.
“Why’d you come back?” he asked softly.
She glanced at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded toward the street. “You were leaving, weren’t you? Running away? What made you come back?”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “You don’t know me, Mr. Cage, so don’t presume you understand anything about me. Besides, I’m here to ask the questions.”
He gave a brief nod. “Go ahead then.”
“What are you doing in Mission Creek? What’s your business here?”
“I’m just passing through.”
“On your way to…?”
He shrugged. “West.”
One brow lifted. “West of Mission Creek? West of Texas? West encompasses a lot of territory.”
“I’m not exactly sure what my plans are. But I do know that I’m not breaking any laws by being here.”
Her features tightened. “You’re always quick to point that out, aren’t you? If I were the suspicious type, I might think you have a guilty conscience.”
“Am I under suspicion for something?” he asked bluntly.
Her gaze faltered, but she still didn’t look away. “No. I am a little curious about the way you turned up here, though.”
“I explained all that. Morales’s boss sent me over here to check up on him.”
“Why you?”
He shrugged. “I stopped by the construction site to inquire about work. I’d heard around town they were hiring.”
Marly frowned. “You’re looking for work here? Sounds like you intend to stay awhile.”
“As I said, I don’t have any firm plans at the moment. But I can always use the extra cash.” Her eyes were very expressive, Deacon thought. And very beautiful. Like pools of liquid gold.
Her scowl deepened. “So you stopped by the job site to ask about work, and the foreman sent you over here to check up on Ricky. Just out of the blue?”
“He mentioned that Morales hadn’t been showing up for work. He was worried about him, but he couldn’t take the time to come over here himself.”
“So you volunteered.”
Deacon stared down at her. “Never hurts to get in good with the boss, right?”
Something flickered in her eyes, a tiny embarrassment that made Deacon remember how she’d looked when Navarro had first arrived on the scene. Nervous. Disconcerted. Her voice had been breathless when she’d called out to him. Was there something
going on between them?
Not that it would matter in the long run. But it might make what Deacon had to do a little more difficult if she was involved with someone.
Marly’s gaze turned suddenly defiant, as if she’d somehow sensed what he was up to. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here,” she muttered. “But something tells me I’m not getting the whole truth out of you yet.”
“Does it matter why I’m here?” He looked into her eyes. Tried to peer all the way into her soul. “You have more important things to worry about, don’t you? There’ve been four suicides in your town in a ten-day period. I’d say you’ve got bigger problems than me, Deputy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “But I never said Ricky Morales committed suicide.”
“You didn’t have to.” Deacon watched her for a moment. “I can help you, Marly.”
“What are you talking about? Help me how?” Her tone was indignant.
“You and I both know these suicides aren’t what they seem.”
A shadow flickered in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked as if she was on the verge of agreeing with him. Then her rational side took over and her resolve hardened. “There’s no reason to suspect foul play. Forensic evidence at every one of the scenes—”
“Is consistent with suicide. Yes, I know. I’m not suggesting these people didn’t die by their own hand. I have no doubt that Gracie Abbott drove her car into her garage, rolled up all the windows and let the carbon monoxide do its job. I’m certain those two kids purposely took overdoses and Ricky Morales pulled that trigger. What I am suggesting is that they were somehow compelled to do it.”
Marly gave him an incredulous look. “Compelled? How on earth do you compel someone to commit suicide?”
“It’s been done before,” Deacon said. “A man named Jim Jones led more than nine hundred of his followers to their deaths at Jonestown, Guyana, by drinking a cyanide-laced punch. Thirty-nine Heaven’s Gate devotees were found dead in a mansion near San Diego, California. I could go on, but I think you get my point.”
Silent Storm Page 3
