by Mallory Kane
Anna crept across the lobby, her running shoes making no sound. About three steps west of the lobby doors was the retro glass-and-chrome entrance to Donna’s diner, so close Anna hardly even felt the rain. The lights were off in the front of the café, and the sign on the door had been flipped to Closed.
It was hard to picture the society-conscious Donna as the owner of a two-bit diner in a small Texas town. It would be interesting to know why she’d bought it— certainly not money. Donna’s father had left her plenty.
Anna caught a movement at the back of the café, behind the counter, where the lights over the griddle and the fryer baskets served as night safety lights. She squinted. It was Rosa and Donna. Rosa had her hands propped on her hips and Donna’s arms were crossed. It looked like they were having an argument.
Donna flung her hands out in an “I give up” gesture and turned her back on Rosa, reaching for her designer purse and shaking her head.
Rosa grabbed her arm and got in her face.
Anna could vaguely hear their voices, but not what they were saying. Rosa’s voice was shrill, Donna’s more controlled.
Finally, Donna tossed her head and marched toward the door, her head down as she dug in her purse for her keys.
Anna backpedaled, her pulse hammering, then turned and ran back toward the lobby entrance. She stood in the corner of the west door. If Donna were headed for the hotel, Anna would be caught. She racked her brain for a harmless reason she’d be sneaking around the lobby at midnight.
To her relief, Donna stalked straight out to her car, her purse held over her coiffed head. After she’d pulled away, Anna crept back over to the diner door. Rosa was wiping down the counter and muttering to herself.
Anna pushed on the door. To her surprise, it opened.
Rosa started and her head jerked up.
“Hi, Rosa.” Anna winced at her timid voice. She cleared her throat. “Rosa. I’m Anna Wallace.”
Rosa clutched the damp cloth to her breast. “I know who you are. You are sister to Sarah Wallace.”
Anna put on her concerned journalist face and smiled reassuringly. “That’s right.”
“And daughter to Lou Ann Wallace.” Rosa spat her mother’s name. “It is past time to close. There is nothing hot. I can give you a donut or a piece of pie to take back to your room.”
“I’m not here for food, Rosa. I need to ask you some questions.”
Rosa’s black eyes held undisguised suspicion as she frowned at Anna. “It is late. I must get home.”
“This will only take a minute.”
“I have given a statement to Luis. I have nothing more to say.”
Anna sat down at the counter and picked up a couple of books of matches out of a bowl. “You didn’t mention to Luis that you were in the hotel last night, around the time my sister was murdered.”
Rosa folded the dish towel she held in half, then half again, then smoothed the edges with her fingers. “I was not.”
“Richie, the desk clerk, saw you.”
“That is impossible. I was here. What does that one claim he saw?”
“He says he saw you going out the back door sometime after seven o’clock.”
“He lies.”
“He also says he didn’t see you here in the diner when he picked up a sandwich a few minutes earlier.”
“I was dealing with paperwork in the office.”
Anna twirled one of the matchbooks in her fingers as she looked at the wooden door behind Rosa. “May I see the office?”
“No! Miss Donna doesn’t allow anyone in there.” Rosa folded her arms and glared at her. “You leave now. I am locking up. I work early tomorrow.”
“When my mother was murdered, your fingerprints were found in her room, weren’t they?”
Rosa’s black eyes snapped. “I worked as maid in the inn. My fingerprints were in every room. I know nothing of Lou Ann Wallace, except—”
Anna leaned forward. “Except what?”
Rosa continued to fold and unfold the towel she held. “She was your mother, so I don’t like to—”
“I know what my mother was like. Please tell me what you know.”
“I know nothing. Just that your mama, she break Miss Donna’s heart, two times over. Two times!” Rosa gestured.
“She married Leland. That must have hurt Donna.”
“Sí, but not so much as losing her baby.”
“Her baby?” Anna’s breath caught in excitement. Had Lou Ann been involved in the disappearance of little Justin Hendricks? Because if so, that would go a long way toward explaining why she’d been killed.
Rosa sighed and draped the dish towel over the edge of the counter.
“Rosa, tell me about the baby.”
But Rosa had said all she was going to say. She shook her head. “Miss Donna is not so strong as everyone thinks. She is still sad from losing her child.” She reached around her and untied her apron. “Now I am going home and you must leave.”
Anna stood and hiked up the purse strap that had slipped down her shoulder. She stuffed the books of matches into her jeans’ pocket as Rosa came around the counter to herd her toward the door.
Anna paused in the doorway. “Rosa, if you know anything about my sister’s murder or my mother’s, you need to tell us. If you weren’t involved, nothing will happen to you.”
Rosa put a hand on Anna’s back and pushed her through the door and locked it.
FINDING HERSELF looking down the narrow alley between the inn and the diner, Anna thought about the placement of Donna’s office and Richie’s mention of the fire door. Didn’t all places of business require fire doors—those heavy metal doors that could be locked from the outside, but that had a panic bar on the inside to escape in case of fire or other danger?
If she could just get a look at how close Donna’s office was to the back door of the lobby, she’d know whether Rosa had had time to get over to the inn, kill Sarah and slip back without anyone knowing she’d been gone.
