by Sylvie Kurtz
She sat cross-legged on the swivel chair, cup of coffee in hand, staring at the computer while MapQuest churned the third address Warren had given her mother through its brain. The power had been off until half an hour ago, which left her with half an hour before she had to go pick Brendan up at school.
Dom was a friend. He couldn’t be a lover. Did he really love her? Or was he just feeling sorry for her? Things between them should stay behind their clearly defined lines. But lately everything was blurring—as if the world were seeking to readjust itself. And the odd longing to see that look on Dom’s face again, the depth of soul, the peace so healing in them, flared much too strongly for comfort. She’d almost asked him to stay, to hold her for just a while longer.
She stared into the dark liquid in her cup. Maybe Dom was right. Maybe it was time to give up the crutch of caffeine to get through the day. The way her nerves constantly jangled couldn’t be healthy.
The computer screen changed and told her there was no such address.
Andrew and Alyssa Jones and John Stone had proven common names that rendered her plenty of hits, but revealed no information. Even the specific addresses had gotten her nowhere. Warren’s friends must be merpeople or dolphins because both addresses had landed her in the middle of water: Tampa Bay and the Indian River. And Christopher Bell must be a fish because, according to this map, his address would have put him square in Lake Okeechobee.
Luci reached for the Rand McNally atlas in the magazine rack beside the sofa and turned to the Florida map.
Even in the randomness of Warren’s choices, a pattern emerged. All of those fictional addresses created a belt across central Florida. Because he was familiar with the area and, when pressured by her mother, he’d reverted to the familiar? And how would narrowing Warren’s territory help her? Searching that area was still like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack.
Luci decided to let the questions mull and picked up the list of phone numbers for Warren’s previous victims. She plugged in Carissa Esslinger’s name, hoping to find a current address and phone number.
What popped up did nothing to calm her jittering nerves. Carissa Esslinger’s obituary. She’d died six months ago in a car accident. The same way she’d met Warren. Coincidence always rang bells of alarm. The obituary was stingy with details and Luci desperately needed more information. Seeing that her sister Clara Pressler survived Carissa, Luci did a search on the sister and came up with a telephone number.
“Hello?” came the harried voice on the other end of the line. A kid’s movie and what sounded like a couple of toddlers filled the background with a cacophony of noises.
“Is this Clara Pressler?” Luci asked, fishing around the top of her desk for a fresh pad of paper.
“Yes.”
“My name is Luci Taylor. My sister is currently engaged to the same man who conned your sister, Carissa, out of her investments. I’d really like to ask you a couple of questions if I could.”
A gasp. Then silence thick and heavy pulsed across the country. “Please, Ms. Pressler. Wayne ruined your sister’s life. I’d really like to put him in jail before he ruins my sister’s. She has a seven-year-old son who needs her.”
“I—I don’t know what I could say to help you.”
“Please, I need for you to answer a few questions.”
Hesitation again. A peal of laughter from the kids. Was Clara watching her children, thinking about Carissa’s boy, now motherless? When she answered, her voice was full of tears. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate your help. When I was trying to find phone numbers to talk to some of Wayne’s victims—”
“Victims?”
“Four, at least. My sister is his fifth. I came across an obituary for your sister. I am truly sorry for your loss. I have a bad feeling and would really like to know how she died.”
“He killed her.” Once Clara got started, she built up steam and couldn’t seem to stop. “That son of a bitch killed her. They said it was an accident. But Carissa didn’t drink. She never did. Never. Not before Wayne. Not after Wayne. As bad as he hurt her, she didn’t drink. And why would she wait two years after he left? The cops, they wouldn’t listen to me. They said I was just grieving, that I had to look facts in the face. They said she got drunk because of what Wayne did to her. That she got into her car and drove straight into a telephone pole in the middle of the night. Suicide, they said. But they didn’t know Carissa. She would never do something like that, not to Nicky. She’d never leave her son that way.” Clara’s words strung on a tremor. “She loved him too much.”
