by Ava Gray
“Excellent. Now we have an excuse for not staying longer than a few hours.”
She briefed him about the sort of guests he could expect to encounter, but his inattention made her stop talking when he lost the thread for the third time. Damn. He’s really nervous. Neva took one hand off the wheel and put it on his thigh in reassurance. His muscles tensed.
He closed his eyes and growled, “Don’t distract me, woman.”
How utterly heady. We just . . . But she heeded him and went back to driving with her hands at ten and two. The countryside sped by, brown trees and damp farmland, until Harper Court appeared around a bend like a fairy-tale manor. Her mother said it aroused envy in the hearts of all who passed by, nestled like a jewel in the gentle rise. The white stone caught the wan afternoon sunlight, gilding the place.
“And here we are.”
They had valet service, so she turned her keys over to the boy in the yellow vest. He raised a brow at her old Honda, but Neva ignored him. It wouldn’t hurt any of the Mercedes or BMWs with its proximity.
Zeke took a deep breath and offered his arm. “Sure this is a good idea?”
“Trust me,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”
And things went well at first. He cleaned up well enough that even her mother didn’t seem to recognize him, so she didn’t come over to spread her special brand of tolerance. She introduced him to a senator and a congressman, not local boys; he owned the knack of nodding and looking interested, so that worked in lieu of actual conversation. Most of her mother’s guests had an agenda and a message to espouse.
“So that’s why you want to vote for me, Son,” the politician was saying.
Zeke kept a drink in his right hand and his left hand on her waist, so he didn’t have to touch anyone. He was careful enough about it that she didn’t think anyone else caught it, but she needed to ask him about that. She didn’t think it could be mysophobia—a fear of germs—given the work he did at the clinic, but perhaps haphephobia? Strange that the fear of being touched didn’t apply to her as well, though. So maybe that wasn’t it.
Once everyone arrived, they had a sit-down meal, thirty guests for dinner, which one of the Yanks called lunch, and earned a round of ribbing. Zeke radiated tension beside her. He tried not to show it but he didn’t like having a strange man on his left, and liked even less that she had one on her right. He kept sliding the guy—a businessman from Mississippi—wary looks. She hadn’t realized it would be so hard for him; he chewed his food doggedly and kept his eyes on his plate.
She absorbed some of his tension until her shoulders ached. It was a relief when maids collected the dessert plates, and they were free to move around again. It was time to go talk to her father anyway and see what Ben was talking about with those tests.
“I need a moment with my dad,” she said to Zeke. “Will you be all right?”
Momentary panic flashed in his blue eyes, but he offered a terse nod. “Gonna step outside for some air.”
As she’d known she would, she found her father smoking in his study, drinking with a couple of his cronies. Neva nodded in greeting. “Gentlemen, could I borrow him briefly?”
An assenting chorus came in response—not that anyone ever said no to her, and it was a wonder it hadn’t ruined her character—then the men filed out with their cigars, leaving her alone with Conrad Harper. He looked tired and old, hair thinner, and far grayer. But he still had a powerful presence. He rose and gave her a hug.
“Good to see you, my dear. What can I do for you?”
Had it come to that, then? The only reason she’d possibly seek him out was if she wanted something? In fact, he could make her life easier, if he released her trust fund. But she wouldn’t ask. She had chosen her course.
“Ben told me you went to the hospital.” A question laced the statement, inviting him to explain.
To her surprise, he rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. He was Conrad Harper, larger than life. “The results came back yesterday.”
“And?”
“I have lung cancer.”
Impossible. He couldn’t have said what she thought he had. That would imply he could die and he couldn’t possibly. He’d be around to order their lives for decades yet. Lillian couldn’t function without him.
“No. You . . . you’re still smoking!”
“Why quit?” he asked. “That would be like closing the barn door after the horse got out, wouldn’t it? It’s a death sentence, sweetheart. I’m not putting myself through chemo for a few extra months. When I go, I want it to be quick. I won’t put you and your mother through a long illness. Not . . . not on top of everything else.”
Luke, he meant Luke.
Her father went on, “But it would mean a lot to me if you could see your way clear to making up with her. She needs you. Misses you. And she’ll need you a lot more after I’m gone. Both of you are just so dang stubborn.”
She gazed at him, unable to believe it hadn’t been just another of Ben’s ruses. He was really sick. Dying. No, it couldn’t be true.
“How long?” She forced the words past numb lips.
“A year at the outside. The doc made a guess but it’s up to God.”
“Oh, Daddy.” Tears filled her eyes, and she regretted how callous she’d been, dismissing Ben’s concern.
“Don’t smear your makeup over me. I’m not worth it.” To her surprise he didn’t try to capitalize on the moment, didn’t push her toward a life change to make an old man happy. He just hugged her, and he smelled of expensive tobacco and Ralph Lauren cologne, as he always had.
“I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible daughter.”
“I won’t win any prizes, either,” he said gruffly. “Go back to the party or your mother will come looking for us. We don’t want that, do we?”
A shaky laugh escaped her. Neva shook her head and turned for the door. She managed to get a few yards down the hall before she had to stop. The tears she’d been fighting trickled down her cheeks. She leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to try to control herself. Talk about a sucker punch.
