Dying Scream

by Burton, Mary

  “Didn’t take that detective long to share.” There was no hint of apology from Janet. “I’d hoped Rhonda was just an amusement for Craig and that it would all pass. But she held on to him tight.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  An amused eyebrow arched. “They were.”

  “You have evidence?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Do you think Craig killed her?”

  Janet shook her head. “Craig made messes, he didn’t clean them up.”

  The callousness wasn’t unexpected, but even from Janet sounded so harsh. “Killing Rhonda was cleaning up?”

  Janet shrugged. “Let’s face it, Rhonda’s death was timely. And it stopped her from making a good deal of trouble for Craig and you.”

  “Honestly, I wish Rhonda had made her trouble. I wish she’d had the chance to drag every dirty little secret into the open. Then we wouldn’t be standing here guessing what they did or didn’t do.”

  “Be careful what you wish for. You loved Craig. You wanted to marry him.”

  She’d had so many nagging doubts about the wedding. But she was pregnant and wanted her child to have a happy family. “Why’d you come here, Janet?”

  “Like I said, just to see how you’re doing. And to see if I could view that art collection you’re selling a little early. My customers are asking about it and I know there are pieces I’d buy.”

  “The paintings are sealed in storage right now. I can’t move them. Insurance.”

  “What about the catalogue? Surely I can peek at that.”

  “It’s not finished.”

  “I would have thought it would be done by now.”

  “The printer is donating the print job so it keeps getting pushed back.”

  “What about proofs?”

  “Nope.”

  “No bending the rules for an old friend?”

  “Sorry. But we’ll see you at the auction?”

  “Oh, you can count on it.”

  “Why the sudden interest in the paintings, Janet? A year ago, they were of no interest to you.”

  “Markets change. The art world can be fickle.

  Janet grinned. “See you at the auction on Friday.”

  Adrianna stood by the glass storefront watching Janet slide behind the wheel of her Mercedes. “What the devil are you up to?”

  As much as she wanted to know, she didn’t have time to waste. She began signing checks.

  At exactly eight o’clock the Wells Moving van pulled up in front of her shop. Always punctual, she mused.

  As she quickly signed the last check and placed it in the Process folder for Phyllis, Janet’s words played in her head.

  Let’s face it. Rhonda’s death was timely.

  She thought about what Cary had said about the woman who’d shown up at her wedding reception ready to make a fuss. Why hadn’t Rhonda found Adrianna later to say what was on her mind? She and Craig hadn’t left until Monday for their honeymoon.

  Let’s face it. Rhonda’s death was timely.

  A pink message slip waited for Gage on his desk when he arrived at the office. Rex had called. Immediately, he picked up the phone and returned the call.

  A gruff voice barked, “What?”

  “Detective Gage Hudson. You called.”

  “What? Oh, yeah, right.” A lighter clicked open, flint struck, and Rex inhaled. “Peggy said you were asking about Kelly Jo.”

  “That’s right. What can you tell me?”

  “Last name was Morgan. Kelly Jo Morgan. Lived with a sister on south side. Her legal name was Colleen Morgan.”

  “You got an address?”

  “Thought you’d ask. I pulled her personnel card.” He rattled off an address off of Courthouse Road. “Sister’s name is Brenda Davidson.”

  “Thanks. Have any idea what happened to her?”

  “Heard she moved to New York.”

  Another faraway place. “Thanks.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Gage and Vega were in his car headed south. Morning traffic was backed up on the Willey Bridge thanks to a fender bender so he diverted a few miles east to the Huguenot Bridge. While Gage drove, Vega got on the car computer and searched Colleen Morgan’s name. A rap sheet appeared on-screen and he printed it off.

  “Looks like Kelly Jo/Colleen got into some trouble. Bad checks. Identity theft. Some drugs.”

  “She do time?”

  “A few months.”

  Once they crossed the James River, traffic opened up and in another quarter hour they arrived at Davidson’s small white rancher. The aluminum siding needed a good cleaning and the grass in the front yard was seven or eight inches tall. A cracked cement sidewalk led to three front brick steps.

  Inside the house they heard the loud clamor of feet and a dog barking. Next came a woman’s voice shouting, “Get your asses in gear!”

  Vega chuckled. “Sounds a little like my mom back in the day. Mom should have been a marine.”

  Gage rang the bell. “I can’t imagine what kind of shit you put that poor woman through.”

  “More than any woman deserves.”

  The front door snapped open and standing there was a trim woman who looked to be in her late forties. She’d swept dark hair back in a barrette, wore jeans and a large blue sweatshirt. Behind her stood two boys who looked middle school age. Backpacks slung on their shoulders and brown-bagged lunches dangled in their hands. One had dark hair, one light.

  “Can I help you?” the woman said.

  Gage showed his badge. “I’m Detective Gage Hudson.”

  The boys glanced at each other and then the woman. Confusion turned to worry.

  The woman winked at the kids. “Boys, don’t worry about this. Just hustle on out the door or you’ll miss the bus.”

  “Bye, Mom,” they said. They glanced sharply at the detectives as they left.

