He nodded. “Don’t let me keep you, darlin’.”
He stepped aside politely, waiting for me to precede him through the door. I did, holding my head high as I walked out of his bedroom, for the last time.
“Guess I’ll see you around,” he said when we were downstairs, with the front door open. Spicer and Truman had come and gone, with their bullet, and my Volvo was the only car in the driveway.
“I’m sure you will.” I managed another bright, polite smile, even as the thought of it made my stomach churn. How would I be able to see him around, to look at him, to remember what we’d done last night, and act like nothing had happened? Like I didn’t want to do it again?
“Take care of yourself, darlin’.”
I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “You too. Stay out of the way of stray bullets.”
“You do the same.”
I managed a smile. “Don’t worry. No one’s out to get me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Rafe said and closed the door. Politely, but with a distinct click. I walked down the stairs and over to the car, my silver sandals sinking into the gravel and ruining the heels. I couldn’t find it in me to care.
* * *
It’s a miracle I didn’t have an accident on the way to my apartment, because I was not paying attention to where I was going at all. I made it, though, and parked in the lot, before I let myself into the building. I knocked before I fitted the key in the door upstairs, just in case Officer Slater was there. It would be rude to just walk in on her.
As it turned out, she wasn’t there, but her things were. I ignored them, just went to change my clothes. Marquita’s pants went into the laundry basket along with my panties, and Rafe’s shirt was headed in the same direction when I caught myself. If I washed it, it would smell like me. My laundry detergent, my dryer sheets. And although I’d washed the scent of him off my body and out of my hair, I wasn’t quite ready to let the shirt go. So I folded it, carefully, and put it into my underwear drawer. And then I took it out again, stuck it in a gallon sized Ziploc freezer bag, closed the zipper, and tucked it away.
I was dressed, in a prim skirt and primmer blouse, with patent leather Mary Janes on my feet—Manolos, of course; I have standards, last night to the contrary—and on my way out the door, when the phone rang. My heart sank. Here it came. Mother was calling to ask why I hadn’t accepted Todd’s proposal and made her the happiest woman in the world.
The area code was right, but it wasn’t Mother’s number. It wasn’t Todd’s either, and I breathed a double sigh of relief.
“You OK, sis?” were the first words out of Dix’s mouth.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Todd said you left the Wayside Inn by nine last night. And Mother said you never came back to the house.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind that anyone would worry. “Todd proposed,” I said.
“That’s what he said,” Dix answered.
“I needed some time to think. And I knew if I went back to the house, Mother would talk me into it. Or at least try to. So I went home.”
“To Nashville? You didn’t spend the night with Collier, did you?” He laughed.
“I’m in my apartment,” I said. It was the truth.
“I was joking, sis.” He paused, probably searching for the right words. “Todd said you didn’t accept.”
“I didn’t decline, either. I just said I needed time to think.”
“That’s what he said.” Dix fell silent again. I stood it for as long as I could before I started babbling.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to get remarried. Life with Bradley was no picnic.”
“But this is Todd,” Dix pointed out.
“I know that.”
“You’ve known him your whole life.”
“I know.”
“There won’t be any surprises.”
“None.” And he said it like it was a good thing. Not that I’d enjoyed learning that my husband had been cheating on me and wanted a divorce. That was a surprise I could have done without. Still, surprises can be nice things. Life with someone can be a little stale without the occasional surprise.
“He loves you.”
“I know he does. He told me.”
“Don’t you love him?” Dix asked, point blank. I hesitated.
“I’ve known him my whole life, so of course I love him. I’m just not sure I love him the way I need to, to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Dix didn’t answer, and I added, “Do you love Sheila?”
“Of course I love Sheila. I married her, didn’t I?”
“I married Bradley.”
“And divorced him,” Dix said. “Sheila and I aren’t getting divorced.”
“I didn’t think you were. It’s just... when Mother explained the facts of life to me, she didn’t say anything about my having to be in love with my husband. And I just sort of assumed I would be, if he was my husband.”
“And you weren’t?” Dix said.
“I can’t imagine I was. If I had been, I think I would have been devastated when he told me he wanted a divorce. Don’t you? Instead of just embarrassed and afraid that anyone would find out that he wasn’t happy with me.”
Dix was silent for a second. “That makes sense,” he admitted.
“It isn’t that I don’t like Todd. Or that I don’t care for him. We get along perfectly well, and we have a lot in common, and I know it would make everyone happy if we got married. I just don’t want to be in another relationship where we’re polite and perfectly appropriate to one another, but nothing more. Is it so wrong to want—I don’t know—passion?”
“No,” Dix said, “I don’t think it is. But Todd loves you. There’ll be passion.” He sounded embarrassed to be talking about it.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I shouldn’t be laying all this on you. He’s your best friend.”
“And you’re my sister. Besides, I was the one who called. I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“You didn’t answer the phone earlier,” Dix said.
“You called? When?”
“At least four times. Starting at eight thirty, when I got to the office and Todd called me.”
