by Mary Burton
Angie folded her arms over her chest. “I called you yesterday. Didn’t you get my message?”
“King didn’t give me the message until late. After your boyfriend paid me a visit. ”
Angie frowned. “Connor came by?”
“Oh, yeah, and he was full of questions. Why’d you rat me out to him?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t know who he was at first. He said he was in town on business.”
“Yeah, he was in town on business, all right. The business of writing a story on the Cross family.”
Angie’s face tightened with hurt and anger. “Like I said, he lied to me. We’d just seen each other and I was hurt. I said my sister and I had had a fight. That’s all I said.”
The tightness in Angie’s voice said more than her words. Donovan had hurt and humiliated her. And in that moment the bluster she’d been chewing on since last night vanished. “Did you tell him where I worked?”
Angie thought for a moment. “Yes. Shit. Eva, I am sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything to him if I’d known what he was after.”
An awkward silence hung between them but neither could cut through their own emotions to speak for a moment.
Eva shifted her stance. “Donovan came by the pub last night. He pretended to be a customer.”
“He’s a dick.”
That nearly coaxed a smile. “Why’d you get tangled up with him?”
Dark circles hung under Angie’s eyes. “Momentary lapse in judgment.”
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”
“Like I said. Bad judgment, all around. Won’t happen again.”
Eva suddenly felt angry for her sister who’d been betrayed by a man she’d taken to her bed. “We’ve all had those moments. The trick is to get smarter and savvier so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Let’s hope.” Angie frowned. “Getting a hold of you yesterday was a bear. You should carry a cell.”
“I promise to get around to it.”
Angie moved toward her desk. “I have an extra one.”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve managed just fine so far.”
Angie opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a cell. “It’s a little large and clunky but it still works.”
“I don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not charity.”
“It’s free. You feel sorry for me.”
Angie crossed the room and held out the phone. “Eva, two women are dead. Two of those women you once knew. Take the damn phone until this nutcase is caught. ”
Eva didn’t budge. “I don’t need anyone to look after me.”
“We’re sisters,” Angie said softly. “I couldn’t help ten years ago, but I can help with this small thing now. The phone. Please.”
The “Please” is what got her. Eva reached out and took the phone. “Only until the killer is caught. And I’ll pay you for any calls.”
“You can try, but I won’t take your money. Just say thank you, and shut up.” She rattled off the phone’s number.
Ignoring the jab of emotion, Eva tried to inject a bit of smartass into her voice. “I can see you’re still as bossy as you used to be.”
“And you’re still as distrustful as you ever were.”
Eva smiled. “Maybe.” She held up the phone. “Thanks.”
“No sweat.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Call me sometime. We can have lunch.”
“Let’s do lunch?”
“I mean that. I want us to at least try to be friends.”
“Okay.” No tearful reunion, but a start.
When Eva got back to the pub, King sat in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. He leaned over the morning paper, his brow furrowed. “You’re not going to like this.”
“What am I not going to like? ”
“This article on page two of the Post.”
“Please tell me that the byline is not by Connor Donovan.”
“How’d you know?”
“Remember, he was here last night.” She peered over his shoulder and read the headline. SERIAL KILLER LINKED TO SORORITY HOUSE MURDER. “Oh, God.”
“I knew what I was getting into when I hired you.” King glanced up at her. She braced for anger or recrimination. But she saw no traces of either. “Luke Fraser called. He says you’re fired.”
“Right.” Luke didn’t like attention, and now for her next Fifteen Minutes of Fame she’d be an attention magnet. “Are you canning me, too?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“Why not? ”
He shrugged. “I like you. You’re a good kid. Knew it from the minute I saw you at that halfway house arguing with the attendant about clean water. Besides, how the hell am I gonna run that fancy computer system you installed if you don’t stay?” His voice had softened and lost a good bit of bluster.
“You’d figure it out.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to.”
Her throat tightened with the sting of emotion. Twice today people had reached out to her. “But we have a bigger problem.”
King cleared his throat. “Bobby.”
“Social Services might have an issue with my background.”
“You served your time, Eva. You’re free and clear as far as the law is concerned.”
“Still, they can be funny about that kind of thing.”
“I’ll handle them.”
She nodded. “Reporters will be snooping around. My story was huge back in the day.” A heavy weight settled on her shoulders. “I can call Social Services.”
“No. Let them call us. I like the kid and won’t give him up without a fight. ”
Macy sauntered into Garrison’s office and tossed a file on his desk. “Whoever did the investigation on your fire was an idiot. ”
He lifted his gaze, immediately intrigued. “Tell me.”
She sat in the chair across from his desk. “It makes no sense to me.”
“Explain.”
“I looked at the pictures and I read the report. They don’t match.” She leaned forward and opened the file and pointed to an image of a burned-out structure. All that remained was a charred brick foundation. “See that black smudge in the corner of the foundation.”
“Sure.”
