by Brant, Kylie
She mulled over the information as Dev pulled into a recently regraveled drive and nosed the car up the wind of it to the house perched above. There was absolutely no reason to believe a link existed between Jessalyn Porter’s death and that of Cassie Frost. No reason to think a nearly thirty-year-old closed homicide case had any connection to the one she was hired to investigate.
So she didn’t even want to contemplate Adam Raiker’s reaction if he discovered she was considering poking around in that old case for reasons that weren’t, by any stretch of the imagination, professional.
She was working sixteen-hour-days, she rationalized, getting out of the car when Dev pulled to a stop before a small clapboard house desperately in need of some tending. If she wanted to take an extra hour and get a few questions answered, it was hardly detracting from her devotion to this investigation. It wasn’t as if she slept a full night.
The new front porch on the house managed to make the rest of the structure look seedier. There was a woman bent over in a garden at its side who’d risen at their arrival, slipping off gardening gloves and raising a hand to shield her gaze as she studied the visitors.
“Hey there, Mrs. Urdall. It’s Devlin Stryker.” His gait as lazy as a nap in a hammock, Dev ambled over to the woman, an easy smile on his face. “Maybe you don’t remember me, but I roomed next to Tad our first year at the university.”
“I recall.” With no answering smile on her face, the woman jerked her head to Ramsey. “ ’Member you, too. Told you yesterday I had nothin’ to say to you. That hasn’t changed.”
There was more here, much more, than a wariness with strangers. The woman’s dislike was almost palpable. Sifting through the possibilities, Ramsey quickly settled on one. For whatever reason, Raelynn Urdall didn’t like cops.
“Haven’t seen Tad for . . . shoot.” Dev scratched his jaw, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. “Two years now, I guess.”
Raelynn’s face, tanned and creased from the sun, registered surprise. “You saw Tad two years ago?”
“I look him up regular when I’m in New York seein’ my editor. Never did answer my calls last spring when I was there. I was sorry to miss him.”
The wave of grief that washed over the woman’s face was as immediate as it was tragic. “You must not have heard the news. I’m surprised, since the town buzzed about it for months. He’s in prison.” The bitterness was directed at Ramsey. “Cops in New York set him up. Wanted him to inform on some of his friends, and when he refused, one of them planted drugs on him. Enough to get him sent away for intent to deliver.”
Ramsey was silent while Stryker commiserated with the woman. Urdall’s accounting of the events was possible. There were crooked cops in every department. But it was even more probable that Tad had been a dealer who’d refused to give up the bigger fish in the chain and had taken a fall because of it.
Stryker had his arm around the woman’s shoulders now, his head bent closer to hers, as Raelynn dabbed at her eyes. “I am purely sorry to hear ’bout Tad’s problems, ma’am. You tell him hey for me the next time you talk to him. It’s got to be a hard thing for you. How’ve you been holdin’ up?”
Ramsey caught a note of genuine concern in his voice, and she slanted a glance at him. It had been easier to resist that charm when she could dismiss him as no more than a small town Romeo used to conquering women with his slow-as-molasses drawl and affable smile.
But there was more. He was more. She shifted uneasily. And the unexpected depths of him shook her long-held defenses. Made her question hard-learned lessons. And that was alarming enough to make him a very dangerous man.
Certainly Urdall was responding to him. But then Ramsey was beginning to believe that anyone with two X chromosomes would. With the exception of Hannah Ashton this morning, he seemed capable of turning anything female into fluttering eyelashes and cooing responses in a matter of seconds. Even Ashton had thawed in his presence, which she’d be willing to bet represented a notable response for the woman.
“Sounds like Tad didn’t get justice,” Dev was saying as he walked the woman slowly up to the porch, his arm still around her shoulders. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am ’bout that. But the fact is, too many people don’t these days. Take that young lady they found dead a coupla weeks ago. They still don’t know who did it or why.”
Tears dried now, Raelynn fixed Ramsey with a stare. But it wasn’t quite as hard as it had been earlier. “Thought that was your job.”
Giving a slow nod, Ramsey said, “It is. But people ’round here aren’t always willin’ to speak to an outsider, especially one workin’ with the law. Gettin’ answers can be slow.” It was easier than she’d like to don the drawl at will. She’d much rather believe she’d lost it years ago. Certainly she’d worked at it.
Dev took a perch on the top step of the porch, and Raelynn sank down next to him. “We all have our reasons, I guess. But I s’pose it wouldn’t hurt to give you the information you was askin’ for yesterday. Don’t know what it has to do with that poor girl’s murder. You wanted to know about plants used in healin’, you said.”
“That’s right.” Sensing capitulation, Ramsey pulled a notebook out of her jacket pocket, jotting notes as the woman rattled off more examples than even Cora Beth had given them.
“’Course herbs are used for more reasons than healin,” the woman said as she wound down.
