Detective on the Hunt

by Marilyn Pappano

  Sam frowned. “Why was Ben answering a disturbance call?”

  “He was in the office when it came in. Loud party, forty or so people, lot of booze.”

  JJ called to mind the area across the hall that served as reception, dispatch and detective squad, including a very tall, very broad-shouldered muscular man. “I’m going to guess Ben is the big guy out there at one of the desks.”

  Sam nodded. “Six foot four, solid muscle, can make you confess to anything just so he’ll go away and stop looking at you. No matter how drunk people are, they never want to take on Ben Little Bear.”

  She envied that. When she was in uniform, all the drunks had wanted to take her on. She’d been forced to perfect her combat skills and had developed quite an affection for her nonlethal resources: baton, pepper spray and Taser.

  “When was the last time you saw Maura?” Sam asked Quint.

  “The day I gave her that last ticket.” Quint’s scowl was slightly more fierce than his normal expression. “About two months ago. She was doing forty-eight in a twenty.”

  JJ smiled faintly. “That sounds like Maura. The day her parents gave her that car, she got stopped for speeding in town and again in the county. Notice I said stopped, not ticketed. The officer and the deputy let her go when they realized who she was. I wrote her father a ticket once. Got called back to the station and royally chewed out.”

  “Must be nice to have so much influence.” Cynicism made Quint’s voice dry as parched sand.

  “I can live without it.” She crossed her legs and let her foot tap air a few times. “At home, we have a dispatcher named Carla and a patrol officer named Patrick who know everything there is to know about everyone in town.”

  Quint and Sam exchanged looks before the chief answered. “That would be Morwenna and Lois. Quint, why don’t you show her the conference room and I’ll get them.”

  Quint straightened to his full height easily and fluidly. She, on the other hand, felt the stiffness of two days’ driving and another few hours’ sitting. While she was here, she needed to make time for regular runs, long walks or—her gaze slid from his golden hair over his chest, his narrow waist and narrower hips, down long legs to the black tactical boots he wore—ah, yes, physical activity of some sort.

  Without realizing it, she’d registered at some point that, unlike Sam, he wore no wedding ring. She had only two hard-and-fast rules in her romantic life, and one was that she didn’t dally with married men. She’d pulled enough enraged wives off their husbands’ girlfriends, hands filled with hair and fingernails leaving deep gouges, to know the best sex in the world wasn’t worth that.

  The other rule was that her butterflies had to twirl and her heart had to pitter-patter.

  Check on the butterflies. And—she caught the slight increase of her heart rate—check on the pitter-patter.

  But what were the odds she’d be here long enough to thaw him out?

  * * *

  Showing JJ to the conference room took about five seconds: out the door, turn right, go to the next door. Quint flipped on the overhead, then went to open the blinds on the tall windows. The light flooding the room illuminated the intricate crown molding, original to the building, along with the battered table, cast-off chairs and unwanted desks bunched against one wall.

  “Interesting room,” she remarked as she made her way to a chair. “The marble floor is gorgeous, and the moldings are incredible.”

  “But everything in between sucks.”

  “Except for the windows, pretty much.” She sat at the far end, where sunlight filtered through the blinds. The position would give her a good look at everyone else while she would be shadowy when they looked back. He bet she had all kinds of similar tricks up her detective’s sleeve.

  He should ask Sam if he could go now, but Sam hadn’t included that in his instructions. For whatever reason—probably because Maura lived in Quint’s patrol district—he wanted Quint to know all this, and because Quint was damn grateful to have his job, he was going to obey. But he’d still rather be outside, alone in his vehicle, with nothing for company but the radio broadcasts.

  JJ’s chair was pushed back from the table, leaving her room to cross her legs again. Her spine was straight, barely touching the back of the chair, and except for the heavy jacket, her clothing clung, shirt hugging her breasts just short of straining the buttons, denim stretching over her thighs. Most women he knew with that kind of posture had suffered through years of ballet or gymnastics. He tried to imagine her in leotards or tights, tumbling or pirouetting on her toes, but the image wouldn’t form. Swinging a baseball bat or breaking a board with her bare foot seemed far more likely.

