“I didn’t think—
“No, you didn’t think. What now?”
“Stop worrying. He can’t prove anything. Ortiz is dead, and the passports we have connect us to him.
Once they were in the car, Jess reached over and punched Simone’s thigh. She screamed in pain. Tears swam in her eyes. Her brow bunched tight. “Why did you—”
“If you EVER pull a number like you did with the stapler, I’ll kill you.”
* * *
Grace dreaded the phone call to Misha. It went against her grain. She considered it unprofessional to talk to any client about her personal life. Yet, Misha was no ordinary client, and this was no ordinary situation. Misha knew things about Jess that Grace never imagined. Hopefully, Misha could help pinpoint his whereabouts. Grace would give anything to be free of him once and for all. She had a wedding to plan, a life to share with a man she loved.
“Misha? Hello, it’s Grace Simms.”
“Yes, I know. We need to talk.”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“Not over the phone. I must see you in person.”
“I’m not sure, I—”
“What I have to say is more important than packing.”
Grace felt a chill zip from her tail bone to the back of her head. The hairs on her arms stood up. How did she know what I was planning to do? Grace had counseled clients who were intuitive. She herself connected with her own knowing side. But nothing like this.
“Can you be here within the hour?”
“Yes, Mrs. Olsen has already agreed to take me.”
“See you when you get here.”
Grace’s hand shook as she hung up the phone. Damn Jess for making her afraid. I hope they fry his ass. She picked up the phone and called Spider. She wanted him to be in the loop.
“Spider, it’s Grace. I’m hoping to have some information about Jess in the next couple of hours. My source is a client. Can I have your word that she will remain under the radar?”
“If she can lead us to Jess, I don’t care if she’s Little Miss
Muffet.”
“Good. I’ll call you in an hour or so.”
“Grace? I need you to promise me that you will pass the info on to me only. I don’t want you calling the boyfriend, your mother, or your BFF.”
“The boyfriend is my fiancé; his name is Paul. My mother doesn’t need the worry. And Sal already knows something’s up.”
“Seriously Grace, Paul is a trained ki—” Spider paused. Grace heard him swipe a day’s worth of stubble on this face, the sound scratchy in her ear. “Listen,” he finally said, “I know your fiancé has spent time in the military and overseas. Don’t think I didn’t check him out. Hell, his clearance is better than Sac P.D., maybe even the president.”
“I don’t want him getting involved or getting hurt, that’s why I’m calling you.”
“Good. We’re on the same page. Talk to you soon. Oh, and Grace? There is something else I need to discuss with you. But what I have to say needs to be said in person.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me today. Should I be worried?”
“Unpleasant news is always better delivered in person.” “And it’s not even noon,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Call me when you finish with your client. The sooner we meet, the better.”
This time when Grace hung up the phone, her ears began to ring. Her world seemed surreal. She knew it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. She lost Garret. If anything happened to Paul, she wouldn’t be able to go on. All the therapy in the world wouldn’t be able to fix a hole in her heart the size of Texas.
Sal rapped on the door. “You okay?”
Grace wiped away the threat of tears. “I’m fine. What’s up?”
“Funny thing about feelings, they have an energy of their own, and sometimes they find their way into another person’s space and smack ‘em right upside the head.”
Grace felt the corners of her mouth sag. “I’m sorry. Maybe this isn’t the best place for you to be, right now. Misha will be here any minute. When I finish speaking with her, I will be meeting with Detective Spiderelli.”
“Should I cancel your ten o’clock?”
“Damn.” Grace rubbed her temples.
“Is that a yes?”
“No,” she sighed. “We may run a little behind, but...it should be fine.”
“All right. I’m not going anywhere. “She walked across the room, grabbed a tissue, and handed it to Grace. “Mascara. Left corner.”
“Thanks, you’re the best, in case you were wondering.”
“Never gave it much thought.”
