Raintree

by Linda Howard

  The same someone who had sliced her throat.

  Hope took a deep breath to compose herself, then decided that wasn’t a good idea. Death wasn’t pretty, and it didn’t smell nice, either. She had, of course, seen bodies before. But they hadn’t been quite this fresh, or this mangled. It was impossible not to be affected by the sight.

  Raintree sighed. “You’re not going away, are you?”

  Hope shook her head, and tried to casually cover her nose and mouth with one hand.

  “Fine,” Raintree said sharply. “Sherry Bishop, twenty-two years old. She was single and had no significant relationship at the time of her murder. Money was tight, so robbery is unlikely as a motive. Bishop was a drummer with a local band and also waitressed at a coffee shop downtown to make ends meet.”

  “If she was in a band, maybe a stalker fixated on her,” Hope suggested.

  The man who continued to squat on the floor by the body shook his head. “She was killed by a left-handed woman with long blond hair.”

  “How did you come up with all that information in the past, what, twenty minutes?”

  “Fifteen.” Gideon Raintree stood slowly.

  He was over six feet tall—six-one, to be exact, according to his file—so Hope had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. His skin was warm, kissed by the sun, and this close, the green of his eyes was downright remarkable. The goatee and moustache gave him an almost devilish appearance, and somehow it suited him. When his eyes were narrowed and watchful, as they were now, he looked incredibly hard, as if he possessed no more heart than the murderers he pursued. Feeling more than a little like a coward, Hope dropped her gaze to his blue silk tie.

  “From the angle of the wound, it appears that the attacker held the knife in her left hand,” he explained. “The coroner will confirm that, I’m sure.”

  From what she’d heard, Gideon Raintree was always sure of himself. And always right. “You said her. How can you know the killer was a woman?”

  Gideon nodded. “There’s a single long blond hair on the victim’s clothing. Hair that length on a man is possible, but unlikely. Again, the coroner will have to confirm.”

  All right, he was observant. He had done this before. He was good. “How could you possibly know the personal details of her life?” Hope asked. Drummer. No significant other. Waitress in a coffee shop. She quickly scanned the room for clues and saw none.

  “Sherry Bishop was my cousin Echo’s roommate.”

  Hope nodded. She tried to remain unaffected, but the smell was making her queasy.

  Raintree stared right through her with those odd eyes of his. “This is your first homicide, isn’t it?”

  Again Hope nodded.

  “If you’re going to throw up, do it in the hallway. I won’t have you contaminating my crime scene.”

  How thoughtful. “I’m not going to contaminate your crime scene.”

  “Good. If you insist on sticking around, interview the neighbors and see if they heard anything last night or early this morning.”

  Gladly. Hope nodded yet again, then turned to escape from the room, leaving Gideon Raintree alone with the victim. She was quite certain that he was more comfortable with the dead woman than he was with her.

  His new partner was intently interviewing a nosy neighbor, and the crime scene techs were doing their thing inside the apartment. Gideon sat beside Echo on the steps that led to the fourth floor.

  “Is she here?” Echo asked softly.

  No one was paying them any attention at the moment. Gideon didn’t expect that would last long. “She’s sitting behind us.”

  Even though Echo knew she wouldn’t see anything, she glanced over her shoulder to the deserted steps. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

  Like Bishop, Echo was a young twenty-two. She was incredibly talented—as a guitar player and as a seer—but she had little or no control over her gift of prophecy. Calling her psychic wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t tell you where you’d left your wallet or whether or not you would marry within the next year, but she did see disasters. She dreamed of floods and earthquakes. Her nightmares came true.

  Gideon had a touch of pre-cog ability, but not enough to make a significant difference. His instincts were just a hair sharper than was normal, but he didn’t dream about catastrophes and experience them as if he were there—there and unable to do anything to stop what was coming. Compared to Echo’s power, he considered talking to dead people a walk in the park.

  “It was painless,” Gideon said as he put his arm around Echo’s shoulder. “She didn’t even know what happened.”

  “What a load of bull,” Sherry muttered, her voice sour. “It hurt like hell!”

  Fortunately, no one but Gideon heard her.

  “Why would anyone kill Sherry?” Echo asked. The tears hadn’t stopped, but they were softer now. Constant but gentle. “Everyone liked her.”

  “I don’t know.” Something Gideon didn’t like niggled at his brain. Bishop hadn’t recognized her killer. She’d never suspected that her life was in danger. There was no logical reason for her to be dead, much less savagely mutilated. In every case he’d had since moving to Wilmington four years ago, the victim had known the name of the killer. Drugs were the usual motive, but there had been a few crimes of misdirected passion. Murder by stranger was a rare thing. With a few notable exceptions, it took a personal connection for murder to occur.

  He didn’t want to scare his cousin, but there was one possibility he couldn’t ignore. “Have you had any visions lately that might’ve put you in danger?”

  Echo didn’t need to be asked twice. “Do you think the person who killed Sherry was after me?”

  “Son of a bitch!” Sherry said softly. “I never should’ve dyed my hair blond and pink like Echo’s. We thought it would be such a good thing for the band, you know? A trademark. A…a thing…” She pouted. “I thought it was so cute.”

