“He was curious about the whole Church of the True Believer thing, remember?”
“He was.”
“It worries you?”
“It’s probably nothing.”
Cass cleared her throat. “You came to the courthouse to check on something. What was it?”
“I’d hoped that Sheriff Studebaker would have some news about Calvin Whitman’s son. And I wanted to go over those files on Jackson, Holland, and Ross to see if there’s anything about their murders that links back to our little killing trio.”
“Did you check with Hoffner?”
He reached for the stack of files in the middle of the conference room table. “Darla took him a plate of food earlier. He’s still waiting for Studebaker to call.”
“Do you want help with those files?”
“No, I’d rather do it myself.”
Cass touched Maxine’s newspaper clipping in her pocket. “I’ll go see if Kado needs a hand with anything.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to have your hand helping with anything,” Mitch said.
Heat rushed up Cass’s neck and cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Darla smacked her husband’s shoulder and he winced. “He watches you, Cass. Maxine noticed and so did I,” Darla said, leaning close. “Last night at the Franklin house. Today at the cemetery. And he seems like a nice guy. What’s wrong with getting to know him a little better? It’s not like you’re dating anybody.”
Cass looked back and forth between Mitch and Darla, two people who loved her as much as her own family did, and took a big step. “He lost his wife not long ago.”
Darla nodded. “Kado told me about it.”
“He did?”
“Yes. It was a horrible experience. I think it broke his heart to lose Caroline, but he’s healing now.”
“I’m not interested in being the rebound girlfriend.”
“I don’t think he’s that kind of guy, Cass. He’s not pinballing from woman to woman, trying to mask the pain of losing his wife. Kado’s grieved for her, maybe still is grieving, but I think he’s someone you can trust.”
“And he’s got the hots for you,” Mitch repeated, dodging Darla’s smack. “If he’s mean to you, Bruce and Harry will punch him out.”
“That did wonders for my dating game in high school.” She drew a deep breath. “Okay.” She cut her eyes at Mitch. “I’ll go ask if he wants that hand. We’ll see what happens next.”
CHAPTER 122
PETCHARD MADE THE TRIP to the elementary school in record time. He circled the buildings and found a pile of cigarette butts near a back door, but no kids or open windows or doors. He reported in to the dispatcher that all was clear and then hurried back to the square.
Inside The Golden Gate Café, he slipped the mirrored sunglasses onto his forehead. Junie was nowhere in sight. Petchard nodded at an older couple seated in the corner booth and then waved to Sally Overheart in the kitchen. She slid plates of food onto a tray and met him at the counter. “Goodness, that’s some sunburn. Have you put any aloe on it? I have a plant in the kitchen.”
“That’s okay,” he said, wondering what kind of freaky new age voodoo aloe was. “I thought Junie was working after the funeral.”
“You just missed her,” Sally said, filling glasses with iced tea. “She had a headache. Stan told her to take the afternoon off.”
“Is she all right?”
“A little dehydrated after the funeral. She’ll be fine.” Sally handed him a take-away cup and hefted the tray. “She’s been gone about twenty minutes. Give her a call; I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
Petchard thanked her and sat at a table. He slipped his cell phone out but hesitated before dialing Junie’s number. For the first time in their relationship, he was confused about her feelings for him. There was something different about her today. She’d been distant, almost distracted. Which was worrying. Junie always paid close attention to everything Petchard said, hung on his every word, but this morning at the church and at the cemetery, he’d found her gaze locked on Mojo more than once. When he asked if she was all right, she smiled and re-engaged in the conversation, but kept sending surreptitious glances at Mojo. Seeing his fellow officer climbing from Junie’s car had been almost too much. Mojo hadn’t returned to the station this afternoon. No one would expect him to, of course, but Petchard wondered where he was now.
