Gray drizzle. Sickening lilacs. Pink skin, scraped raw with mud.
The doorbell jerked me from the scene. Heart beating at twice normal and with a roar in my head, I slipped toward the window along the porch and peered through the slats of the blinds.
“What does he want? Don’t let him in?” Whispers and shouts.
I blinked to silence the whole lot. Or at least lower their noise to the background.
I opened the door to Rafe in his uniform. He wasn’t happy.
“Damn it, Jamie. What are you thinking?” He pushed inside before I had a chance to step onto the porch.
I didn’t back up enough to let him past the entryway. I could pretend I didn’t know what he meant but there didn’t seem to be much point to that. “Cali’s missing. And you don’t seem interested in finding her. I had to do something.”
He set his jaw as stared at me. “We got another call from Jim Thompson. I can’t cover your butt if you keep this up.”
There was one more play to make. The gray sedan. “I need you to look up a license plate number.” I closed my eyes and called Digit from among the voices. I dictated the number to Rafe.
He didn’t write it down, but looked over my shoulder and his gaze found my dining room table with the two objects there like a macabre centerpiece. He shook his head. “It’s like you’re obsessed with proving your instincts are right.”
“It’s not my instincts. It’s experience.”
“What experience?”
Frank shouted at me to hurt Rafe. Maggie’s soft voice floated to me. “Tell him, Dear. He can help.”
I shut my mouth and stomped into the living room.
Rafe followed. “It’s hotter than hell in here. Why don’t you have the a/c on?”
I’d opened the French door in back and the kitchen window in the cool of the night and hadn’t thought about it since. Now I noticed the sweat soaking my T-shirt. “I like it hot.”
“You’re obsessing. That’s not good.”
“You don’t know what’s good for me.”
He wiped at his moist forehead. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
An earlier version of me would have shut the door and turned on the air, would offer him a cool drink. “You slapped my hand for contacting Megan Thompson. I apologize and promise not to do it again. You can write that in your report. Now will you check on that plate?”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
If wishes came true. “What do you want from me?”
Without invitation, he sauntered past me and dropped onto the couch. “I want to know you. Tell me what you’re hiding. Why you can’t let the cops deal with Cali?”
He sat inches away from the hoodie. The Chorus sounded like a New York traffic jam. It took me a moment to decide to tell him more. “The details of this case are similar to one I worked a few years ago.”
He rested his arm on top of the hoodie and I nearly cried out as if he’d slapped me. If he thought I acted strangely standing in the middle of my living room staring at him, he didn’t show it. “Tell me how this is like that case.”
He must have noticed the lumpiness underneath his arm. Without seeming too interested in the sweatshirt, he picked it up.
It was as if he seared me with a white-hot iron. I leaped forward and jerked the hoodie from his grasp. He flinched and the chuckle I tried for stuck in my throat like a gag. I took a couple of mincing steps toward the dining room. “Sorry. I shouldn’t leave my stuff laying around like that. If I’d known you were coming over, I’d have cleaned up a bit.”
He stood and followed me, making a show of inspecting my house. “Cleaned up? This is like a museum. No dust, everything in place.” He nodded at the table. “Except these, of course.”
I held the hoodie close and didn’t try to talk.
Rafe approached me in that quiet, powerful way of his. Without touching me, he made me feel warm in a protective embrace. “Tell me.”
Frank exploded. “Don’t trust him.”
Rafe’s serene aura worked on me. Not even Tara made me feel this safe. I met his gaze and held it for several beats, searching, probing, looking for the lie.
With a sigh of surrender, I began. “A missing girl in Buffalo. She was gone for three days before they found a clue. A ponytail elastic with hair. Blonde.”
“The missing girl was a blonde, like Cali?”
He couldn’t know that each word, each memory, every single thought, sliced like a butcher knife through my flesh. I nodded. “It was in an abandoned car by a junk yard. So we searched.”