  “It’s just a possibility,” Gideon said softly. “Look, you won’t be able to stay here for a while anyway, so I want you to find yourself a quiet place to crash, and I want you to stay there until I figure this out. Where are your folks?”

  “St. Moritz.”

  Figures. “I don’t want you going that far.” Besides, Echo’s parents were all but useless in a crisis. “You can stay at my place for a few days.”

  Echo sighed and rested her head on her hands. “We have a gig next weekend, so I’m cool until then. I can call the coffee shop and tell them I won’t be in this week, and then I can go to Charlotte and stay with Dewey until Friday.”

  Dewey. Great. The guy was a rail-thin goofy-looking saxophone player who had the hots for Echo, even though she insisted they were just friends. Still, a few days with Dewey would be better than staying around here if there was any chance the murderer had been after Echo and not Sherry. “Call me before you come back to town. You may have to cancel your gig.”

  Echo didn’t protest, as he’d thought she might. “Maybe we should just cancel everything. We’ll never find a drummer to take Sherry’s place. And even if we do, it won’t be the same.”

  Gideon didn’t see Echo often. He was twelve years older than she was, and they had no common interests. In fact, his little cousin had a wild streak that put his teeth on edge. Not that he’d always been a saint. But they were family, and he checked in on her now and then. He had even been to a smoky club to see her band play a couple of times. The music had been too loud and too angry to suit him, but the girls had all seemed to have a good time.

  She was right. It would never be the same.

  “You look tired.”

  Echo shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m supposed to work this afternoon—you know, at the coffee shop—so I stayed up all night instead of driving home last night or trying to get up early this morning to drive back. You know how I hate to get up early.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It just made more sense to stay up and drive back to grab something to eat
before I had to…” Her voice hitched. “I guess I should call Mark and tell him I won’t be in today, and that Sherry won’t…you know.”

  It was difficult to say aloud. Sherry Bishop wouldn’t be going back to work. Ever.

  Gideon took his house key from his pocket and handed it to Echo. “Get a couple of hours sleep at my place before you head to Charlotte. You shouldn’t be on the road in your condition.” She nodded and slipped the key into her front pocket. “Keep your cell on,” Gideon added.

  None of the Raintrees advertised their gifts, but perhaps someone who had discovered Echo’s ability had wanted to silence her. Because of something she’d seen or might possibly see? And why take the finger and a segment of the scalp? That alone took this case beyond anything he had ever worked, but it didn’t help him. All he had were questions. Theories. More questions.

  When he walked down the steps, Sherry Bishop followed. “You are going to find out who did this to me, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m going to try.”

  “This is just so freakin’ unfair. I had plans for my life, you know. Big plans. I was kinda hopin’ you’d ask me out one day. I mean, you’re older and all, but you’re really hot anyway.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Gideon mumbled.

  Sherry gasped. “I never got a chance to wear my new boots! They were really kickin’, and I got them on sale.” She sighed. “Crap. Tell Echo she can have them.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Gideon stopped at the foot of the stairs and watched his new partner as she interviewed an older woman with frizzy gray hair. He liked to work alone. It made speaking to the victims so much easier. His last partner had finally decided to believe that Gideon talked to himself and had great hunches on a regular basis. Hope Malory didn’t look as if she would make things that easy for him. She didn’t look at all accepting of things she did not understand.

  He appreciated women. He had no plans to marry or even get involved in a serious relationship, ever, but that didn’t mean he lived like a monk. Most women were attractive in some way; they all had a feature or two that could catch and hold a man’s attention for a while. Hope Malory was much more than attractive. She had a classic beauty. Black hair, cut chin length, hung around her face thick and silky. Her skin was creamy pale and flawless, her eyes a serene dark blue, her lips full and rosy. She was tall, long-legged and slender, yet rounded in all the right places. She had the face of an angel, a body that wouldn’t quit, and she carried a gun like she knew how to use it. Did that make her the perfect woman?

  A shimmer of pure electricity ran through his body. The lights in the hallway flickered, causing everyone who was lingering in the hall to look up. At least this time nothing exploded.

  “You’re going to catch her, right?” Sherry Bishop pressed.

  He watched Hope Malory take a few furious notes, then ask another question of the neighbor. “Catch her? Right now I’m not even planning to chase her. She’s pretty, but she’s not my type, and it’s never a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”

  “Get your mind out of your pants, Raintree,” Sherry said sharply. “I’m not talking about your new partner, I’m talking about the woman who killed me.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off Malory as he answered, “I’m going to try.”

  “Echo says you’re the best,” Sherry said more kindly.

  “Does she?” Hope Malory glanced his way, caught his eye, then quickly returned her attention to the neighbor.

  “Yeah. And you’d better hurry, Raintree.”

  Gideon turned to look at Sherry Bishop. She’d faded considerably since they’d left the apartment. Soon she would move on, go home, be at peace. That was as it should be, but once that happened he would have a much harder time communicating with her. It might be possible, but it certainly wouldn’t be this easy.

