Killer Heat

by Brenda Novak

  Jonah spoke up. “We believe you about that.”

  “What?” She gaped at them.

  “I said we believe you. So why not tell your mother we’re here?”

  Confused, she said, “I don’t want to, that’s why. Now go away. You’ve caused us nothing but grief. Our dog’s dead because of you. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”

  Francesca hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “What about all the women who’ve been killed, Paris? You care more about a dog than you do about them?”

  “Maybe Dean did kill them. I don’t know. He’s a whack job. I’m not responsible for what he does.”

  “I’m touched by your empathy,” Jonah muttered.

  She tried to shut the door again. “And I’m calling the cops if you don’t get your foot out of the way and leave me alone!”

  Francesca scrambled to stop her. “Julia must’ve been close to your age, Paris. Were you two friends?”

  Paris’s fingers whitened as she clutched the door, but she lowered her voice. “She was a worker here, that’s all. Someone my mom hired. That doesn’t mean we had to be close.”

  “And April Bonner? Did you know her, too?”

  “You think I want to talk about all the women my husband slept with? Get out of here, like I said!”

  She kicked at Jonah’s foot, giving him no choice but to remove it. Anything less could be construed as forcible entry; Finch and Hunsacker hadn’t been pleased to learn they were coming out here in the first place.

  Paris slammed the door and they started back to the car, but before they could get in, Francesca heard her name.

  “Ms. Moretti?”

  Elaine Wheeler had come to the door. Francesca turned back. “Yes?”

  “You…you have a message for me? From my boy?” Dressed in a flowery summer shirt and what Francesca’s mother would call culottes—longish shorts that looked more like a skirt—she could’ve been taken for a sweet grandma except for the obvious signs of distress. Gone was the wig she normally wore, revealing a few wisps of gray hair pinned tightly to a pink scalp. And red-rimmed eyes peered through cat-eye glasses with bifocal lenses.

  “He’s scared, Mrs. Wheeler,” Francesca said. “He wants you. He wants to come home.”

  “Are they…are they treating him okay? He needs to be segregated, you know. A man like Dean wouldn’t be safe circulating with other inmates. He’s…too eager for friends, tries too hard to fit in.”

  “I’m sure the police will do all they can to protect him, but…until he’s convicted and sent to prison, they have limited housing options.”

  “I realize that.” And, apparently, it weighed heavily on her. Her lips quivered, then pursed as Paris’s voice rose behind her.

  “Come on in, Mom. There’s nothing you can do for Dean. Maybe he’ll finally get the care he needs.”

  With a sniff, Elaine raised her chin. “It’s my care he needs. I’m the one who’s always been there for him. I’m the only one he trusts.”

  Jonah beckoned her outside. “Come and take a ride with us, Mrs. Wheeler. Maybe we can arrange for you to see your son.”

  “Don’t do it!” Paris cried. “You know Butch told us not to talk to anyone, especially them. He’ll handle it.”

  “Butch doesn’t give a damn about Dean, and sometimes I don’t think you do, either,” her mother said. “Tell your father where I went,” she added, and walked to the Jeep Cherokee without bothering to get her purse.

  Jonah parked in the shade of a cypress tree at Willow Lake Park. RVs in orderly rows extended to their right, but only a few stalwart golfers walked the adjacent course. It was too hot to be outside for long, even with the sun in rapid descent, but this gave them a quiet place to talk.

  “Do you believe your son murdered Julia?” he asked Elaine as he turned off the engine and shifted in his seat to face her.

  She stared into the distance.

  “Elaine?” Francesca prompted from the backseat.

  Lifting her glasses, she dabbed at her eyes. “I know he didn’t.”

  Elaine wanted to talk. She was dying to rescue her son. She’d already spent most of his lifetime doing it. All they had to do was give her the opportunity to speak.

  “So…are you willing to let him take the rap for it?” Jonah asked when she didn’t say anything.

