His eye twitched. “Just trying to be helpful.”
“I know.” She aimed her camera at the beige wall phone beside the refrigerator. According to the daughter’s phone, he’d used his landline to call her at 10:53 last night. Could it have been this phone?
She tried to visualize his last hours, but it was hard with the contents of the cabinets littering the countertops and floor. If only she’d gotten shots earlier, before the techs pulled everything out. She’d have to rely on the crime scene photos that were taken before anything was touched.
“Do you remember what this room looked like when we got here?”
Boone scratched his jaw. “Neat. There wasn’t any food or dishes on the countertops or the table.”
“That’s what I remember.” Poking in the garbage can under the sink revealed nothing but paper towels and bits of lettuce. If there’d been any food, the crime scene techs would have taken it. From the looks of everything, Vic had tidied up after himself. She checked the canned goods on the table, assuming they’d been placed much like they’d been in the cabinet. Everything was grouped together. The man was definitely neat. And organized. And thorough.
So where would a well-ordered person like Vic Vegas hide his valuables?
On the way back to Rachel’s car, Boone stopped and picked up a battery. Knowing her the way he did, there would be an argument over him installing it for her. He didn’t know anyone as prickly or independent as she was.
He hated to admit it, but the more he was around her, the more he realized what a good detective she was. His superiors had been right about her. And when her year in Homicide was up, they’d probably arrange it so she could stay. He glanced toward the passenger seat as another text dinged on her phone, the third since they’d left Vegas’s house.
“Problems?”
“Sort of. Gran’s eighty-third birthday is Tuesday, and I was supposed to take her shopping and then get her to the Judge’s in time for the surprise party he’s arranged tonight. I had Terri take over for me, but both grandmothers keep texting to see if I’m joining them.”
“And this investigation messed you up.”
“Something like that.”
He laughed. “I’m still amazed that your grandmothers text.”
“Sometimes I wonder if one of my biggest mistakes was teaching Nana to text. Gran wasn’t to be outdone. Those two still compete over everything.” Her fingers flew as she focused on her phone, then she looked up. “They both have Facebook pages now, by the way.”
Texting and Facebooking grandmothers. Probably where she got her independence. But if he thought about it, if his own grandmothers were still living, they’d probably be doing the same thing. It was a different world from ten years ago. “You know, it won’t hurt for you to take time to have a cup of coffee with them and at least make an appearance at the party.”
“I know, and I am. I talked with the manager at Blues & Such, and the semi-final Elvis tribute competitions are tonight and tomorrow night. He indicated most of the performers who were there last night would be back tonight. I can catch them all at one place, and since most won’t start arriving until after seven, I’ll have time to pop into the party for a few minutes.”
“Good.”
A traffic light caught them, and while they waited, Rachel flipped through the pages of her notebook.
“Looking for something?”
“My notes from the interview with Vic. I feel like I’m missing something. Here they are.” She was quiet for a minute, and then she groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”
“What?” He glanced her way. She was hunched over her notes.
“He told me he thought someone had broken into his house Thursday night. But he wasn’t completely sure about it, and he’d just told me his daughter thought he was crazy . . .” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “At that time, I actually agreed with his daughter, but how could I have forgotten it? I even jotted the information down.”
“Come on, Rachel, it happens to the best of us, so quit beating yourself up. You’re not perfect.”
“You don’t understand. What if one of the neighbors saw something? If I’d questioned them last night about the break-in, maybe Vic Vegas wouldn’t be dead now.”
“You’re not working Burglary, and that’s all it was at that point. Besides, you just indicated he wasn’t even sure someone had attempted to break in.” When she still looked uncertain, he said, “When you canvassed the neighborhood, did anyone mention suspicious activity around his house this past week?”
“No, but I only asked about last night and today.”
“You know as well as I do that after a murder if anything suspicious had happened in the past month, someone would have mentioned it.” He liked his detectives to be conscientious, but . . . “Okay, what’s the deal? Why does this bother you so much?”
“I’ve never forgotten anything this important.” Rachel stared at her notes as if an answer might appear.
“It only shows you’re human. File it under lessons learned.”
While she nodded that she would, her eyes said she wasn’t letting it go.
“That’s an order, by the way.”
Red crept into her cheeks. “All right . . . but maybe the break-in slipped my mind because his visit was so weird—the Elvis costume, and then he was investigating Foxx’s murder, someone my mother had known.”
“Foxx and Vegas knew your mother?”
“I thought I mentioned that when we discussed the photo earlier.”
“No, only that the two of you were there when the photo was taken. Not that you actually knew any of the people in it. How well did you know them? Well enough that I might need to assign this case to someone else?”
“No! You can’t remove me from this case!”
Why was Rachel so concerned? “If this case is too personal, you won’t be able to look at it objectively.”
“I didn’t know them personally. I don’t even know if Mom knew Vic. She and Foxx went to high school together, so they must have been pretty good friends.”
He eyed her. “Why do you want this case so badly?”
