Killer Secrets

by Marilyn Pappano

  “You can’t go out there, Mila.”

  “He hurt me, and now he has Poppy! I have to go!”

  “He wants you dead!”

  “I don’t care! She’s just a puppy. She doesn’t even know to be afraid. She’s just a baby, Sam, and I need—I need—”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Gramma asked, gripping her hands tightly together. “Can I help look for her? She’ll come to me. Though, to be fair, sweetie, she’ll come to anyone who looks cross-eyed at her.”

  Sam rubbed the knot between Mila’s shoulder blades. She was aware of the action. She just couldn’t find the strength to react to it. Everything inside her was numb with fear far greater than she’d felt in the creek that morning. Something happening to her, she could deal with that. Something happening to sweet Poppy...that might be more than she could bear.

  “I just need to know you two are safe here,” Sam said. “We have a lot of people searching. I’m going out to help. Officer Simpson—” He tilted Mila’s face back to meet her gaze. “You remember him?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s coming to stay with you, and Officer Bartlett is still downstairs. Don’t leave the apartment, and don’t open the door to anyone besides Officer Simpson, understand?”

  When she couldn’t respond, Gramma did. “We understand.” She pulled Mila from Sam and held her tightly as he opened the door. “Call us if you can, Sam. Let us know...”

  He gave them a grim nod before leaving.

  They stood there in a hug a long time before Mila’s back twinged, reminding her she was standing so rigidly. Her eyes were dry, her nose sniffly, her heart breaking. She patted Gramma awkwardly, then pulled away and went to one of the windows.

  When Gramma had come to look at this apartment before renting, both she and Mila had fallen in love with the tall, deep-set windows. Most of the broad sills held collections of colored glass that glimmered in the sun, but the center one was empty because that very first time, Mila had curled up on it to gaze out. She climbed on it now, her right side pressed against the window, her back and feet against the wood jambs, her head tilted against the glass so she could see the intersection of Main and First.

  When Officer Simpson arrived, she didn’t stir, not even when he assured her that Poppy would be found. Gramma said, “From your mouth to God’s ear.

  “Your police chief is a good man,” Gramma said, “to put this much effort into finding Poppy.”

  “He is. But man, it makes you wonder what kind of person steals a woman’s dog.” Simpson shook his head, his dismay tinged with true bewilderment.

  Mila knew what kind of person did things like that. She’d lived half her life hoping to survive them and the other half praying to forget them. Evil.

  Someone evil had taken the sweetest, most innocent creature in her life. Dear God, how could she stand this?

  * * *

  They were three hours into the search when Sam got a phone call from the mayor. He parked in front of Jessica’s building—since he needed to check in and have a face-to-face with his detectives, downtown was a good place—and lifted the phone to his ear. “Mayor.”

  “Sam. I heard a joke on the ninth tee just now—that you’ve got the entire police department mobilized to find a missing dog. Please tell me it is a joke. Tell me you’re not spending our limited resources looking for somebody’s pet.”

  Closing his eyes, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a joke. The man who attempted to drown the woman at Cedar Creek this morning broke into her house and, we believe, took her dog. I figure two murders so close together have done enough harm to the city’s reputation. It would be nice to avoid a third one, and if finding the dog helps us find the killer, that can only be good.”

  “Or the person who let the dog go is nothing more than a careless burglar who has nothing to do with anything else.”

  “That’s possible, but not likely. I’ll make a deal with you, Mayor. You let me and my department do our jobs properly, or we’ll make you the official spokesperson for the Cedar Creek Police Department. You announce our successes—” the mayor always wanted in on that “—as well as explain our failures.” The mayor tried very hard to distance himself from his own failures, much less anyone else’s. “I need a decision now, Mayor, because I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

  After a moment of throat clearing, no doubt done to stall while he envisioned himself announcing that they’d found the killer—or that they had another victim—the man heaved a sigh. “I’ll defer to your judgment. For the time being, Sam. Don’t drag this on too long.”

