by Brenda Novak
She scooted past him. “Just give me five minutes to shower.”
Francesca’s eyes felt as if they were filled with sand even after her shower. She didn’t have time for makeup, but she took a few seconds to rub some aloe vera on the backs of her arms and legs where the hot ground had scraped and burned her skin yesterday. She also put up her hair and swiped on some lip gloss. Then she dressed in brown linen capris with a turquoise blouse, got her Gucci sandals and went to the kitchen, where she could smell food.
It’d been a long time since she’d had a man in her house, let alone one who cooked. “Smells good. What’ve you got?”
Jonah stood at the window with his back to her. When he turned, she saw how bloodshot his eyes were and realized he was tired, too. The beard growth on his jaw was more pronounced than usual, but his exhaustion showed even more in a certain lethargy. Such sluggishness wasn’t characteristic of someone who possessed as much energy and athletic grace as Jonah.
“Eggs,” he said. “That’s all you had, unless you count a six-pack of yogurt that expired three months ago. Don’t you ever eat here?”
“I’ve been on the fly.”
“Looks like it. You hungry?”
“Starved.” He’d set her plate on the table across from where he’d obviously eaten. Tossing her shoes beside her chair, she headed to the coffeepot first. “But if I plan to get through this day, I need to start with a jolt of caffeine.”
“You’ve actually got options,” he said.
Although she tried not to pay attention, the pectoral muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt as he moved showed her that his chest hadn’t really changed much. Maybe he was a little more muscular than when they’d dated, but he was still lean. And she had to admire the fit of his jeans. They rode low on his hips, molded perfectly to his butt and legs.
“What options?” she asked.
“You can take a thermos of the coffee I made, or—” he indicated the Starbucks cups on the counter “—have the mocha drink Adriana brought over. Although I’m afraid Adriana’s offering might be melted at this point.”
No longer tempted to admire his body, she stopped before she could reach the counter. He’d just mentioned her best friend, hadn’t he? He’d tried to drop it into the conversation as smoothly as possible, but he was putting her on notice that Adriana knew he was there. “She…came by?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“And brought us both a drink.”
“I think the second one was meant to be hers, but…she changed her mind about staying.”
For some reason, the image of Adriana coming face-to-face with Jonah made Francesca sick inside. No matter how many years passed, or how convinced she became that she was finally over him, she couldn’t help imagining him and Adriana together, and that always evoked nausea. “What did she say when she saw you?”
“That she didn’t realize you had company. Then she nearly dropped the drinks and ran away.”
“That must’ve been disappointing.”
“How so?”
She heard the caution in his tone but ignored it. “That’s definitely not the reaction you got the last time you were alone with her,” she said, then poured coffee into her travel mug.
He didn’t try to justify his actions. Neither did he point out that he’d tried, numerous times, to apologize. He accepted the barb without complaint and turned back to the window. But Francesca knew she shouldn’t keep letting her anger get the best of her. She couldn’t berate him every time something struck a nerve. It wasn’t as if he had to be here, had to put up with her insults. He was trying to stop a killer.
Let bygones be bygones. God, if only she could.
Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “Sorry, I won’t mention it again.” She added a dash of cream to her coffee before putting on the lid. “Let’s go.”
He glanced at her breakfast. “You’re not going to eat?”
She eyed the eggs and toast he’d made for her and tried to recover her earlier enthusiasm, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to force it down. “I’m not hungry.”
She’d just told him she was starving, but he didn’t call her on it. Frowning, he retrieved her plate and rinsed the food into the garbage disposal before getting out his keys. “You can ride with me if you want.”
But then they’d be stuck going everywhere together until he drove her home. And her home was two hours away from where he was currently working, so that didn’t make sense. Being professional allies was one thing; spending every minute together was another. He brought what she most wanted to forget to the forefront, made it clear that she’d never loved anyone as much as she’d loved him. “No, thanks. I’ll take my own car.”
With a nod that suggested he was as relieved as she was, he gave her directions and left.
Jonah tried to reach Finch several times, but the investigator wasn’t picking up. He probably had his hands full. No telling what he was dealing with at the crime scene. The details Jonah had already heard were pretty damn gruesome.
But it would’ve been nice to have something besides Francesca to concentrate on. He definitely didn’t want to spend the whole drive thinking about the pictures he’d seen in her house or wondering about that politician fellow she’d been with. Nor did he want to keep reliving that moment when she first woke up and took his hand. That’d brought all the longing he’d felt for her right to the surface. He’d been just about to cup her cheek, to let himself touch her as he’d wanted to touch her all these years, when she’d suddenly realized what she was doing and withdrew.
Maybe she’d assumed he was her Washington, D.C., boyfriend. He’d been foolish to think her receptiveness to him had changed over the course of one nap. He hadn’t believed it, not really. His reaction had been instinctive. Had he taken a second to consider it, he would’ve known better than to respond even if she did reach out to him. He’d never expected to avoid the consequences of what he’d done, didn’t believe he deserved more than he’d earned. He had only himself to blame for losing Francesca. He just wished he could stop wanting her.
