Locked in Temptation

by Brenda Jackson

  “That’s what I heard. Well, I’m out of here.”

  “Thanks for getting this back to me so quickly.”

  “No problem. Reconstructing her likeness was easy. She was a beautiful young woman. Heartbreaking what happened to her. I hope you find out why she was out in the cold that night of all nights.”

  Joy drew in a deep breath. “I’m determined to do that.”

  Only after Mike left did Joy sit down and open the folder. She shook her head sadly. Mike was right. Jane Doe had been a beautiful woman.

  “Who are you really, Jane? And where is your baby?” Shivers ran through Joy’s body when she thought of how the woman had been out in the cold, going where? But more important, where had she come from?

  She closed the folder, knowing she owed it to the dead woman to find out all that and more.

  * * *

  JOY GLANCED AROUND as she approached another cabin. This was the sixth in one day. To save time and cover more ground, she and Sanchez had split up. He would talk to the occupants of the homes to the east and she would do the same to those on the west. So far they’d found nothing. Most of the cabins were rentals and the occupants had been living in them less than five months. Anyone around five months ago was gone.

  She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. The sun had gone down. She and Sanchez had agreed to call it a day in another hour or so. This cabin was just like all the others in the area. Spacious. Luxurious-looking. Well maintained. She didn’t want to guess how much the rental would be on such a place.

  There was a strong mountain breeze and she wished she’d gotten her jacket out the car and put it on. It didn’t matter if this was June. The higher up in the mountains you went, the cooler the temperature got. She thought about going back to get it and decided to keep walking. Hopefully the questioning wouldn’t take long. If the place was occupied. There was no car so she couldn’t be certain.

  She felt her phone vibrate in her pants pocket. It was probably Sanchez. She would call him back in a second. For now, she wanted to key in on her surroundings. Imagine the place and the distance of it from the crime scene where Jane Doe’s body was found. It would have been a good five-mile trek going south.

  Her research had shown there’d been a quarter moon in the sky that night, which meant not a lot of light there. She couldn’t imagine anyone, especially a woman wandering around the area, with barely enough light and in the cold weather.

  “May we help you?”

  Joy turned and saw a couple had come out to stand on the wraparound porch. They both looked in their late sixties. She flipped open her badge wallet and held it up. “I’m Detective Joy Ingram with the Charlottesville Police. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?” the man wanted to know. He was eyeing her suspiciously as if, badge or no badge, he didn’t trust her.

  “About a woman who froze to death one night a few miles from here, five months ago. Were you staying here then?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, smiling.

  Joy immediately picked up on the contrast between the two. One friendly and one not so much. She directed her questions to the friendlier. “And you are?”

  Before she could respond, the man she assumed was the woman’s husband said, “We’re the Dunmores. I’m Henry and this is my wife Edith. Someone has already been here and asked us about that. Not too long after it happened. Why are you back?”

  “Because it’s an unsolved case,” Joy said.

  “It’s sad what happened to that girl,” Mrs. Dunmore piped up to say. “The police officer who came around told us what happened.”

  “Yes, it was sad,” Joy agreed.

  “There’s nothing else we can tell you,” Mr. Dunmore said, as if he was getting annoyed that she was wasting their time.

  “I was hoping that you could tell me if you’ve seen this woman before,” Joy said, holding up the sketch of Jane Doe.

  The woman took it and adjusted her glasses to study it. “She’s such a pretty girl, but no, I’ve never seen her before.”

  Joy nodded. “What about you, Mr. Dunmore?”

  The woman passed the picture to her husband, who didn’t study it as long as his wife had. “No, I’ve never seen her before.” He then handed the picture back to her.

  Joy returned the picture to the packet she was carrying. “Nice place,” she said, glancing around. “You’re owners or renters?”

  “We’re owners,” Mrs. Dunmore said proudly.

  Joy nodded. “Are there a lot of owners who stay-year-round?”

  “We wouldn’t know,” Mr. Dunmore said. “We pretty much keep to ourselves.”

  At that moment Joy heard the ding on her phone indicating a text message had come through. She’d gotten a call earlier and now a text. Had Sanchez found something and was trying to reach her? She was about to ask the Dunmores to excuse her while she checked her phone when Mrs. Dunmore’s next words stopped her.

  “I do recall something.”

  Joy looked over at Mrs. Dunmore. “And what do you recall?”

  Mrs. Dunmore glanced over at her husband as if she wasn’t sure he would approve of what she was about to say. Then she said, “It’s about Stanley.”

  “Stanley?”

  “Yes, our Yorkie. That’s how we knew you were here. Stanley doesn’t bark. He runs and hides under the bed. Whenever he does that, we know something is going on.”

  Joy nodded. “And?”

  “And Stanley was acting strange that night. He ran under the bed and stayed there.”

  Joy mulled that over and then asked, “Did either of you venture outside to see if anything was out there?”

  It was Mr. Dunmore who answered. “No, it was cold out. I wasn’t going out there. I figured it was nothing but some animal trying to find heat from the cold.”

  Joy nodded. “Did you mention it to the police officer when he came around asking questions?”

