Roses from My Killer

by Linsey Lanier

  He was shaken, too, though he hid it well. That scene had evoked horrifying memories of the Tannenburg case for him, too.

  She leaned her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “Part of the job.”

  She felt his chest expand in a patient inhale. “If at any time you feel you can’t handle this—”

  “I know. You said that before we left.”

  “I mean it,” he said darkly. “There are people I can call.”

  She didn’t want to hear it. She raised her head and let her eyes bore into his. “But this is our job. That poor mutilated woman belongs to us now. We’re the ones meant to find who did that to her.”

  Parker gazed into his wife’s fiery blue eyes and saw what he’d seen there so long ago.

  Her stubborn grit, her courage, her willingness to sacrifice herself to save others. For justice. That warrior spirit of hers that had reached deep into his soul and won his heart was stronger than ever. This was her destiny, she’d often told him. What she was born to do.

  She would never let go of this case.

  He’d tried to stop her once and almost lost her. He would not do that again. But if this case began to unravel her psyche, to destroy her from the inside—he’d have to find a way to make her stop of her own accord. That might prove to be more daunting a task than finding this killer.

  He ran a hand over her wild dark hair. “I know,” he said, kissing her lips. “And we will find him.”

  And then he did the only thing he knew to do. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and buried himself in her flesh. As she answered him with her own body, responding with moans and thrusts and heartfelt kisses, he lost himself in her.

  He could only hope he was giving her the same escape and washing away tonight’s horror.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda’s eyes jolted open to the rays of an overcast sky shining through a nearby window.

  She’d had another nightmare, but she couldn’t remember it. All that was left was the vague memory of running through pools of blood while knives slashed out at her. No doubt Leon and Tannenburg had put in their usual appearances, but she couldn’t recall seeing them.

  Still the dream left her as exhausted as she’d been last night.

  She got up and went to the window to gaze out at the overcast sky.

  “There’s an excellent complimentary breakfast in the dining room.”

  Miranda turned around to find Parker freshly showered and dressed in one of his expensive dark blue business suits. He was so handsome no one would be able to resist telling him anything he wanted to know.

  She hoped that would help.

  “I told Janelle we’d meet her there in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?”

  He was going to make sure both she and Wesson were fed before they headed out for another trying day.

  “Sure,” she said, stepping over for a morning kiss. “I love you, you know.”

  “And I love you. What are you going to wear?”

  Recognizing his gentle nudge, she glanced at the clock. It was past eight. He was right. She needed to hurry.

  Rushing to the closet she pulled out a classy pair of dark teal slacks with a matching jacket and gold silk blouse. Professional enough, she decided. Low heeled pumps completed the outfit.

  Parker approved her choice with a nod.

  Breakfast was a mix of gourmet and traditional Southern, with grits, free range eggs, fresh fruit, artisan breads, and strong hot coffee.

  Lots of coffee.

  Wesson had found enough of an appetite to help herself to two platefuls, but no one said much at the table. They were still processing what they’d seen last night, trying to get down the much needed fuel without thinking too much about it.

  When they finished, they climbed back into the Nissan and headed west. Leaving the quaint downtown area, they drove through a cozy neighborhood of ordinary-looking frame and brick homes, much older than those they’d seen last night along the oceanfront. After passing churches, antique shops, and a library, Parker turned onto Agona Street.

  Josie Yearwood’s grandmother lived a few blocks away in a little green house with a dark green roof, a small front porch, and a white picket fence.

  In fact, most of the houses here had white picket fences. They were probably occupied by old-fashioned traditionalists who’d be very upset a member of their community had been brutally murdered. Miranda hoped the news reporter she’d faced last night hadn’t blabbed too many details during her follow-up broadcasts.

  Smith’s squad car was already parked along the curb. After Parker pulled up behind it, everyone got out of their vehicles.

  Smith reached out for Miranda’s arm.

  “What is it?”

  “Um, you can handle this, can’t you? I’m waiting to hear back from Dr. Lipman and the rental company.”

  Miranda scowled. Why couldn’t she wait for the call inside and excuse herself when it came?

  Smith was supposed to be the police presence that would introduce them to the victim’s grandmother and ease them into a conversation about her granddaughter. But looking at her drawn face, it was clear she didn’t want to see the woman again. Not after delivering the devastating news yesterday.

  She was making an excuse so she wouldn’t have to. For an instant Miranda wondered if that was why Smith had quit the Agency a year and a half ago. Had she realized she didn’t have what it took to be an investigator?

  “I’ll just wait in the car.” She waved a hand at the vehicle as she moved back toward it. “Let me know if you need me.” And she disappeared inside.

  “Guess we’re on our own,” Miranda said.

  Ignoring the stunned look on Wesson’s face, she marched across a patch of lawn that was turning brown to the porch.

  “Why don’t you do the honors,” Miranda said to Parker when they reached the front door.

  With an understanding look, he nodded. “Very well.”

  He knocked. After a minute or so the door opened and a good-looking elderly woman with fluffy white hair appeared. She had on an orchid suit with a decorative flower on the jacket as if she were dressed for a special occasion.