At that thought, the green-eyed monster woke and raked its claws through Petchard’s bowels. He responded by snapping the phone closed, waving good-bye to Sally, and stepping back into the oppressive heat. Sweat popped out on his forehead and between his shoulder blades and Petchard sucked the last of his iced tea while slipping his shades back on. Trotting toward the square, Petchard’s mind crawled with images of Mojo sitting in a booth: Junie smiling as he ordered; touching his shoulder; offering a comforting word. A man who had set foot in The Gate perhaps twice in his whole life now practically considered it his home away from home. And combined with Junie’s reluctance to spend time with Petchard this week, there was only one conclusion that worked.
Stomach churning, he glanced at his watch. It was against policy for an officer to use his personal vehicle for business purposes, but Petchard reasoned that he wasn’t going to see Junie on business. Instead of rounding the courthouse to pick up his cruiser, he made a beeline for his pickup.
CHAPTER 123
A CLOUD OF DUST stirred up by the young herd hung heavy in the mid-afternoon air. The old man studied his pasture with a practiced eye and wondered how long he could afford to feed this crop of calves. His Bermuda grass, normally full and lush by now, was brown and dry enough to burn. If the rains didn’t come, and soon, he’d have to sell most of his stock. The cost of rebuilding his herd and his pastures would be enormous if this drought continued.
His phone chirped and the old man put his truck in park. “David Wayne? News?”
“We’re clear,” Mayor Rusted panted. “They’ve found nothing to link Calvin Whitehead to The Church.”
The old man studied the yearling heifers in their portable corral. Hitch and his crew were sorting the cattle for branding or a trip to the sale barn. The process was running smoothly, with little upset to the young animals. Hitch seemed to have a way with them, and had selected men who were experienced in handling cattle. The old man slipped his pipe between his lips and puffed. “How do you know this, Mayor?”
“I asked.”
The old man spat the pipe out. “You did what?”
“I asked Detective Stone if there was any link between Whitehead and The Church. He confirmed that there was not.”
He rubbed his eyes with gnarled fingers. “David Wayne…,” he began.
“I asked about the Franklin and Moore murders, for cover. They’re none the wiser.” The man’s voice rose in pitch as though sensing the old man’s disapproval.
A rambunctious heifer broke away from the cowboy who was holding her. He grabbed a lasso and the rope floated through the air. With help from his partner, he pulled the heifer in, rolled her onto her side, and branded her. She was up and he was pushing her toward a gate before she knew what had happened. The old man lowered his window and the smell of burned hair and hide wafted in on air hot enough to bake bread.
He slipped the pipe back between his teeth. “Let it rest, David Wayne, and let’s see what happens next.”
“Of course,” the mayor answered, relief in his voice. “I wanted you to know that we’re safe.”
“I appreciate it. We’ll have no further contact unless something unexpected happens, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The old man snapped his phone shut and wondered if Mayor David Wayne Rusted had outlived his usefulness, and settled in to watch and wait. Hitch was home, and if the mayor acted rashly in the future, it would be short work to shut him down.
CHAPTER 124
CASS OPENED THE DOOR to the forensics room to see Kado positioning a digital camera over a piec
e of paper. She waited while he took several photos. “What is that?” she asked when he straightened.
“A long shot.”
“What do you mean?”
“These are the envelopes used to deliver the letters about Mojo.”
Cass blanched. “Fingerprints?”
Kado nodded and transferred the images to his computer and labeled them.
“Did you fume them?”
“No, this is something new. I soaked some bond paper with a solution of ninhydrin and acetone, let it dry, then sandwiched each envelope between two pieces of the treated paper to let the solution soak in on either side. All you have to do is run a hot iron over the sandwich and the prints show up.”
“How many did you get?”
“Maybe two dozen on all five envelopes. If I don’t get anything from these, I’ll look for prints on Emmet’s letters.” He loaded the first fingerprint into IAFIS and set the system running. When he turned to her, his face was flushed and the words tumbled from his mouth. “I need to apologize for jumping you like that yesterday.” He drew a steadying breath. “I owe you an explanation. You know that my wife died not long ago?”
She nodded.