  “That’s what Butch thinks we should do.”

  When she lifted her glasses again, he delved into the jockey box for the napkins he’d stuck there after grabbing some fast food on his way from the airport. “Here you go.”

  She didn’t thank him. She was too immersed in her own worries for that, but she accepted the napkins.

  He rolled down the windows. “What do you think you should do?”

  “Some of what Butch says makes sense. But…I’m not sure I can keep silent. It shouldn’t have come to this. It was just a—a terrible accident.”

  April Bonner’s death, and the deaths of those women in Dead Mule Canyon, was no accident, but Jonah held back, hoping she’d feel comfortable enough to reveal what she knew. “If it was an accident we can work it out.”

  She seemed to forget that Francesca was even in the car. “Can I depend on that?” she asked as if it was just the two of them. “Will the police believe me if I tell the truth?”

  “They’ll do what they can. No one’s out to get anyone here.”

  Seeming to take solace in his response, she blew her nose. “You already know that Butch likes the ladies.”

  “That’s become apparent, yes.”

  “When I took Julia in, I had no idea he would…get involved with her. This was before we found out what a womanizer he is. I’m guessing Paris knew, or suspected, but she never came to us with her concerns. She was probably embarrassed or trying to protect him. She loves him. And he is the father of her child. But…”

  “But?” Jonah repeated when her words drifted off.

  “If she’d confided in me, maybe I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to try to help Julia.”

  Jonah could feel Francesca’s interest but was careful not to respond to it. He didn’t want to destroy the sense of intimacy that made Elaine feel safe enough to talk. “You can’t blame yourself for attempting to do a good deed.”

  Once again she had to raise her glasses to wipe away tears. “I felt awful for her,” she said. “Julia wasn’t a bad person. She was just a kid. Too eager to have her own way, perhaps, like most teenagers. But she didn’t mean any harm.”

  “So they became…intimate?”

  “I guess so. Although I didn’t sense anything wrong, not until the argument.”

  Jonah used the electric controls to slide his seat farther back. “What argument?”

  “It was late at night. Butch and Paris had been drinking. I could hear it in their voices. Their shouts woke us up, but I tried to ignore the noise. It’s not my place to get involved in their marriage. Living in the same house, I have to be very careful to allow them their privacy. But then I heard screaming and knew something was terribly wrong. By the time I could get out of bed and up the stairs, Julia was lying on the cement outside the back door, bleeding from the head.”

  “Was it Butch?”

  “No.” She laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t risk Dean for Butch’s sake. It was Paris. She’d seen Butch pat Julia’s bottom and was certain they were having an affair. She confronted Julia and demanded she move out, but Julia had nowhere to go. She tried to reason with Paris, claimed she hadn’t been sleeping with Butch, but Paris couldn’t or wouldn’t believe it. The argument escalated, and Paris shoved her off the stoop. She landed on a piece of wood with a long nail protruding from it. I think it killed her instantly. She was dead when I reached her.”

  This “accident” didn’t explain what had happened to April Bonner or the other victims, so there had to be more to the story, but Jonah played along. “And you didn’t call the police?”

  “No. Paris was frantic they’d put her in prison, and I was afraid of th
at, too. She’d had a reason to hate Julia, and she’d pushed her.” She sniffed, folded her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead as she spoke. “I know how it sounds, but there was a little boy sleeping in the house, my grandson, who needs his mother. I—I couldn’t bring myself to turn her over to the authorities. I didn’t see any point in her going to prison for a death she didn’t mean to cause. I knew how much it would change her, how much it would change all our lives, especially Champ’s. And the accident was because of Butch as much as Paris, although he wouldn’t be the one punished for it. He shouldn’t have been cheating on her.” She shook her head. “That girl has been through so much.”

  “Putting her body in the freezer was better?”

  She settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “We knew that Julia’s family weren’t likely to come looking for her. Even if they did, we knew they’d believe us if we said she left without telling us where she was going.”

