“Maybe it was coincidence,” Lois conceded.
“Greeley isn’t the only one here who’s tough to deal with,” Sam pointed out.
Ben nodded. “Ed Lawrence is a piece of work, and right now his company is our only connection between the victims.”
“You think someone’s killing his customers to get back at him for something?” Simpson’s voice was full of skepticism, and Tucker and Daniel clearly shared it. Hell, Sam did, too, to some extent. It wasn’t logical or rational or reasonable, but it usually took a twisted mind to make murder any of those things. Logical people solved their disputes in rational ways. Reasonable people were repulsed by the idea of killing for any reason but the most extreme. Self-defense. Protecting someone else. Getting backed into a corner with no other way out.
“I think right now Happy Grass is the only connection we’ve uncovered between the victims,” Ben said in his patient, dogged way. “We can’t say that it matters, but we can’t ignore it, either. Maybe it’s coincidence that both men were found by the same Happy Grass crew. Stranger things have happened. My great-aunt Weezer won half a million dollars on the only lottery ticket she ever bought. What are the odds?”
“Your aunt Weezer won half a million dollars?” Tucker asked. “But she still drives that crappy old Ford and goes grocery shopping in her robe.”
“When I was growing up, we called it a housecoat,” Lois said, rolling her eyes. “And the difference is, she doesn’t buy it at the dollar store anymore. She gets it at Walmart.”
Sam rolled his eyes, too. Sometimes he felt like the only grown-up in the room—and when everyone was wearing a gun, that wasn’t a feeling he welcomed. He let them talk for a few minutes before bringing the conversation back to the subject. “Okay, right now we keep our minds open. Ed Lawrence or his business could somehow be involved in these killings, or maybe we should all go buy lottery tickets. Anything’s possible, right?”
After all, even though she’d seemed like she’d rather bite off her tongue, Mila had called him by his name, and for her, he was pretty sure, that was a huge step forward. Who knew? Sometime she might even smile at him, and somewhere down the line, she might do a whole lot more.
Anything was damn well possible.
Chapter 5
I tried to warn the last woman.
My father picked her from the girls’ clothing department in the biggest store at the mall: a pretty blonde, wearing jeans and an emerald green sweater, her hair pulled back. She wasn’t curvy like my mother, but not thin like me, either. Solid. That was my first thought. She looked like someone who could take care of herself, but I knew she couldn’t. Not this time.
He told me where he’d be, then pushed me toward her. The sick swirling in my stomach made my steps halting, like the commands couldn’t get from my brain to my legs without coming apart on the way. I stumbled over the carpet that formed passages around the store, tripped over the tile where the clothing racks stood. I wanted to run out of the store and right into the street. If I was lucky, a car would hit me, and he and my mother would run off without me. I would lie to the doctors and the police about my name, and if they ever came back looking for me, they would never find me.
Or the car hitting me would kill me. Either way, I would be free.
From the corner where he lurked, he made an impatient gesture. I saw it from the corner of my eye. I knew better than to look his way, to draw anyone’s attention his way.
The woman lifted a dress from the rack, holding it at arm’s length, tilting her head to study it. It was the purest, cleanest white I’d ever seen, about my size, with a rounded neck, sleeves that went to the elbow, a dropped waist with a wide ribbon so pale that I couldn’t tell if it was pink or blue. I’d never had a dress like that. For just a moment, I coveted it. Coveted her. Surely a woman who bought a girl a dress like that would love her and take care of her and never make her cry.
I moved around a rack of T-shirts, turning so that my father was behind me. I was taking too long. He would be mad at me when we left, but I didn’t care. He was always mad at me. I watched as she put the white dress back and picked up one the color of spring grass. Green wasn’t my favorite color, but I wanted that dress, too, just because she’d picked it.