He’d thought he had. If someone had asked him yesterday whether seeing her again would affect him like this, he would’ve denied it. But every time he looked at her he felt the same pull that’d scared him a decade ago.
His phone rang. Figuring it was most likely Finch, he checked caller ID on his Bluetooth.
But it was his mother.
He was close enough to Skull Valley that he considered ducking the call. His mother wasn’t really the type of diversion he’d been hoping for. But she’d only call back. So he decided to get it over with. “Hey, Mom.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Driving.”
“That doesn’t tell me much.”
“Still in Arizona, working that series of murders. Something wrong?”
“I got a call from Lori this morning.”
Oh, shit. Now she was contacting his mother? “You didn’t tell her I was in Arizona, did you?”
“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s none of her business, for one.”
“She’s upset, Jonah. She said she’s been trying to get in touch with you but you won’t respond.”
Considering the personal information he kept hidden for Lori’s sake, it took nerve for her to involve his mother. But she’d always had a lot of nerve.
Tempted to tell Rita everything, he wondered how she’d respond if he blurted out that Lori’s roommate wasn’t just a roommate. That Lori had been gay since before she’d married him.
But he didn’t do it. Why bother? Lori didn’t mean anything to him anymore, not even enough for revenge. It was simpler to pretend their problems had been far more mundane. “I’ve been busy,” he said instead.
“Too busy to return her call?”
“Mom, she’s my ex. That doesn’t make her my top priority. Why should I drop everything when she contacts me?”
“Why n
ot? It wouldn’t hurt you to help her out.”
Did she even understand what his ex-wife wanted? What had Lori told his mother that had motivated Rita to jump in with both feet? Lord knew it didn’t take much, but she had to have been given some excuse. “What is it she needs?” he asked, just to see what his mother would say.
“You don’t know?”
He caught a glimpse of Francesca’s BMW in his rearview mirror and sped up. Murder case or no murder case, he could live without the confusion she inspired in him. “Not exactly.”
“It’s some sort of a character reference so she can adopt a child from the foster care system.”
A child from foster care? Hardly. She was competing with other would-be parents for an unborn child. But he didn’t correct her. Sometimes Rita went off half-cocked without knowing all the details. Life was easy for her—all black and white and full of snap judgments. This was a perfect example. “And how’s my character reference going to make a difference?”
“I can’t imagine. But she thinks it will. And it wouldn’t take you more than a few minutes to do her this favor.”
“Have a little faith, Mom. I’ll get to it when I can.”
“How about sooner rather than later, Jonah? Divorced couples don’t have to be enemies, you know. Take me and your father, for instance.”
He switched lanes. “Dad’s remarried, Mom.”
“And your point is?”
“He’s never the one who has to deal with you. His wife runs interference.”
“That’s not true. Anyway, Jolynn and I get along.”
Barely. Because he was close to his father and stepmother, Jonah knew that Jolynn was less than pleased about being Rita’s designated contact. She was just better with people, better with Rita, than his father, so she got stuck with the job. “How does that relate to anything?”
“I’m encouraging you to make peace with Lori, to stop holding a grudge.”
“Right. Got it. Thanks for the advice,” he said dryly.
When she hesitated, he expected her to switch topics, but she didn’t. Evidently, that call from Lori had her thinking about the fact that he was past thirty and still hadn’t remarried. “Lori’s such a good person, so supportive and friendly.”
Yeah. Whenever she wanted something…
“You don’t think the two of you could ever get back together, do you?”
“No. Never.”
She acted surprised by the absoluteness. “Wow, I never would’ve guessed you were so bitter. You seemed like such an ideal couple, and then it was over, just like that. I’m still not sure why you two broke—”
“Irreconcilable differences,” he cut in. “I’ve got to check my GPS, Mom.”
“So check it,” she said.
“My phone won’t let me talk at the same time. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Fine,” she said with a huff. “But don’t forget to contact Lori.”
“I heard you the first time. Thanks again, Mom.” He hung up. After that little stunt, Lori could wait until he got back to California for her damn letter. He didn’t have time to pull over, whip out his laptop and do it now, anyway. According to his GPS, he’d passed Peeples Valley and was coming up on Kirkland. That meant he was only seven miles from Skull Valley, and Francesca wasn’t far behind.
What would they find when they got there? he wondered. But nothing could’ve prepared him.
8
The smell drifted all the way to the car, triggering such revulsion Francesca almost couldn’t force her legs to carry her the short distance to where she saw Finch and Hunsacker. They were with several police officers and a few other people, probably from the Yavapai County Medical Examiner’s Office, judging by the van, working outside the chocolate and gift shop. Once she did get close, she regretted it. She’d hoped to identify April from the picture she had with her; she’d wanted to know for sure that her latest missing person had been found. April’s sister, Jill Abbatiello and her husband, Vince, had been distraught ever since she didn’t report for work on Monday. Of course, murder was the worst possible outcome, but it was at least an answer, which relieved the wondering and the waiting. However, the state of the corpse made visual identification impossible.
