She offered it to him and then shuffled through her files again. “I spoke with Ted Foreman in Kansas City and Gina Roper in Dallas,” she offered.
“Both of whom are heading up the investigations in each of those cities,” Brenda concurred through the speakerphone.
“So what do we have here then?” Rain asked. “Are our murderers in alliance with each other? Or do we possibly have a copycat murderer?”
“What do you mean by ‘a copycat murderer’?” Noah faced Rain as she leaned against the spare desk in the corner of the office.
“The murders began in Dallas and spread to Kansas City,” Rain explained. “The first murder here was three months ago, where Dallas first reported the murder of a swinger who was shot in the temple while sitting in their car six months ago.”
“Why would someone copycat these murders?” Chief Noble asked.
“I would speculate to throw us off, make us believe the same person is murdering all of these people, or the same group.”
Noah stared at Rain a moment longer when she finished speaking. He walked to her side, fighting the urge to brush her loose strand of hair from the side of her face. “Why would they do that?” he asked her.
Rain shrugged. “I’ve already confirmed who in our little swingers’ group of friends has registered guns: Ned and Brandy Flynn, Steve and Susie Porter, and Joanna Hill,” she finished, meeting Noah’s gaze when she mentioned Joanna’s name.
“That’s not a lot to go on,” Brenda said through the speakerphone.
Rain walked around Noah and once again rested her fists on the edge of the chief’s desk. “We’ll know more when Noah and I go to the potluck tomorrow. Everyone from that swingers’ group where our four murders came from will be there. But right now, I would guess whoever our murderer is, they want to ride on the high-profile crime this situation has become. They want the fame, the attention, as they take out those they feel, for whatever reasons, no longer deserve to live. It’s a power trip. And I have a feeling they are very pleased the FBI has stepped in to investigate them.”
NINE
Patty Henderson secured the lock box on the doorknob of the house she’d just finished showing and backed away from the door slowly.
“Let’s hope they buy you, sweetheart. Mama sure could use a cruise to the Bahamas. Or maybe Cancún. Anywhere that is far, far away from this town.” She clucked her tongue along with the rhythm her shoes made against the stone-paved sidewalk as she headed to her car. It was already six thirty. “Looks like I’ll be stylishly late.”
The polite thing to do would be to call the Gamboas and let them know that it would be an hour or so before she got there. At least that way she wouldn’t be snubbed. Damn it. She remembered when spending time with her friends used to be fun.
“If these are my friends, who needs fucking enemies?” she hissed.
She pulled out her keys and pushed the button on her key chain. Her car beeped once. Climbing in, she breathed in the new-car smell that still lingered inside. It was all about appearance. Her brand-new Mazda RX-8 was a statement. It said success, but it wasn’t flashy. Not like Steve Parker’s souped-up Miata. Patty didn’t want flashy. She wanted money. And although the payments on this sweet baby were a bit steep, they were worth it to show potential buyers that she was the Realtor who got the job done.
There were two showings tomorrow, and if she got into the office early enough, she could contact Ralph Hipp down at National Bank and see where she stood with a few of her clients. If she was in the office by nine, she should be able to get her phone calls out of the way and be ready for her first showing at ten thirty. There was no such thing as a five-day workweek in her world. Which was fine. Work hard—play harder. That was her motto.
Switching gears as she drove, she forced her thoughts off of work. It was Friday night, damn it. And she had plans. She didn’t need to go by the office again tonight, just head home, shower, and get ready for the potluck. She hoped no one would cringe over her attempt at a fruit salad that she threw together over her lunch. At least she owned a pretty bowl to put it in.
“It’s all about appearance, baby.” She chuckled and adjusted her rearview mirror to catch her reflection. “Not bad for five o’clock.” She wouldn’t voice that it wasn’t bad for forty-one, either. No reason to dwell on her age and bring herself down.