I could feel him staring at me, could feel the anger and impatience and hatred building. I couldn’t move any slower without stopping. I reached the dress rack, nausea rising inside me. I never had to pretend to be afraid or to cry. That came naturally because I knew what was going to happen, because of him, because of me, and I wanted to die.
I just wanted to die easy, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. He would never make it easy.
Before I could find my voice, she glanced at me. Smiled. Turned the dress so I could see it. “Do you like this?”
I nodded mutely.
“It’s for my niece. Her birthday is next week. She’ll be ten.”
Bile worked its way up my throat and into my mouth. I swallowed it back, grimacing at the taste.
“Are you okay?” Her brows furrowed, and she swept her gaze around the area. “Where’s your mom? Who are you with?”
“I—I—my father.” I took a breath, a shallow one, and my lip began to tremble, along with my voice, as words spilled out. “He’s over there. He sent me to get you, to trick you into going outside with him. Please walk away. Please just go, go out to your car and leave. If you don’t, he’ll take you and he’ll hurt you. Please...”
Please please please.
—Excerpt, The Unlucky Ones by Jane Gama
Mila got home late again Monday evening, and Poppy was howling her displeasure to anyone in a two-hundred-foot radius. She rushed the dog into the backyard, turned the shower on, then let the dog in for cookies and fresh water. Mila bathed quickly, too antsy to spend a lot of time under the water. After the day she’d had, the best thing for her and Poppy both would be a walk, and she knew exactly where to go.
Dressed in shorts and a tank top and flip-flops that felt like nothingness after an entire hot day in boots, she looped Poppy’s leash over her wrist and walked a block east to Main Street, then turned north. The real main street, First, was downtown and home to A Long Time Ago and Gramma’s apartment. It wasn’t likely Mila would catch her in the store—the only times the downtown businesses kept late hours was on Thursdays—but Poppy was behaving so well that checking the easiest choice was worth the extra block’s walk if she was wrong.
There was little traffic downtown. That was logical, given that everything was closed and the nearest bar on First Street was six or eight blocks east. Gramma had plenty of neighbors living above the businesses down here, but they must have been enjoying the air-conditioning instead of the warm evening.
Mila didn’t need to look in the doors of A Long Time Ago to see the shop was empty. Few lights were left on inside, and the heavier, pricier pieces that stayed outside on display were all pushed together and locked with a heavy chain. That didn’t stop Poppy from eagerly sniffing each piece, leading Mila in a circle around the bunch twice.
“Do you know a dog’s sense of smell is a thousand to ten thousand times better than ours?”
The hairs on the back of Mila’s neck stood on end. She couldn’t tell whether the raspy voice was male or female, and when she turned to face the stocky figure, she still wasn’t sure. A rush of shock went through her, followed by guilt and shame.
It was hard to say anything about the woman—she thought—besides God bless her. Her hair was like straw and grew in every direction, and the skin on her face was shiny, tight, the colors mottled in shades of purple and red. The symmetry of her face was askew, as if doctors had rebuilt it with no idea of how she’d looked before. The scars continued down her throat and beneath the collar of her shirt and picked up again on her left arm. She wore a plain white glove on that hand.
What terrible burns she’d suf
fered, and what incredible strength she must have had to fight her way back from them.
Abruptly Mila remembered the woman’s question about dogs, and she held Poppy a little tighter so she wouldn’t suddenly decide she needed to climb and sniff all over the stranger. “I’m not surprised. She can smell the bread drawer opening from a mile away.”
The woman smiled, just a stretching of taut skin, then glanced around. “This is a lovely downtown. I can’t believe no one besides us is out here enjoying it. I hear almost all of these buildings have apartments upstairs.”
Mila considered for a moment that she’d exhausted her supply of chitchat. Even the friendliest clerks at the grocery store were satisfied with a line or two. But the woman showed no inclination to move on, and learning to be more...well, just more included learning to be friendlier. “Do you live here?”