“I believe you. He did the same thing to another woman after Carissa. I want to stop him before he does it again. What can you tell me about Carissa and Wayne’s relationship?”
By the time Luci hung up, she was late picking up Brendan and had a picture of Warren that was truly terrifying.
Chapter Ten
The rain gave Luci an excuse to allow Brendan to plunk down in front of the television. He’d wanted to explore the burned-out barn. That reminded her she needed to arrange for cleanup before Brendan got hurt playing in the mess. Between the loss of a season’s worth of dried herbs, her store of packaging and her equipment, not to mention the chickens and the water pump, Luci’s checkbook was taking quite a beating. After setting enough aside for Brendan’s education, she’d spent what she’d inherited from her grandfather on buying and building this farm. And making it on her own was a point of pride.
Maybe it was time for a change. Brendan was in school now. She could take a part-time job. Doing what, Luci? Flipping burgers? It wasn’t as if snipers were in hot demand, especially if they hadn’t fired a weapon in seven years and could probably no longer hit the broad side of a barn.
She shook her head and rolled the chair closer to her work desk in the living room. This is what she wanted. A quiet life. The ties of a community—as dysfunctional as Marston could sometimes be. A safe environment for Brendan. She waved away the dueling images of the burned barn and the balm of Dom’s eyes. Did he really want a life with her and Brendan, or was it simply a misguided sense of responsibility toward his best friend’s wife and son?
She looked over at Brendan, who was sprawled over his usual nest of pillows on the floor, an arm slung over Maggie. The mutt carefully watched every kernel of popcorn that went from bowl to mouth, scooping up the overflow from Brendan’s tiny fist. He was a happy boy. Even growing up without a father, he was still a well-adjusted child.
Then the memory of Dom reading to him invaded her mind, filling her with an odd kind of melancholy. She looked away from her son and turned back to the computer; the sigh she couldn’t contain heaved out. This quiet life couldn’t be Dom’s dream.
But if they stopped Warren, saving Jill’s future, if not her happiness, was still possible.
The DVD of Wishbone episodes would keep Brendan happy for a bit before restlessness drove him to other mischief. The noise of the television and the distance of the desk would keep Brendan oblivious to her conversation.
She picked up the phone and dialed. Still no answer at Sharlene Vardeman’s home. Luci didn’t leave another message. She didn’t want the woman to think a nut was stalking her. Katheryn Chamber’s number also yielded an offer to leave a voice mail message. Luci declined. She’d verified both numbers. All she could do was keep trying until she got a hit.
After rereading the interviews of Laynie’s friends, Luci looked up their numbers and reached Marilu Bartles. The bond of someone having scammed a loved one quickly overcame their being strangers. Marilu was more than willing to dish the dirt on Willis Morehouse.
Luci had written down the questions she wanted to ask and started going down the list. “How did he meet Laynie?”
“Her parents love to entertain and they give great parties. He was the date of Laynie’s friend, Gwyn Witmer.”
“How good of a friend was Gwyn? Was she someone Laynie would have trusted?”
&nbs
p; “She met Gwyn at a day spa in Dallas.”
“Gwyn’s from Dallas?”
“No, Austin. They were both in Dallas at the same time.”
Another coincidence. A planned one?
“They hit it off right away,” Marilu said. “And Gwyn liked to go to museums, so when Laynie wanted to go see an exhibit, she’d call Gwyn. I wasn’t a big one for looking at pictures of slashes of paint and oohing and aahing at the artist’s genius when my kid could do the same. I like to recognize what I put on my wall, you know.”
“I can understand that. Do you have a phone number for Gwyn?”
“Not a current one. She moved a few months ago to be closer to her sick mother.”
“Moved to where?”
“I don’t remember. She wasn’t my friend.”
Checking with the post office probably wouldn’t yield anything, but you never knew. Gwyn had moved less than a year ago, so they could get lucky. Luci made a note on the pad of paper. “Did Willis give Laynie anything?”
“Like what?”