  “No,” Mr. Dunmore said. “He only asked if we saw anything. He didn’t ask if we heard anything.”

  “Oh, I see. Is there anything else?” Joy asked, looking from one to the other.

  Mrs. Dunmore shook her head. “No. I just hope you find the person responsible.”

  “I hope so, too,” Joy said. She noted Mr. Dunmore hadn’t said anything.

  “Well, if either of you remember anything else, please give me a call,” Joy said, handing her business card to Mrs. Dunmore.

  “Okay, we will.”

  Mr. Dunmore gave his wife a look that clearly suggested she didn’t speak for him.

  As soon as Joy got back inside her car, she pulled out her cell phone. The missed call had come from Sanchez. The text, however, had come from Stonewall.

  Missing you like crazy.

  Those four words caused every hormone within Joy’s body to sizzle. These words, combined with the ones he’d spoken last night, had sexual excitement curling in her stomach. They were sensations she was getting used to whenever she thought about Stonewall.

  In the past his text messages had been more casual. This was the first one she’d received from him since they’d slept together, and it definitely had a more intimate and personal tone.

  She checked her watch. It was close to six. She wondered what he was doing. Had he returned to Vermont? He’d told her about Dak Navarro’s home and how beautiful it was.

  She nearly jumped when her phone rang. It was Sanchez. For a minute she’d forgotten about his call. “Hey, Sanchez.”

  “Did you not get my call?”

  Now she felt guilty about not calling him right back. Instead she’d been mooning over Stonewall’s text. “I was in the middle of an interview with a couple who owns a cabin. I was about to call you back. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. That’s w
hy I’m calling. All of my cabins were vacant. It’s late and I’m checking out to go home. I advise you do the same before it starts getting dark.”

  “I will,” she said, appreciating that with Daylight Savings Time, it didn’t get dark until almost eight.

  “So, how did your interview go?”

  She told him about the Dunmores. “I think I’ll get Holly to run backgrounds on them, as well as the owners of all the cabins in the area.”

  “That should have been done already by Sessions.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Will do.”

  She clicked off the phone and was tempted to reread Stonewall’s text. Instead she quickly placed the phone in her pocket before temptation got the best of her. She wasn’t quick enough. She pulled the phone back out and texted him back an emoji happy face. She couldn’t help blushing at doing something like that for the first time with a guy.

  Joy heard her stomach growl and knew it was time to grab something because she hadn’t eaten much since breakfast. A doughnut and a cup of coffee and that candy bar from the snack machine could fill her up for only so long.

  After putting her phone away again, she pulled out of the Dunmores’ yard. She was headed toward the office, with plans to stop at a fast-food place and grab a hamburger on the way. She needed to make notes on her interview with the Dunmores while it was still fresh on her mind.

  Still blushing, she headed back to town.

  * * *

  “YOU KNOW SHE won’t disappear if you don’t check on her every hour, sweetheart?”

  Rachel Carrington glanced up at her husband and smiled. She felt so much love for both him and their beautiful three-month-old daughter. Their miracle baby. She and Brett had been trying to have a baby for five solid years. After two miscarriages, she was finally told by her doctor she would never be able to carry a child to term. That had been devastating and had crushed their world.

  She had gotten a second opinion and a third, all with the same prognosis. Then one day she’d received a call from the last doctor they’d seen, Dr. Kelly Langley. She had suggested the surrogate route. Neither Rachel nor Brett was receptive to the idea until Dr. Langley had put them in touch with couples who’d tried it with success. The more she and Brett talked about it, the more the possibility grew on them.

  Less than four months later the embryo transfer procedure was a success, and nine months after that they had little Chasta to show for it. And she was definitely theirs, with Brett’s lips, forehead, nose and dimples. From Rachel, Chasta inherited her blue eyes and golden-blond hair.

  Rachel couldn’t help but think about the woman who’d been the surrogate. A young woman who’d preferred not to meet them in person, a position they’d fully agreed with. They had, however, reviewed a detailed portfolio about her. It was important to know about the woman’s health and lifestyle. Although they hadn’t been present when Chasta was born, she was given to them within forty-eight hours of her birth.

  “I can’t help it,” she said, wrapping her arms around Brett’s neck when he pulled her into his arms. “Every time I look at her I think of what we almost didn’t have. Now I can’t imagine our life without her.”

  Brett leaned closer and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I know, baby. Just think, we’ll have the rest of our lives to watch over our daughter and shelter her with our love.”

  “Yes,” Rachel said, smiling brightly. “We’ll have the rest of our lives.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE FIRST THING Detective Joy Ingram noticed when she and Sanchez walked into Beautiful Creations was how the reception area was staged to look like the living room of someone’s home instead of a professional office. The surrogate agency was complete with what appeared to be a real fireplace and a spiral staircase.

  Joy was convinced those were live flowers around the room and not fake ones. If the intention was to make whoever walked through the doors feel comfortable and at home, then the decor worked. “I hope those stairs really do lead to a bedroom upstairs. The first thing I want to do is take a nap,” Sanchez mumbled beneath his breath.