“I’m passing through. I’m driving the Mother Road and doing some sightseeing along the way. Started in Chicago and I plan to stay with it all the way to the Pacific Ocean.”
“That’s nice.” Though not to Mila. Route 66 passed through Arizona, New Mexico and California, states where she’d lived with her parents. They’d lived along the Mother Road, too, in big cities and small towns that had sprung up when the highway was built, faded away when the interstate replaced it, and they now survived on nostalgia. She would be happy if she never set foot in those states again. “Are you traveling alone?”
That curious stretch of a smile once more crossed the woman’s face. “I am. It’s the only way to make sure I don’t get pissed off at my traveling companion. Though if I had a girl as beautiful as she is, I’d have brought her along.” She nodded to Poppy but made no effort to approach her. Mila appreciated it.
Now she had exhausted her chitchat. “Well, good luck with your trip. We, uh, we should get going.” She tugged the leash, and Poppy happily began moving again. Instead of walking to the corner, then crossing the street, Mila trotted across in the middle of the block. This being-friendly stuff wasn’t as easy as people thought. Something about the woman made her feel vaguely anxious.
It wasn’t the scars or the odd, eerie sound of her voice. Mila wasn’t that superficial. It was just that her whole life she’d avoided unnecessary contact with strangers, and it was going to take a long time, she feared, before it felt as nonthreatening to her as it apparently was to everyone else.
She and Poppy set a good pace, crossing the intersection and walking the few hundred feet to Gramma’s building. When she stopped to open the door, she glanced back down the street and saw the woman, her stride stiff, returning back the way she’d come. She struck Mila as alone and sad.
One different person projecting her feelings onto another different person.
Though there was an elevator, Poppy spent every ride barking fiercely at the lights, so they took the stairs, Mila huffing somewhere around three and a half floors, Poppy still going strong at five. Before Mila could summon the energy to knock, Poppy did it for her, banging her tail against the wood before offering a big, deep woof!
“Jessica! Your great-grandbaby’s here to drool all over everything!” came a shout from the apartment behind them. Wynona Novak, also known as the old bat next door, had a voice that could cut through steel. Poor Poppy cringed and rubbed at first one ear, then the other, and Mila wanted to do the same.
Gramma opened the door, smiled and cupped both hands over the dog’s ears. “Better her drooling than you dribbling everywhere!” she bellowed. Then her smile grew even bigger. “I’m so happy to see you.” She snuggled with Poppy before giving Mila a hug, too.
“I see things are the same with Mrs. Novak.”
Gramma wagged one finger. “If she didn’t have her nose in my business...”
If Mrs. Novak hadn’t had her nose in Gramma’s business, Mila thought, Gramma would still have her nose in Mrs. Novak’s.
“What are you two doing out and about?”
Mila waited until they were inside, the door closed, the leash unclipped from Poppy’s collar before grimly answering with her own question. “Did you hear the news?”
“I didn’t get home until they were already doing the weather, which was just a lot of still hot, still dry, still a burn ban. Good Lord, it’s July in Oklahoma. Do they really need a weather forecast every single day?” Gramma went to the kitchen, got a treat for Poppy, then opened the refrigerator before slowly stepping away, letting it fall shut again without noticing. “Though I did hear something at the store... What was it? Oh! That rich old coot who lives in the Scarlett O’Hara house died today. Shirley said he had more money than God and more enemies than—”
Gramma broke off and stared at her. “Oh, my sweet child, don’t tell me... You weren’t...” She pressed both palms to her cheeks. “You didn’t find his body, did you?”