She tapped the side of her leg. “I let Vic Vegas down. If I’d followed him home, gotten his files, he might still be alive.”
He knew guilt when he saw it. Solving the case would soften her if onlys. But it was hard to shake the feeling in his gut that said to assign the case to someone else. It was the same gut feeling he’d had in Iraq before everything went south.
Boone shook off his apprehension. They weren’t in Iraq, and there was no good reason to assign the case to anyone else. If he did, World War III would probably break out, and he wouldn’t blame her.
11
RACHEL’S FINGERS ITCHED to take over as Boone meticulously cleaned the battery posts. She could have had it installed five minutes ago and been on her way to the CJC.
“Try it now,” he said, pulling his head out from under the hood.
She hopped in the front seat and turned the key. The engine cranked smoothly, and she lowered her window. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He let the hood down. “What’s your plan for the rest of the afternoon?”
“I want to look at those bank records you found. Vic kept those files on Harrison’s murder somewhere. Possibly in one of those mailbox places, and maybe he wrote a check for the rental.” Rachel really wanted a look at those files. “It’s three now. If I have time, I may return to Vic’s neighborhood and see if I can catch a couple of the neighbors who weren’t home.”
“Sounds good.”
She enjoyed being around this side of Boone. Maybe they could work together, after all. “What about you?”
“Not sure yet. I have some paperwork to catch up on.”
“Want to come to Gran’s birthday party?” The words shot out of her mouth before she thought it through. The startled look on Boone’s face was almost worth the invitation.
“You’re asking m
e to the party? Why?”
She bit her bottom lip, wondering if she could rescind the invitation. No. “Gran liked you.”
“You really shouldn’t let that man get away, Rachel.” Gran’s words echoed in her brain.
“Well, thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass tonight.”
“Okay,” she said, hoping her relief didn’t show. She quickly pulled out of the gym parking area. What had she been thinking, inviting him to the party? Rachel couldn’t understand why she kept sending Boone mixed messages, but it had to stop.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know how, not when he kept her emotions in turmoil. Working with him today—bouncing ideas off each other in an easy camaraderie—that was how it’d been when they dated, and she missed that. Not to mention that the way he looked at her sometimes with those brown eyes set her heart in high gear.
The captain had hinted when he approved her loan from Burglary that because of her law background, they might find a way to keep her permanently. If only there was a way to stay in Homicide and date Boone. But unless Boone moved out of the department, there was no hope for them. She didn’t see that happening. Still thinking about him, she found a parking space in front of the CJC and pulled parallel to the curb. Just as she pressed the lock button on her key, her phone dinged with an incoming text. She glanced at the screen.
Drop this case or you’ll live to regret it.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She jerked her head up and scanned the area. Normal traffic. Heat shimmered from the tops of parked cars. A few people walked along the sidewalk in the August heat. But what if someone had a gun trained on her back? She swallowed hard and hurried to the front door of the tan building.
Inside the CJC, cool air chilled her body. Why did someone want her off the case? And why send a warning? That didn’t make sense. And what was she going to do about the text? Certainly not tell Boone. He was looking for a reason to take her off the case. Her stomach churned as she rode the elevator to the eleventh floor, but when the door opened, her mind was made up.
This was her case, not Boone’s. And he wasn’t her partner. Her superior, yes, but before she showed the text to him, she needed to check it out, see if she could discover who sent it. It could be a prank for all she knew.
“Are you okay?”
Boone’s voice sent her heart racing again. She turned toward his cubicle. “What?”
“You look troubled. Is it because you thought I might take you off the case?”
Was he reading her mind?
“That did bother me.” She still had the feeling he was looking for a reason to hand it off to another detective. Tell him about the text.
No. This was something she had to take care of herself. But if Boone discovered she’d withheld the information, he’d be so angry, he might get her kicked out of Homicide. Duty warred with her hunger to solve her mother’s murder. If he took her off the case, she would lose access to the files that might point to the killer.
“Earth to Rachel,” Boone said.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s okay, I was just saying that I was sorry, but department policy says if you personally know a victim, you can’t work the case. I’m sure you can see how it might adversely affect an investigation.”
“I suppose. Thanks for clarifying the policy for me.” Rachel would just have to solve Vic’s case before Boone found out about the text.
She settled in her cubicle and booted up her computer. There must be something about Vic’s case the person who sent the text did not want her to discover, but what? Rachel massaged her temples and let her mind roam while she waited for Google to come up. What if the person who killed Vic was the one who killed her mother and Harrison Foxx? But what was the connection between the three murders?
She typed her query into the search engine. It didn’t take long to realize she didn’t have the computer know-how to track the text, but she knew someone who did. She’d met Kelsey Allen earlier this year on another case she’d worked with Brad Hollister. Rachel had been impressed with her computer skills. She dialed Kelsey’s number and laid out her problem without disclosing the actual text.
“Your text probably came from a burner phone,” Kelsey said. “Give me the number, and I’ll see if I can trace it.”