“I didn’t...” I stopped myself before I told him I hadn’t heard the phone. Small wonder, when I’d left it in my purse in Rafe’s kitchen, while we’d been upstairs in the bedroom totally consumed with other things. “I turned it off because I wanted to think, and I just turned it on again now. Sorry.”
“As long as you’re fine,” Dix said.
“I am. Really. I’m back home, in my apartment. I was just on my way out the door to go see Tamara Grimaldi.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Dix said. “I have things to do, too.” He paused. “So what do you want me to tell Todd? And Mother?”
I took a deep breath. “That I’m fine. That I’ll be in touch. And tell Mother I’m sorry for leaving all my things there. I just didn’t want to go back to the house and have to explain. You know. After...”
“I understand,” Dix said. “I’ll let them know.”
“I’ll drive back down to pick up my things. In a day or two. There are things I need there. I just don’t want to face anyone right now. Until I’ve had some time to think.”
“I’ll cover for you,” Dix promised. “Call me if you want to talk, all right, sis? I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, touched. And then, as I closed the cell phone, I wondered if he’d still love me if he knew where—and how—I’d spent the night.
* * *
Tamara Grimaldi was at her desk when I arrived at her office at Police Plaza in downtown. The desk staff must be used to seeing me, because they let me walk through the warren of desks and cubicles without an escort.
“There you are,” she said when I stopped in the doorway. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you. You all right?”
“I don’t know,” I
answered, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Properly, the way they taught us in finishing school. Without looking, back straight, folding one leg over the other and making sure the skirt covered the knee. “I almost got shot last night.”
She smirked. “That wasn’t all you got, from what I understand.”
I tried to keep from blushing, but with no success. “Spicer and Truman blabbed.”
“There was a report on my desk this morning. You featured prominently. That must have been quite a dress you were wearing.”
Lord.
“And then, of course, they volunteered to go back this morning to dig the bullet out of the wall and question the neighbors. They happened to mention that your car was still there.”
“I’m an idiot,” I said.
“If you spent the night with Mr. Collier, you’ll get no argument from me.”
When I didn’t answer, she added, “I thought you intended for District Attorney Satterfield to propose.”
“I did. He did.”
“And you left Sweetwater and went to Mr. Collier’s house?”
When she put it like that, it sounded pretty bad.
“I didn’t say yes.” At least I hadn’t accepted Todd’s proposal and then gone to find Rafe.
“I suppose that’s something,” Tamara Grimaldi allowed. “Why are you telling me this, Ms.... Savannah?”
“I don’t know. Because I can’t tell anyone else? Because I feel like I made a really big mistake last night? And it would be nice to have someone to talk to about it?”
“Lucky me.” She sighed. “Go ahead.”
“No. That’s all right, but... no.”
“I promise I’ll be nice.”
“It isn’t that.” I sniffed. “I didn’t come here to talk about Rafe. I wanted to ask whether Spicer and Truman learned anything this morning.”
“Other than that you and Mr. Collier spent the night together?” She smirked.
I fought back a blush. “Yes, other than that.”
“You’re in luck.” She leaned forward, opening a folder on top of the stack on her desk. “The bullet is the same caliber as the one that killed Mrs. Johnson, and appears to be from the same gun. We’ll confirm that after a more thorough comparison.”
“Whoever shot at us yesterday is the same person who shot Marquita?”
“It seems so, yes.”
“It has to be the man I saw a few days ago, don’t you think?”
“It’s possible,” Grimaldi said.
“Well, who else could it be? He told me he was looking for Rafe, and it sounded like it would be so he could try to kill him, and he did look at me like he was thinking of using me to send Rafe a message. And there isn’t much stronger of a message than to drop a dead body on someone’s doorstep. Maybe he didn’t know that Rafe is living with Mrs. Jenkins. Maybe that’s why Marquita’s car with Marquita’s body was parked behind the Colliers’ old trailer in the Bog. To send Rafe a message.”
“That’s certainly one explanation.”
“What other explanation could there be?”
She looked apologetic. “For one thing, he did know about Mrs. Jenkins. That’s how he found you. He followed you from the house in the morning. That’s what you said, right? And if so, he must have known that Mr. Collier stays there when he’s in Nashville.”
“Unless he didn’t realize that until Marquita told him. Or maybe he thought that because Rafe wasn’t with Mrs. J, he’d be in Sweetwater.”
“Sheriff Satterfield told me the trailer park is empty. Unless this man is stupid, he must have realized that no one lives there.”
Especially when the trailer itself was sitting wide open and was obviously empty of furniture. “Maybe he just assumed Rafe would be there, and when he realized he wasn’t, he lured Marquita down there and forced her to tell him where Mrs. Jenkins lives, and then he shot Marquita and came to Nashville.”
“It’s possible,” the detective allowed. “Although if he didn’t know about Mrs. Jenkins, how did he know about Mrs. Johnson?”
I shrugged. I had no explanation for that. “Did Spicer and Truman discover anything else? Did anyone see this guy?”