When Misha arrived, Sal escorted her back to Grace’s office and shut the door. Misha was dressed casually, jeans and T-shirt, not her usual put-together self. Her eyes were large with anticipation. Grace sat down in her red chair and braced herself for what Misha had to say.
“You said on the phone Jess is wearing a disguise. Can you expound further?”
“I can’t see detail. The images are symbolic.”
“Symbolic how?”
Misha rose and walked over to the Picasso painting hanging on the wall. “Are you familiar with Picasso’s ‘Guernica’?”
“A little. It was his most famous painting, post-World War II. His symbolism baffled scholars. What has he got to do with Jess?”
“Interesting how we are drawn to things that are eventually revealed as pieces to life’s puzzle.” She turned her back to Grace. “As in Le Rêve, here.” She pointed to the woman’s face in the painting, “Picasso hid images, depicting his lust for his subject, his young mistress, Marie-Thérèse. In Guernica, his harlequin figures were said to symbolize masters of disguise in the underworld.” Misha returned to her seat. She closed her eyes when she spoke. “I see the man who means to harm you as the harlequin. He’s changed himself into someone you wouldn’t recognize. He has gone deep to fool those around him. I see him circling you, watching, and waiting. His soul oozes blackened desperation, and he emerges with a forked tongue and burning eyes.” Misha’s own eyes flew opened. Her lashes were damp. She looked terrified.
“Where is he, Misha. I need to know!”
“He is here.”
Grace clutched the arms of her chair. “Where?”
“I cannot see his face.” Her brow creased with frustration. “When you see the harlequin, you will know.”
“How the hell am I supposed to make sense of what you’re saying? Riddles!”
“I am simply the messenger. I wish I--”
“You said he’s dangerous. You said he’s going to kill me. How do you know?”
She lowered her gaze. “The harlequin carries a dagger and a rose.”
* * *
“Spider?” It’s Grace. Forget about my lead. Mumbo jumbo. I can’t make sense of what she was trying to tell me. Sorry I wasted your time.”
“What did she say?”
“She referred to Jess as Picasso’s harlequin. I was sure she’d be able to tell us more.”
“I would still like to stop by your office. Do you have time?”
“I have a client in twenty minutes, another at eleven. After that, I’m free.”
“Will Sal still be there?”
“She planned on leaving at noon.”
“Ask her if she can stick around.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“See you at noon.”
* * *
At 11:55, Grace ushered Mr. Kranz from her office. “We can talk more next week,” she said, half-heartedly. When she spotted Detective Spiderelli sitting in her waiting room, her stomach flipped. Although his pensive demeanor dissolved when he heard her voice, it was too late by then. She saw the way his shoulders slumped; his jaw was tight. He was unshaven, and his left shoe was untied. Not the man she had come to know over the past year.
“Spider? Come. Let’s talk in my office.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, picking up the heavy load wei
ghing him down. He shuffled behind her. When she closed her office door, he sank into the comfy chair across from her red one.
“You look like shit,” she said, her face void of emotion. “This can’t be good.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just gonna to spit it out.” He leaned forward, closing the gap between them. His eyes looked tired as they fixed on hers. “Jess’s car was impounded shortly after he skipped the country.”
“And…”
“Well, I’m embarrassed and very angry that we just found out there was a gun in the glove compartment. Why that little detail slipped through the cracks is under investigation. The issue at hand is that the ballistic report we got back on Charro Vasquez’s weapon never matched. The gun we found in Jess’ glove compartment does.”
Tiny lights jumped in front of Grace’s vision. Her stomach clenched in pain. Bile rose in her throat. She stood in protest. Spider caught her shaking body in his arms. “Noooo,” she cried into his shoulder.
Sal didn’t wait for an invitation to enter Grace’s office. Detective Spiderelli warned her she’d be needed shortly. When she heard Grace cry out, she knew the time had come.