Rafe shook his head. “Criminals can be so stupid. Leaving such obvious clues.”
Cement blocks pressed on my chest, more pain. “Oh, he left it on purpose. He wanted us to find it.”
Rafe caught the starkness of my tone. He didn’t say anything.
“We found the girl’s necklace on a path toward the middle of the yard.” That’s what I said, but my body felt and saw the mud.
Rafe’s eyes shifted to the necklace on the table, then back to me.
“We discovered the body after that.”
After the one last clue, of course. I hugged the sweatshirt. Finding a body sounded antiseptic, neat and tidy. Not like what I saw every night and prayed to forget.
Frank had taken over then, not only my head, but my body. Not soon enough.
Rafe whispered and I almost didn’t hear because of the others. “I’m sorry.”
It was the right thing to say to an officer who’d failed. It would never be enough, but it was all he had to give.
I blinked dry eyes and cleared my throat. “Someone confessed. He was convicted and died in jail.”
He studied me and then the objects on the table. “Where did these come from?”
I watched him to judge his reaction. “They’re Cali’s. The killer left them for me to find.”
That impassive face. But he was working on everything I’d said and putting it together. “You’re telling me the confession was false?”
I nodded.
“And you think he tracked you here and is targeting you with Cali’s disappearance?”
Suddenly weak, I plopped into a dining chair. “That’s exactly what I think.”
He studied me for several seconds. “After Jim Thompson called me this morning, I made a call of my own.”
My stomach contracted.
“I called your old station in Buffalo.”
I quit breathing and waited for the sky to fall.
34
Someone told him all about me. They’d probably coughed up the gory details. Why had he bothered listening to my story?
Rafe gave me that indiscernible face. Probably assessing the level of my sanity. “You must have been a pretty big deal there. Everyone seemed to know you.”
He toyed with me like a cat with a cockroach. “I was there a long time.”
That face of his, so carefully stripped of emotion. “I got shunted uphill pretty quickly and landed on the sheriff’s desk.”
Even in my over-heated house a chill spiked my skin. “Must have been a slow day.”
His eyes zeroed in on me. “Maybe, but she didn’t waste much time. Told me you were an exemplary office, retired with honors and full benefits, no smirch on your record. And she hung up.”
That sounded like Mom, down to the term “exemplary.” Guess no one had mentioned that Sheriff Amanda Carmichael was my mother. I had my father’s last name, so Rafe probably hadn’t made the connection. That’s one in our favor. High-five, Mom. I changed the subject. “That’s all interesting, but we need to find Cali Shaw.”
The kindness and heart-stopping masculine strength in Rafe’s face showed no reaction as he studied me. His dark eyes snapped with intelligence. It wouldn’t be long before he figured out he should put distance between us. Rafe probably heard the low hum of the refrigerator, maybe a bird in the back yard. For me, Frank grumbled about weak-assed pansies in uniform, the Chorus chattered about how lon
g it was taking him to flee, Maggie soothed. Peanut kept her silence, waiting for me to ask her.
“Okay.” Rafe dipped his head toward the front door.
“Okay?”
He looked at the ribbon and the necklace, then started for the door. “Let’s go talk to Megan. See if we can find out where Cali is.”
He intended to help me? “She’ll be at school.”
He let a smidgeon of disgust into his voice. “Jim Thompson said until you apologize or are in custody, he’s keeping Megan at home.” When I didn’t jump up, he glanced over his shoulder. “You know where she lives, right?”
Stopping long enough to scoop the necklace and bow into a drawer, and to place the hoodie back on the couch, I hurried after Rafe and lock the front door.
I called the hospital again and got the same bland non-information of no change. While he drove, I told Rafe about Kaycee. I gave him the license plate number again. “I have no reason to think it, but I think someone in that car might be responsible for Kaycee’s accident.”
He kept his eyes on the road and after a minute, he pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket and handed it to me. “Write the number down and I’ll run it later.”