  When the boys were out of earshot, Gage said, “We’re looking for Brenda Davidson.”

  “That’s me.” She waved at the youngest boy when he glanced back. “Hurry up, Trey.”

  “We’d like to talk to you about your sister, Kelly Jo.”

  Brenda pushed open the screened door. “Come on in.”

  “You don’t sound so surprised to see us,” Gage said.

  “I’m not. I haven’t heard from Kelly Jo in almost four years, but I figured she’d turn up again. Bad pennies always do.”

  The living room was neat though the furniture was older and well worn as if teenaged boys had plopped all over them a million times. On the walls were pictures of the boys, but by the looks of the gap-toothed smiles, the photos had been taken a couple of years ago.

  “When was the last time you saw your sister?” Gage said. They followed her into the kitchen. Coffee brewed in a pot and she offered them both a cup. They declined, so she poured herself one. Her hands trembled.

  “Like I said, over four years ago. It was late August or early September. She was in a great mood.”

  Gage detected censure in her voice, but let her keep talking.

  “Kelly Jo had big dreams but she wasn’t willing to put in the work. She was always taking shortcuts.” She sniffed. “That’s how she got into stripping. Said she could make more in one night than she could in two weeks of waiting tables.”

  “How long did she strip at Doxies?”

  “About two years.”

  “Did she have anything to say about the patrons?” Gage glanced at the kids’ school pictures on the refrigerator. One had dark hair. One light.

  “She loved the attention.” She sipped her coffee. “She used to say a few got a little handsy, but overall they were just businessmen looking to blow off steam.”

  “Anyone in particular pay attention to her?” Vega asked

  Brenda set her cup down on the counter. “Okay, boys, I’ve answered a couple of your questions. Before I say anything else, tell me what this is all about? Has Kelly Jo resurfaced? Has she been stealing from someone?”

  “Two
bodies have been found. They’ve been in the ground a few years. We have identified one victim. And we suspect the second might be your sister.”

  “I haven’t heard anything in the news about it.”

  “So far, we’ve kept it quiet.”

  For a moment she just stared at him, her eyes blinking slowly. There was no sign of sadness or grief. “I suppose I’m not surprised she came to a bad end. She was a handful since she was a kid.” She released a long breath. “Those boys you just saw leave—the dark-haired one is hers. He was just about five when she vanished. I’ve been raising him since. I always figured she’d taken off with that boyfriend ’cause she’d gotten tired of taking care of Max.”

  Gage rubbed the back of his neck. “What boyfriend?”

  “Honestly, I never paid much attention when she talked about him. I figured he was just a jerk from the bar and she was reading more into the situation than was really there.”

  “What did she say about him?” Vega asked.

  “That he really loved her.” There was no missing the bitterness in her voice. “That he wanted to marry her. That they would be together forever.” As the news of her sister’s death sank deeper, she seemed more unsettled. “She believed he would marry her if she was going to have his baby. So she went out of her way to get pregnant.”

  “Was she?”

  “No. Kelly Jo had problems after Max was born. Collapsed tubes or something. She couldn’t have had anyone’s baby. But she refused to believe that. She just knew she could get pregnant if she wanted it enough. At one point she really thought she was pregnant and she told him so.”

  Craig had been trying to get back together with Adrianna at that point. An unplanned baby couldn’t have been welcome.

  “After she left, did she send you a postcard?” Gage said.

  “Yeah. San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge. But I didn’t hang on to it. I was pissed.” Her lips flattened. “I wish I had it now. Would have been something for Max.”

  “Do you have any pictures of your sister or maybe even the boyfriend?”

  Brenda frowned. “I got a couple of pictures. I saved them for Max, seeing as he might ask about her one day. Wait just a second and I’ll go look.”

  When she left the room, Vega looked at Gage. “How much you want to bet the boyfriend is Craig?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions right now.” They heard Brenda rummage through a closet and then minutes later her heavy, purposeful steps returning to the kitchen.

  “Here you go,” she said. She held out a handful of pictures.

  Gage took them and started to flip through each slowly. Kelly Jo had been a lovely woman. Bleached blond hair, rich brown eyes, and large breasts—nothing like Rhonda Minor. The last picture was a group shot taken at Doxies. Kelly Jo was in the center and around her were several other dancers and patrons. On the back row and to the left was a familiar face. Gage handed the photo to Vega.

  Vega studied the picture just a moment before saying, “Craig Thornton.”

  “Who?” Brenda said.

  Vega showed her the picture. “This man on the back row. He’s not standing next to her but he’s smiling at her.”

  “Yeah, he’s the one. Her boyfriend. But his name isn’t Craig. I think she said his name was Tim.”

  “And you are certain he was her boyfriend?”

  “Very. She showed me the damn picture enough.” The quiver in her voice robbed the words of intended anger. “Do you really think that body is Kelly Jo?”

  Gage hadn’t come here expecting to make a death notice. But there was no getting around it. “We have to make a positive identification first. Did Kelly Jo have dental x-rays made?”

  “A couple of times. She saw my guy, Dr. Dawson.” The woman turned to the refrigerator and pulled off an appointment card for the boys. “Here’s his number.”