Maybe her friends weren’t the best a person could ask for. Once, things were different. But something changed. She thought back, remembered when swinging was something casual and not a goddamned competition. But she’d gotten herself wrapped into this world, and now it was like a fucking addiction.
“And what’s wrong with that?” She licked her lips and slowed at the stop sign, then accelerated out of the ritzy neighborhood where she’d already sold two houses. “Let Joanna think she’s cream of the crop. Darling, you might be younger, but you sure as hell aren’t better.”
If she was, then why did Steve come to Patty all the time on the side?
“Because you’re good, baby. You are so damned good. And you know it.” Other men stopped by, too, from time to time. Not that Steve needed to know that. Not that anyone needed to know. “It’s my own damned business,” she stressed out loud, feeling a twinge of nerves and forcing herself to suppress them.
That’s what had changed with the group of swingers she was with. It was a control thing.
“And no one controls Patty Henderson but me!” she insisted. She would just let them think they controlled her.
Again the nerves twisted and tingled inside her, a rush of trepidation hitting that she didn’t like. But there wasn’t any turning back now. She was in way too deep and she knew it. It wasn’t like her swinging life was all that bad. She had some really good times, and recently, too.
Maybe she’d call Elaine and Oscar. They were an awesome couple. It was a blast the last time she went over to their house. Although Elaine wasn’t much into women, Oscar was one hell of a good fuck, and Elaine had filmed Patty fucking him. Then, sitting around and drinking beers afterward, she’d never laughed harder as they watched the film. My God, she sure as hell didn’t look twenty anymore. All of them enjoyed the hell out of watching that film, almost as much as they did making it.
“Sell a few more houses, sweetheart, and you can get that boob job.” A few nights at the gym and she saved thousands of dollars on a tummy or ass job. “You’re looking good,” she told herself. “And you’re even better than you look.” One final glance in her rearview mirror and she readjusted it.
So, a few phone calls, a shower, slip into the slinky dress she’d picked up at the cleaners, and it was off to party!
“Okay, Elaine and Oscar,” she said out loud, and dug her phone out of her purse while keeping an eye on traffic. Early Friday night—traffic was a bitch. “When did I miss a call?”
She recognized Steve Porter’s private cell-phone number, the one his wife didn’t know about, and fought the urge to growl. He always got so pissy when she didn’t take his calls immediately.
Fine. She’d call him back and then call Oscar and Elaine. At least then she could relax and enjoy their laid-back nature without tension building in her if she put off Steve any longer. She prayed that Oscar and Elaine remained fresh, didn’t get tangled into the conniving, manipulative web that wound itself tighter and tighter around her group of friends. Maybe she should warn them the way she did that new couple who’d just moved to town.
Goddamn. It was a fucking mistake taking Joanna with her to their house. Joanna said she saw the damage happening, agreed that the murders were getting out of hand. But Joanna was a twit, a stupid bitch.
“And I know you’re fucking her on the side, too, Steve Porter.”
One thing about Patty’s line of work: she was a pro at working a cell phone and dodging around traffic. Hell, she could even text message and drive, not that she would brag about that to anyone and hear their goddamned lectures.
She hated lectures, hated being manipulat
ed, and, most of all, hated being judged, unless it was in her favor. The world needed to see her as a success, capable of taking on anyone, or any matter, and coming out on top. If someone didn’t have something to offer her, she really didn’t have any use for them.
“And that doesn’t make me shallow,” she reminded herself. “That means I’m strong, aggressive, a go-getter.”
Pushing the button to return Steve’s call, she let her mind wander to the last time he’d stopped by. Earlier this week, over lunch, and damn, did he fuck her! If Steve weren’t so incredibly skilled, she’d probably tell him to go to hell. He was so stuck on himself. Hell, everyone’s shit stunk every once in a while.
“Just not mine!” She laughed out loud and then adjusted her earpiece in her ear.
It rang once, twice, while her stomach slowly twisted in knots. There was something else about Steve, about his aura, his persona. His demanding, confident nature made him a man to reckon with—one to keep an eye on, and as well to keep on her good side. If that meant fucking him, then so be it.
