* * *
Inside the aroma of something delicious hit them hard.
“What is that?” Brianna asked as they entered the kitchen to find Katie stirring something in a big pot.
“Kirk F’s nana sent over a pot of homemade chicken and dumplings,” she said. “I’m just heating it up before I wake Paula. She’s been asleep for the past hour.”
Brianna pulled up a bar stool and saw the stethoscope lying on the countertop. She nodded toward it. “How’s she doing?”
“Pretty good. Her lungs are mostly clear, some wheezing on exertion, like walking across the floor. No fever.” Katie put a lid on the pot and turned the burner down.
“If Nana sent this food, where’s Kirk F?” Aaron set his laptop on the table then coming over to grab a beer out of the fridge. He turned to Brianna. “What do you want?”
“I’ll just have a glass of water.”
“Kirk F and Matt went for pizzas,” Katie said, slipping into another barstool beside her.
“Why?” Brianna asked.
“Because the chicken and dumplings are for Paula. Nana said, and I quote Kirk F on this, What that girl needs is some good home cooking not a pizza or fast food. And nobody better be having any but her. So no one wants to tempt fate by eating anything meant to cure Paula.”
They all laughed. They’d come to the conclusion that Nana was a force to be reckoned with.
“But I have to tell you, I tasted it a few minutes ago, and I might just fake a cough to have some,” Katie said. “At the least, I’m going to try to get her recipe.”
“If she’s anything like my grandma,” Aaron said with a grin as he leaned against the back counter, “she’ll leave out one ingredient, just so it won’t taste quite like hers.”
“Why would she do that?” Brianna asked.
Katie laughed. “Because hers will always be the best. My mother used to say her grandmother did the same thing.”
Aaron nodded. “Part of the grandma code.”
Brianna looked at the others as they chatted and realized how relaxed she was and how the ache of losing a friend had eased just a little. Paula needed this, too. She needed to hear the news from her in private and have a moment to grieve, just like Aaron had given her. Then she needed more normal talk and laughter—if only for a little while.
“I’ll go wake Paula,” she said, slipping out of the barstool, her gaze meeting Aaron’s. “I need to talk with her in private before she eats.”
20
Aaron watched Brianna enter the bedroom and softly close the door behind her. From the determined expression on her face, he knew she planned to break the news about Mia now, rather than later. If she’d asked, he’d have done the job for her, but ever since she’d come out of the hospital that first time three years ago she’d worked on handling her problems by herself, standing on her own feet and facing trouble head on. The last thing she’d want was for him to bulldoze his way in like some caveman insisting the “little woman” stand aside, even if he was itching to do so.
“What was that about?” Katie asked, returning to the stove to stir the pot once more, then reaching into the cupboard for a large soup bowl.
“The other murder victim we found this morning was someone they both knew.”
“Really?” Katie asked, setting the bowl near the pot, her brows drawn down together. “So, they both knew the victims?”
Aaron shook his head and slid onto one of the barstools. “Brianna only knew Mia, the girl we found today. She was a resident for a while at the women’s shelter where she and Paula work. For a time, Paula was a resident there, too. Paula knew Art from volunteering in the homeless community. Brianna never met him.”
“Is there any chance Paula has more connections to these murders?”
Before Aaron could formulate an answer, the front door opened. Kirk F and Matt came in bearing four pizza boxes and two carryout bags.
“What did you get?” Katie asked, after giving her husband a quick welcoming kiss.
“These are pies—cherry and apple—for dessert,” Matt said, setting the bag on the countertop. “Kirk F was in charge of the pizzas.”
“Two meat lovers, one pepperoni and a white pizza,” Kirk F announced.
“A white pizza?” Aaron asked, wondering what kind of God-awful concoction his young friend was foisting on them.
“Alfredo sauce instead of tomato, with grilled chicken and onions,” Matt explained with a nod toward Kirk F. “The pizza boss said that was Brianna’s favorite.”
“Ordered it once a week when I was living with her.” The younger man grinned. “Thought it was weird at first, but the lady is allergic to tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes and avocados?” Aaron said. “That’s a bit odd.”
Katie’s lips quirked up and a twinkle set in her eye.
“What?” he asked.
“I had a nurse friend once who told people she was allergic to mushrooms when she simply didn’t like them.”
“Why did she do that?” her husband asked as he pulled five plates from the cupboard.
“Because it’s easier than having to defend why you don’t like something and having people look at you like you’re weird,” Brianna said behind them as she closed the bedroom door. “Paula will be out in a minute.”
“So, you’re not allergic to tomatoes and avocados?” Aaron asked her.
“Tomatoes no, I just like white pizza.” She turned to Kirk F, who was putting the pizzas on the table. “Sorry about that. The first time I ordered that pizza and you gave me that are-you-crazy-look, I just reacted like I always do.”
“No problem,” he answered with a grin. “I kinda liked the white pizza.”
“And avocados?” Aaron pushed, wanting to know if she’d been faking that too at all their lunches.
Brianna patted him on the shoulder. “Those I am allergic, too. The kind that makes your lips swell and you start wheezing.”
