by Kelly Irvin
“What happened to you, mi amigo? I know you like to box, but you look like you made a mistake and got in the ring with a heavyweight.” Oscar tut-tutted in a way so like Mom’s, Teagan’s heart winced. “You were in Evelyn’s backyard with the killer. Did he do that to you?”
Shaking his head, Max glanced at Teagan. Everyone on the team agreed that the incident with Max’s truck and its connection to the murders would not be disclosed. It was a double-edged sword. Giving the killer the notoriety he wanted could stoke his desire for more. Not giving it to him could push him to kill again and again until his trail of carnage could no longer be denied as that of a serial killer.
A no-win situation.
“I had an accident, but I’m okay.”
“Gracias a Dios. I heard they think our neighborhood is being targeted.” Carlos let his pie-filled fork hover halfway between his plate and mouth. “The police interviewed everybody—even Araceli Cavazos, and she never leaves her house.”
Araceli Cavazos, San Antonio’s current poet laureate and sometimes novelist, played the part of introvert–hermit–creative genius well. She had her groceries delivered and only ventured out of her hot-pink cottage long enough to collect her mail or stand on the porch and call her two matching tabby cats home for supper.
“She weighs ninety pounds sopping wet, and the heaviest thing she lifts is a large glass of vino.” Stephanie Nixon shook her head at the apparent idiocy of San Antonio’s finest. “Evelyn would have made mincemeat of her.”
“Do we really think the murderer was one of us?” One of us being the neighbors in this close-knit community. Oscar had the same bloodthirsty expression on his face that he did when he selected a James Lee Burke murder mystery from her curbside library. “We’re all so civilized, at least on the surface.”
His face brightening, he stabbed his plastic fork in the air as if it were a weapon. “How about Cole? He is kind of quiet, but muy hermoso. Still waters run deep. And he doesn’t mix much. He didn’t even attend the Fourth of July pachanga.”
Carlos elbowed his friend. “That’s how rumors get started, hom-bre. The guy was out of town over the Fourth last year. He’s an instructor. He has a chocolate Lab named Huck, and he has a cute girlfriend. I’ve seen her leaving the house several times. Model thin, nice hair, big brown eyes.”
“What reason would a community college instructor have for bludgeoning Mrs. Conklin? She fed Huck doggie treats all the time. The dog doted on her.” Stephanie frowned at them through blue-and-purple-patterned glass frames. She wore a simple black sheath in a shimmering material that didn’t try to hide the fact that she was pregnant again. “My money’s on Jamison Fargo.”
They were such innocents. They still thought murderers had rational motives for murder. Sometimes—often—murders were simply senseless. What if the killer decided to make one of them his next target?
Acid burned Teagan’s stomach. She shouldn’t be here. Even with three detectives in the house, her simple presence put her neighbors in danger.
Teagan cocked her head toward the door. Max shook his head. They should listen. Her neighbors might know something without even knowing it. That’s what he was thinking. She took another long draught of her tea and worked to keep her expression bland.
“Why Jamison?” Max gently nudged the conversation along. “He seems like a decent guy.”
Jamison Fargo had a craft beer brewery with an adjacent beer garden beloved among the SoFlo Market vendors and customers who liked to binge on vintage goods, handcrafts, and local art. Sitting outside on a spring night listening to live jazz and drinking craft beer after shopping at the market was the epitome of the Southtown experience.
“He and Evelyn had a throwdown. Didn’t you hear?” Oscar’s dark eyes lit up with the excitement of knowing something Max and Teagan didn’t. “They were feuding over him coming home late at night and letting his muscle car motor rip. He kept waking her up. And then his boxers, who often spent long days in his backyard, would bark when he pulled into his driveway.”
Teagan shrugged. “I guess I’m too tired at night to hear either one.”
“Old people are light sleepers,” Carlos offered. “I should know.”
“You’re not old, amigo.” Oscar elbowed him. “Just aging like fine wine.”
“Hopefully that’s true for all of us.” Max tossed his empty plate into a wastebasket near the small upright piano that stood in one corner of the dining room. Evelyn’s husband had played. She didn’t, but she never sold his piano. “A noise dispute can get ugly. People have been killed for less.”
“Do you really think Mr. Cool stabbed Evelyn in a fit of anger because she threatened to make a noise complaint to the city?” Carlos snorted and rolled his eyes. “The guy is a glacier.”
“He blew a gasket when the guys repainting his house didn’t allow for the wind that caused the spray to reach his car.” Oscar’s words dripped with disdain. “He was the opposite of cool. Cool dudes don’t have meltdowns in public. He was screaming at them and pitching a fit like un niño.”
“I don’t blame him. That Impala is a classic.” Carlos feigned sadness while he contemplated a large slice of pecan pie on his plate. “Having it repainted would have been a nightmare.”
“Okay, so he’s got a temper.” Max brought the conversation back to the topic at hand. “That doesn’t make him a murderer.”
Their voices drifted far away. They sounded hollow and distant like they stood inside a huge tin can. Evelyn was no longer aging like fine wine. She was dead, but not over a loud engine and dogs barking. She was dead because of something Teagan had done. Or so a brutal murderer with a warped sense of humor wanted her to believe. Here they stood in Evelyn’s house cavalierly discussing who her killer might be when all of this was Teagan’s fault. If only she knew what she’d done, then she’d know who did it. She tossed her plate on top of Max’s and turned away.
