An hour later, ensconced in a midrate hotel room where no one would expect to encounter a rich, notorious personage, he sat at the desk and took out his cell phone. A swipe and a tap brought up his photo gallery. He pulled up one of the photos he’d taken of the dead woman in Laurel Adams’s trunk.
Swallowing bitter bile, he forced himself to study a torso shot of the murdered teacher. He could find no bruises on the throat to indicate that the woman was strangled as Alicia had been. No commonality there. In fact, other than the expression of pain or terror—or maybe both—frozen on the woman’s face, there was no outward clue as to how she had died. When he’d leaned in to take the photo, he’d caught the barest whiff of an odd, burnt-almond scent. Poison? Only forensic examination might tell for sure.
He moved to the next photo and peered at the close-up of the tattoo beneath Ms. Eldon’s collarbone. Snapping photos with a phone camera in the dead of night in the middle of a blizzard with only a flashlight for illumination didn’t capture the best images, but this rendering was clear enough to make out the design of a bird’s razor-sharp claws closed around a jewel.
In Melissa Eldon’s case, the jewel was a ruby. Alicia’s had been a sapphire, but there all difference ended. The claws were identical down to the striated ebony of the bird foot and the golden gleam of the talons. Logic leaped to the assumption that the same tattoo artist rendered both drawings. Didn’t that bode well for a possible connection between the women?
David left his photo gallery and brought up his contacts. He had one phone number for Chris, who stood among the few friends he still possessed. Ironically, the friendship had formed as a direct result of the murder investigation that effectively murdered David’s good name. More ironic still, David and Chris had gone to grade school together, though they weren’t friends then. Who would guess David would come to like and respect one of the top investigative reporters in the world during a time when he regarded reporters on a level with the aphids that sometimes attacked his garden?
Actually, he owed Chris his life. If the man hadn’t bluntly gotten into his face with the gospel David might easily have decided to end his personal pain in the final solution of death at his own hand.
However, none of that meant Chris would answer the phone when he called. Chris’s job sometimes dictated undercover antics, and then he became incommunicado. Maybe his marriage a little over a year ago had changed the type of assignments he accepted. David could only hope.
Gut clenched, he hit the call button and listened to it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. At least he didn’t get a message telling him the number was no longer in service. He should have stayed in better touch with his friend after the wedding instead of becoming absorbed in his own pursuits, but hermit habits can be hard to break, particularly when his natural inclinations were reinforced by outward circumstances.
“Mason here. This better rank right up there with a national emergency, David.”
David expelled a spurt of laughter. No warm fuzzies with Chris, but the fact that the man answered when this wasn’t a good time for a chat spoke volumes about their friendship. The knowledge might have put David in a cheerful mood except for the reason for his call.
“I’m in the loop in the murder of another woman, Chris.”
A hissed-in breath, punctuated by traffic sounds in the background, said he’d grabbed his friend’s attention.
“You a suspect?”
“Not this time—not yet, at least—but the body practically landed on my doorstep in the middle of a blizzard. In fact, the main suspects did land on my doorstep—with the victim in their car trunk.”
Chris let out a low whistle. “Give me the thumbnail version.”
“Why don’t I cut to the chase? The woman in the trunk had the same tattoo as Alicia did—and in the same spot under her collarbone.”
“You think somebody may be offing women with similar tats?”
“Not just ‘similar.’ It’s the same tattoo in every detail except the color of the jewel that the talons are holding.”
“You think the two women may be connected.” The words were a statement, not a question.
“I’m hoping they may be connected, and that the connection is related to the reason that they’re dead. Because I know I didn’t kill the schoolteacher in Laurel and Caroline’s trunk.”
“Laurel and Caroline?”
“The mother and daughter who rode out a blizzard with me in my cabin in the Rockies.”
“You think they might have killed Alicia, too?”
“No!” David sucked in a breath. “I mean, I don’t know. If they killed Melissa Eldon, one of Caroline’s middle-school teachers, then maybe.”
“But you don’t think they did it.”
“I’d prefer that not be the case. Besides, I can’t think of any possible connection they could have with Alicia.”
“Hmm.” The sound was ripe with speculation. “I take it that Laurel isn’t middle-aged and married.”
“It’s not that way.”
“Okay.”
Chris agreed too fast, and David ground his teeth together. “I just want some advice on how to uncover a connection between the two dead women that goes deeper than their tattoos. If that connection turns out to include Laurel, then so be it.”
“Take it easy, buddy.” Chris chuckled. “I’ll—”
“Chri-i-i-is! Hurry!” A feminine wail sliced neatly through the conversation.
“Hang tough, honey. We’re almost there.”
Chris’s assuring words had to be for his wife, Maddie, but David had never heard the ex-army communications officer in panic mode. Something really bad had to be going on.
“Sounds like I’d better let you go. Could you—”
“We’re on our way to the hospital,” Chris cut in. “My daughter is eager to be born. Let me—”
“Son!” Maddie’s growl nipped David’s ear.
“We went the old-fashioned way and chose not to know what we were getting,” Chris said. “I need to turn off the outside world right now, including my Bluetooth, but I’ll get back to you when I can.”