  Malory made her way toward him with long, easy strides that spoke of confidence and grace. Her notes had been dutifully taken, and he was sure they would be complete.

  “Nothing,” she said softly as she came near. “Mrs. Tarleton, who lives right next door, is practically deaf, and the other neighbor was out until early this morning. No one heard anything. Everyone liked the victim and your cousin, even though they were, as Mrs. Tarleton said, young and a bit wild.” She looked past Gideon to the stairway. “Maybe I should talk to your cousin.”

  “No.”

  She looked him in the eye and lifted her eyebrows slightly. “No?”

  “I’ve already talked to Echo.”

  “You’re her cousin, which means you’re too close to her to be objective. Besides, you’re a man.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “It can be. The point is, she might tell me things she wouldn’t tell you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The woman got her hackles up. “Should you even be working this case? After all, you have a personal connection here.”

  “I met Sherry Bishop one time. Maybe twice. There’s no reason—”

  “I’m not talking about your relationship to the victim, Raintree. Until we eliminate her, your cousin is a natural suspect.”

  “Echo wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “You tell her, Gideon,” Sherry Bishop said in an irate voice. “How dare she insinuate that Echo would do this to me?”

  “You’re not objective,” Malory insisted.

  Gideon did his best to ignore Sherry’s ramblings, which had nothing at all to do with her death. “We’ll establish my cousin’s alibi first thing, if it’ll make you feel better. Once she’s eliminated from your list of suspects maybe it’ll be okay with you if I do my job.”

  “There’s no reason to get snippy.”

  Gideon leaned down slightly and lowered his voice. “Detective Malory, if you’re determined to be my new partner I don’t guess there’s much I can do about it. Not at the moment, anyway. But do us both a favor and act like a detective, not a little girl.”

  Her nostrils flared. Ah, he’d hit a nerve. “I am not a girl, Raintree, you—”

  “Snippy,” he interrupted. “A word not used by real men anywhere.”

  “Fine,” she said with unnecessary sharpness. “I’ll just grunt a lot and scratch my ass now and then, and maybe I’ll fit in.”

  Sherry grimaced. “I’ll bet a chick like her never scratches her ass.”

  The truth of the matter was that Gideon knew it didn’t matter what Hope Malory did or said. She was going to get under his skin big time. Like it or not, she was already there, and she was going to stay until he found a way to get rid of her. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It wasn’t as if she was the only pretty woman in Wilmington.

  He didn’t need a partner; he didn’t want one; it would never work. And in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

  Malory wouldn’t last long.

  THREE

  Monday—2:50 p.m.

  “Lunch?” Gideon glanced at his new partner briefly as he negotiated a turn in the road. The wind blew Malory’s carefully styled sleek hair into her face. He could have put the top up, he supposed. Then again, why make this easy on her? She’d insisted on coming along, and he’d insisted on driving. She didn’t want to know what could happen to her new, electronically handicapped car if he was too near it at the wrong moment.

  “I thought you wanted to talk to that club owner,” she shouted to be heard above the wind.

  “He won’t be in until four or later.” They’d already spoken to the manager at the coffee shop where Bishop and Echo had both worked for the past seven months. Mark Nelson knew nothing of interest, but Gideon wanted to go back tonight and have a look around. Maybe the killer would be there, watching for a reaction to the news of Sherry Bishop’s death.

  “Okay,” Malory said reluctantly. “I could eat something, I suppose.”

  She sounded less than enthusiastic, but Gideon figured she would never admit that the murder scene had dampened her appetite.

  He made a c
ouple of turns on narrow downtown streets and pulled into the parking lot of Mama Tanya’s Café. It was late enough in the afternoon that the lunch rush was over. The gravel parking lot was practically deserted.

  “Where are we, Raintree?” Malory asked suspiciously, eyeing the small concrete block building that could use a coat of paint and a bucket of spackle. And maybe a window or two.

  “Mama Tanya’s,” he said, opening his door and stepping out. “Best soul food in town.”

  She followed him, her heels crunching in the gravel. “If you’re trying to scare me off…” she muttered.

  Gideon ignored her and stepped into the dimly lit, windowless restaurant. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said this was the best place in town for soul food. It was also a good place, filled with good people. Even the ghosts who dropped in here were happy.

  “Detective Raintree.” Tanya herself greeted him with a smile that deepened the wrinkles on her serene face. “The usual?”

  “Yep.” He grabbed his regular booth.

  Tanya looked at Malory and raised her eyebrows slightly. “And for you, young lady?”

  “I’ll just have a salad. Vinaigrette on the side.”

  The order was met with silent surprise. Gideon glanced back at Tanya as Malory joined him. “Just bring her what I’m having.”

  Malory started to argue, then thought better of it.

  “What if I don’t like what you’re having?” she asked when Tanya was out of hearing distance.

  “You’ll like it,” he said.

  It was the first time all day they’d been in a quiet place, alone, and he took the opportunity to study Hope Malory critically. Her hair was mussed from the ride in his convertible. She’d smoothed it with her hands but hadn’t run to the ladies’ room to make more extensive repairs. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes smart. Take-no-prisoners smart. Man, she was gorgeous.