  Sam was rarely rude to the mayor, even though His Honor carried no real influence on the job. His was just one vote when it came to the chief’s contract, and the other six members of the city council liked Sam just fine. But he hung up the instant the last word cleared the man’s mouth.

  “Putz,” Little Bear said.

  Beside him, Daniel nodded. “Major putz.”

  A moment passed as if to solidify their agreement, then Daniel began talking. “I’ve seen more of this city today than in the years I’ve been living here, and I’ve seen only two yellow dogs. They were both golden retrievers, and their owner offered to keep an eye out for Poppy.”

  “She also invited him to dinner at that new place on County Line,” Ben teased.

  Daniel gave him a dry look but didn’t deny the date. “None of Mila’s neighbors saw anything except the one on the northwest side of the intersection. She was getting her kids ready to go clothes shopping, and she saw Poppy get into a dark car with a man wearing a hat. The only reason she noticed is that the only car ever over there is Jessica’s orange Bug, so this midsize dark sedan caught her eye.

  “But she didn’t see the driver well enough to give any other description or where they went, and she wasn’t sure about the time. She was getting her six kids buckled in and settled down. She thought it was between eleven and twelve.” He looked as if the thought of having six kids boggled his mind.

  “It’s fair to assume the guy still has the dog,” Ben said. “If he’d just let her go, someone would have seen her. When even the mayor’s found out, everyone else in town already knows. So what’s his plan? To kill the dog, leave her someplace for Mila to find? To just scare the crap out of her? He’s already accomplished that. To send the message that no one’s safe from him?”

  “And how does it tie in with the other two murders?” Daniel asked.

  “I don’t know if it does,” Sam replied. “In the beginning, you didn’t think the second murder had anything to do with the first.”

  “I know. But Carlyle gets killed, and Mila finds his body. Greeley gets killed, and Mila’s there when the housekeeper finds his body. Her house is broken into, someone tries to drown her and someone takes her dog. She’s been involved in five crime scenes in less than two weeks. Maybe she saw something at the first scene.”

  “Like what?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know,” Daniel answered irritably. “If I’d been there myself, we wouldn’t be looking for answers. Maybe a note blowing away in the breeze. Maybe a person in the woods. Maybe something he left on the table, then retrieved when she went to get help. Maybe it was something she really didn’t see but he suspected she did.”

  Sam considered it thoughtfully. When she was working, Mila’s focus was pretty tight. It was possible she had arrived in Carlyle’s backyard before the killer had time to escape. By her own admission, it had taken her a few moments to notice the dead body. Could she have looked at but not noticed someone going inside the house or making his way to the woods? It was a big backyard with a lot of places to hide behind shrubs and tall, fat flowers.

  “We know Greeley was also killed just minutes before he was found,” Ben said. “Maybe the killer doesn’t know that Mrs. Ajmera found the body. We all heard the call came from the yard service an
d assumed it was Mila. He may have seen her there and made the same assumption. Depending on whether the guy’s crazy or just mean, her showing up at the same place after the second murder could be some kind of omen to him.”

  Sam lowered the tailgate on his truck, though it would be hot, and braced his butt against it. “Okay, you guys interview Mila again...after we find Poppy. If we find...” He couldn’t finish.

  His nerves tingled down his spine, and he turned to look up. Mila was sitting on a window ledge in Jessica’s apartment, forlorn and sad. She looked so vulnerable. He wondered if that was how Jessica had found her after her daughter’s and son-in-law’s deaths: a quiet, sad little girl so lost she might never be found again.

  He raised one hand, and she did, too, pressing her good hand to the window glass. It hurt his heart.

  Behind him a horn blasted once, twice. Irritated, he turned to see a Mustang convertible stopped at the intersection. The two girls inside were standing up, gesturing and shouting at a car across the street.