We got caught in morning traffic. Even though Rafe knew the backroads through Tucson, as cops always do, it seemed we cruised past twenty grade schools, with their hovering parents dropping their kids off in regulated lines, snarling the commute. Do what you can, parents, have your child escorted from your car to the school doors. That isn’t where danger lurks.
We crossed under I-10, leaving the older, seedier parts of town and entered into the realm of landscaped neighborhoods and upscale shopping centers. Towering palm trees, wide sidewalks, a spit and shine my side of town didn’t try to accomplish. I directed Rafe to the golf course and into the eucalyptus-shaded subdivision. Though the temperature climbed to the eighties, here, the well-toned seemed to wrestle it into feeling ten degrees cooler.
We pulled up in front of the door with the pink-potted entryway. My stomach soured at the sight of Megan’s shiny Toyota parked in front of the closed garage door. So much handed to her and she grabbed more, scorching everything in her path.
I checked my phone for messages. Would Sherilyn think to call me if Kaycee’s condition changed?
Rafe looked at me with concern. “You’re going to play nice here, right? Let me do the talking.”
Whispering and jeering continued in the background.
I climbed out, not committing to anything.
Rafe hurried around the hood to join me, walking a half-step ahead. He rang the doorbell. For all the fancy flourishes of old-growth plantings and well-kept common space, this house had the flimsy desert construction of my neighborhood. A TV vibrated with the overly cheerful strains of a commercial and feet thudded down the stairs. In a short time, the door whisked open and Megan stood in front of us in a pink sundress so short walking quickly would expose her Victoria’s Secret. She’d learned nothing about throwing open her door without checking. I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, make her understand how her stupid and careless habits could get her killed.
Her head jerked to the left, as if checking to see if someone else witnessed her. She thrust her hip out and set her shoulders with deliberate attitude. “I can’t believe you came here again.”
The overpowering scent of rose potpourri or the giant Yankee Candles sold in every mall across the country, came rushing out on cooled air.
Rafe merely twitched his shoulder to warn me against answering. He tucked away his charm and was all stony cop. “We need to talk to your friend, Cali. She’s not answering her phone. Where is she?”
As if against her will, she side-eyed to the left again. “I’m not Google.”
Rafe nodded. “And I’m not fooling around. I can cite you for destruction of property, or you can cooperate.”
She folded her arms. “Go ahead. Daddy might have something to say about that.”
“I’m sure he will. He’ll also be interested to hear about your latest antics. My guess is our story isn’t the same as yours.”
A door opened and closed inside the house to our left. “Megan?”
The girl straightened and her arms dropped to her sides. The sneer quickly morphed into a wide-eyed look of concern.
Mrs. Thompson rounded the corner to see me and Rafe outside the door. Mama Bear snarled and advanced without hesitation. “Unless this cop is here to witness your apology to my daughter, you’d better march yourself off my property.”
I tensed against the temptation to tell Mrs. Thompson about her despicable darling daughter.
Rafe bristled but held himself with his usual dignity. “Hello, Mrs. Thompson. We’re here because we need to do a wellness check on Cali Shaw. There’s no answer at the address the school has on file and the cell number for Cali’s mother, a Kandy Shaw, says it’s an invalid number. We thought Megan might have some information.”
Rafe had been investigating. He believed me.
Mrs. Thompson, stuffed into her paisley capris, sweat ringing her underarms, pulled off one gardening glove. “I’m not surprised you can’t get in touch with Kandy. That woman is so irresponsible she probably quit making payments and had to get a new number.”
“Do you happen to have a new number for her?”
Mrs. Thompson scowled in annoyance. “I have a number. Who knows if it’s valid. And let me tell you, I had to do battle royal to get it from her. She wasn’t about to cough it up until I told her Cali simply could not stay over a long weekend until I had a working number. You know, Kandy wouldn’t give up a chance to go away with some man. Always a different one, mind you. But she seems to find them and get them to take her on vacations. She leaves that poor girl with anybody who will have her.”