  “And your husband went along with this?”

  “Of course. He agreed with me, even helped. He’s her father. He didn’t want to see her go to prison any more than I did.”

  “Why didn’t you bury her?”

  “We wanted to have easy access in case we ever lost the salvage yard to the bank—there’ve been some pretty lean years—and we had to move. We couldn’t leave that behind for someone else to discover.”

  “Where was Dean when this occurred?” Francesca asked.

  “Out. Like he usually is. Rambling. He didn’t know anything about it until he came across the body. And I’m guessing that just happened recently or I would’ve heard about it before. He thought Butch had killed her, so he put Julia’s panties, which he must’ve taken from her body at some point, in Butch’s truck for Paris to find. I think he was hoping to get rid of Butch. Butch has never been very nice to him.”

  Francesca broke in for the first time. “Will Butch and Paris back up this story—about the accident?”

  Elaine Wheeler’s voice cooled. “I have no idea. They’ll be angry that I put Paris at risk for Dean’s sake. For all Butch’s cheating, he loves Paris. But like I said, my husband was there that night. He’ll tell you what he saw.”

  “What about Sherrilyn Gators, Mrs. Wheeler?” Jonah asked.

  Sweat glistened on her scalp. Jonah was getting hot, too. He needed to start the car, but he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation.

  “The police already asked about her,” she said. “Years ago. And I’ll tell you what I told them. The night Dean went to her house and got so upset? That wasn’t the last time they saw each other. A few days later, Sherrilyn showed up at the salvage yard in tears and told Dean she hadn’t been happy since they split up. She wanted to get back together, said they could work around his problems.” Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath. “She only wanted to be loved. Her son had no right to deny her that. Dean was absolutely devoted to her.”

  Francesca angled her head to see around the seat. “So where did Sherrilyn go?”

  Mrs. Wheeler didn’t act as though she wanted to talk to Francesca, although she answered. “She had some car trouble, but eventually went home. That’s all I know. Dean didn’t kill her. He might have his challenges, but he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body. That’s why I can’t sit back and let this happen. It’s not right.”

  Mrs. Wheeler had confirmed what Dean had told them about Sherrilyn. “His drawings might suggest he at least fantasizes about violence,” Jonah said.

  “Those drawings don’t mean anything. They’re a way to vent the anger he feels, a safe way to vent it.”

  “Is there any chance Sherrilyn knew Butch?” Francesca asked.

  “Not well. The day she came to the yard, her car wouldn’t start, so he gave her a ride to town and bought her a new battery. But that’s it. We were nothing but nice to that woman.”

  “And Bianca Andersen?”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “What about April Bonner?”

  “I don’t know her, either. Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve endangered one of my children to save the other, but I’m hoping…I’m hoping there’ll be some understanding of what happened and why. Paris didn’t mean to kill Julia. I was there. I know. Now…can I please see my son?”

  If the coroner backed up Elaine’s testimony by establishing that a nail puncture to the head was the cause of death, the police wouldn’t have enough evidence to hold Dean. Elaine had just explained why there’d been a body in that old freezer and how it’d gotten there. Jonah guessed the forensics would support what she’d said, exonerating Dean. And the police didn’t have any hard evidence tying him to the other murders, either.

  “Sure,” he said, and started the car.

  By four o’clock that afternoon, Dean had been released. Butch remained free. And Paris had been charged with involuntary manslaughter. Her parents were working hard to get her out on bail, and Hunsacker was, of course, doing his best to help them. But because she’d hidden the “accident” for so long, and would’ve hidden it even longer had events not conspired against her, Francesca believed she’d get the maximum sentence once the case went to trial. Six years in a federal penitentiary wasn’t a stiff penalty in this instance, but it was a big chunk of time when you were raising a child. Champ would be close to twelve when she got out. Butch’s wife was distraught to think she’d be away from her family for any length of time.