Thinking of Jill’s ring that Dom had said belonged to Laynie, Luci said, “Jewelry.”
A long whoosh of air traveled through the connection. “Well, there was the ring, of course. And a pendant. A round diamond on a gold chain. She said he said it reminded him of her smile.” Marilu made a gagging sound.
“That’s what he told my sister, too.” Luci shook her head. Warren didn’t even bother with new lines. He just recycled the old ones. “Did Laynie still have the pendant after he left?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing it on her. But that doesn’t mean anything. She was so distraught, I didn’t notice anything but her tears.”
“That makes sense,” Luci said. Poor woman. Jill was going to be just as devastated when she learned the truth about Warren. If she had any say, Jill wouldn’t share Laynie’s heartbreak. “Can you tell me what the ring looked like?”
“A big emerald surrounded by diamonds. He said it was sentimental. That it belonged to his mother.”
A wash of nausea burned Luci’s throat. The description matched the ring that Warren had given Jill. Had Warren taken the ring off a dead woman’s finger to give to his next victim? “What did he say about his family?”
“That he didn’t have any. Parents dead. No siblings.”
Same old, same old. “Tell me about the wedding.”
Marilu sighed. “Well, the whole thing was trouble right from the start.”
“Why was that?”
“Laynie’s mama, she wanted a big party, you see. Her little girl was getting married. Even if it was for the third time. Willis would have none of it. He didn’t want a big fuss, he said. He wanted to get on with their life together, him, Laynie and Clinton—that’s Laynie’s boy.”
“So who won?” Luci asked, guessing it wasn’t Laynie’s mother. Just as her own mother was finding Warren an adept adversary at thwarting her plans.
“Surprisingly, Willis did,” Marilu said, and Luci would practically see the pout across the miles. “The ceremony was short and sweet. Not that I know this personally, mind you. I wasn’t invited.” Hurt trudged through Marilu’s voice. “He wouldn’t even let her have any of her old friends as attendants. Too fussy, he said. So it was just Laynie’s parents. Clinton was ring bearer. And the preacher. They all went to the Galveston beach house and had the ceremony at sunset on the beach.”
Symbolic? An end to Laynie’s life as she knew it? Could one person be so devious? “Where did they go on their honeymoon?”
“On a three-day cruise to the Bahamas.”
Luci’s heart jumped in her chest. Her voice came out as a squeak. “From Florida?”
“They flew to Miami and boarded a ship there.”
Luci gasped. Miami, where Jill had been last March—right before Laynie had died.
AT FIVE THIRTY-SIX, Dom arrived to a house in chaos and Luci oblivious to it all. Did she want to avoid thinking about the mind-blowing sex they’d shared earlier? God, he loved her. He wanted to walk over to her, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. But after her shower, she hadn’t been able to look directly at him, regret clear in all of her actions. He looked away, regrets of his own seeping a weary weight through his limbs.
Brendan had quite a complicated setup of Matchbox cars, orange plastic track, cans, cookies and sandwiches spread out over the kitchen table. Maggie sat on a kitchen chair, licking peanut butter and jelly that had missed its bread target. Luci was bent over the desk in the living room, her hand racing across a pad of paper.
Dom shooed the dog off the chair. “What’s up, sport?”
“Mom’s talking on the phone.”
“I can see that. How long has she been like that?” Was she on to a promising lead?
“Forever!” Brendan stood on a chair, launched a car down a piece of raised track. The car flew down the track, rode air over the obstacle course of oatmeal cookies and landed with a splat into an open-faced pond of peanut butter-and-jelly-laden bread. Brendan shouted his delight. Maggie sniffed at a spatter of strawberry jelly on the linoleum, then licked it.
“Did you see the barn?” Brendan asked, his eyes bright with little boy wonder.
“I sure did.”
“It all burned down.” He perched two cars, one behind the other, then let go. One jammed against a cookie. The other landed upside down in the peanut butter sandwich. “Mom won’t let me go see.”
“It’s dangerous. The walls could fall on you.”