Sal’s insides jittered. Seeing Grace in that state hurt her more than her own wounds. “Go,” she ordered Spider. “I can take it from here.”
Spider let go of the sobbing woman he held in his arms. “I’m sorry, Grace. We’ll find him. You have my word on that.”
Sal stepped in and helped Grace to the sofa. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it her friend. “It’s clean,” she said and pulled another for herself. They held each other in silence, working through their pain.
* * *
When Grace arrived home, Paul was waiting by the curb. She warmed to his profile—A cocky-casual stance, phone pressed against one ear, and squinting eyes raised to grey skies. His lips moved in such a way she got turned on imagining his warm, tender mouth devouring her bare skin. I love him. Butterflies fluttered inside her, and her lips spread into a welcome smile. Simply watching him flooded her with joy. Soon, they would be man and wife. They would start a family together. She would be safe in his arms for all eternity. Her heart spoke, life will be good with him. Always, no matter what.
Paul waved and approached the car, slipping his phone into his pocket. Grace rolled down her window.
“Why didn’t you go in?” she asked, offering her lips to his.
“More bars on my cell out here,” he mumbled, leaning inside the window to plant a generous kiss on her mouth. “Hi, beautiful.” His face filled with love. “Let’s have you back into the drive. We can load up your trunk first.”
Grace obeyed, pivoting the car around and pulling up close to the garage.
Paul opened the car door and pulled her into his arms. “I feel like a teenager today!” he said, swinging her around.
“Me too, I’ve never moved in with a guy before,” she giggled.
“We’re not actually living in sin, but we can pretend.”
“I’m feeling naughty already!” She wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling closer to his masculinity. “I shouldn’t be too long. I’m just bringing what I absolutely need. The rest can go into storage until we’re married.”
“You’re leaving the furniture, right?”
“Yes, the Realtor has a couple moving in tonight. Can you believe it?”
“That was quick.”
“Synchronicity! Everything works the way it’s meant to be.”
“Lucky me then, having you as my wife.”
“I’m the lucky one.” She tilted her chin to meet another kiss.
Sneaky greeted the couple with happy barks and a wagging tail. She too seemed to sense the joy.
As Paul unloaded empty boxes from his truck, Grace pulled clothes from her closet. She reached for the items on the top shelf, things she didn’t need, sentimental items that could be stored in boxes for now. When she grabbed the fairy wings, a memento from her birthday at the Crab Shack, her heart caught in her throat. Closing her eyes, she replayed the scenario in her mind: the waiting staff singing, the jar of glitter she sprinkled around the room, wearing the ridiculous fairy wings, Jess grinning. Like a jackal? She shuddered. Jess. How could she have been so blind? Easy. He was a good liar. Better than good. Psychopath good. An organized serial killer. The kind of killer that fools everyone. She folded the wings in half, in half again, and then crumpled them into a wad of nylon, wire and glitter. She threw the wad in the waste basket. Good riddance.
“Sweetheart? Why the tears?” Paul rushed into the room and circled her in his arms.
“I—” She wiped her tears. “I love you. And if you turn out to be anyone other than who you say you are? I promise you—you will see a side of me that—”
“Shhhhh.” He held her tight. “We all have skeletons in our closet. I assure you I’m not a psychopath. There are things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. My military days are loaded with regrets. But I promise you this, no harm will ever come to you as long as you live. No matter what.” He raised her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she said, her throat burning with angst. “I’m only human. And right now, all the education and experience in the world couldn’t prepare me for the pain I feel because of Jess.”
“I know, honey. I know.” He wrapped her in love until she pulled away.
“C’mon,” she said rolling up her sleeves. “There’s work to be done. He can’t have one more precious moment of my time.” She stood on tip-toes and kissed Paul’s nose. “Can you put those things in that box for me? And no more hugs until we’re through. You seem to have this effect on me.” She smiled, eyes twinkling. “But later…”
Paul swatted her behind with a box lid. “Just wait ’til I get you home.”