  After dinner, and before leaving Prescott, Francesca and Jonah had visited Camp Verde Detention Center to see if Paris had anything to say about the other women who’d been murdered. They thought she might be more forthcoming now that she didn’t have her own secret to guard anymore. But their attempt hadn’t succeeded. Paris had alternately railed at them for being the reason she’d been arrested and pleaded with them for their help, but she’d revealed nothing new or hopeful.

  Francesca felt sorry for her but was frustrated at the same time. Paris insisted Butch wouldn’t have killed a single person, that it had to be Dean if it was anyone at the salvage yard. But she could offer no firsthand account or other proof, and Francesca felt she had to know something, had to wonder about a particular night or a particular woman. Paris hadn’t even given them a list of the women she believed her husband had slept with so Francesca could check on their whereabouts, although Paris had obviously known about several of them.

  Bottom line, other than solving one murder out of a possible ten, Paris’s incarceration did little to advance the overall investigation. What about April and the other victims who had some connection, if only a circumstantial one, to Butch? They hadn’t died accidentally, like Julia.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Jonah said, covering her hand with his own as he drove them back to Chandler.

  Francesca felt a measure of relief. She knew she should probably resist the comfort he offered, at least until she could sort out the questions that stood between them, but it was too easy to succumb. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed his touch. Somehow, she told herself, they’d make it work.

  “I hope so,” she said, and wove her fingers through his.

  Then she leaned against the door and drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by Jonah saying, “We’ve got company.”

  33

  Adriana was sitting on the patio, waiting for Francesca to come home. Her eyes flicked over Jonah as he got out of the car. Francesca couldn’t miss that, even in the dark, because she’d been watching for it, and it upset her. She didn’t want to be suspicious, didn’t want to constantly expect the worst, especially when it came to her best friend.

  “You haven’t been answering my calls,” Adriana said, getting up as they approached.

  Grateful for any distraction, Francesca opened her purse and began to search for her house keys. She could feel Jonah’s warmth directly behind her, felt him place his hand at the small of her back. It was a gesture of support. Or he was trying to tell Adriana he was taken. But as far as Francesca was concerned, he should�
�ve delivered that message loud and clear ten years ago. “I’ve been busy.”

  “That’s all?”

  “And maybe I didn’t want to talk to you,” she admitted, her head still bent over her purse.

  Adriana’s voice grew tight. “That’s what you want? You’re choosing him over me?”

  Francesca’s statement had clearly provoked Adriana, but Francesca didn’t care. She wanted to provoke her. She was just so…angry again. “You chose him over me first, remember? That night you took advantage of the opportunity you’d been waiting for all along? He was my boyfriend, Adriana. My. Boyfriend!”

  “Francesca, take it easy.” His voice soft, Jonah caught her elbow. He was making an effort to calm her before she said or did something she’d regret, but she couldn’t seem to quell the desire to lash out.

  “Whatever you do, don’t stick up for her,” she snapped.

  He lifted his hand. “I’m not sticking up for her. I love you. I have always loved you. But I don’t want to cost you your best friend. That would just hurt you again, and I’ve already done enough.”

  She rounded on him. “So…what does that mean? If we stay together, I’ll have to associate with her and the child you two created?”

  He blanched as if she’d slapped him. It was only last night that he’d begged her forgiveness and she’d granted it. She’d been sincere in that moment, hadn’t she? She’d told him so with her body, when they’d made love right afterward. So what was she doing now? Taking it all back?

  God, it was too much. The stress of the investigation. The fear that loving Jonah would only result in more pain. The doubt that they’d be able to overcome the past. Especially now that she knew Adriana’s betrayal had been far more purposeful than she’d ever indicated before…

  Finally locating her keys, Francesca opened the door and stepped inside, blocking them both out. “I need to be alone.”

  She could feel Jonah’s confusion. It matched her own. But she didn’t want to be responsible for how he felt, didn’t want to be the one in the wrong.