“I haven’t even been interested in women since then. Until I met you, looking at a woman was like looking at a piece of furniture.”
Cass waited.
“But you’re different. Do you remember the first time we met?”
She smiled. “I do.”
“I’d been out at the hot house that burned, the one where somebody was growing marijuana. I’d been up all night, smelled like bad barbeque, and was covered in ash. Old Comfrey left the forensics lab in a mess and I was wondering how I’d ever get it organized and manage all the normal forensic work. In other words, I was totally distracted. But seeing you in the squad room knocked the air out of me.” Kado looked at the computer screen and loaded another fingerprint. “It was the first time I’d felt a hint of life since Caroline died. And then I didn’t feel anything but guilt. For most of my life, she was the only woman for me. We were perfect for each other. Thinking about you, being attracted to you, it felt like I was betraying her. I thought that if I didn’t let you have any space in my head that I could get rid of you, of the way you made me feel.”
“Did it work?”
“No.” Kado sat in his desk chair and twirled gently from side to side. “Because you started showing up in my dreams. And Caroline started to fade away.”
“I’m sorry,” Cass said in a low voice.
Kado’s face was pale now. “Before she died, Caroline told me that if I loved her, I’d keep breathing so that one day, I could live again. That’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. And I promised her that I would try.”
Cass’s heart was pounding and she leaned into a cabinet, careful not to bump the microscope. “Why are you telling me this now?”
His gaze was intense. “All the death this week has made me realize how uncertain life is. I knew it from Caroline’s death, but we had time to plan for that. Mrs. Franklin, Joseph, Donna Moore, Calvin Whitehead. They didn’t know what was coming for them, had no idea that they would die this week.” Kado looked down at his hands and his voice was quiet. “You’ve let me breathe again. I have to know if we can even try to have a relationship.”
She drew a slow breath, allowing her lungs to fill to the point of bursting before slowly releasing the air. Kado was offering her something she hadn’t considered possible in years, a chance to have a normal relationship. For the first time since the rape, she reached out instead of closing in, and said, “Yes.”
His gray eyes shot up to meet hers, a careful hope in them. “Yes?”
“Yes. We can try.” She held up a hand as he started to speak. “I understand that you’re still dealing with,” she hesitated, “Caroline’s death. I get that. But as a disclaimer, you should know that there are things about my life that are screwed up. Things that make me who I am, but that I’ve never talked about.”
“Do you want to talk now?”
“Maybe not ever. But how about we try over dinner tonight?”
A dimple dove deep into his cheek when Kado smiled, and he turned back to the computer. “Dinner’s good. Did you come in for something specific, or just to hear me spill my guts?”
“Does that ninhydrin soaked bond trick work on any type of paper?”
“Most types, yes.”
Cass pulled the bagged note from her pocket and held it out to him. Kado read it and looked up. “‘Talk and I’ll cut them off. I’m watching.’ What is this?”
“It’s one of those things that make me who I am, and that I’ve never talked about. Can that be enough for now?”
His nod was slow. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Lift some prints and run them.”
Without a word, he gloved up and took the note from its baggie, then slipped it between two pieces of ninhydrin impregnated bond and placed the tray in a cabinet.
Maybe Maxine is smarter about men than I give her credit for, she thought. “How long?”
“A few hours.” His computer dinged and he turned. “You idiot,” he breathed. “Smart enough to keep your prints off the letters but not off the envelopes.”
Cass peered over his shoulder. “I can’t believe he has the brains or the balls to write letters like that.” She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Kado called.
“To find Rob Conroy,” Cass said, “and finish him.”
CHAPTER 125
“YOU’RE SURE THIS IS it?” Joseph asked.
Emmet nodded. “Not much to look at, is it?”
“On a waitress’s salary, maybe it’s all she can afford.”
“Don’t forget her cousin. If they came to Arcadia to hunt us, he’s probably staying here, too. No point in spending extra money on rent.” He studied the old house and barn. “It’s quiet. I’m going to take a closer look.”