Rachel had figured it was a burner. She skimmed through Vic’s bank records while she waited.
“Yep,” Kelsey said a few minutes later. “Looks like it was purchased at a discount store in East Memphis.”
“Probably with cash,” Rachel said and wrote down the address Kelsey gave her. It wasn’t that far from Vic’s neighborhood.
“You can count on it. And they probably used a fake account when they activated it. How hard is it to get your cell number?”
“It’s on my business card.”
“So it’s probably someone you know or have interacted with.”
Goose bumps raised on her arms again. She hadn’t considered how the person who sent the text had gotten her number. If her mother’s case was related to the other two, it was very possible she knew the murderer. The thought sobered her.
“Thanks for the help,” Rachel said and hung up. The disturbing thought hung on as she finished going over the bank records. Nothing indicated Vic had paid for any type of storage place by check. No credit card statements had been found in his office, and she put in a request at the credit companies he’d written checks to for his records. It’d be Monday morning before anything came back—if the companies didn’t require a subpoena.
Her thoughts returned to the text. Not telling Boone gnawed at her. Used to be when she had a problem she couldn’t solve, she had turned to prayer. But it’d been so long, she wasn’t sure God would know who she was. Besides, she was pretty sure God would side with telling Boone about the text. And she really didn’t want to hear that. She glanced toward Boone’s desk. Good. He was gone, and it was time for her to talk to the neighbors she’d missed in Vic’s neighborhood.
Before Rachel fastened her seat belt, her phone alerted her to another text, making her heart race until she saw it was Nana.
Where are you? We’re at Starbucks on Kirby. Can you join us?
She checked her watch and chuckled. After an hour with the grandmothers, Terri was probably going nuts about now. Rachel should have known if Nana was with them, they would be making a Starbucks run. The one on Kirby wasn’t a mile out of her way, and she could use a shot of caffeine before she questioned the neighbors again.
See you in fifteen.
The two grandmothers were sitting at a round table when Rachel entered the coffee shop. Oil and vinegar. Or salt and red pepper if one were describing their hair. Color had never touched her grandmother Winslow’s white curls, whereas Nana’s monthly touch-ups were written in ink on her calendar.
Terri sat between the two grandmothers, probably refereeing since it looked as though they were arguing. As usual. Sometimes they wore her out.
Nana spotted her first. “Rachel, dear,” she called out. “Would you please explain to Adele why it’s important for her friend’s granddaughter to take part in the debutante season.”
She stopped at the table, telegraphing Terri a plea for help, and all she received was a laugh.
“Not touching that one with lead gloves,” Terri said. “I lived through this argument your debutante year.”
A groan welled up inside Rachel. The Debutante Wars, as she dubbed them, had been going on ever since Rachel turned four and Nana insisted her granddaughter should start dance and etiquette classes with Terri. Nana believed every girl should be a debutante, and it was essential for training to begin at a young age since most debutantes made their grand entrance into society between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one.
Practical Gran had survived World War II in bunkers in England and thought being presented to society was frivolous and a huge waste of money and time. Each was a staunch believer in her own cause.
“Happy early birthday.” R
achel leaned down and hugged Gran, then did the same for Nana.
“It’s not until Tuesday. Surely I’ll see you again before that,” she replied. “Now sit down and answer our question.”
“Let me order a dark roast.” Rachel should have said no to Starbucks, but since she hadn’t, she’d have to make the best of it.
After getting her coffee, she returned to the table and sat across from the grandmothers. “Where’s Erin?”
“Oh, she’d forgotten a favorite pin she wanted to wear tonight, so I brought her back to the home. I’m picking her up at five-thirty for dinner—right after I drop off a couple of baskets at Blues & Such.”
Terri worked part-time at a gift shop, and Rachel nodded as she turned to her grandmothers. “So, are you finished shopping?”
“We are through.” Gran smoothed the blue linen blouse that complemented her porcelain skin and blue eyes. “And you will not dodge the question. I know for a fact that you hated being a debutante, and this child feels the same way. Explain to Rose that the girl’s mother and grandmothers should not coerce her into it.”
“She did not hate it.” Nana placed a manicured hand on Rachel’s arm. “Did you, sweetheart?”
She hated being in the middle of one of their arguments and looked from one to the other, trying to gauge how far this squabble would escalate. “Hate’s a strong word, but I wouldn’t want to repeat the debutante season.”
“See there, Rose.” Victory laced Gran’s voice.
Nana’s stricken face made Rachel wince. And now she was going to hurt the other grandmother, but they shouldn’t have asked her opinion.
“However, being a debutante did have its benefits—I wouldn’t have learned ballet and dance, or which fork to use, until I was much older if Mom and Nana hadn’t groomed me for it.”
The memory of the orchestra playing “The Blue Danube” as her father waltzed her around the ballroom when she was nineteen hit her unexpectedly. The joy of his undivided attention was exquisite, if for only one night. She’d thought that finally things were going to be different. Then came the disappointment when nothing changed . . .
Justice Betrayed Page 7