“Definitely no guacamole for you then,” Katie said, dipping out some of the chicken and dumplings into the bowl.
The bedroom door opened again and this time Paula, carrying Stanley came out. She set the wriggly dog on the floor and he made a beeline straight to Aaron.
He scooped him up. “Hello, boy. You been good?” Letting the dog lick his chin a moment before he settled him on the floor again. “Go lay down.” The pup did just that on one of the throw pillows.
Brianna helped Paula into a chair and Katie served her up the homemade chicken and dumplings.
“That smells so good,” Paula said, taking a whiff before dipping her spoon in. “I didn’t think I was hungry until just now.”
“Nana said it’ll cure you faster than the drugs from the doc,” Kirk F said taking a seat beside her.
She put a spoonful in her mouth, immediately closed her eyes as she chewed and swallowed. “Oh, my God. That is heavenly.”
Everyone pulled up a chair and dug into the pizzas. Brianna kept them chatting. They talked of food, Nana, updates on the Edgars clan, Paula and Kirk F’s respective classes. Everything and anything not to do with the case.
By the time desert was finished, Paula looked spent, Brianna helped her to one of the two leather sofas in the living room, and Stanley, who had eaten enough pizza crusts to make his own, crawled into her lap.
When the doorbell rang, everyone paused a moment, then Aaron and Matt drew their weapons, and Katie moved to stand in front of Paula, who was soothing a low-growling Stanley. Matt took up a defensive position on one side of the door as Aaron went to answer it. He glanced through the peephole then motioned everyone to stand down. “It’s Special Agent Smith.”
He opened the door as he put his weapon back in his holster. “Glad you found the place,” he said, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Studied a map and your directions were spot on. I didn’t want to use the GPS,” Carson shrugged. “Call me paranoid, but I didn’t want anyone using it to find the safehouse, just in case.”
Aaron introduced the profiler to Paula, Kirk F, Katie and Matt.
“We just finished dessert, but there is some pie left,” Brianna said.
Aaron laughed. “You better get some before Kirk F decides he needs the last slice.”
“No, thank you. I just finished dinner,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to chat with your witness.”
“Which one?” Kirk F gave him a cocky grin. “The two-legged or four-legged one.”
Carson chuckled. “I haven’t learned canine yet, so I’ll just talk with Ms. Nowak for now.” He took a seat on the leather sofa opposite the one Paula was snuggled on with the dog and an afghan. “I was hoping you could tell me about your friend Art.”
Paula slumped a little into the sofa, like a sulking teenager and cast a glance at Aaron then Brianna, who’d gotten out a pad of paper and a pen to take notes, before looking at the FBI agent. “I told Brianna and Aaron everything I know about him already.”
Carson nodded patiently. “I know, but sometimes when you tell things more than once you remember more details about an incident or a person.”
“He’s a war veteran who is homeless,” she said with a slight shoulder shrug, sounding a little less petulant. “He loved Stanley. Took very good care of him. He came into the East Side Hope Fellowship church where I volunteer on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That’s about all I know.”
“Okay, that’s good.” Carson sat back and crossed one leg over the other, looking relaxed. “How did you know he was a veteran? Did he talk about it?”
“No, he didn’t talk about it too much. He always wore this old khaki-green Army jacket. Even in winter when it wouldn’t keep him warm and during the hottest days of summer. You’d never see him without it.” She blinked then looked at Aaron. “And he had those two medals I told you about.”
He nodded, turning to Carson. “We’ve determined they were the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross. Got a call into the Department of Veterans’ Affairs to see if they can give me Art’s last name and any info on them.”
“Those are both awarded by the Army, so we can say that was the branch he was in,” Carson said. “And according to your files, those were missing when you found him, right?”
“That’s right,” Aaron said.
“And he wasn’t in an old Army jacket,” Brianna added. “The killer put him in a clean and pressed military dress uniform.”
“Really?” Katie asked from her spot at the end of Paula’s sofa.
Brianna nodded. “He completely cleaned him, scrubbed him from head to toe and redressed him. Did the same with Mia.”
“He put her in a military uniform, too?” Kirk F asked. “Maybe this guy has a military fetish?”
“No,” Aaron answered. “He dressed Mia in a long black dress. The kind most female concert musicians would wear. But he did clean her the same as Art.”
“Did Art have any regular appointments? Like a clinic or doctor?” Carson asked, directing the questions back to Paula.
“Mondays were med days. He’d go to the clinic near the Lutheran Shelter, but that was just to get his BP and sugar checked. They gave him something for his blood pressure, but that’s all.” She gave a ghost of a smile. “He loved having his feet cleaned by the volunteer docs and the new socks they’d give out.”
“Did he have any family?”
“Said once he had a wife and daughter but didn’t keep in touch with them.” She lowered her hand to stroke the pup’s head. “But now his family was just Stanley.”
“Did you ever see anyone showing an unusual interest in Art? A volunteer? A stranger?”
