by Wanda Dyson
And there were no fingerprints on Gina Sarentino’s hair ribbon.
The wildflowers were also untraceable.
Bottom line? They had nothing. Frustrated, JJ shoved the fingerprint report into the Sarentino file and leaned back in his chair. He looked up, hope flaring as Gerry walked in. “What have we found out about our mysterious housekeeper?”
Gerry flipped open his notepad. “I’ve been trying to trace all three names. The landlord didn’t bother to check up on her references because she seemed like such a nice lady. I did. No one has ever heard of her. She paid her deposit for the house in cash. Always paid the rent on time. In cash. I can’t find any car registered to any of those three names in this state, and definitely not a Chrysler.”
JJ stroked his chin. “Did you check surrounding states?”
“Working on that now.”
JJ stood up. “Let me know when you have something.”
Gerry nodded and went back to his work. JJ walked over to the window and stared across the parking lot. Zoe had guts; he had to give her that. When he got the call from dispatch, it had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to get back to her house. She hadn’t touched the flowers or the attached note but had left them on the front porch for him to retrieve.
She hadn’t cried, hadn’t whimpered, and hadn’t demanded protection.
Guts.
And a smile that sent shivers up his back. And, he was beginning to realize, these weren’t bad shivers. They were the kind of shivers that made him want to bring out that smile every time he saw her. The kind that made him think of her when he didn’t want to.
There was strength in her he didn’t understand. And vulnerability she hid from everyone. She was part kitten and part pit bull terrier, and he couldn’t figure out which one intrigued him the most.
Everything about her did.
Except for the fact that she claimed to be a psychic.
That drove him nuts. It ranked right up there with the fact that she knew how to push his buttons—did so whenever she felt like it. Which seemed to be pretty often.
No matter how much he tried to think of anything else, she would slip into his thoughts as quietly as a soft wind and blow everything out of his mind except her.
And the fact that there was a killer stalking her.
#
“This guy is a killer.” Daria combed out Zoe’s hair and carefully snipped the ends. “Aren’t you worried? He knows where you live. And he’s obviously nuts.”
“JJ has the note. They’re going to test it for fingerprints.”
“And that’s it?” Daria paused, her scissors waving through the air. “What about protection for you?”
“I don’t need protection.”
“Bull. If this guy has it in his mind to kill you, you need protection.” She lifted another strand of hair and began snipping again, but her movements were agitated now. “He could break in here at any time, and then what?”
“He’s not going to get to me. I have an excellent alarm system.”
“Alarm systems aren’t perfect,” Daria snapped as she combed out the hair. “Come stay with me.”
“No, Daria.” Zoe sighed. How could she possibly make anyone understand? “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be dead! This guy is not someone to mess with!”
“I’m not taking this as a joke, Daria. Honest, I’m not.”
Daria walked around Zoe’s kitchen chair, scissors and comb in hand, and looked Zoe in the eye. “This guy wants you dead. Do you understand that?”
Zoe met Daria’s eyes. “Yes.”
“I don’t think you do. Any sane person would be upset, worried, and at the very least, ready to hide until the police catch this guy.”
“He just wants to scare me off the case. He’s not into killing adults.”
Daria’s mouth dropped along with her hands. “You really believe that garbage, don’t you?” She slammed the scissors down on the kitchen table. “You listen to me, girl. This is not a joke. This guy said that he was going to plant you as a weed among his flowers. He means it. Now, if you don’t request some kind of protection, I’m going down to the police station and screaming my head off until someone is parked in a police car in your front yard!”
#
Ted was just getting off the phone when his boss, Mr. O’Connell, stepped into view. He turned his chair and scooted back, giving Mr. O’Connell a little more room to fit his wide girth into the small cubicle.
“Mr. O’Connell.” Ted swallowed hard. O’Connell didn’t venture from his office unless it was an emergency.
“Ted, by any chance have you spoken to Miss Bubeck lately?”
“No, not in a couple of days. Passing in the hall sort of thing. Why?”
“She hasn’t shown up for work the last two days. We’ve tried calling and her phone has been disconnected.”
“Uh-oh.” Ted didn’t know what else to offer.
O’Connell hitched up his pants. “Yes, well, I was just wondering if perhaps you might have heard from her.”
“No, sir, I’m afraid not. She hasn’t called me.”
“And you didn’t notice that she hasn’t been in?”
Ted lifted his chin. “We’re in the last week of the budget crunch. I’ve got my hands full with Margaret out having a baby and Stephen in the hospital having knee surgery. I told Lana to handle any problems with the staff until I got this report down. Obviously, someone not showing up for work didn’t rise high enough on Lana’s priority list.”
“Well, now you’ve been told.”
Ted stood to his feet. “I’ll go talk to Lana now and see if I can find out anything. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”
O’Connell nodded and lumbered out of the cubical. Ted ran his fingers through his hair. As if he didn’t have more important things on his mind. Not once had O’Connell said one word about Jessica. Not one word of sympathy. Anyone else would have taken time off to stay home with his wife. Not good ol’ Ted. No, he had come in and done his work and then some. And what did he get for it?