“That’s the fire’s point of origin.”
He studied the image. “The investigator said the point of origin was the fireplace on the first floor.”
“No. This fire started in the back of the house by the back door. Those black scorch marks indicate intense flames.”
“Like the shelter fire.”
“Exactly. Someone tossed accelerant by the back door and set the place on fire.”
“Witnesses said that Eva hit Josiah and then used the burning logs in the fireplace to set the blaze.”
Macy shrugged. “Unless she ran outside, set the blaze and then ran back inside, she did not set that fire.”
“Which means she may not have killed Josiah.”
“That, my friend, is for you to figure out.”
The homicide team assembled less than a half hour later in the conference room. Garrison sat at the head of the table. Malcolm sat on his right, Rokov on his left. Sinclair had been summoned and promised to show as soon as she could.
Rokov folded large arms over his chest. “I get why Danvers is up there. He likely saw the killer, but why the other stabbing victim? She had no brand or apparent connection to the other cases.”
Garrison sat back in his chair studying the image of Eliza Martinez. “Her wounds are too similar to Danvers. Four stab wounds to the chest.”
“So why no brands?” Malcolm said.
“Like Danvers, Eliza Martinez was in the way. Her killing, in the killer’s mind, wasn’t personal,” Garrison said.
Malcolm snorted. “We did a full background check on Martinez after she died. Nothing came up.”
The door to the conference room opened and Sinclair entered. Her cheeks looked flushed and her eyes bright with excite
ment. She held Lisa’s journal in her hand. “Sorry, I’m late. I’ve been working on Lisa Black’s journal, based on the theory that it’s a ROT13 code.”
“And?” Garrison said.
“You were right. That was the code.”
“Good.”
“You won’t believe who she hooked up with last spring.”
Garrison leaned back in his chair, his body tense. Sinclair grinned like a contented cat. “Darius Cross. They were lovers. Here is her March 7 entry from last year.
I had too much to drink and told Darius who I really was. He went ballistic and hit me because I’d lied to him. When I thought he’d hit me a second time I told him The Secret. His face paled. He dressed and left and I never saw him again.
“The Secret. Could it be Kristen’s pregnancy?” Malcolm said.
“Macy said she didn’t think the sorority house fire started by the fireplace,” Garrison said. “Maybe The Secret was bigger than that. Maybe Lisa or one of the other girls set the fire. Maybe Eva Rayburn doesn’t remember killing Josiah because she didn’t.”
“Have a look at the sketch artist’s work,” Malcolm said. He opened a file and slid the sketches across the desk. “The first visitor is clearly Connor Donovan. He was doing a little research on his story.”
Garrison studied the very accurate sketch. “Let’s hope the other sketch is as accurate.”
Malcolm pushed it toward Garrison. “Hard to say.”
This guy had a beard and glasses but his face was small, even delicate. “I feel like I’ve seen this picture before, but I can’t place him.”
Malcolm nodded. “I had the same feeling.”
Garrison’s mind flipped through the facts of the case. “Remember the bartender at Moments mentioned that Lisa’s older boyfriend had a driver?”
Malcolm nodded. “Sure.”
“Let’s assume the older boyfriend was Darius and the driver was his.”
Malcolm snapped his fingers. “Drivers hear a lot.”
Garrison rubbed the back of his neck. “Rokov, see if you can track down this driver. Let’s see what light he can shed on this family.”
Kristen woke in stages. At first she thought she’d had another bad dream about her baby. She dreamed about him a lot lately. His cries filled her nightmares and she always found herself searching the darkness for him. But no matter how much she called out to him or how many bargains she made with God, she never found the boy.
But as she opened her eyes, she knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. She lay on a concrete floor and thick chains held her hands and feet to the ground. In the far corner a darkened figure sat next to a hearth where a fire blazed.
Panic burned through her body. She tugged at her chains, testing, hoping she’d be free and discover this wasn’t real. The rattle of the metal links echoed in the room.
The figure didn’t turn but stoked the embers of the fire. “Good, you’re awake. And just in time.”
Chapter 19
Tuesday, April 11, 11:15 A.M.
The sketch Garrison faxed to the pub last night still niggled Eva’s mind as she flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN. She’d not recognized the man but sensed he was no stranger either.
Damn. She rubbed her eyes as the first customer of the day sauntered through the front door. She recognized him. Stan. A regular, he always showed up for lunch before eleven-thirty. And each day he ordered the same thing: turkey, with white American cheese on white bread, chips on the side, soda with no ice.
Stan nodded and came into the pub, taking his regular seat. According to King he’d been coming here for over a decade. Since she’d been serving him, he sat in the same booth.
Eva filled a glass with soda and set it in front of him. “Morning, Stan. You want the usual? ”
“Morning, Doris.” He stared at his cola. “Yep. I’ll have the regular.”