Interest sharpening, Ramsey flicked her a glance. “Such as?”
“Flowers each have an associated meanin’. Like the magnolia stands for nobility, and the daffodil for unrequited love.” Raelynn shrugged, as if the matter were inconsequential. “I don’t hold with all that, you understand, but there are some who do.”
“What if I wanted to buy a sample of everything you grow?” Ramsey asked, forgetting her drawl in her rising excitement. “What would that cost me?”
The woman hesitated, glancing at Dev and back. “I don’t know . . .”
To help the woman make up her mind, Ramsey named a price that would have her checking account bleeding. Urdall’s eyes widened.
“Just one of each, you said?”
“I’ll want the entire plant. Root, stem, leaf.” Were there other parts? She thought that should cover it. “If you could put each in a clear plastic bag and label it, that would be a help.”
“I can have them ready by tomorrow mornin’. Will that be soon enough?” Urdall’s sudden metamorphosis into business-woman was hardly surprising, given the look of her property. Ramsey imagined the amount she’d promised was more than the woman saw in a month.
Taking a card out of her pocket, she scribbled the name of the motel she was staying at, and the cabin number. “When you deliver them, you’ll get paid in full.”
“You’ll be doin’ Ms. Clark a huge favor with your generosity,” Dev put in.
Recognizing the glint in his eye, she mentally sighed. Too often she forgot the niceties considered so important in social discourse. Manufacturing a smile, she stuck out her hand. “You certainly are. I appreciate all your help. And I’m sincerely sorry to hear about your son.”
Visibly cloaking herself with dignity, the woman inclined her head. “Life ain’t always fair, and that’s a fact.”
They exchanged a look, a thread of understanding passing between them. Life sure as hell wasn’t fair, Ramsey agreed silently. But she’d spent the last several years of her life trying to even that score.
Some days it even felt like enough.
Chapter 13
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to put off stoppin’ to see Rose Thornton until later on this evenin’.”
Ramsey shot Dev a look. “We can’t wait until too late. She was probably in bed by the time I stopped in last night, and it was barely nine thirty.” At least she’d figured the woman had turned in. The more she considered her age, the more Ramsey was convinced the woman hadn’t been the one tromping around the woods with a flashlight.
Which meant someone else ha
d been.
“Agreed. How ’bout I pick you up at seven or so? Better yet, we’ll make it six. You can pay me that dinner you owe me, then we can head out to the Thornton place.”
The idea wasn’t as unwelcome as it should have been. She blamed that on the spotty breakfast she’d had. It was dinner that beckoned, not more of Stryker’s companionship.
She had the thought, tried to believe it.
“All right.” She could use the time this afternoon to return to the motel and follow up on those ViCAP hits. And if there was any time left, she’d drop in to nag Jonesy and do a little research on plant roots and their effects. “What will you be doing this afternoon?”
He leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. A moment later, some sixties rock filled the interior of the vehicle. “Haven’t been to see my granddaddy for a coupla days. Just might drop in to have lunch with him.” His mouth quirked. “Don’t want to cramp his style, though. He’s got a full stable of interested ladies that seem to be hangin’ ’round every time I’m there.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” she said drily. The apple certainly hadn’t fallen far from their particular family tree.
She went silent for a time, watching blindly as the scenery whipped by the window, emulating the thoughts crashing and colliding in her mind. Herbs for medicine, healing, and for magic spells. And then there were flowers, trees, and shrubs related to the same. A dull throb began in her temples. She needed a list. A clearly labeled diagram that cross-referenced plants indigenous to the region.
But wait. She raised a hand to rub at the ache. Even if a plant wasn’t natural in this setting, it could be grown inside, couldn’t it? People had greenhouses these days. She’d once busted a guy outside Memphis who had turned his entire basement into a pot garden. Given the right incentive, a person could grow any damn thing they wanted.
So she needed more information from Jonesy. And possibly from the medical examiner, regarding the rootlike substance in the victim’s stomach. If one could estimate how much mass the root had, she might be able to eliminate some of those Urdall would be delivering.
Because it was damn certain that she couldn’t expect the scientist to compare a sample found in the stomach contents with every known plant root in the area.
“Thinkin’ ’bout what you’re gonna wear on our date tonight?”
“What?” Her head swiveled to face him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you want to dazzle my eye and befuddle my senses?”
Settling back into her seat, she said with a smirk, “Something tells me you’re easily dazzled, and befuddlement is too effortlessly accomplished to be considered much of a feat.”
“I’ve been befuddled since meetin’ you, and that’s a fact.” He made the turn that would lead them into town again. “Spent more time than I’d like to admit wonderin’ all sorts of stuff ’bout you.”
Her guard skated up and clanged shut with a decided slam. “Like what?”
“Oh, li’l things. Important things.” He raised a hand to the couple walking along the side of the road. “Like whether you prefer The Munsters or The Addams Family. Personally I find The Munsters more entertainin’, but The Addams Family had Thing, which was sorta creepy.”