  Gage jotted down the full name and number. “Can we keep the photos?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll want them back eventually. Like I said, Max will ask questions one day.” She accepted the card back from Gage and put it back on the refrigerator under a magnet. “Do you think this Tim guy killed her?”

  “We don’t know. But you might as well know, the guy died about ten months ago.”

  “You’re chasing a dead man?” Bitterness coated the words.

  Craig didn’t have the balls. He made messes, didn’t clean them up.

  The more Gage learned about Craig, the less convinced he was that he was the killer.

  “I don’t know. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Promise.”

  “Yes.” He handed her his card.

  Gage and Vega left and as he slid behind the wheel his phone started to ring. “Hudson.”

  “It’s C.C. Ricker. I got an update on Adrianna Barrington’s phone records.”

  “Okay.”

  “I cross-checked against Rhonda Minor’s name and Colleen Morgan’s name.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “We have a hit.”

  “When?”

  “Four years ago. September second.”

  Gage gripped the phone. “She called Colleen Morgan?”

  “That she did.”

  “Shit.”

  C.C. sighed. “I’d have thought you’d be happy.”

  Gage wasn’t happy one damn bit. Adrianna had kept information from him yet again. “I am.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuesday, October 3, 3:00 p.m.

  Brett Newington, station manager for Channel 10, adjusted the cuff of his hand-tailored shirt as he reviewed the copy the new evening anchor had written. He didn’t like the text. It was sloppy and wordy.

  He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Plus she was too fat for his tastes. She didn’t have a spark and she wasn’t quick on her feet. Basically, she was no Kendall Shaw.

  Kendall. He got pissed every time he thought about her. He’d offered her everything and she’d turned him down flat to open that damn PR firm and marry that cop. Ungrateful bitch. Whore.

  A hard, frantic rap on his door had him looking up sharply. Standing in his doorway was a rumpled old man who smelled of dust and age and looked like he’d been plucked out of the stacks of a dusty library.

  “Who the hell are you?” Brett asked.

  “Dr. Cyril Heckman.”

  “How’d you get in here?”

  Dr. Heckman eased into his office and closed the door. “I snuck in.”

  Brett rose, lifting the phone receiver as he did. “I’m calling security.”

  “No, don’t. I have a great story for you.”

  Brett started to dial. “I doubt that.”

  “Have you heard of Adrianna Barrington? Kendall Shaw Warwick’s sister?”

  She’d had a press conference last week. It had been about selling land and moving graves. He’d not covered it because he’d be damned before he did a favor for Kendall’s sister. Still, he was curious about Dr. Heckman’s visit.

  When security picked up Brett said, “Never mind.” He set down the phone. “Keep talking.”

  “I’ve been trying to get to you for days.”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me why you’re here.”

  Dr. Heckman blinked as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Adrianna Barrington has got trouble on her land.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Dr. Heckman recapped the story of the bodies. He didn’t have many details, only that one had been female and the cops suspected murder.

  Brett threaded manicured hands together. “I’ve not heard anything about this.”

  “The cops are trying to keep it quiet. They don’t want the coverage.”

  All the better. “What else do you know?”

  “Nothing really. But I suspect you can figure out what’s happening.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Adrianna Barrington is trying to destroy that property. If enough people know what she’s doing, the land sale could fall
apart. Nothing on the estate would change.”

  Brett’s heart raced. An unmarked grave. Murder. Fucking over Kendall’s sister. Stories just didn’t get any better.

  It was late in the evening and Adrianna was less than a mile from home when her cell rang. She hit the hands-free option as she turned down a side street. “Adrianna Barrington.”

  “This is Brett Newington.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m the station manager at Channel 10.”

  She gripped the phone. “Yes.”

  “I hear you’ve had a bit of excitement out at the Colonies.”

  She smacked her hand against the steering wheel and swallowed a curse. “I don’t know what you’ve heard.”

  “I’ve heard a lot. Care to comment on the discovery of two dead women?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of digging in the last couple of hours. No one’s telling me the identity of the bodies. Care to comment?”

  She hung up. “Damn it!” This wasn’t going to be good.

  The phone rang again and she nearly didn’t answer it but on the third ring picked it up. “Adrianna Barrington.”

  “Hey, Ms. B. You called?”

  Dwayne Wells. She shoved out a relieved breath. “Yes. Just was checking in for Friday. You and Ben set to move all the art to the hotel?”

  “We are set.” Papers flipped in the background. “And as I understand it, we also have art to collect from the Renfo, Medina, and Schenley family collections.”

  “Correct. You anticipate any problems?”

  “Not a one, but if we hit a snag I’ll call.”

  So nice to have someone do their job without her having to chase after them. “Thanks, Mr. Wells.”

  “Will do.”

  “Dwayne, have you or Marie heard from a reporter from Channel 10?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “One just called me.”

  “We won’t be talking to no reporters, Ms. B. Secrets are safe with us.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “You call me if you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up, still troubled about the call from Newington and debating whether she should call Gage or Mazur. Both needed to know. From what Kendall had told her about Brett, he was capable of causing big problems.