Brendan’s bottom lip jutted out. “That’s what she said, too.”
The normalcy of the chaos around him, despite the dire circumstances, set off a yearning he shouldn’t dwell on. As much as he loved Luci, her heart wasn’t his. And she’d made it clear enough there was no room in her world for him. After Swanson was in jail, she would close the book on their relationship.
He’d spent a frustrating afternoon keeping Swanson under surveillance. As if he knew he was being watched, Swanson had done nothing, except sit at his desk and work on his computer. Dom would’ve given anything to take a peek at the screen, but all he could do was watch from the outside and wait while he followed up on leads that turned into a series of dead ends. All the while he couldn’t help worrying about Luci—even if she could take care of herself and had two Seekers watching her back.
An unproductive day like the one he’d had made him ravenous and the thought of one of Luci’s home-cooked dinners had given him a touch of lead foot while driving home. Home? He shook his head and looked around the wreck of a kitchen. When had that shift happened? A slump of disappointment sank through him at the thought of a cold peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich for dinner.
“You hungry?” Dom asked Brendan.
“Nah.” With admirable care and precision, Brendan launched another car. It ran right off the table and crashed in Maggie’s water bowl, splashing water all over the floor. His hoot of delight should have caught Luci’s attention. “Did you see that?”
“I sure did. That’s quite a splash.” Dom wasn’t as good a cook as Luci, but he could throw something together. Luci probably hadn’t eaten anything nourishing all day. The coffeepot was full, though. What number was she on? Three? Four? “Hey, do me a favor, sport?”
“What?” Brendan stuffed cars in his jeans pocket, readying for a multiple launch.
“We’re going to have dinner soon. Tell me which you’d rather do. Put the cars away or wipe up the peanut butter and jelly?”
“Aww.” Brendan’s face fell, fully aware playtime was over. “Put the cars away.” How such a small body could put so much sulk into the words amazed him. Cole was like that, too. Always one for fun and games, but never one for cleanup.
“Why don’t I get some water in the sink and you can take your cars through a car wash?” Dom said, capping the peanut butter jar. “They’ll go faster next time if they’re clean.”
“Really?” Brendan checked the underside of one of his peanut butter-gummed racers.
“Guaranteed.”
Dom ran water into the sink, added some dish detergent and settled Brendan to the task of washing up, knowing full well he was creating more of a mess than already existed.
A check with the surveillance team told him Luci hadn’t moved from her spot in the living room for several hours, that they were getting a kick out of the kid’s imagination and that the only human to cross the property line all day was the rural mail delivery postman.
Luci hung up the phone and signaled him to come over.
“You got something?” he asked, chomping on an oatmeal cookie. She nodded, her hand resuming its race across the paper. “First, do me a favor. Freezer. Second shelf on the left.”
“What?”
“There’s a shepherd’s pie there for days like this. Stuff it in the oven at three-seventy-five and we’ll have dinner in an hour.”
He did as she asked and slid the casserole into the oven, checking on the temperature setting and Brendan’s progress before he returned to the living room. She twirled the chair around. Her green eyes were on fire. His body’s reaction was instant and painful.
“I know how Warren found Jill,” Luci said, her voice barely above a whisper to keep Brendan from overhearing. She pulled a sheet from beneath the pad of paper and thrust it at him. “Look at the photo. It’s from March of this year, when Jill was visiting her friend Andrea in Miami.”
The newspaper article was from a charity event, featuring kids and dogs. Andrea, Andrea’s husband and Jill were in the foreground. Jill’s smile had a flustered edge. Children were running around in the background, but a dejected Jeff hung on to his mother’s hand as if he’d lose her if she let go. Jill’s fingers were clasped around Jeff’s hand just as tightly. Neither was feeling too comfortable.
Luci pointed at the date. “It was taken the same week Warren—or should I say Willis?—was in Miami to take his new bride on a three-day honeymoon cruise.”
Dom whistled. “That’s ballsy. Picking out your next pigeon before you’re even done with the current one.”