  Sam’s gaze never made it to the other car. Its dark color registered, its open passenger door, but the energetic ball of fur making a beeline for the intersection grabbed all of his attention. “Poppy!” He shoved away from the truck, running into the street without even thinking to make sure there was no traffic.

  On hearing his voice, Poppy paused for a moment, then spun in his direction, her long legs and big feet eating up the distance. When a car on Main started to drive through the intersection, the driver of the Mustang blasted the horn again, and she and her friend wildly and loudly signaled the driver to stop.

  Sam knew Ben and Daniel were behind him, knew they would both have their badges out to deal with the drivers. All he was focused on was the dog, loping along, tongue hanging out, as if she couldn’t be happier to see him. He knelt, and she threw herself against him, licking his face and chin all over, then pressing her face to his throat and giving a quiet little whimper. “Oh, puppy, I’m so very glad you’re okay,” he whispered.

  “Poppy?” That shout came from a block back. Sam grabbed Poppy’s chain before she could dart off again and trotted to the sidewalk with her, then let her drag him down the street to Mila. She sank to the sidewalk, and the dog climbed into her lap, curling as tightly as she could and still give kisses, too.

  Mila was crying, and Poppy was licking up every tear. She vibrated—tired, thirsty, hungry, hot, afraid she would never see Mila or Gramma again? Mila’s good arm was wrapped tightly around the dog, and her splinted arm rested gently on Poppy’s hip.

  Sam slid down beside them, his arms around both of them. Poppy leaned over to lick him once more before sinking with a sigh into their embrace.

  Ben came to stand in front of them. “The girls said a car turned west on First from Main, drove a half block, pulled over and the driver opened the passenger door. Poppy jumped out, and the driver took off. They were yelling at the guy that you can’t just put a dog out of the car and leave. Now they’re elated he did.”

  So was Sam. Like his heart might finally start beating regularly again. He glanced at the Mustang, parked around the corner now, its occupants still talking to Daniel. “What are they—”

  “I think they’re asking Daniel out.”

  Sam shook his head. “Women hit you up like that when you were a young detective?”

  “Nope. By the way, I’m your age. When did we become old?”

  Sam looked at the females he held. “I think for me it was when I got Daniel’s call this morning.”

  Ben grinned as if the thought was vastly amusing. “We’ve got a description of the car and direction of travel out for the guy. We’ll see if we can pull up video off anyone’s surveillance cameras and make sure everything’s good at the house.”

  “Thanks, Ben.”

  A moment or two passed, his heart rate finally settling, some of the tension that had knotted his muscles easing, before Mila finally raised her face from Poppy’s fur. “Thank you.” It sounded like the whisper was the very best she could manage after the day she’d had, but the tearful smile that accompanied it made the sweetest thank-you he’d ever had.

  “We’d better get you and Poppy both inside,” Sam said, but he didn’t move right away. The sidewalk was hard and hot, and the stone facade behind them was the same, but with Mila smiling and Poppy sprawled across them, it was the most comfortable he’d been all day.

  He forced himself into motion, though. Knowing that her attacker had just been less than a block away made him antsy about staying out here in plain sight. Even though Simpson waited outside the building door—she must have escaped him the minute she saw Poppy out the window—and he was sure Liam was still watching the back exit, Sam wanted her safely behind thick walls. Maybe with bulletproof and shatterproof windows. A tall row of iron bars every foot or so. A place impervious to fire, blast, flood or gas.

  He got Mila and himself to their feet, and they both gripped Poppy’s collar. A crinkle sounded, and he bent over to find a piece of plain paper tied to the collar with a string. Using the chain to manipulate the paper to the right angle for reading, he scowled at it.

  “What does it say?” Simpson had joined them, pulling a latex glove from his back pocket, along with a small multitool.

  “I’m glad you’re better prepared than I am,” Sam complimented him, drawing a grin. Then he added, “Go ahead and pull it off,” and Simpson turned serious again.