“No. His housekeeper did.” Before her grandmother could relax, she went on. “But I was standing about fifteen feet away. Gramma, do you think—”
“No!” The word burst out with such force that it startled all three of them. Poppy whined and moved to press against Mila’s legs, and Gramma’s shocked expression sent chills through her. That thought hadn’t occurred to her yet, and Mila was sorry she’d put it in her mind.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Gramma gripped her hands so tightly that just seeing it made Mila’s own fingers ache. “It’s just... I know we don’t talk about this. Maybe we should, I don’t know. Dr. Fleischer always said to leave it up to you, that if you wanted to discuss it, you would, but you never did, and it was just easier not bringing it up myself. But, Mila, this can’t have anything to do with them. They’re dead, and I thank God for it every day of my life. I would regret even giving birth to her, but if I hadn’t, I never would have had you, and I can’t even imagine how much less my life would be without you in it.”
Emotion rose in Mila’s chest, clogging her throat. She knew what her life would have been like if her grandmother hadn’t rescued her. More brutality, more abuse, more victims, until it was her turn. Even then, she’d known her father wanted to kill her, known her mother wanted to see it. She’d known they were saving her for last.
Gramma came around the counter and wrapped her arms tightly around her. “They’re dead,” she whispered, “and no one on this earth knows what they did but you and me and Dr. Fleischer, and he will never, ever tell. There’s no way this can have anything to do with them, none at all. It’s just a horrible, horrible thing that you’ve gotten caught up in.”
Mila relaxed in her embrace, her grandmother’s shudders making it difficult to feel her own. She was right. There was no way these two deaths could be connected to her parents. The murders they’d committed, if not perfect, had at least gone undetected. They’d changed locations and identities so often that they had spent the last fifteen years buried under names not even remotely connected to their own. They were beyond wreaking any more havoc on her life.
This was a horrible thing she’d just been caught up in, and she had survived far more horrible things before.
She would survive this.
* * *
Growing up on the farm, Sam had never had to worry about staying in shape. He’d had a lot of chores, and in their every free minute, he and his cousins had run wild. He’d played baseball and football, and when he’d decided to join the army, he’d taken up running. Choosing an occupation where people were likely to shoot at him made it seem a wise idea.
These days staying in shape didn’t come as easily as it had back then. Sitting behind a desk or in a vehicle didn’t tend to burn calories as efficiently as chasing cows or hauling hay, though wrestling with a suspect usually got his blood pumping. So he’d gone back to running, which would be okay if he could just find that damn runner’s high he’d heard so much about...
He stopped hearing his footsteps pounding the downtown sidewalk when a door on the next b
lock opened and a big yellow dog raced outside, dragging her owner with her. Where did Mila find the energy to wrangle the animal for a walk after the day she’d had?
He kicked up his speed a few notches and indulged for a moment in pure vanity, wishing he wasn’t sweaty and smelly and out of breath and sure as hell not looking his best, but screw ego. He took his chances where he found them.
She and Poppy had reached the intersection of First and Main and turned south by the time he caught up. He could tell when she heard him by the way her muscles tightened and how she moved to the outside edge of the sidewalk. Her fingers curled tightly around Poppy’s leash, leaving him plenty of room to pass...and herself plenty of room to move away if need be.
Was that because of the two murders, or had she needed to get away before? He hated either possibility but hoped for the first one.
Poppy was the first to look at him, her mouth curving into a goofy smile of recognition as she leaped toward him without care for the fact that she and her owner were attached. Mila stumbled at the sudden jerk, then caught her balance by grabbing the no-parking sign ahead of her.
Damn. He would have been glad to steady her.
“Hey, Poppy, pretty girl.” Sam crouched to scratch the dog’s ears, amused by the way she twisted to get his fingers in just the right spots. She was downright orgiastic, body trembling, tail swirling, legs giving way beneath her body. She was delighted and didn’t care who knew it.
Looking up at Mila, he grinned. “Enjoying this nice cool evening?”
She looked at the time and temperature display on the bank across the street. “It’s eighty-nine degrees.”
“Thirteen degrees cooler than it was at noon.”
“But still eighty-nine degrees. Most people are sprawled in near unconsciousness in their air-conditioned houses trying to avoid heatstroke.”
Killer Secrets Page 9