  Blinking at Parker, she raised her brows. “Well, I didn’t expect to see a movie star at my front door this morning.”

  Miranda was hoping Parker’s award-winning looks would help the woman warm up to them. But despite her remark, her smile was grim, and there were dark circles under her red eyes. In her hand she held a crumpled tissue.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you so early, ma’am. My name is Wade Parker with the Parker Agency in Atlanta. My associates and I have been called in to help with your granddaughter’s case. May we speak with you a moment?”

  She tore her gaze from Parker and narrowed her eyes first at Miranda, then at Wesson. She didn’t register the recognition they were getting from everyone else. She must not pay attention to the news from Atlanta.

  “I was just getting ready for church, but certainly. You can come in.”

  She led them through a short hall and into a small living room with colonial style blue plaid curtains, a slip covered sofa, and a rustic rough brick fireplace. Embroidered pillows and plaques on the walls offered up cheery phrases like “Life is Beautiful,” “Enjoy the Little Things,” “Home Sweet Home,” and “Stay Awhile.”

  Miranda could smell something delicious baking in the nearby kitchen.

  “Have a seat, anywhere is fine.”

  Wesson settled into a corner of the couch, and Miranda caught her glancing out the window at the squad car. She must be having the same thoughts she was about Smith.

  Mrs. Yearwood took a spindle chair next to a round table holding a blue flowered cup half full of coffee. Parker chose to remain standing. He’d gotten them in the door, now it was her turn to take over.

  “First,” Miranda said stepping to the fireplace. “We’re all very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Yearwood smoothed the skirt of her orchi
d suit. “What would you like to know about my granddaughter?”

  Miranda eyed the photos on the side tables and along the rough wooden mantelpiece. Most were of Josie at various ages. Her high school graduation, her college graduation, a prom picture, a picture of Josie in her blond loveliness, dressed in a pretty formal gown with a banner across the front. Images of the young woman when she was alive and vibrant. Apparently she’d won some sort of beauty pageant.

  Then Miranda spied a photo in the middle of the mantelpiece with four adults and a very young Josie. One of the adults was a much younger version of Mrs. Yearwood. Probably in her mid-forties.

  They looked to be on a picnic on a pier. Everyone was dressed in colorful summer clothes and smiling. Balloons bobbed in the background and boats sailed on the water.

  “That was the last time we were all together,” Mrs. Yearwood said with a wistful tone.

  Miranda turned to face the woman. “We?”

  “It was Josie’s ninth birthday.”

  “I see.” Miranda thought of Mackenzie’s birthday party yesterday and how important it was to cherish every moment.

  As if Mrs. Yearwood had overheard her thoughts, she added, “A year later her parents were killed in car accident.”

  “Oh, no,” Wesson said from the sofa.

  Miranda glanced at Parker and saw the deep sympathy in his face for this woman.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Miranda told her.

  “They were vacationing in Virginia, driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was supposed to be a second honeymoon for them. They got caught in a bad rainstorm and ran off the road. The car rolled forty feet down, hit rock, and exploded.” She put the tissue in her hand to her face. “I lost my Kenneth a few years after that.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes. Josie’s grandfather.”

  This woman had had a lot of tragedy in her life. It made Miranda burn with the need to find her granddaughter’s killer.

  “Josie’s parents had left her with us, so we were made her legal guardians and raised her. Well, I did after Kenneth passed. She was always such a good girl.” She straightened her back and looked Miranda in the eye. “Was it someone Josie was dating who killed her? I always told her to be careful.”

  That was an interesting statement. Miranda glanced at Parker. His face was grim.

  “What do you mean, Mrs. Yearwood?” he asked.

  “Please. Call me Louella. Everyone does.”

  “Louella. Was there someone in particular your granddaughter was dating?”

  “Not in particular. Josie dated a lot of people. She liked to flirt. It was harmless.”

  Not this time.

  “She could always turn a man’s head, even when she was in high school. She was Miss Dare County when she was a senior.” Mrs. Yearwood waved a hand toward the beauty pageant photo of Josie on the mantelpiece.

  Miranda studied the photo again. “Impressive.”

  Mrs. Yearwood smiled wistfully. “And she loved clothes. She was good with that, too. She studied fashion design at the community college, then she got a scholarship to Parsons in New York.”

  “Wow,” Wesson said. “That is impressive.”

  Miranda turned to her with a raised brow. “Parsons?”

  Wesson raised her hands. “It’s only the most prestigious school in the country for fashion. Everyone in the industry knows it.”

  “She used to run a boutique in LA,” Miranda explained, recalling what Wesson had told her on a case weeks ago.

  “Oh, well then you understand. Josie moved to New York, got her BFA and started working at a top apparel company as an assistant designer. That was when she met Aaron.”

  “Aaron?”

  “Aaron Connor Afton, of the New York Aftons.” She rolled her eyes, indicating what she thought of the man. “He was a mergers and acquisitions executive for an investment bank in Manhattan. She was so excited when he asked her to marry him a few years later.”

  Miranda had to move over to the couch and sit down next to Wesson on that one. “Josie was married?”