  She smiled. “The baby keeping you up at night?”

  “Afraid so. But then, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m getting the hang of this fatherhood thing, and I kind of like it.”

  The professionally dressed sixty-something woman, who didn’t appear to have a hair out of place, was sitting at the desk. She smiled brightly at them. “Good morning. May I help you?”

  Both Joy and Sanchez flashed their badges. “We hope that you can,” Joy said, returning the woman’s smile. “I’m Detective Joy Ingram and this is my partner, Detective Juan Sanchez, Charlottesville Police.”

  The woman’s smile immediately turned into a frown. “Whatever my ex-husband is claiming, I didn’t do it.”

  Joy suppressed a smile. “That’s not why we’re here, Ms....”

  “Stone. I’m Cathy Stone. If you’re not here because of Nathan’s lies, then why are you here?”

  “We’re investigating a murder.”

  “A murder?” the woman asked, touching the scarf she wore around her neck as if in shock.

  “Yes, a murder,” Sanchez answered, glancing around.

  “Then you must be at the wrong place. We create lives here, not take them. And just who was murdered?”

  “A young woman,” Joy said, pulling Jane Doe’s picture out the folder she held. “Have you ever seen her before?”

  Cathy Stone looked at the sketch, and she held it a long time as if studying the features. She then glanced back up at Sanchez and Ingram. “No, I don’t recognize her. How did she die?”

  “She froze to death, and according to the autopsy report, she had Epinnine in her system. The medical examination report indicates she had her pregnancy as a surrogate and was preparing for another the same way.”

  Cathy Stone nodded as if not surprised. “A number of our ladies are regulars who find the ability to assist couples in becoming parents rewarding.”

  Joy didn’t say anything about that. Most women she knew who’d given birth loved the end result but hadn’t necessarily liked being pregnant. As one of her friends from college phrased it, what woman wanted to walk around for nine months looking like the Goodyear Blimp? The first person who came to Joy’s mind was her mother, who’d done it four times.

  “She froze to death with Epinnine in her system, and for that reason you think she was murdered?”

  “There’s more to it than that, Ms. Stone,” Sanchez said.

  “I should hope so. She’s a very pretty girl. Reminds me of that woman on television—you know who I’m talking about.”

  Joy shook her head. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  “Who do you think she looks like?” Sanchez asked, taking the picture from Cathy to glance at it.

  “She’s a dead ringer for Sunnie Clay. The woman who stars on Real Housemates of San Diego. She could be her twin.”

  Sanchez nodded. “But you don’t recognize her as one of the women you considered as a regular here?

  Cathy Stone shook her head. “No, and I usually know most of the women because they are regulars. However, my boss would know for certain.”

  “Then we need to speak with your boss,” Sanchez said, sliding the photo back in the folder.

  Cathy shook her head. “Sorry, but Mr. Effington is out of town. He left this morning for the Bahamas to attend a conference.”

  “The Bahamas?” Sanchez asked. “Nice place for a conference.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Cathy said. “I’ve never been there, thanks to Nathan. You wouldn’t believe all the things he’s been doing since our divorce.”

  And we don’t have time to listen. Joy handed Ms. Stone her card. “When your boss returns, please hav
e him call me.”

  Cathy Stone fingered the card while she stared at it. Then she glanced back up at Joy. “Yes, I most certainly will.”

  When Joy and Sanchez walked out the door, she glanced over at him. “I take it you’re a fan of the Real Housemates.”

  Sanchez chuckled. “Used to be before the baby days. Cathy Stone is right. Our Jane Doe is a dead ringer for Sunnie Clay. I didn’t notice it before.”

  Joy nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that everybody’s got a twin somewhere.”

  “Yeah, whatever. But not my Carlos. I’m convinced there’s not another baby like him anywhere,” Sanchez said proudly.

  “Whatever,” Joy said, grinning, while pulling her sunglasses from her shirt pocket.

  * * *

  LATER THAT NIGHT Joy was in bed when her phone rang. It was Stonewall. She tried to downplay the surge of excitement that raced through her. As usual it had been late when she’d arrived home with a chicken salad sandwich and soda from the deli on the corner. Now hearing Stonewall’s voice gave her renewed energy.

  “Stonewall.”

  “Joy. How are you?”

  “I’m okay. What about you?” She leaned back against the headboard, thinking that no man should sound this good so late at night. There was a sexy coarseness in his voice that had her pulse thumping.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Got some good news to share.”

  “Umm, what news is that?”

  “Quasar and Randi set a date. They’re getting married in September.”

  She straightened up in bed. “They are? That’s wonderful. When I talked to Randi at the wedding last weekend, she thought they would wait and have a June wedding.”

  “Like Striker and Margo, they decided not to wait. I guess being in love does that to some people,” he said.

  “Evidently,” Joy said, knowing she couldn’t claim it did that to her. Neither she nor Omar had been in a hurry to marry. “I’m happy for them.”

  “So am I. I have what I hope is more good news.”

  “What?”

  “It appears the authorities got the right guy. Everything that was found in his home checked out. And he confessed.”