“Yes,” she said, “home.”
CHAPTER 18
HEREDITARY TRAITS
S imone left Jess at a nearby Starbucks, claiming she needed to fetch some personal items from the drugstore a few blocks away. She parked a few houses down, watching Grace and Paul load boxes into her car and his truck. How sweet, she thought bitterly. When they finished, Grace called to the German shepherd sniffing around in the front yard. The dog responded to her whistle and jumped into the car. As they pulled away, the dog spotted Simone and began to bark. Simone slid down into the seat and turned her head, but not before Grace caught a glimpse of her.
Annoyed with her curiosity, Simone chastised herself. If Jess knew what she was up to he’d—what? Kill her? She laughed. He had no idea what she was capable of. Her first kill was at age eleven. The boy took her reader; he wouldn’t give it back. She had lessons to complete, dishes to do, and a mother to care for. She had little time for child’s play. She chased him into an alley and thrust her foot into his crotch, sending him flying against a wall. When his head bounced off the stone, he collapsed face-down in the cinders. She grabbed the book out of his hand and walked away. Authorities determined the boy had been beaten by a gang of bullies. She smiled at the recollection of being referred to as a gang.
Her father was a martial arts instructor in Sarmiento, a small town in the province of Chubut, Argentina. His family immigrated from Wales in the early 1900s. He was a quiet man with a deadly secret. Her mother, privy to his secret, kept silent. Perhaps silence was the crux of her illness. Simone would never know.
Her mother died, taking the secret to her grave.
Simone’s father began teaching her to be a killing machine at the age of three. When she turned twenty-one, her father took her to the Monte Sarmiento summit, near Alberto de Agostini National Park. There he revealed the graves of twenty-six boys he had murdered. Before she could respond, he put a pistol to his head and blew out his brains. Simone retrieved the bullet fragments from the debris, dragged his body to the side of a steep ravine, and gave him a good shove. With his body splayed on a pile of rocks, she picked up the biggest boulder she could lift and aimed for
his head. She remembered the self-satisfaction she felt as the boulder smashed what was left of his skull. She cleaned up any evidence of his suicide and then called authorities to report the mishap. “He slipped,” she remembered saying tearfully. “One minute he was standing beside me, the next minute he was—” Who wouldn’t believe a beautiful, distraught daughter? As if her testimony were divine truth, the clouds parted, allowing her to enjoy the Chilean portion of Tierra del Fuego’s breathtaking view as she drove away.
When she returned to Starbucks, Jess was glaring at her through the window.
“Where the hell you been?”
“Are you suddenly my keeper?” Simone plopped into a chair across from him. “Did you think to order me a coffee?”
“How long do you plan to sit here?”
“I’m waiting for the Realtor to call. What’s your hurry?”
“I don’t want to be moving shit in the dark, that’s what.”
“Yes, I imagine those suitcases get heavier once the sun goes down.”
“Always the smartass.”
“Always the ass.”
Jess threw a stir stick, barely missing her eye. “Fuck you,” he mumbled under his breath as he stood. “What do you want?”
“Something sweet,” she said, her smile gooey as she batted her eyes.” We have a long night ahead of us, Sheppard. Let’s not spoil it with childish bickering.”
Jess was waiting for his order when Simone’s phone rang. He turned to face her, his brow cinched.
“Hello, Barbara. Yes, that’s perfect,” Simone gushed. “We’ll be there.” Simone tossed her phone into her purse.
“Well?” Jess handed Simone her coffee. “What did she say?”
“She’ll meet us at the house in fifteen minutes.”
The couple slid into their rental car loaded with luggage and drove to their new residence. When they pulled into the drive, Barbara, the Realtor, pulled in behind them.
“This is a sweet, house, don’t you think?” she bubbled.
“Lovely,” Jess said flatly.
“C’mon, darling, don’t be a kill-joy.”
The Black Dress Page 21