“He might be here.”
“Or he might not. Cover me while I head for the barn. Ready?”
Joseph nodded when he really wanted to shake his head, and watched, gun ready, as Emmet crouched and ran across the overgrown patch to the back of the weathered barn. Their trip through the pasture and woods had been uneventful, but Joseph’s senses prickled with each step, sure that someone was watching. As Emmet peeked inside the filthy windows at the back of the barn, Joseph scanned the trees around the house and spotted a security light on a pole, but no cameras. Emmet waved him forward.
“There’s nothing in the barn but tools and an old pickup,” Emmet told him. “Let’s go check out the house.”
Over Joseph’s whispered protests, Emmet squatted and peered around the corner to examine the old farmhouse. After a moment he pulled his head back. “All the shades are drawn on this side. There’s a small front porch, but I can’t see much of it. There’s probably a back door, and maybe a cellar. Come on.”
He sidled to the barn’s corner and took a look. “Cover me,” he said, but before he could move Joseph grabbed his arm and dropped low to the ground. “What is it?” Emmet snapped.
“Listen,” Joseph whispered.
Emmet’s eyes widened as the sound of tires crunching across gravel reached them. The car drew closer and stopped, its engine idling. A chain rattled and protesting doors trundled open, then a car door slammed and the engine revved. They felt vibrations through the aged slats as a vehicle pulled into the old barn. Then the engine died, the doors slid back into place, and the chain rattled again.
They waited, but heard no door open. Emmet lowered himself to the ground, parting a patch of thigh-high Johnsongrass to watch the house. A door finally slammed and he lay prone for several minutes before pulling back and joining Joseph against the barn wall. “It’s a chick. Junie,” he whispered. “She walked around the house before going inside. I guess she was checking to see if anybody’s been here since she left.”
“He
r cousin’s not here?”
“Since she’s checking the perimeter, probably not. Let’s get inside.”
Joseph put a hand on his arm. “What if she’s sitting there, waiting for her cousin or watching TV? What then?”
“She’s just come in from work and will be distracted getting changed, or whatever chicks do when they get home. No time like the present, man. Let’s go.”
Emmet checked the house again and with Joseph covering him, darted for its side. Joseph followed, heart pounding. His eyes widened as a mechanical rattling started and settled into a steady hum. A chugging whine followed.
“Air conditioner,” Emmet said. “Window unit. And a water well.”
Joseph drew a deep breath and released it. “What are we going to do?”
“Find Junie and make her tell us who’s trying to shoot our asses. It’s that simple.” He studied his friend with somber eyes. “It’s still not too late to back out, Joseph. I can do this alone. Go back to the car and wait.”
“No.” A drop of sweat fell from Joseph’s nose. “I’m in.”
Emmet nodded. “It’s gonna get nasty. No two ways about it. Stay behind me and don’t pull the trigger unless you absolutely have to. And if you do shoot, try not to hit me.” He turned then, and crept toward the back of the house.
CHAPTER 126
WITH ONE HAND PRESSED to her forehead, Junie reached behind the curtain and turned the shower on, then opened the medicine cabinet. The headaches had lost their intensity in the last few years and she could usually manage with over the counter painkillers. The prescription for Imitrex was long out of date; she hated the drug’s side effects and avoided taking it unless the migraines grew unmanageable. A flash of pain stabbed behind her right eye. She leaned against the countertop and tried not to vomit, then twisted the child-proof cap and compromised, popping a single pill.
Holding her head as steady as possible, Junie stepped back in the bedroom and turned on the ancient air conditioner perched in the window. She’d snapped on the unit in the living room downstairs when she came in, planning to check the GPS units in the men’s cars, but now decided to take a nap and let the drugs work. She stripped and checked the shower. In this old house, the water heater was located next to the kitchen, and it took ages for the hot water to make the climb up the ancient pipes to the second floor. Junie leaned into the mirror to examine her face. Eye liner and lipstick were a hassle to remove, and she couldn’t be bothered.
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