More than once she thought he was probably the one murdering those in their group who weren’t compliant. It would be just like him. There was a pattern creating here. And she couldn’t be the only one seeing it. Anyone who didn’t agree with the group majority’s decisions, who tried calling the shots, or who ruined it for everyone else was dying.
Idiotic, yes. Insane, most definitely.
And a challenge that she could handle.
“God. I’m not a sick bitch, am I?” She hated the nerves that tingled furiously now inside her. “I’m not the one who decided to start killing people,” she told herself, and drew in a soothing breath.
When it went to voice mail, she hung up. He would see the missed call, know she was returning his call. Good enough. She reached for her phone and scrolled down her phone numbers and then pushed to call Oscar and Elaine.
“Hello,” Elaine’s soft, almost girlish-sounding voice chirped.
“Hi, Elaine, it’s Patty.”
“Hi there, hon. Are you headed to the Gamboas’? We just pulled up here.”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m headed home. I just finished a showing.”
“Remember us when you make that first million.” Elaine laughed.
Patty chuckled along with her but took the words to heart. “You’ll be one of the few I remember,” she said honestly. “I should call Ted and Jan. I’m obviously going to be a bit late.”
“We’ll let them know you’re on your way. It looks like there’s a few here already.”
“Oh? Who is there?”
“Butch and Brandy.”
“Of course,” Patty said. “The perfect couple.”
“What’s that make us?”
“Also perfect,” Patty assured her. “Is Joanna there yet?”
“No. And nor are the Porters from what I can see. There’s a car here I don’t recognize.” Elaine kept talking about the style and make of the car, and Oscar said something in the background that made both of them chuckle.
Patty pulled into her driveway and didn’t hear a word that Elaine said. She was distracted by the car parked out front. “I’m home, hon. Let me take a quick shower and I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Patty didn’t bother pulling into her garage. Turning off the car, she headed to the house, waving over her shoulder. “Come in if you like. I need to hop in the shower.”
Hurrying inside and kicking off her shoes, Patty grumbled to herself, “It’s not like we wouldn’t see each other in a few at the potluck.” But a hard, fast rule that she would never break—always let them see you smile. Even when she was tired, her feet hurt, and she was in a hurry. And even when that person was royally starting to get on her nerves. “Why the hell are you here anyway?” she whispered.
She stripped out of her clothes and tossed them on her bed, then headed naked down the hallway to the bathroom. Her alarm system buzzed once and she heard the door close.
“Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a minute,” she called out, then closed herself in the bathroom.
What she wouldn’t do to simply soak for an hour or so. And she would have, if she weren’t already running late. She took time to shave, though. Not that she ever assumed anything, but it would be nice to get some tonight. She deserved it. She worked harder than anyone she knew, damn it. And she deserved her pick of men—several men, all at once.
Patty smiled at her reflection in the mirror, took her time with her makeup, and dried and teased her hair before heading back to her bedroom. “Where are you?” she called out.
There wasn’t any answer, which was fine with her. She would never be rude, but it sure didn’t bother her if others were. As long as they didn’t step on her toes, she didn’t care.
At quarter till eight, Patty grabbed her fruit salad, slipped into her comfortable sandals, and turned out the lights. Then keying in the code on her house alarm, she headed out the front door and closed it behind her.
“Fine. Show up, don’t say a word, and then leave.” She wondered how some people made it in this world without people skills.
Not that she fooled herself into thinking it was a perfect world. Hell, she knew better than many that it wasn’t. How many times had she witnessed rude people trudging ahead in life?
Just look at the people she called friends. Steve was a prick. And if the IRS ever audited him, he’d go to prison. And don’t even get her started on his lame excuse of a wife, Susie. What did he see in her? Patty definitely bought into the theory that Susie had entered that marriage with a lot of money. Not that Patty would ever ask. But Steve would marry for money. He sure as hell wouldn’t do anything for love. Where was the gain in that?