  She brushed her hair back, and sunlight flashed on a stone on her left hand. It was on her ring finger, fiery orange set in gold. A nontraditional engagement or wedding ring, or just a piece of jewelry she liked? He wouldn’t find it hard to believe she was unconventional. Wouldn’t find it hard to believe she was married, either.

  Didn’t matter to him either way.

  “What is your impression of Maura?”

  Embarrassment heated Quint’s neck but luckily burned inward instead of out. From the moment the dispatcher had passed on the call to check the stranger on Maura’s street, he’d known in the back of his mind that this had to do with Maura. Who else on that street was interesting enough for surveillance? The young couple with four kids in the house fifty feet behind where she’d parked? The elderly sisters? The two college girls down the street or Jamey Moran, the deputy fire marshal who was so clean he squeaked?

  But the front part of his brain hadn’t wanted to give it any thought. Now he had no choice, so he gave the most superficial answer that came to mind. “She’s a bad driver with too much time and money on her hands.”

  JJ tilted her head to one side. “That’s it?”

  Acknowledging that he seemed to be getting further away from returning to his vehicle instead of closer, he swallowed a sigh and took a chair near her end of the table, leaving an empty space between them. “I don’t know her. My interaction with her has been less than thirty minutes, all calls combined.”

  That was true. But he was leaving out the fact that the last time he’d stopped her, Maura had offered to remedy the not-knowing-each-other thing if he wouldn’t write the ticket. He’d stood there in her driveway—she’d refused to stop until she reached the house—and smelled the sweet scent of her perfume, watched the breeze mold her already-tight dress even closer to her body, and sweet hell, he’d been tempted. He’d been alone so long. So damn alone. Sometimes he’d missed human contact so much that he’d physically hurt with it, and he’d thought...

  It had shamed him then, and it did now. He’d thought Maura was no one special. She would never mean anything to him. He could use her to ease his pain and never have to bother with her again. He’d never treated women as disposable, but it had held a strong appeal that day.

  Then she’d touched him, and it had had the effect of a gut punch, slamming home one important truth: he didn’t want human contact. He wanted Linny. No one could ever replace her, not for a night, for an hour or a minute, and certainly not some rich girl who thought avoiding a hundred-dollar ticket was worth trading sex for.

  Disgusted with himself, he’d removed her hand, a bit of a struggle when she’d already insinuated her fingers inside his belt and didn’t want to let go. She’d pouted, called him a few names, torn up the ticket and let the wind scatter the pieces. And after that, he’d turned a blind eye to her driving infractions, just like those South Carolina cops did. Don’t poke the bear, his father used to say. The next time he might not walk away with his dignity intact.

  “She was self-centered. Used to getting her way. She fluttered her lashes and smiled real pretty and expected problems to go away. I have no idea why she settled here. There aren’t a lot of restaurants, no clubs that would appeal to
someone like that, no shopping besides Walmart, a couple of small clothing stores and the antique stores downtown, and name-dropping wouldn’t get her anywhere this far from home. Cedar Creek doesn’t have anything to offer her.”

  That was the most he’d said at one time in months. His chest was tight, his lungs empty from putting together so many words. It was an odd feeling, hearing so much of his own voice when he generally got through the day with minimal talking.

  He drew a breath and turned the question around. “What is your impression of her?”

  Her smile was easy. “She was self-centered and used to getting her way. But I don’t think she could really help it, given who she was and where and how she was raised. I don’t think she was strong enough to develop any independence or real sense of character when every soul in her life expected her to be a princess.

  “I babysat her one summer. I had graduated from college, and her mother was busy, and I had some time on my hands before the academy started. She was spoiled, of course, but not rotten. She just expected things to go her way because they always had. It never really occurred to her that they wouldn’t until her parents...”