Paula stared off into space, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered that question. “No, I know most of the volunteers. They’re friendly and kind to the people who come in. They really do care about helping them. And there’s never strangers around, unless it’s another homeless person.”
“How about news people?” Brianna asked, the pen paused over the pad of paper, her expression suggesting she’d thought of something important.
“Why news people?” Aaron asked, curious as to what she was thinking.
“Well, it’s just something Flora said this afternoon,” she said, slowly looking at everyone who now had their focus trained on her. With a slight tilt of her head, she gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Never mind, it’s probably not important.”
“When it comes to serial murderers,” Carson said. “Nothing is unimportant. Even the slightest details may be what helps us find him.”
“What did Flora say?” Aaron sat forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and listen, encouraging her to voice her thoughts.
“She said that when they met at the tailgate party,” Brianna paused to flip through her notepad, “Which was October nineteenth, by the way. Flora said Mia was very excited that a man was interviewing her for a magazine article. He promised to pay her royalties on it if it sold.”
“Did she say which magazine?” Katie asked.
“No, she said Mia didn’t tell her that or the man’s name.” Brianna turned to Paula. “Did Art mention a magazine article to you?”
She shook her head. “No, but he did say some newspaper guy was hanging around and talking about exposing the homeless vets’ problems one day at the shelter. I remember seeing them talking while Art ate his dinner.”
“Did you recognize the man?” Brianna asked.
Paula drew her brows down in concentration, then slowly shook her head. “I barely got a look at them together. There were lots of people to serve that night.”
“Could he have meant an exposé?” Aaron asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Paula thought about it. “He might’ve, but he didn’t use that word. He said expose.”
“What’s the difference between an article and an exposé?” Kirk F asked.
“An article can be about anything. An exposé is more of a piece of writing that shines the light on something hidden about a situation or a person. The flaws or lies, the hidden skeletons in the closet kind of thing,” Aaron explained.
“Kinda like what Brianna went through with the Senator and his cronies?” Kirk F said, nodding his understanding.
“If someone had discovered it before I stumbled into it,” Brianna said, “and they’d written an article in the news or on TV, then it would have been an exposé piece.”
“What was Mia’s article supposed to be about?” Paula asked.
“Flora said it was about Mia being homeless and supporting herself as a street musician.”
“Don’t suppose she gave you any details on what this guy looked like?” Kirk F asked. “Like great big and hairy or really skinny with nerd glasses?”
That got him some laughs and even a smile from Paula.
“What? I don’t know about you, but I hate to think the dude doing this looks like any ordinary guy.”
“Unfortunately, they do,” Carson said. “Ted Bundy got his victims by being handsome and charming.”
Aaron nodded. “The BTK killer looked like everyone’s regular old father.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Paula said. “I’d rather the person who killed my friends look like the monster he is.”
“I would, too,” Brianna agreed. Then she paused and tilted her head to one side. The way Aaron had seen her do on more than one occasion when she was trying to figure out a puzzle.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“It was something else Flora said to me.”
“And that was?” He gently nudged her to tell them.
“Flora thought he might be handsome because Mia had that look teenage girls get when they’re talking about the boy they have a crush on.”
“Ah,” Paula and Katie both said as if they knew exactly what Brianna was saying.
Aaron exchanged looks with Matt and Carson then Kirk F, who, as the most clueless among them, simply shrugged. “Okay, so we’re looking for someone on the Ted Bundy side of seria
l killers.”
“Not necessarily,” Brianna said.
“I thought you said it would be the kind of guy a girl would get a crush on?”
“It’s not always about looks.” She sat a little straighter and her lips pressed into a thin line. The topic of looks had been a sore subject with her since he’d known her. Once, during one of their lunches she’d told him that it had taken her nearly being sold as a sex slave to learn that a person’s beauty or handsomeness could hide evil inside.
“He could be average looking at first, but come across as charming,” Katie said, taking up the explanation.
Paula nodded. “He could simply just pay attention to her.”
“So, we’re looking for a handsome or charming journalist,” Aaron said, shifting his attention to Carson. The profiler had been conspicuously quiet, but observant while they discussed what they’d learned about their killer. Aaron didn’t know him very well, but the guy seemed to be contemplating something as they talked. “Got anything to add to that?”
21
Was wondering if you could trade a shift with me tomorrow?”
Stephen looked up from his computer to see Kevin standing there. The guy didn’t look like he belonged in a lab. Instead of the nerd with a white plastic pocket protector with pens and one mechanical pencil in it like some of them wore, this guy looked like a model in an ad for men’s underwear.
“Kinda short notice, dude,” he said, going back to entering blood bag label codes into the system.
“I know, but something came up and I really need tomorrow night off.” Kevin gave him a grin that suggested this was more than a little schedule change.
“What’s her name?”
“Who said it was a girl?” Kevin asked, looking over his shoulders as if he expected their boss to be standing right behind him.
“Only one thing could have you this pushy for my help.”
A grin split the dude’s face. “You guessed it. Been trying to get with her for months.”
“I’ll be happy to work your evening shift tomorrow, if you do something for me,” he said, closing out the page he was working on.
DRAINED Page 18