“You okay?” Jonah asked.
She hadn’t realized that she’d crowded so close to him. Professional pride demanded she back up, tell him she was fine. But she was trying so hard not to retch that she couldn’t move or speak. Fortunately, Finch whirled around and spotted them, interrupting before her inability to react became obvious.
“What’s she doing here?” He addressed Jonah while hiking a thumb at her as though she wasn’t standing within earshot.
Francesca understood that he was angry about yesterday, but holding a grudge over a little humiliation seemed pointless. How could he worry about something so petty in light of this? Not long ago, the blob of putrefying flesh sitting on the concrete had been a living, breathing human being….
As Jonah’s eyes shifted to the victim, his nostrils flared, which told her he was struggling with what he saw, as well. Still, he kept his voice steady. “I thought she might be able to identify the deceased, but—”
“Actually, I’m glad you brought her,” Finch broke in, and nudged Francesca as he motioned to the victim. “Now this is what a corpse looks like.”
Despite the dizziness that nearly overwhelmed her, she somehow remained standing and managed to give him a dirty look as she found her voice. “No kidding.”
Hunsacker joined them. “So? Do you recognize her?”
Too preoccupied to put him in his place, even when he laughed, Francesca answered without the stinging reprisal that would’ve been part of her response on any other day. “No.”
The victim’s head looked like a jack-o’-lantern that’d softened and caved in on one side. Her right eye was missing and her nose had been so badly pummeled it resembled putty more than human flesh. The features that were still distinguishable were swollen out of all proportion and her tongue protruded in a grotesque fashion.
Jonah’s stoic expression melted into a grimace. “Looks as if she took a severe beating.”
Finch sobered. “Like the others. You can bet she’s got plenty of broken bones to go with that fractured skull.”
Hunsacker rolled his feet to the outside in his habitual way. “So you think this might be the work of the same killer?”
“Dead Mule Canyon’s only a few miles away,” Jonah said. “The victims there were beaten, too.”
“Shit.” Hunsacker spat on the ground.
“Once word of this gets out…” Finch didn’t finish.
Francesca was listening but it felt as if she stood at a distance too removed to participate. Mostly, she could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. The body wasn’t easy to look at, but would’ve been worse if those wounds had been recent. The coagulated blood surrounding the woman’s injuries appeared to have dried a day or two ago, based on the blackish color. It was the dirt that Francesca found curious. Tiny granulated rocks, the kind so characteristic of desert soil, clung to the woman’s hair and her gaping wounds, suggesting she’d been buried and subsequently disinterred.
Why? Why would a man kill a woman, bury her, then dig her up and prop her in such a public place? How could anyone be so morbid?
Francesca didn’t ask this question, but when she tuned in to the conversation again, she realized Finch had inadvertently answered it.
“He’s proud of his work, eh?”
Jonah thrust his hands in his pockets. “He definitely wants it to be seen.”
“What a monster,” she murmured, but was this monster the same man who’d sat in her lawn chair last night throwing rocks at her window? Was it Butch?
The image of him wielding that bat popped into her mind. It was a frightening memory. But his audacity, his lack of fear, provoked her at the same time. He wouldn’t get away with this. She’d make sure of it.
Anger provided some much-
needed adrenaline, making it easier to stay on her feet, breathe, think. “A bat could’ve done this.”
Hunsacker didn’t seem impressed with her detective skills. Either that or he wasn’t willing to credit her with much intelligence. “So could plenty of other things.”
“How long do you think she’s been dead?” she asked Finch, but it was Jonah who answered.
“At least thirty-six hours.”
Francesca tried to rub away the goose bumps that’d jumped out on her arms. The temperature was quickly climbing and would likely top yesterday’s high before the day was over, but somehow she felt chilled to the bone. “How do you know?” she asked. Having switched her specialty from employer-solicited background checks to missing persons only a year ago, she hadn’t seen a lot of death.
Obviously warmer than she was, Finch loosened a tie that’d already been loosened once. As usual, he looked uncomfortable in his work clothes. “He knows it’s been at least that long because there’s no rigor. Rigor generally comes on in the first twelve hours, remains unchanged for twelve hours and dissipates in another twelve.”
“From the bloating, I’d say it’s actually been longer,” Jonah added. “See the marbling? Takes a while for that to set in, even in this heat.”
Because Francesca couldn’t think of a worse indignity than being left sprawled on the ground, naked, for the whole world to see, and in such a horrific condition, she hadn’t let her gaze fall any lower than the neck. Now that she had a reason to look, however, she could see that the woman’s stomach had swollen to the size of a large watermelon. Her belly had also taken on a grayish-green cast, much like a bruise, and the inky weblike veins that showed on the torso seemed to be traveling up the neck, toward her face.
This corpse could’ve stepped right out of the movie Zombieland, Francesca thought sadly. No one should have to suffer the way this woman had. No one should be displayed in such a state.
“So how long would you say?” she pressed.
“We’ll let the M.E. determine that,” Finch said, but Jonah spoke at the same time.