“He told you, I take it?” Ben’s voice didn’t surprise her.
When she opened her eyes, he was coming down the hall toward her. The guy always knew where she was and what she was doing. Great situational awareness, if it hadn’t been so annoying.
“He did.”
“Hell of a thing. I’m sorry.”
Tentative as he never was, Ben put his arms around her and she let him hug her. If only he wasn’t so insistent about marrying her, they might be friends. They stood like that for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and struggled with conflicting emotions. Neva didn’t want to go back to the party, but she had to find Zeke so they could leave. After she had some time to deal with the news, then she’d tackle her dad’s request and see about making peace with her mother.
She didn’t hear Zeke approach. Just one minute he wasn’t there, and the next, he was, spinning Ben off her with brute strength and slamming him into the wall. His hand curled around the other man’s throat, squeezing until his face went ruddy and his breath came in choking gasps.
“Touch her again,” he snarled, “and I kill you.”
“Zeke, no! Let him go.”
For an agonizing instant, she feared he’d murder Ben. There was nothing human in his face, just a fierce and bestial anger. At last, with a trembling groan, he dropped his hand and stumbled back, rubbing his hands on his thighs. He shook his head as if to clear it.
Horror dawned and he backed away from them both. “Shouldn’t have come.”
Ben glared after him. “Your new boyfriend is crazy. He shouldn’t be allowed to associate with normal people.”
And until this moment, she would’ve argued that wasn’t true.
CHAPTER 16
At last Hebert had names for his two dead girls: Gwen Davies and Sheila Palmer. Both came from Birmingham. So it was still his problem. Not that he
minded. The heavy workload kept him busy, at least.
The other agents treated him differently these days. They were gentler, none of the no-holds-barred ribbing from before, like they thought he couldn’t handle it. That pissed him off, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was unstable or needed more counseling.
Davies had been a single mother who worked as a beautician. Fortunately, they could pinpoint her disappearance to the day she’d first failed to pick up her daughter, Minnie, from the babysitter. The woman had called the girl’s grandparents. Now, they waited for him to ask the questions that would lead to answers.
He sighed and killed the car engine. The Davies lived in a small brick house near Five Points. The streets were narrow near downtown, full of houses restored or in the process of it. This one was well kept, with a tiny lawn gone brown with coming winter. He let himself in through the wrought iron gate and went up the walk. Inside a tiny dog yapped, signaling his arrival.
Mrs. Davies met him at the front door. She was short, no more than five feet, and she’d gone round with age, sort of comfortably pigeon-shaped. A little girl held her hand, eyes wide and sad in her small face. From her other hand, a stuffed bear dangled by an arm. The house smelled of gingerbread, rousing sweet memories.
“We were just baking a bit,” Mrs. Davies said. “Would you like coffee and cookies?”
To make this seem like a social call instead of an interview. He understood the impulse. Plus, who could turn down fresh gingerbread? Not him.
“Yes, ma’am. That would be very kind.”
Minnie went with her grandmother with a final look over her shoulder. He took stock of his surroundings, mostly finding the access points and exits. It was something he did as second nature, but the warmth of the house also registered. They had decorated for Christmas. Lights twinkled around the windows, and boughs of holly had been fastened to the wall at regular intervals. Combined with the gingerbread, the place smelled wonderful.
Hebert settled on the edge of a gold sofa. Mr. Davies wasn’t in evidence. Unfortunate. He might have to come back.
When they returned, Mrs. Davies carried a tray set with cookies and her good china. She poured his coffee and gave it to him with an intense look. He recognized it: you’re the man who will fix this. In the beginning they all wanted the impossible from him—for him to make the truth untrue. Once they realized he couldn’t, then they would shift to a need for answers. If all went well, he could provide them. But sometimes . . . sometimes he couldn’t. The reality was, some murders went unsolved, or they went cold for years, until some fluke event brought new evidence to light. He didn’t have any investigative magic. He could only promise persistence until someone demanded he close the file and move on.
“When was the last time you saw Gwen?”
“Let me think . . . It was about six weeks ago, I suppose.”
It had been a month since they found the body. He made a note. “Did she mention anything strange to you at that time?”
“Like someone stalking her?” The older woman surprised him with her directness.
“Yes. Or an old boyfriend who wouldn’t leave her alone? What about Minnie’s father?”
“He’s down in Childersburg in the work-release program.”
She didn’t say what crime had landed him there, and he didn’t ask. Being incarcerated provided a pretty sound alibi. He’d do some checking, of course, just to be sure. Part of the job. Hebert tapped his pen against the pad. If this killer was targeting random strangers, à la Ted Bundy, then it might be nearly impossible to catch him.
“I saw a man watching us.”
Minnie was all of five, which meant he could take her statement with a grain of salt. Kids her age also saw fairies, the Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus. They hadn’t yet gotten good at separating fantasy from reality. But he didn’t shut her down.
“Oh? What did he look like?”
“Tall. He had a red hat.”
Hebert stifled a sigh. All men looked tall to a kid. And a red hat? He couldn’t even take Santa off the suspect list.