“Don’t call me. I’ll call you?”
“Bingo, buddy! In the meantime, think location, location, location.”
“What?”
“Look into this teacher’s background, and compare it to what you know of Alicia’s. If they were ever in the same place at the same time, that spot would be a good place to dig.”
“But how do I find out Melissa Eldon’s back—”
“Chri-i-i-is!”
The phone went silent.
David heaved a sigh, and then said a prayer for safe delivery of this gift from God into the world. Would he ever have the opportunity to hold a child of his own?
Before Alicia’s death, parenthood was the furthest thing from his desire. A kid would cramp his lifestyle. After the crisis had humbled him enough to invite the Lord into his heart, he’d seen the world differently, and a new life to nurture took on growing appeal.
Except for one insurmountable obstacle.
Even if he knew for sure he hadn’t killed Alicia—which he didn’t—he’d never ask a woman to marry a murder suspect and live under that shadow with him, much less subject an innocent child to his stigma. Could this new development change his whole future, or was he destined to live out his days as a man without a family?
SIX
From the corner of her eye, Laurel studied her daughter. Caroline slouched in an easy chair in Janice’s family room as far distant from her mother as possible. Beyond the curtains at the bay window, darkness gathered—an accurate reflection of the mood indoors.
Following an early supper, Janice had retired to her office, and Laurel and Caroline had listened to the radio news. Janice didn’t care for televisions and didn’t have one. Thankfully, there was no mention of the murder of Melissa Eldon or where her body was found. However, that circumstance would surely change sooner rather than later. Laurel had no clue
how she would deal with the media.
At least they now had legal representation. She’d called the law firm David had recommended, and they’d assigned an attorney to the case. The first lawyer-client meeting wasn’t until Monday, unless the police hassled them for more information between now and then.
A few minutes ago Janice had gone out for an evening house showing, leaving her guests to pretend absorption in their reading material of choice—a magazine for Caroline and a book for Laurel. So much ached to be said, but Laurel couldn’t settle on an approach that would avoid the land mines strewn across the miles that stretched between her heart and her daughter’s.
“Why can’t we stay at our house?” Caroline suddenly spoke. “The police are done. They said we could go home. They even want us to take inventory and turn in a list of missing stuff.”
“We’ll do the inventory tomorrow, honey, after a good night’s sleep some place where the deck door isn’t broken so that anyone can walk in.”
“Seems like they already did their worst. Why would they come back?”
“If I could answer that, I might know why someone vandalized our house in the first place.” Laurel refrained from reminding her daughter about the possible connection between the vandal and whoever put the body in their trunk. “I thought you like to stay overnight at Janice’s.”
“I do, but tonight I wanted to sleep in my own bed. C’mon!”
“No can do, sweetie.”
Caroline pouted her lips but the light in her eyes was more resigned than militant.
“I don’t blame you for wanting a familiar bed,” Laurel went on. “I do, too. But at least we were able to go in and get our clothes.” She waved a hand over the comfy but well-fitting jeans and T-shirt she now wore.
She gave silent thanks that whoever trashed the downstairs had left the upstairs alone. Only the police had rifled through the personal belongings, and that was bad enough.
A grin flickered on the teenager’s face. “Yeah. Mr. Greene is a neat guy and all, and Janice is cool, but wearing their clothes got a little weird. Could I just run home quick and get the pillows off my bed?”
The sweet plea in Caroline’s eyes softened Laurel’s resistance. “No, you can’t, but we can. While we’re at it, I might grab mine, too.”
The girl jumped up, smacking her hands together. “All ri-i-ight!”
They threw on their jackets and went out into the chilly dusk. Caroline skipped ahead, bright head bobbing, all little girl for a sliver of time. Laurel smiled as she strode along, content to take up the rear. The streetlight on the corner lent plenty of illumination for the climb onto their front porch.
Laurel unlocked the door. Why she’d bothered to lock it after they collected their clothes this afternoon was a mystery, but the normal activity had made her feel better, so she’d gone with the impulse. She’d even armed the security system, even though the cardboard and Styrofoam over the broken pane of the deck door wouldn’t keep a toddler out, and the security system would take no notice of the intrusion.
“If there’s anything else you want, grab it now,” she told her daughter as they trooped inside. “We’re not making another trip tonight.”
“Gotcha.”
Laurel flipped the light switch for the pitch-dark foyer, but nothing happened. “Oh, bother!”
She’d forgotten that their burglar cum vandal had apparently taken the same baseball bat he’d used on the television to the light fixtures on the ceilings. There were no bulbs anymore on the ground floor. At least not whole ones.
“No worries, Mom.” Caroline’s voice coincided with her feet pounding up the stairs. “I’ll get the light up here.”
“Be careful!”
Laurel’s call was overshadowed by the ring of the house phone. She frowned. The cordless set in the living room sounded muffled, as if it was buried under upended furniture. A light switched on at the top of the stairs and spilled a glow into the foyer, but there wasn’t enough illumination for her to try picking her way through debris to grab the kitchen extension.