Of course she’d have to have a way to get in through the locked door. Anna took a couple of steps into the alley.
Something rustled beside her. She jumped sideways, her pulse thrumming in her temples. Standing perfectly still, she listened as whatever it was squirmed noisily. Then a dirty orange head popped up from a trash can.
A cat! It scrambled out, nearly knocking over the metal can, and shot down the alley, splashing through a few puddles that the rain had made.
Anna took a long, relieved breath. “Come on, Wallace,” she whispered. “You’re an investigative journalist. Investigate!” She stuck her hand in her pocket and encountered the books of matches. She didn’t even remember pocketing them.
Digging one out, she flipped up the cardboard cover as a plan began to form in her brain. She could use the matchbook cover to keep the fire door from locking.
She turned and headed into the lobby. The girl at the desk was still absorbed in a late-night talk show and painting her fingernails. She didn’t look up.
Anna walked right past her, but instead of turning toward the stairs, she kept on going, toward the back door. Looking back over her shoulder, she realized that the fire door couldn’t be seen from behind the registration desk. It was only visible from the middle of the hall.
Quietly, she pressed the metal bar and pushed the door open. Slipping through, she slid the matchbook cover into place between the door latch and the striker plate, and carefully closed the door.
Then she looked around the deserted back of the building. Two sconces on either side of the fire door provided just enough light to create long eerie shadows and wet, shiny reflections on the asphalt.
Several yards west was the side wall of the diner. Anna glanced around her. Everything was quiet now that the rain had stopped, nothing but crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.
She slipped across the short expanse of parking lot to the back of the diner. Sure enough, there was a door, right where she’d expected it to be.
/> It would have been a snap to block the door locks, then, when the time was right, sneak out of the office and run across to the inn.
Rosa could have killed Sarah. As Anna retraced her steps to the inn’s back door, another thought occurred to her. Her discovery implicated Donna, too.
She reached for the doorknob with one hand and caught the corner of the matchbook with the other. Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder.
She heard a rustling behind her. The cat again? She hunched her shoulders and quickly turned the knob.
Somebody yanked her purse away, bending her wrist painfully, then a knee in her back shoved her against the door and gloved hands wrapped something around her neck and jerked it tight.
Anna tried to scream, but she could barely breathe. Tried to fight, but her struggles just pulled the strap tighter.
“What did Sarah tell you?” The harsh whisper rasped in her ear.
“I—can’t—breathe—” Anna’s voice was a nearly soundless croak.
The choking hold loosened slightly. “Tell me.”
“N-nothing,” she gasped.
The strap tightened again, cutting off the last of her breath.
“You’re lying.”
Anna tried to twist around, but she couldn’t. She tried to dig her fingers in between the garrote and her neck, but the killer’s hold was too tight.
“Can’t—breathe—” She croaked as her lungs spasmed and a million stars swam before her eyes.
“Tell me what she told you or you’ll die.”
Chapter Six
Zane grabbed his Colt .45 automatic from the hook by the back door as he rushed outside, heading toward the scuffle he’d spotted through the window of the sheriff’s office.
The attacker cut and ran toward the woods.
“Halt!” Zane shouted, sparing a glance at the small unmoving form that had crumpled to the ground where the attacker had shoved it. He tasted the sharp tang of fear. Had the killer claimed another victim?
“Texas Ranger,” he shouted. “Halt or I’ll shoot!”
The dark-cloaked figure didn’t stop. He crashed through the underbrush and into the tangled, overgrown woods without even slowing down. Zane took off after him, pushing through the underbrush.
Finally, Zane stopped to listen, trying to get a bead on which way the fugitive had gone, but the crunching of foliage and snapping of twigs faded almost immediately. Whoever it was had an intimate knowledge of the wooded area. Zane didn’t.
Damn it. He’d lost him. He should have taken the shot before the guy reached the woods, but he never fired his weapon indiscriminately. Too late now. Knowing he’d just be wasting time trying to follow the culprit into the thick underbrush, he turned and sprinted back to where the victim lay sprawled on the ground. Her hair and clothes were lit by the inn’s rear door lights.
Annie! His heart slammed painfully against his chest wall. He knew that soft dark hair, those slender arms. “Oh, God, don’t let her be hurt.”
He knelt down and touched the delicate skin of her throat, searching for a pulse. It beat light and fast under his fingertips. His hand trembled with relief.
“Annie!” As he brushed her hair away from her face, he saw for the first time that her purse strap was wrapped around her neck, just like Sarah’s had been. His heart thudded with apprehension.
The thing he’d feared since he’d first seen her had come to pass. Sarah’s murderer had targeted her.
“Annie, can you hear me? Come on, wake up.” He caressed her head and swept her hair away from her face with one hand while he pulled out his cell phone with the other. He speed-dialed Jon Evans.
The doctor’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Jon. Anna’s been attacked. We’re at the back door of the inn.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Just as he pocketed his phone, Anna stirred and groaned.
“Hey, Annie.”