  Quint watched as JJ’s mouth thinned, her affect darkened. “How did they die?”

  She bit her lower lip, full and soft peach in color, then blew out her breath. “They were murdered five years ago. Home invasion. I had stopped by my parents’ house a few blocks away, so I was the first officer on the scene. Their bodies were found by the housekeeper, but Maura came in a few minutes after I got there and saw...everything.”

  The twinge of sympathy Quint felt surprised him. He’d always been empathetic—most cops were—but the only person he’d felt sorry for in the last year and a half had been himself. Maura had been twenty at the time. How deeply had that sight scarred her? If she hadn’t been strong before, that experience certainly wouldn’t make her any stronger. So she’d coped by running away, by living fast and partying hard and trying her damnedest to forget the memories. By drinking and using drugs and having meaningless sex.

  But sympathy didn’t mean he wanted any contact with her again. It didn’t mean he particularly cared what state her life was in. He just didn’t have it in him to care right now.

  He shoved back the discomfort that admission caused and refocused his attention on JJ. “So, you’re going to go talk to her, make sure she’s okay and go home.” He said it as a statement because that was what he wanted to happen. Like he’d thought earlier, he didn’t want upset in his life. It was routine that got him through the days—and quiet desperation that carried him through the nights—and like a cranky old dog, he needed to stick to that routine as much as possible.

  “Actually, I’m going to look around first. Talk to your dispatcher and your officer, maybe visit her neighbors, her landlord.” Her lips thinned again, but thoughtfully this time. “As I said, she’s very wealthy. Her godfather is executor of her parents’ estate. About ten million went to their favorite charities, but Maura got the rest. I don’t know how many zeroes are tacked onto her net worth, but she gets an allowance of $100,000 a month, which she never completely spent until she came here. She’s young, rich, grieving, vulnerable.”

  Quint ignored the statement that she was going to stay around longer than necessary—he wouldn’t have to deal with her—and laced his fingers together. “So her godfather is concerned because this spoiled rich kid is spending more money than usual?”

  “No, not just that. For all her flaws, Maura was very close to her parents. She left town after they died and traveled constantly until she came here, but no matter where she was, she remembered every holiday—their birthdays, anniversaries, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day—with deliveries of extravagant flowers. Even when she was trekking in Nepal and on a tourist expedition to the South Pole, she sent the flowers. But she missed both their birthdays last month.”

  “Maybe she’s coping better now. Maybe she realizes flowers don’t change anything.” They made the grave site prettier, let people know that the person who occupied that grave had someone who loved them in death as much as they had in life. But they didn’t ease the pain. They didn’t make life any easier. They didn’t help you survive another day or another week. They were a gesture, but a pretty meaningless one from his experience.

  “It was important to her,” JJ disagreed. “Also, in the last three months, she’s only gotten in touch with Mr. Winchester, her godfather, twice by text. The first time, she demanded more cash, and the second, she threatened to sue him for control of the money. Mr. Winchester and his wife are also important to her. They’re her second parents. It’s out of character for her.”

  Quint wasn’t convinced anything was out of character for someone like Maura. Pretty, entitled, spent her money freely, shared herself freely... Unpredictable seemed the best word to describe her. Hell, she’d gone from South Carolina to the South Pole to Small Town, Oklahoma, where her name meant nothing. Out of character seemed to be the only constant in her character.

  But it wasn’t his problem.

  That was the best part of the situation. Once he left the station, he was out of it.

  Chapter 2

  JJ rose from her chair when Sam escorted two women into the conference room. She’d noticed both women when she and Quint had arrived and had presumed Sam got busy on the way back or Lois had gone back on patrol and he’d had to wait until she returned. The women greeted her with friendly smiles and very curious gazes. Oh yeah, they were just like Carla and Patrick at home. In seconds, they’d summed her up, cataloging her from head to toe as efficiently as any machine.