“I’m afraid not. The lady who heard the shot and called it in, also heard the car going down the street. Or perhaps I should say a car. She said it was light colored. White or tan. Perhaps light gray or light blue.”
I shook my head. “The car that followed us the other day was a black SUV.”
“That’s what you said. So perhaps it isn’t the same man after all.”
“Or perhaps the Hispanic man is driving a white Honda or Toyota. I’ve seen one of those around, too.” In that case, he hadn’t been in the black SUV the other morning.
“You and everyone else,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “There must be at least fifty thousand white Hondas and Toyotas in Middle Tennessee. It could be a coincidence.”
“The car just happened to be driving down the street two minutes after someone tried to shoot us?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Detective Grimaldi said. “People do drive around, even at eleven o’clock at night. While someone else is shooting off a gun.”
I leaned back. “So what happens now?”
Her voice became official-sounding. “The investigation is ongoing. If you would like to look at mugshots, I’ll be happy to let you do that. Now that there’s a proven connection between the gun that killed Mrs. Johnson and the gun that shot at you, I’d like to try to identify the man you saw. And since we don’t know whether he was aiming at you or at Mr. Collier—”
“He was aiming at Rafe. Of course. Who’d want to kill me?”
I meant it to be rhetorical. She answered. “Someone who wanted to hurt Mr. Collier? By targeting the people close to him? Mrs. Johnson, who worked for him. You, who are obviously a person of importance. His grandmother.”
“She’s not around. He said he sent her to a safe-house.”
“Ah.” She made a note on the folder. “Spicer and Truman didn’t mention that.”
“It probably didn’t come up. I asked last night. Before...”
“Of course.” Her voice and face were studiedly bland. She wasn’t as successful with her eyes. They were maliciously amused.
I blushed. “He must be worried about the same thing you are.
“I daresay he is,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “He’s seen far too much of what can happen in these situations. I’m surprised he let you through the door at all.”
“He said he thought I’d be safer inside.” I shivered. “He told me, you know. About the TBI.”
For a second she looked surprised, before her face went back to bland.
“I already knew most of it,” I added. “I just hadn’t put it together yet.”
She nodded.
“How long have you known?” And why didn’t you tell me?
“Since shortly after I met him. While we were investigating Mrs. Puckett’s death.” She avoided my eyes. “I was looking at him for it, seriously at first. He had everything: motive, means, and opportunity. A history of violence. A criminal record. He even had a connection to you. A tenuous one, for sure, but it was there.”
“What happened to change your mind?”
She made a face. “I got a visit from a man named Wendell Craig, who explained why I shouldn’t waste my time. He’s Mr. Collier’s handler. Or contact, or something. I had to keep treating Mr. Collier the way I would have if I didn’t know. It’s what’s kept him safe so far. So when Ms. Vaughn died, and you figured out that he was involved, I had to make it look like I was investigating him.”
So just a few days ago, when I’d been worried that she thought Rafe had shot Marquita, Tamara Grimaldi had already known the truth. “You couldn’t have told me?”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Tamara said. “I’m surprised he did. He isn’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“I guess maybe...” I hesitated. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to sleep with me u
nder false pretenses. Or maybe he’d just been worried that if I continued to think he was a criminal, I’d change my mind. Maybe it was all just further insurance that he’d get me into bed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Grimaldi nodded. “Now you know why he was able to move around Nashville without being arrested after the robberies and Ms. Vaughn’s murder. And why I haven’t arrested him yet in connection with Mrs. Johnson’s death.”
I thought of something. “Todd doesn’t know this, does he?”
She shook her head. “And you can’t tell him. This is something you can’t tell anyone. Mr. Collier’s safety depends on the fact that no one knows the truth.” Her eyes drilled into mine. “If you want him to be safe, you’ll keep this to yourself.”
As if I’d do anything to put Rafe in danger. “This should make it easier for you to figure out who’s after him, though. Shouldn’t it?”
“One would hope,” Tamara said, pushing her chair back. “And on that note, let me get you set up with a computer and a program of mugshots. Find me the man you saw. As soon as I know who he is, I can find him. And then I can keep your boyfriend safe.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, but I got up and followed her out of the office.
Chapter Fourteen
The man with the dragon tattoo proved to be elusive. I went through a couple of hours of mugshots without seeing him.
There were plenty of other Hispanic men in the files. The Hispanic population of Nashville—of all of the Southeast, really—has exploded over the past few years, as is the case across most of the country. And a fair few of them seem to commit crimes. I didn’t see the man I was looking for, though. There were several that looked similar—for that matter, they all looked similar, with the same glossy black hair, golden skin, and dark eyes—but I didn’t see anyone I recognized. Not until I’d been sitting there for close to three hours. By then, I’d moved from the local database to the national. Detective Grimaldi had hoped it would be simple, and that the man was from Nashville, but nothing’s ever easy, is it?
“Detective?” I leaned my shoulder in her door, watching her pore over some papers on her desk. She looked tired, with shadows under her eyes. The same kinds of shadows I’d seen in my own mirror this morning, that were now hidden under concealer. “I think I’ve found him.”
[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Page 70