“When did you see him?”
“The day Mommy didn’t come get me.” So much sadness in her big dark eyes.
Just maybe this wasn’t a coincidence. If only he could get a better description out of her. “Can you remember anything else about him?”
“He wasn’t brown like you.”
“Minnie!” Mrs. Davies chided.
“No, it’s fine.” He didn’t mind a child stating the obvious.
Hebert made another note. White male, red hat. “Where did you see him?”
“At Tina’s house.”
Tina was the babysitter, who had kept Minnie two full hours before notifying the grandparents. He needed to talk to her next. If the man had followed Gwen from the sitter’s to her place of employment, then it indicated a stalking pathology. Watching a subject from afar and building fantasies around them was the first step. Eventually the killer would be moved to try and make those dreams come true. When the victim didn’t respond as scripted, then it escalated into what the hunters found in the woods. He tried to keep his face neutral.
“Was your daughter dating anyone?” If there was a boyfriend, he needed to look there first.
Mrs. Davies shook her head. “She was waiting for Minnie’s dad.”
Commendable loyalty, if somewhat misplaced. But maybe the guy was sincere in his desire to complete work release and turn over a new leaf. People could change if given sufficient motivation. A woman like Gwen and a daughter like Minnie would be enough for any man with an iota of sense.
“Has he been notified?”
She gave a jerky nod. If the couple hadn’t been married, the job would’ve fallen to her. He didn’t envy her the task, and it would suck even more to learn someone had murdered the woman you loved while you were locked in a state program and couldn’t protect her. He wished he didn’t have this empathy; before Rina died, he’d had none. Now he knew too much about loss.
“What’s his name?”
“Theodore Mosely.”
He wrote that down. Hebert ran down his list of questions, but as he expected he didn’t get much more out of them. He drank his coffee and ate his cookies, then rose to his feet. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch when I know more.”
First, there was Tina, and then he should talk to the boyfriend. He wasn’t a suspect but he might know something. Maybe his associates had targeted Gwen as an object lesson for him. The way this case was shaping up, it didn’t seem likely, but he’d never get anywhere building on assumptions.
An hour later, he sat on Tina Hedwig’s couch, having refused an offer of refreshments. The sitter was around thirty with artificially blond hair and olive skin. She lived in a tidy red-brick duplex. Since she only watched Minnie, along with her own two kids, there were no state licensing requirements, but he could see she had taken care to childproof the house.
“I still can’t believe it,” she was saying, hands clasped so tight they showed her knuckles. “Poor Minnie.”
“How well did you know Gwen Davies?” Hebert didn’t enjoy cutting her off, but he had been around enough grieving people to know they would repeat themselves and talk in circles if he didn’t ride herd.
But she pulled herself together. “We were friends in high school. We aren’t as close now as we were then. But when I heard she needed a new sitter, I called and offered. It’s tough to be a single mom.”
“So you’ve known her a long time.” That meant she probably knew the baby daddy, too. “What’s your take on Theodore Mosely?”
“No good,” she said without hesitation. “Opposed to an honest day’s work.”
“How did you feel about their relationship?”
She offered a wry, weary smile. “In high school or now?”
“Both.” Hebert watched her face.
“It was bad enough in school. He was wild then. You know girls and their bad boys. They have—” She corre
cted herself with a flicker of pain. “Had this messy on-again, off-again thing, and it went on for more than ten years.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with this?”
Now Tina did hesitate. “Honestly? I don’t know. I would’ve said no, once. But . . . he hit her the last time she tried to leave. He said he couldn’t live without her.”
He made a note. “He’s in Childersburg now. Wouldn’t that have been the time to make a break and file restraining orders?”
“Sure . . . if she didn’t love him deep down. Nobody else could push her buttons in quite the same way.”
The whole thing sounded pretty toxic. He needed to find out whether Mosely had checked in on time, the day Gwen died. He worked a day shift in a machine shop, and then had to be back in lockup. He had a rough time of death from the medical examiner’s report.
“Minnie said she saw a man lurking outside your house the day her mother disappeared. Caucasian male, red hat. Does that ring any bells?”
Tina frowned. “I’m sorry, no. But I’m running all day long with three kids.”
“Can you think of anything else that might prove helpful?”
“Do you have a card? If I do, I’ll call you.”
He nodded and offered it to her. She read it and then rose to tuck it into a folder on the bookshelf above the television.
“Thanks for your time, Ms. Hedwig.”
With that, he left. He took Highway 280 south out of Birmingham, heading toward Childersburg. Traffic was awful, worse than usual, and it took an hour and a half to make it past Inverness and Chelsea. Fifteen minutes more, and he arrived at Randall’s Tool and Die, where Theodore Mosely worked during the day.
Hebert flashed his badge, and the manager escorted him to a break room to wait. It was a grim place, with plastic furniture, grimy floors, and a couple of dilapidated vending machines. Not even a fridge or microwave. Newspapers lay discarded on the tables along with candy wrappers and soda cans. The fluorescent bar overhead badly needed changing.
“I can’t have you on the floor,” the man said, sweating. “You understand. Insurance reasons.”