  With a you-didn’t-know that? expression, Mrs. Yearwood nodded. “His family paid for a big wedding down here on the beach. They gave them the works. A huge banquet hall. White table linens. Elegant glassware. The guest list was over five hundred people. And Josie’s gown…it was exquisite. She designed it herself. She was so beautiful in it.”

  Miranda could imagine.

  The woman nodded toward the mantelpiece. “I used to have pictures up there, but I put them away when they divorced.”

  Ah, so that explained why Josie was dating. “How long were they married?”

  “About five years. She left him and came back home to start her own business. I was glad when she did. I missed her while she was away, and I worried about her.”

  “Was her ex violent?”

  “Oh, no. He was never around enough to be violent. Stayed busy all the time, and then she found out he was cheating on her. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to him since the divorce.”

  “Were there any children?” Wesson asked.

  “No, unfortunately. Like I said, they didn’t have time in their busy schedules.”

  Miranda decided to rephrase Parker’s question. “Mrs. Yearwood. Do you know who Josie was dating recently?”

  She put her fingers to her lips. “There was a doctor for a while.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  Searching her memory, she wrinkled her brow. “I think he was a radiologist at the hospital in Nags Head. But I believe she stopped seeing him.”

  “Can you think of anyone else?”

  “My Josie always had someone she could out go with, but I didn’t pry into her personal affairs.”

  “Did she use a dating site?” Miranda asked. It was easy for a creep to turn up on one of those.

  Mrs. Yearwood scoffed at that idea. “My granddaughter didn’t need a dating site. Men have always flocked to her since she was fifteen. Well, it was high school boys back then. I had to beat them off her with a stick.” She chuckled a bit, then her smiled faded and she stared off into space.

  “One more question. When was the last time you saw Josie?”

  “I stopped by her shop last week. It was last Tuesday. She was busy working on some sketches for the spring. She always had such wonderful ideas. Oh, you’ll want to talk to Inez. She can probably tell you more about who Josie was dating than I can.”

  “Inez?”

  “Inez Fisher. Her business partner. I talked to her last night and told her the news. She said she’d be going into the boutique this morning, though I don’t know what she can do there. She’s in as much shock as I am.”

  “Thank you,” Miranda said. “We’ll check that out.”

  Mrs. Yearwood got to her feet. “Excuse me a moment while I check on my squash casserole. Oh, what kind of hostess am I? Does anyone want anything to drink? Although I do need to be going.”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Yearwood. You don’t need to go to any trouble.”

  “Louella. Oh, I don’t mind. After that police officer came to see me last night I started cooking to keep my sanity. I have two more casseroles in the freezer and this one’s going to church with me. We’re having lunch after the service.” She let out a sad little laugh. “You know how we Baptists are.”

  She was going to church? “Are you sure you should be driving? Officer Smith could take you.”

  “Oh, my friend Marsha’s picking me up. Don’t you worry about me. There’s no better place for me right now than to be in church.” She stopped a moment at the door and fixed Miranda with her gaze. “The officer last night didn’t give me many details, so I know she must have found Josie in a pretty dreadful state. Please find who killed my granddaughter.”

  “We will, Louella,” Miranda assured her. “We will.”

  Chapter Ten

  Outside, Miranda told Smith they were heading for Josie’s shop, and got back into the Nissan.
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br />   As Parker pulled away from the curb, Miranda let out a grunt. “Well, that conversation narrows our suspects down to all single men who live in the area or visited it over the past three years.”

  “If the killer was indeed someone Ms. Yearwood dated,” Parker said darkly.

  Miranda raised a brow. That comment only made the pool bigger.

  In the backseat Wesson came to life. “But if Josie Yearwood was on a date with the killer, she’d be texting him on her cell phone. Or talking to him.”

  Miranda thought about that. “That’s why the police didn’t find her cell at the crime scene. If this guy is smart, and we know he is, that cell phone is probably on the bottom of the Atlantic.”

  Parker slowed as he made the turn at the end of the block. “Probably.”

  They drove down a little way until they reached the downtown area. The sun had come out, shining brightly against clusters of white-trimmed red and gray brick structures built with a colonial flare.

  Parker studied the buildings lining the road. “This town has an interesting heritage. It was named after a Native American Indian who acted as a liaison for the colonists in the late fifteen-hundreds. The county is named after the first American-born English child, Virginia Dare. When her grandfather returned from England for supplies, he found his family’s settlement deserted. A hurricane forced him to return to Europe.”

  “What happened to his family?”

  “He never saw them again. They disappeared into the annals of history.”

  “How sad,” Wesson murmured from the backseat.

  It was sad.

  “Hence the nickname ‘The Lost Colony’.”

  In silence they studied the shops and restaurants, and Miranda noted the streets were named for the people who played roles in that long ago history, including Sir Walter Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. Between the buildings Miranda caught sight of water in the distance and the masts of sailing ships near the dock of a marina. This place had been an early American fishing village.

  After a few more minutes, Parker pulled over near a Tudor style building with a matching pair of old-fashioned bay windows.