“Great.” Relief washed over her at the normalcy of the moment. He treated her today just like he had yesterday. Nothing had changed.
She put in his order, and then seated a few more customers. No one said anything about the article and she started to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could stay under the radar. Maybe no one cared about her past.
Eva set Stan’s turkey sandwich in front of him and refilled his glass with cola from a pitcher.
Instead of diving into the meal as he always had, he stared at it and his brow furrowed.
“Something wrong, Stan? Did I put the chips in the wrong place?”
He continued to stare at his plate. “So is what the papers say true?”
And so it began. She’d resolved this morning when she’d read the article that she’d not lie about her past. “Some of it.”
“What was it like in jail?”
She kept her shoulders relaxed. “Not the kind of place I ever want to go back to.”
He rotated his plate so that the chips shifted from four o’clock to seven o’clock. “How do I know you haven’t slipped poison into my food?”
She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
His lips flattened. “Serious as a heart attack.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or show her this was a joke. But when he only projected seriousness, her anger rose. “Look, if you don’t want to eat,” she said as she reached for his plate.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” Anger now tugged at her insides.
“I’m just saying, I got to be careful if I’m dealing with an ex-con. That is what they call you people, right? Ex-cons?”
“There a problem here?” King said as he dried his hands on his apron.
“There’s no problem,” Eva said.
Stan shrugged. “I just asked about the morning article. Didn’t expect her to get so prickly about it.”
King planted a meaty fist on his hip. “You got a point to make, Stan?”
Stan arched a thin eyebrow. “You know you have a murderer working for you.”
King’s expression turned fierce. “Stan, you aren’t one to hold someone’s past against them, are you? Yours is a bit colorful.”
Stan stood, his thin body stiff and awkward. “I may not be perfect, but I ain’t no murderer. And I don’t like the fact that a murderer is serving me.”
Eva could see King’s temper rising. “Stan, if I were going to poison you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? ”
King’s eyes flashed with outrage. “Poison!”
Stan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Eva smiled. “I’m not going to poison you or anyone else. I do need to take orders at table six and seven. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’ve got to get moving.”
As Eva moved away, Stan said, “I don’t know if I trust that girl. ”
King waved Stan away as he scooped up his plate and headed back to the kitchen. “Shut up, Stan. And get the hell out of my place.”
Fifteen minutes later after Eva had taken orders and refilled drinks, she pushed through the kitchen door and moved over toward King as he dropped the basket of fries into the hot oil. “There are a lot of people like Stan, King. And most won’t be as up-front as Stan is. They might want to get another morbid look at That Waitress at King’s but they’ll stop coming.”
“Screw ‘em.”
“Easier said than done.” Suddenly a deep weariness settled in her bones. Would this follow her all her life or would the day come when no one cared? “I’m worried about Bobby. This is going to draw the attention of Social Services.”
King pulled out a chef’s knife and started to carve a turkey. “I’m his foster parent, not you. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“If Connor Donovan keeps writing his articles, then it could be a huge problem. Ten years ago, he built a career on my case.”
“It will blow over. ”
King sounded so confident, as if he could weather any storm. But she wasn’t so certain. His profit and loss margins on the resta
urant were slim and if he lost even a handful of regulars he’d soon be in the red. “Maybe I should move out for a while. Until the media stuff blows over.”
King glared at her. “No. This is your home. We will get through this.”
We will get through this. That was the last thing Angie had said to her a decade ago. Angie had underestimated how much damage Donovan could do.
A horn blared outside. Eva pushed open the swinging door and through the front window saw a news van trying to find parking. Her thoughts turned to Deacon. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she trusted him and sensed he might be able to help in some way.
“This will not turn into the nightmare it did a decade ago.”
Donovan’s article had generated a great buzz. Already, he spun ideas for the follow-up piece, which his editor had scheduled for the Sunday edition. If he played it right, this story would grab the attention of national television news, which could very well lead to a book deal. Eva Rayburn had launched his career and now she was going to save it. She was the gift that kept on giving.
Like the series a decade ago, he’d portrayed Eva as a femme fatale, a woman who’d do anything to break free of her foster care roots. Now he’d suggested that she might have returned to the area to get the revenge on the women who’d testified against her.
As he sipped his coffee, he contemplated getting an agent and a book deal. Fans already wanted to know more about Eva, and if Connor didn’t get her story, another reporter would. But so far, he’d had no luck getting her on the phone at King’s and King had threatened to break his kneecaps if he showed his face again at the pub. There had to be another place he could ambush her. He was a fast talker, he could be charming and he just needed to get her alone when she didn’t have her defenses in place.
His phone rang and he picked it up on the second ring. “Donovan.”
“This is Eva.” Her voice sounded soft, barely a hoarse whisper.
He sat forward in his chair, his heart pounding furiously.
“You’ve been trying to call me.”
“I sure have. I really want to interview you. And I’m sorry about the other night. I had no right to ambush you like that.”