For a split second she froze, then she flailed her arms, trying to push him away. “No! No!”
“Annie! Annie, it’s me. Zane.”
“Zane!” She sat up and flung herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
Thank God she was okay! As fear for her safety began to fade, he became hyperaware of her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her sweet-smelling hair tickling his nose, her shallow, frightened breaths warming his neck.
His brain sent alarm bells ringing all the way through him. What was he doing? He’d never been much for touching and hugging. In fact, as a law-enforcement officer, he shouldn’t be touching her at all. He should be assessing her for injuries and trace evidence.
But he didn’t want to let her go. He had to stop this before he quit thinking like a Ranger.
He wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and set her away from him. “Careful, Annie. Stay still. Dr. Evans is on his way. We need to be sure you’re not injured.”
Her hand went to her throat. “I’m not—”
“Shh. Don’t talk, and try not to move. I want Jon to check you out thoroughly.”
“It was the killer,” she whispered. “He asked me what Sarah told me.”
“You heard his voice? Was it a man?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Whoever it was came up behind me and grabbed my purse and—” She shuddered.
“Okay. Shh. We’ll wait for Jon so you only have to tell it once. How do you feel? Are you hurting anywhere?”
“Just my throat. Did you see him?”
Anger pulsed through him. “For a few seconds. He seemed to have on some kind of cloak or long coat. And a hood or floppy hat. Whoever it is knows what they’re doing. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.”
“You didn’t catch him?” Her voice was raspy and tight with fear.
Zane cursed. “No. He’s got a huge advantage over me. He—or she—knows those woods like the back of their hand. He may even have a bunker set up back in there somewhere.”
Anna turned her head and looked at the woods. Her shudder rippled through him.
“Do we have to stay out here?” she said in a small raspy voice.
“Just until Jon gets here.”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Zane’s heart melted at her brave vulnerability. He ought to be asking her what she was doing out here alone. Later he’d be furious at her for putting herself in danger. But right now all he could think about was how close she’d come to being killed, and how much that scared him.
ANNA SAT ON THE OLD lumpy couch in the break room of the police station as Dr. Evans examined her neck. “I don’t think your larynx is bruised.” He placed his fingers over her throat. “Swallow for me. Does that hurt?”
“Not much. How long do you think it’s going to take Zane?” she asked.
Dr. Evans smiled at her. “He doesn’t want to lose any possible evidence, so he’s walking the area searching for anything that might lead to the attacker. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Now hold this ice pack on your neck.”
Anna took the ice pack just as Zane came in. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing but the clasp to your handbag.” He held up a small plastic bag containing a gold-colored button. “I guess I’ll run it for prints, but I doubt we’ll find anything. Whoever attacked you didn’t leave any evidence.” He looked at her neck, frowning. “Was he wearing gloves?”
Anna thought about the shocking instant when she was pushed against the door and her purse strap was wrapped around her neck. “I think so, but it all happened so fast…”
She moved to place the ice pack against her neck.
“Hold it. I want to test for fingerprints first. It’s a long shot, but I can’t ignore anything that might give us a clue.”
Zane retrieved a couple of sheets of fingerprint paper from one of the crime scene kits and pressed the sticky film against each side of her neck. He talked as he worked. “I saw a couple of places where dust and gravel were disturbed as he ran o
ff toward the woods, but that parking lot is cracked and uneven, and it’s too dry to get a shoe print.”
“Those woods have been a menace for years,” Evans said. “Not only do we get rats and snakes and roaches because they’re so close, but kids think the underbrush and the grapevines are perfect for playing Tarzan. We had a little boy get lost back in there a few years ago. He apparently fell into some kind of underground cave.”
“Cave? Here in east Texas?” Zane sounded surprised. “I played in those woods when I was a kid, but I never saw a cave.”
Evans shrugged. “Well, you know—it was probably more like a limestone outcropping or a bluff that a kid might call a cave. He finally heard the searchers calling him and followed their voices. Everyone was so relieved that he was alive that nobody went back to search for the cave.”
Zane tipped his chair back, balancing on the two back legs. “A cave in the woods. I’m thinking the underbrush and bugs and darkness would eliminate most women from the suspect list.”
“Not really,” Anna said. “I loved exploring when I was a kid. Of course we lived in Vegas, so my ‘jungle’ consisted of alleys and garbage bins and vacant buildings, but the premise is the same.”
Anna pressed the ice pack to her neck, shivering at the cold. “Dr. Evans, who in Justice would have the most knowledge of those woods?”
“I guess that would be the people who’ve been here the longest—who grew up here.”
Zane’s chair legs hit the floor. The look he shot her warmed her chilled skin. It was filled with admiration and approval. “Annie’s onto something, Jon. Help me figure this out.” He stood and walked over to a chalk-board mounted on the wall. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote Suspects on one side and History in Justice on the other.
“Okay, who’s been here longest?”
“Donna Hendricks grew up here,” Jon said. “She and her family lived in the Matheson Inn.”
Zane wrote her name and next to it, wrote all her life. “Somebody mentioned that Leland worked at the inn when he was a teenager. Do you know when he moved here?”