That was about the only thing she and Steve agreed on.
Then there were Butch and Brandy. God, they sounded like names people would call their pet dogs. And in truth, their names fit. Patty saw right through the charade from the beginning. Butch played the good old boy routine to the hilt. And working at the grocery store as a butcher, he saw everyone, knew everything, and could pass on gossip in any shape or form that he saw fit. Patty wasn’t stupid enough to think that only white-collars had power. Butch could destroy a person over a lunch hour while slicing meat and spreading false rumors. And Butch could add to anyone’s small realm of power, too, if he was properly motivated. Patty would openly admit he’d sent more than one client her way.
Butch had his kink, though. Brandy didn’t like anal sex. But Patty didn’t mind it. Hell, if it was done right, she loved the hell out of it. So Butch got what he wanted, and in return, he gave Patty what she needed: more clients. That didn’t fool her into thinking she was the only back he scratched, though. Butch was in it for Butch.
“And Steve, you better watch your ass, too,” she said, and damn near grinned over the picture of Butch taking Steve down. What she wouldn’t do to see that if it ever happened.
Brandy couldn’t be head bitch, though. Not that anyone was in charge of her. Patty about puked, the way the women hovered around Susie. That little waste of a woman brought down every party she attended. She wouldn’t give head, she didn’t take it in the ass, and she never touched any of the women. Yet the men always fucked her.
Patty didn’t get it. Not at all. Susie was a hundred pounds dripping wet, if that. There wasn’t a damn thing appealing about her that Patty could see. Steve once told her that a man will stick his dick in any willing pussy. Men were sluts and they didn’t care as long as the woman was willing. That didn’t help Patty understand. She was willing. Why would anyone choose Susie over her?
Of course Brandy wasn’t that much better. She had big tits, and maybe she was cute, for someone who’d had four kids. Who would want so many children?
Patty saw through her, too, though. The way Brandy kissed Susie’s ass, like she actually liked her or something. Patty would bet that Butch didn’t cheat on Brandy. He didn’t strike Patty as that kind
of guy. But Brandy? The jury was still out on that one. Patty would argue in favor of the probability that Brandy put out when it suited her.
There was that new boob job Brandy got last year. No way could Butch afford that sort of thing on his salary. And Brandy sure as hell didn’t work. All she did was stay home and watch her brat kids. Nope. Brandy probably put out where it counted. And Patty would bet Brandy told Butch about it, too, made him agree that her giving some on the side was worth him having a youthful-looking wife for a few more years.
“I’m starting to think I’m the only normal one in the bunch,” Patty said, and headed across the lawn to her car in the driveway. “Everyone knows the Gamboas fight worse than cats and dogs. Tonight’s party at their house should prove interesting.” She would not allow herself to get down again over the fact that her house wasn’t chosen for this month’s party. “Why does Susie get to decide where the parties are every month, anyway?”
If Jan started into her heavy drinking, that would be the sign that the party would go to hell. She was a funny drunk toward everyone but her husband. And it was always that damned boxed wine. But once Jan turned to it full force, the rest was too easily predicted. How many times had Patty and Joanna sat back and counted down the minutes before Jan started attacking her husband?
It would start slow, little pokes, an innuendo dropped here or there, and then the insults would begin. Patty didn’t get why Ted didn’t see the signs as easily as everyone else did. One would think that after being married to Jan for so many years, and swinging for at least as many, he would know once his wife started insulting him that he needed to keep his wandering hands off of the other women at the party.
Either Ted didn’t care or he got off on his wife attacking him. Patty shook her head when she thought of Joanna’s nice candelabra that Jan threw at her husband at the last gathering they had. Maybe it was just as well that the party wasn’t at her house. Susie might think she was snubbing Patty by not selecting her to be hostess. But in truth, Susie was doing her a favor.
Long, Lean and Lethal Page 15