  After shaking hands, she sat down again and told them why she was in town, watching their faces when she named Maura. Recognition lit both pairs of eyes.

  “Wild child,” Lois said immediately. She was the officer, the older of the two, compact and competent, her short hair colored a blast of fresh blue that suited her perfectly. “Lot of money, lot of parties, lot of spending. Drives a flashy little red convertible that I would look so good in—” she preened accordingly “—and thinks speed limits and red lights are more suggestions than actual laws.”

  Morwenna, the dispatcher, was young enough to be Lois’s daughter, pretty, soft, her clothing bright and mismatched enough to present a danger to everyone’s vision. A faint hint of an accent came and went from her voice as she agreed. “I don’t think she’s a bad person. She’s just spoiled. But she’s very generous, too. We’ve run into her and her friend a couple times in Tulsa, and she paid for everyone’s drinks all night long, then took us to a late dinner—er, early breakfast when we were done. And her parties are always popular. I went once—too loud and too much booze and—” she glanced at Sam “—and, uh, weed for me. And the police show up at least every other time, and I didn’t want a lecture from you, Sam, for being at a party where the cops were called.”

  Nothing new there, JJ thought. The cops at home had often gotten called to Maura’s parties. She’d held them at other kids’ houses because the Evans family home would have shaken on its foundations at such goings-on. She’d invited a few friends, who invited a few friends and so on, until two or three hundred people from all over that part of the state showed up. The liquor had flowed freely, the pot had perfumed the air and who knew what else the kids had been doing?

  “You mentioned a friend,” JJ said to Morwenna. “Man or woman? Do you remember a name?”

  The dispatcher propped her foot on the seat of her chair, wrapping her arms around one leg covered in Easter-patterned tights. The yellow chickies, white bunnies and pastel eggs were cute, but the lime-green shirt over a fiery-red tank... It would give Chadwick apoplexy if one of his dispatchers showed up dressed that way.

  JJ liked the outfit for that reason alone.

  “It was a girl, but her name was a guy’s name.” Morwenna pressed her lips together and quirked her mouth to one side while tugging on her
ponytail. “Mick, Mike...no, Mel. The last name was common. Smith, Jones, something like that.”

  Lovely. There was nothing so tedious as searching for someone with a common surname. It was one of Chief Dipstick’s favorite jobs for JJ. “Is Mel a local girl?”

  “Not Cedar Creek. We thought she was a cousin or something. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute little nose—” Morwenna tapped her own less-than-little nose “—little Cupid’s bow mouth. Same attitude, same entitlement.”

  “There was definitely a resemblance,” Lois said.

  “They were really tight for a while. Mel was at her house all the time. She practically lived there. Maybe she did live there, at least for a while.”

  That made sense. Maura had never been a quiet, rely-on-herself sort of person. She needed companionship and entertainment. All that traveling... JJ had thought she was getting acquainted with herself, plumbing depths that no one knew she had, but maybe not.

  “What happened to Mel?” Sam asked.

  “Maura said she went home. She was getting bored with Cedar Creek. She never mentioned where home was for either of them.”

  “When was that?”

  Morwenna shrugged, her vibrant image blurring in JJ’s gaze. “Three or four months ago. I’m not sure. We aren’t really friends. We just hung out a few times.”

  JJ made a mental note to ask Mr. Winchester if there was an Evans relative named Mel—Melody, Melinda, Melanie. As far as she knew, the Evanses had no close relatives. Neither of Maura’s parents had had any siblings, and she’d been an only child herself. But in a lot of Southern families, the Logans included, a cousin was a cousin, no matter how many times removed.

  Sam handed out notepads and pens from the battered desk and asked everyone to make a list of Maura’s associates. While the women started writing, Quint declined. “She was alone when I stopped her, and I didn’t know anyone at the party.” He shrugged. “I’m more likely to recognize those kids’ parents than them.”