Ramsey could feel the tension easing out of her body, bit by bit. “Yeah, those old Nick at Nite reruns are pretty vital, all right.”
The Boss came on the radio then, singing the merits of being born in the USA. “There’s other things I think ’bout. What kind of music you like. How you manage to turn that drawl on and off at will. How many of those suits you own. And what sort of lingerie you just may wear under them.”
“Springsteen’s always a good . . .” His last statement registered belatedly, and she sent a jab to his shoulder, satisfied when he flinched. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll never find out.”
“Never say never, Ms. Clark.” There was a look of pure masculine amusement on his face. “Admit it. A few days ago you’d never have considered you’d be ridin’ down the road with me and contemplatin’ dinner together.”
Because his words were true enough, she remained silent. And tried not to worry about the way they resonated. Maybe she had more in common with every other woman in Buffalo Springs than she wanted to admit. The thought made her squirm. But there was no denying he elicited a response from her, one she was usually careful to deny.
One she was becoming less and less certain she wanted to deny.
Since she left Cripolo—although escaped seemed a more accurate word—she’d had one brief disastrous marriage before she figured out the obvious: she wasn’t made for hearts and flowers. Wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of relationship if it appeared. She had, however, perfected the no-strings, no-backward-glance hookup with none of the sticky entanglements other women seemed to relish.
She’d never met a man yet who wasn’t happy with just that sort of encounter. Shoving aside the thread of doubt that threatened, she settled more comfortably in her seat. If she did decide to try the man on for size, there was no reason to believe that Devlin Stryker would be any different.
When Ramsey returned to the cabin they used as an office, Powell was as animated as she’d ever seen him. For a moment, she suspected the man had broken down and gone off his bland diet. Maybe eaten some BBQ ribs or fried chicken.
But apparently a break in the case had a similar effect on him.
“Quinn Sanders,” the agent informed her with a hard glint in his eyes, “is a lyin’-ass dog.”
“What’ve you got?” she asked as she shut the door behind her and walked to the table where he was working. Her gaze dropped to the pages strewn across its surface. “Frost’s LUDs?”
“Damn straight.” Powell stabbed a finger at the circled numbers on the top sheet before flipping through the pages to show several others similarly marked. “Son of a bitch didn’t call her from his cell phone. Probably figured the sister would be checkin’ that. He cheated with her on the first one, right? Bastard can’t be trusted. But this number corresponds to that of the health club he owns, a 24 Hour Fitness. Thirty-seven calls to the vic’s cell phone since she left town. At least,” he amended, “since the date her sister says she left.”
Intrigued, Ramsey crowded in next to him, scanning the pages in question. “Looks like she called him a few times, too.” Pulse quickening, she quickly counted up the number of calls to the club from the victim’s cell phone. An even dozen.
“Who else works there? Any chance she might have been talking to a friend there, another worker?”
“Not unless she was a friend with the custodian or bookkeeper.” Powell linked his fingers, cracked his knuckles. “The custodian only works nights and the bookkeeper comes in once a week, so neither could account for all those calls. It’s the type of place that can be accessed around the clock. Every client has a fob to unlock the door. According to Matthews, the phone is in the office, which is locked by a separate key whenever Sanders isn’t there. Not much doubt that he made them.”
The question, Ramsey mused, was why he’d made them. “Do we have Frost’s financials yet?”
As an answer, Powell reached for a separate file folder and handed it to her. Flipping it open, she quickly skimmed over the bank statements. “Doesn’t look like blackmail,” she murmured. Up until the time the woman left her home, there had been twice monthly deposits from her bank job. Since then, the deposits had been spotty and less than half what she’d made earlier. Ramsey checked the savings records. It appeared as though Frost had been hitting her savings regularly to supplement her income.
Not for the first time, a stab of sympathy pierced her. She understood the need to run from the past. But from the looks of the phone records, Frost’s past hadn’t been willing to let go of her.
“Be nice to get a look at Sanders’s LUDs and financials,” she muttered.
Powell was matter-of-fact. “Not even close to that yet. But I told Matthews to stay put in Memph
is. I want you to join him there tomorrow for another run at Sanders. A little harder this time.” They exchanged a glance. “Man flat out lied about havin’ any contact with the victim since she left.”
“So he’s either stupid, or thinks we are.”
“He’s got somethin’ to hide. I want to know what it is. Either he’s a slime-suckin’ slug trying to work it with two women, or he’s got reason to stay in contact. Find out which.”
“How hard do you want me to push?”
“As hard as it takes.”
Ramsey nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take off early tomorrow. I’m expecting a delivery in the morning.” Briefly she filled the man in on the events of the day and her suppositions.
Powell looked unexcited. “Tryin’ to match the roots seems like a needle in a haystack at this point.”