  He crouched, tried to avoid Poppy’s spastic A new person I haven’t greeted! lick, then clipped the string and removed the note, holding both carefully in his gloved hand. “‘Next time I won’t go so easy on you.’”

  Just for this moment, Sam pretended he didn’t see the stark change in Mila’s eyes. Just for the moment, he wanted everything to be okay, his girls to be safe, the ugliness kept as far from her, from them, as it could be kept. Just for this moment, he wanted to revel in the fact that she had survived the attack at the creek and that Poppy was back home and looked none the worse for wear.

  It was so damned unfair that moments passed so quickly.

  * * *

  As soon as they reached the fifth floor, Poppy tore down the hall, skidded sideways into the apartment and brought a delighted cry from Gramma. Mila smiled faintly. She was so sick inside she was surprised she could stand and walk and talk—well, she hadn’t said anything since seeing the note. Sam acted as if he hadn’t noticed the change, but she knew he had. She felt it in the stiffness radiating from him. Part of it was fatigue, too much worry in too short a time, but part of it was her.

  She’d reached the door when Wynona’s clicked open. The old lady looked her over thoroughly through the two-inch crack, humphed, then said, “You look all right. And the great-grandbaby looks all right. Good.”

  Mila was surprised. She hadn’t heard Wynona say anything nice in all the time Gramma had been her neighbor. She couldn’t even form a thank-you before the door started closing again.

  Suddenly it stopped, and Wynona’s eyes appeared again. “She might sing because she’s happy, but it sure doesn’t make the rest of us happy.” With a nod, she slammed the door.

  Mila looked at Sam, who showed a hint of wry humor. “One of the songs Jessica was singing this afternoon. Apparently, Wynona took particular offense to her rendition.”

  When they went inside the apartment, Gramma was in the kitchen, hands on her hips, watching Poppy suck in enough water for a camel. “I called Dr. Andrea, and she’s coming by to take a look at the baby. We just want to be sure she’s okay.”

  Mila nodded emphatically. While Poppy’s behavior was perfectly normal now, what if the man had fed her something that would make her sick later? What if he’d poisoned her? What if he’d brought her back only to taunt them by making her die later?

  No. The note said he wouldn’t go so easy next time. That implied his intent this time had been to create fear, ri
ght? And he’d done that, and he’d let her go, and for the moment they were safe. They had to be safe.

  Poppy filled her stomach, made a little room by burping, took another drink, then climbed onto the sofa and stretched out. Mila bent over the back, rubbing her shoulder, her belly, the soft silky side of her face. “You need a nap, don’t you?”

  Poppy preened under her attention, offering her belly, her leg, her ear for scratching, the whole time slowly drifting off. Mila straightened when the snores started and found both Gramma and Sam looking at her. Sam had the police-chief look. She was very sure he wanted to ask her questions, lots of them, starting with What does that note mean to you?

  Gramma had her protective mama face on. “You look like—” The words stopped so fast they caused verbal whiplash.

  Mila wore the closest to a smile she could manage. “Gramma’s favorite saying when someone looks crappy is, ‘You look like death warmed over.’ Hits a little too close today, huh?”

  Gramma came across the room to hug her tightly once more. “I have a new favorite saying. ‘You look like you been rode hard and put away wet.’ Don’t ask me where it comes from—I just heard it from Charles today—but it means the same thing. Come on, baby girl, let’s get you settled in bed. The doctor said rest, and you haven’t gotten one bit yet.”

  “I’d like to—”

  They both turned to Sam, and he stumbled with a few uhs and ums. “Can your questions wait until tomorrow?” Gramma asked. “It’s been a hard day.”

  His gaze fixed on Mila, then shifted to Gramma. Mila wasn’t sure which one of them garnered the most sympathy. She probably did look the crappiest, but Gramma was looking pretty stressed-out, too.

  “Of course they can,” he said, everything about him gentling. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

  Gramma hustled Mila into the first guest room, the one with the queen-size bed. “I usually sleep in the other room,” she reminded her, and Gramma grinned.