Shafted.
chapter 14
Wednesday, April 19
Karen knew that if she stayed in the house one more minute, she’d go straight-jacket insane. Grabbing her gardening gloves from the closet shelf, she escaped into the yard, determined to pull weeds until she was too exhausted to think. To worry. To miss Jessie.
What had the kidnapper done to her precious daughter? Smothered her? Starved her? Taken her away to raise as his or her own?
A tear dripped off her nose and fell onto her arm, sliding inside her glove. She ignored it. “Why, God? Why did you give me such a precious child and then snatch her away from me? Why are you breaking my heart like this?”
“God isn’t doing this to you, Karen.”
Karen jumped, unaware that she had been speaking aloud and equally unaware that anyone had heard her. “Rene. You startled me.”
Rene smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knelt down next to Karen. “I’m sorry. How are you holding up?”
“How do you think?” Karen pulled at a weed. “It’s Wednesday already. Another week is nearly gone by without any word on my daughter. I just don’t know why this is happening.”
“Bad things happen to good people. We do have an enemy, you know.”
Karen tossed the weed into a pile on the sidewalk and smoothed mulch over the gaping hole. The last thing she needed was polite platitudes. She wanted action. “No one is taking Jessica’s disappearance seriously. The press is more interested in covering the disappearance of the other little girls.” Her head jerked up. “I don’t mean that those girls aren’t important!”
“I know,” Rene assured her softly.
“I just want someone to look for Jess. I didn’t do this. I would never hurt my baby.”
“I know.” Rene reached out and touched Karen’s shoulder. “Karen, part of walking out our faith is handling the curve balls life throws at us. Th
e Lord is there, every step of the way, whether we feel it or not. You need to hold on to your faith.”
Karen shook her head. “I don’t have any faith left, Rene. I keep asking God why and He doesn’t seem to have an answer for me.”
“He already gave you His answer, Karen. He told you He’d never leave you or forsake you.”
“Well, He has forsaken me.”
“No, He hasn’t. We don’t know what He’s doing in all this, but He is working through it. I know He is.”
“Is He going to bring my baby back to me?” Karen asked, her voice strained by desperation.
Rene’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned forward and pulled Karen into her arms. “I don’t know, Karen. I can’t promise you that He will. But I know He’s hurting, too, and that He’s with you throughout this. Let Him comfort you. Let Him help you. He loves you so much.”
#
On Wednesday afternoon, Denise Shefford called her daughter and invited her to dinner. When Zoe tried to hedge out of it, Denise pushed. Zoe relented and arrived at her mom’s house promptly at six.
Denise Shefford was, by anyone’s standards, a handsome woman. At the age of fifty-four, she could still pass for forty. Her blond hair hid the gray well, her body was trim, and wrinkles weren’t inclined to take up residence. If you looked closely, you would notice the slackness in the jaw or the looseness of the throat. But one was disposed to miss those things and notice the deep and sometimes penetrating sadness that dulled her gray-green eyes.
It wasn’t that she fought age; she didn’t think much of it, really. To her way of thinking, age was a mere slap in the face among life’s many blows.
It was those other blows that she still struggled with—an un-faithful husband, a broken home, a daughter’s death. A few lines on her face were hardly worth noticing. She had long since found a way to ignore the pain of Keyes’ betrayal and desertion, but not the pain and horror of death.
At least she didn’t have the one lingering question that most parents in her position had. She didn’t wonder what Amy would have looked like had she lived. She had Zoe.
The question that haunted her now was what Zoe would have been like if Amy had lived.
Watching Zoe picking at her food, pushing her fork around, pouting just as she had as a child, it would be easy to believe she was the old Zoe. But she wasn’t.
The child who was once exuberant, full of life and laughter, sparkle and shine, had been reduced to living in shadows and fogs of doubt. The child who once craved attention now hated it. The child who once saw nothing but the wonderful things life had to offer now saw only the tragic things life could bring.
Because of Amy. Because Zoe felt responsible for Amy.
Zoe blamed herself for not saving Amy.
Now she blamed herself for every child she couldn’t save.
“I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow. Come with me?”
Zoe shook her head sadly as she looked over at her mother. “You know I won’t, Mom. Why do you keep asking?”
“I keep hoping that one day you’ll say yes. You need to face the fact that she’s gone.”
“I know she’s gone, Mom. But she’s not in that cemetery.”
Denise leaned over and touched Zoe’s hand. “It doesn’t matter that her body isn’t there, honey. It’s a memorial to her life, that’s all. A place where I can go and feel close to her.”
“She isn’t there for me.”
“I understand.” Denise removed her hand after patting Zoe’s gently. She changed the subject. “I had the strangest customer yesterday. A man.”
“You get men in the store all the time. What’s strange about that?”
“It was the man himself. Creepy. And he mentioned you. Well, not by name. I mean he asked if I had children. We were just chatting. You know.”