I couldn’t look at her because her sanctimonious expression would make it impossible to ignore the calls for violence raging inside me.
Rafe didn’t shout at her to get the damned phone number, as we all wanted to do. She peeled off a glove. “Wait a minute. I’ll have to get my phone.”
With Mrs. Thompson as witness, Rafe asked Megan, “When was the last time you saw Cali?”
Mrs. Thompson turned that irritated face on Megan.
Megan’s voice rose an octave to sound more like a little girl. She gave her mother a worried look. “I’m not supposed to hang out with Cali so I only see her at practice. And since we’re suspended, I haven’t been.”
Mrs. Thompson snapped at her. “Oh for heaven’s sake.” She stomped off to get her phone.
Megan followed her mother’s retreat with a look of contempt she then turned on us. She stuck out her hip again and she did a little wag with her neck, like a stiff version of an inner-city tough. “I talked to Cali this morning. She’s got, like, better things to do than hang around school. She got cut from the squad because she missed practice after we were suspended, and it’s not like her mother makes her go to class. So, you’re wasting your time. She’s fine.”
Rafe nodded. “You’re probably right.”
She rolled her eyes at his patronizing tone.
Mrs. Thompson returned with her phone. With slightly more civility than Megan, she gave Rafe the number. “Cali’s got no discipline and no role model for a mother. I tried to help her out when she was younger. I really did. But why would she listen to me? I’m a drudge, with rules and curfews.” She paused to let her wisdom soak in. “Is that it? Because I don’t want to see you around here anymore. Is that understood?”
Rafe’s wide, white grin told her how ridiculous it sounded to give ultimatums to a cop.
She managed to look cowed and angry at the same time and added more muscle than she needed to shut the front door before we’d said good bye.
I was already in the car with my door closed before Rafe eased behind the wheel. “Call her now,” I said.
He frowned. “Let’s go back to the station and do it.”
I tapped the dash with my open palm. �
�Now. Or give me the number and I’ll call.”
He fished his phone from his pocket. “I’ll do it.”
Rafe ran his finger down his notes to highlight the number and dialed with his thumb. That time it rang three times before a laughing woman blasted on with, “Speak to me!”
“Ms. Shaw?” Rafe held the phone slightly from his face so I could hear her response.
The laughter died. This woman knew authority when she heard it. She had the low, scorched voice of a life-long smoker. “Kandy. Yes.”
“This is Officer Grijalva of the Tucson Police Department. I’m calling in regard to your daughter, Cali.”
Her first response was irritation. “What’s she done now?”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched, maybe with the same disgust I felt. “She and some friends vandalized a residence and we’re trying to locate her.”
Kandy’s scratchy voice sounded bitter. “Vandalized. You mean like egging or keying a car or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Christ. Is that all? You don’t have real criminals to worry about you gotta convict kids for harmless pranks?”
Rafe hardened his tone. “The issue, Ms. Shaw, is that we can’t locate your daughter.”
She laughed and it turned into a cough. “Good for her.”
“Where are you, Ms. Shaw?”
A lighter flicked and she inhaled. “Right now I’m sitting on a balcony in Cancun drinking a mai tai. And if I wasn’t talking to you, I’d be having the time of my life.”
“That bitch should burn in Hell,” Frank said.
Rafe’s mouth twitched again, the only sign of his impatience. “We checked out your residence and no one was there, nor was her car anywhere around the neighborhood. Can you tell me where Cali is staying while you’re having the time of your life?”
She inhaled again, taking her time answering. “I don’t know who told you she’s home, but I wouldn’t leave a sixteen-year-old alone for a week. What kind of mother do you think I am?”
“The kind who should be fed to hungry dogs,” Frank said.
“We tried to reach her by phone and didn’t get an answer. You can see why we’re concerned.”
The Desert Behind Me Page 19