“I’m on it,” Caroline chirped, and her footfalls faded down the hall toward her mother’s bedroom.
Laurel hurried up the stairs. Her daughter was talking to someone as Laurel stepped into the master bedroom. Airy chintz curtains in pale blue print, warm maple furnishings and her down comforter swathing the bed conspired to welcome her home. Would it really be so foolish to spend the night in their beds? Caroline might have a point. Why would the burglar come back when he’d already done his worst?
“She’s right here.” Caroline carried the cordless handset toward her mother.
“Who is it?” Laurel mouthed.
Caroline rippled her shoulders in a shrug. With the heel of her palm over the receiver, she leaned toward Laurel. “Must be somebody you know,” she whispered. “He knew my name. Real friendly, but I think he’s got a bad cold.”
Laurel took the handset. Had someone from the office already caught wind of their troubles? She intended to call Howard Brown, the director of the foundation, tomorrow and get his advice on how best to handle the situation to protect SPC. It would be just like Howard to get the jump on the issue and call her at home after hours.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi, there,” a masculine voice rasped. “Glad I caught you home.”
It could be Howard with a bad cold, like Caroline said, but it was hard to tell.
“I’m going to grab my pillows,” Caroline announced.
Laurel nodded, but her daughter was already out the door.
“Who is this?” she said into the receiver.
A scratchy chuckle answered. “We have a mutual acquaintance. Had one anyway. She went on to her just reward.”
Laurel’s throat seized. Was this Melissa Eldon’s killer? What did he want with them?
“Surprised?” the man went on. “You shouldn’t be. I see what you’re up to with that lowlife Greene. Maybe you think he can protect you. He can’t. He needs protection from you.”
This guy was watching them? Where was he? In the house? Her pulse surged. Where was Caroline? On rubbery limbs, she staggered into the hall. Caroline’s adolescent voice singing a current pop tune carried to her ears, along with the thud of opening and closing drawers.
Laurel stopped, gaze fixed on the stairs that loomed empty, ears tuned for a foreign sound anywhere in the house. Nothing but Caroline’s singing.
“Who are you? Where are you?” She spoke the words in a fierce whisper.
“Look out your west window.”
Bile burning her throat, Laurel backpedaled into the master bedroom and parted the chintz curtains. No dark figure lurked in the shadows below. A few yards away, the downstairs of Janice’s house glowed with comforting light. How foolish could she be? Why had she allowed them to leave that haven of locked windows and doors?
Abruptly the light in Janice’s family room winked out. Laurel jerked as if struck. Her mind blanked, and then thoughts spun. A killer was in her friend’s house, and it was her fault. She hadn’t armed the security system or locked the door after them. What should she do? Would he come here next?
“Get out of Janice’s house,” she said, breathless as if she’d run a mile. “Leave us alone!”
Silence answered. The phone connection had been broken. Was this cold-blooded murderer on his way over? Would their dead bodies be discovered among the debris in the morning?
“Caroline!” The word rang with hysteria.
Now wasn’t the time to worry about shielding her daughter from unnecessary alarm. It was time to let fear help them do whatever was necessary to protect themselves and call for help.
*
The ring tone sounded on David’s cell phone, and he trotted out of the bathroom, toweling his wet hair. Chris was getting back to him faster than David had anticipated. Hopefully, that meant the birth had gone well. Which of the pair got their wish of gender? He smiled, congratulations on the tip of his tongue.
&
nbsp; He picked up his phone, and the smile faded. Not Chris. The number on the screen wasn’t one he recognized.
“Hello?”
“David?” It was Laurel, but her voice squeaked as if her windpipe was pinched. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“I just had a—” an audible swallow interrupted her words “—a threatening phone call.”
The hairs at the nape of David’s neck stood to attention. “Who was it? Where are you?”
“I don’t know who it was. He talked like he had a bad head cold. Maybe he was just disguising his voice. Caroline and I are barricaded in my bedroom at our house.”
“You’re not at Janice’s?”
“We came over to get some of our things, and then he called, and he was there!”
“At your house?” Every muscle went stiff. “Are you in danger?”
“No—well, maybe we’re in danger. I don’t know. What I meant to say was that he was at Janice’s house. He told me to look out the window, and then he shut off the light in her family room—right where we’d been until we went next door. It’s been a good ten minutes since then. Among the longest minutes of my life.” She released a bone-weary sigh. “But I think if he was coming after us, he’d be here by now.”
A muffled whimper sounded near at hand. “Tell Mr. Greene he needs to come right away.”
Caroline wanted him there. His heart soared. If only someone would invent a teleportation device for moments like this. So help him, whoever was terrorizing this kid and her mother was going to answer for it. A growl formed in the back of David’s throat, but he bottled it.
“Tell her I’ll be there right away.” He headed for the door, then froze and gazed down at himself. Every molecule screamed haste, but going out clad in nothing but a towel was certain to result in a detour to the nearest lockup.
“Don’t worry about backtracking to our house,” Laurel said. “The police are on the way. I called you because this…this creature mentioned your name.”
Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 Page 28