Zoe nodded, barely listening.
“And then he said something about how much it would hurt to lose the one daughter I have left and to hope nothing bad ever happens to her.”
“That’s all he said?”
“That’s all.”
“Just sounds like someone incredibly insensitive, Mom. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Denise nodded and her face cleared. “I’m sure you’re right. So what happened the other day with the Terrance family?”
“I picked up almost everything that child owned. Nothing.”
Denise Shefford sighed heavily. “That poor woman.”
“I know. She had such high hopes, and I wasn’t able to do a thing.” Zoe pushed the pork chop around on her plate, unable to provoke her appetite.
Denise reached over and took her daughter’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You did your best, Zoe. You always do.”
It broke Denise’s heart to see her daughter suffer over every child she couldn’t save. And it didn’t matter how many times she told Zoe it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t to blame. Denise would still see it haunt every aspect of Zoe’s life.
“It’s not enough, Mom. You know that.” She reached for her iced tea, staring at the condensation that ran down the outside of the glass. “And of course my failure to help delighted Detective Josiah Johnson to no end. He was just waiting for me to fall flat on my face. I could almost hear him laughing at me.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t, dear. You just expect too much of yourself.” She buttered a roll and offered it to Zoe.
Zoe shook her head. “You don’t know this guy. He hates psychics. Do you know what he called me?”
“What?”
“A decked-out demagogue of deceit.” Zoe stabbed at a piece of the pork chop and shoved it angrily in her mouth.
“Try saying that three times fast.” Denise smiled as Zoe nearly choked on her piece of meat. “Sorry, dear. I couldn’t resist.”
Zoe swallowed. Hard. “Gee, Mom. A bastion of sympathy tonight, aren’t you?”
Denise dabbed her lips with her napkin and then spread it back across her lap. “Honey, I think what you do is noble, but I also think you’re human. You make mistakes. You can’t always help. As for this detective, who cares what he thinks? He’s probably just insecure.”
Denise studied her daughter carefully. “You do care what he thinks, don’t you?”
“No!” Zoe poked at the green beans, avoiding her mother’s eagle eye. “I just don’t like being insulted.”
“Quit sulking and eat your dinner, Zoe.”
Zoe glanced over at her mother. “Mom?”
“What, dear?”
“Do you believe in God?”
The question genuinely surprised Denise. Her brows arched. “Of course. What a silly question. My heavens, whatever brought that on?”
“A friend of the Matthews woman. She refused to let me help with her missing child because she said that she’s a Christian and I’m not. That a psychic is like. . .working for the devil or something.”
Denise laughed. “There are fanatics in every religion in the world, Zoe. Don’t let her views bother you. God has given you a wonderful gift and you use it to help people. Focus on that, not on what some misguided woman says.”
“I talked with this woman. She said that while my gift is from God, the way I use it is not.”
Denise tilted her head as she studied her daughter. It wasn’t like Zoe to question herself like this. “You use it the only way you know how. I don’t understand what these people are trying to tell you.”
Zoe laid down her fork. “She said that all gifts are from God and that I have a gift of being able to read or discern what is happening in the spirit realm easier than most people. But she said. . . because I don’t ask God for the information—I ask the child—I’m doing something wrong.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey.”
Zoe sighed heavily. “I’m not sure I do either. It made sense when Rene was explaining it to me, but the more time that passes, the less I understand. It’s like if I want to use the gift for God, I have to ask God. And when I talk to these c
hildren, I’m talking to the dead. Supposedly that is expressly forbidden in the Bible.” Zoe threw up her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe I need to look into this more.”
“Well, why don’t you talk with someone who understands this kind of thing? Perhaps our pastor or something.”
Zoe’s sigh released some of her tension. “That’s a good idea.” She picked up her fork. “So how are things at the shop?”
After Amy’s disappearance, Denise had bought a little boutique and named it after her. Amy’s stocked unusual clothing and accessories not found in the bigger department stores. It was a smashing success from the day it opened and was Denise’s pride and joy. Zoe worked there when her mother needed a hand or when Zoe needed extra cash. The arrangement worked well for them both.
“The shop is fine. We just got in a wonderful assortment of fall sweaters from Ireland. Wait until you see the colors! They’re just incredible.” Every time Denise spoke of the shop or the clothes, her hands fluttered like a hummingbird approaching a flower. “And these darling silk shawls came in.”
#
JJ almost felt like smiling. Almost. They were getting close on the Matthews case, and he was optimistic that something would break soon and they’d find the. . .what were the reporters calling him? The Shadow Killer. Geeesh. You’d think they would have better things to do than come up with catchy phrases for a man who snatches innocent little girls off the street and disappears without a trace.
He yawned at a red light. Yesterday had been grueling; he hadn’t gotten to bed until after midnight. He was up and out of the house before seven. It was almost ten now. The light turned green, and JJ edged through the intersection and then turned into the Taco Bell drive-thru to pick up dinner. He was surprised to find a line. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.