“Where are you going?” Max made as if to follow her. “Are you all right?”
“I just need some air. I’ll be back.”
“Are you sure?” His words and his gaze wrapped her in soft, warm shawl. “You look green around the gills.”
“Something I ate.”
Or something she did.
But what?
Unanswered questions pestered her like a cloud of ornery, biting gnats as she dodged her way around the clusters of people who stood talking and drinking Evelyn’s favorite mint juleps served on the Fourth of July or the sangria she offered on New Year’s Eve.
Teagan’s throat ached with unshed tears. “O’Rourke women do not cry in public. If we have to bawl, we do it in the privacy of our bathrooms.” Her mom’s voice, sharp yet kind, echoed in her ears. If only you were here, Mom. I could use your help.
Facing the family photos that hung on the walls of the hallway, she edged toward the door. An old ten-by-twelve of Evelyn with her husband, Dr. Kenny Conklin, caught her eye. Evelyn wore a fifties-style dress with a belt around the waist and full skirt. She was tall, slim, with long chestnut brown hair. They were in their early twenties when he would’ve been finishing medical school and she had just finished her degree in education.
“You’re Teagan. Mom’s neighbor, right?” Robin approached. She was the spitting image of the woman in the photo, except her brown hair was cut in a short bob and her eyes were bloodshot, but her voice held steady. “She talked about you a lot. She said you were a good neighbor.”
“I’m glad she thought so.”
Her eyebrows high, forehead wrinkled, Robin stared at the photos. “I’m not sure how she’d feel if she knew her murder had something to do with you.”
The verbal knife came out of nowhere. Teagan’s hand went to her chest as if the hilt might be sticking out. “I’m sorry. So sorry. The police are doing everything they can to find the killer. I promise.”
“So they tell me.” Now her voice quivered. “From what the neighbors say, you’re related to half of them.”
&n
bsp; “It only seems that way.”
“I know it’s not your fault. I’m trying to understand. I can’t understand.” She wiped her red nose with a sodden tissue. “Who would stab a sweet old lady? Who would do that? How would killing my mother prove a point with you?”
“It wouldn’t. We don’t truly understand how the minds of psychopaths work. As rational, decent human beings, as Christians, we can’t begin to understand not having a moral compass.”
“I’m not sure I qualify anymore as a decent Christian human being. I’m not sure I can believe in a God who lets that happen.” Her half sob broke Teagan’s heart. “I’m surer that I would gladly take the knife that killed my mom and plunge into the heart of the worthless bag of garbage who did this to her.”
Evil could not win again. Please God, don’t let evil take Evelyn from this life and destroy her daughter’s faith. She would need it desperately in the days to come. “Give yourself time to grieve. Please. Then talk to your pastor. Don’t let the man who killed your mother take your faith too. Don’t let him win.”
Robin’s face crumpled. She began to sob. Teagan folded her into her arms. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“She’s gone. I can’t believe she’s really gone.”
“Me either.” Teagan rubbed her back and whispered words of comfort meant for both of them. “It might not seem like it, but eventually you’ll breathe again. You’ll be able to think of her and recall wonderful memories. With time.”
“Mommy? Mommy?”
A little girl with chubby cheeks and her mother’s hair color tugged on Robin’s dress. She had chocolate smeared on her face. “I want milk. Can I have milk?”
Robin scooped her up. “She keeps asking me were Nana is. Mom won’t get to see her learn to ride a bike or go to her first dance. My baby probably won’t even remember her.”
A hard truth. “She’s beautiful.”
“And she deserves to have a grandmother to spoil her.”
“No one would argue with that.”
Robin’s husband finally materialized, their son in tow. He also had chocolate all over his face. “Your children have been stealing from the dessert table.” He apparently spoke before taking a good look at his wife’s face. After a second, he put his arm around her and nodded at Teagan. “Excuse us, will you? It’s been a rough day.”
Teagan’s day had been rough, but not nearly as bad as this family’s. Evelyn’s son-in-law gently led Robin into the interior of the house. She grabbed the mantel to keep from swaying. Grief, even that which was once removed, took its toll. She edged toward the door.
“Headed out?”
The voice was deep and musical like a southern preacher’s. She jumped and turned.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” A pipe-cleaner-thin man in a baggy gray suit touched her arm before Teagan could get the front door open. “I wanted to catch you before you go.”
“I’m getting some air,” she offered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’m Robert Sandoval, Mrs. Conklin’s attorney.” He tugged a business card from an inside pocket and handed it to her. “I wanted to let you know that you’re invited to the will reading. Both you and Mr. Kennedy.”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as fireworks on the Fourth of July, Ms. O’Rourke.” He smiled, but genuine sadness filled his words. “Mrs. Conklin left small bequests to both of you. The timing of the reading has yet to be established. A couple of family members weren’t able to be here for the funeral but were remembered in her will. Her children are staying in town to go through her things, set up an estate sale, and put the house on the market, once it’s been read. I’ll call you when the date and time are confirmed, if you’ll share that information with Mr. Kennedy.”
“I will. I’m surprised. I don’t know what to say.”
“I drew up the will for her. She liked you and Mr. Kennedy. She said you were good people. That is high praise from her.”
Indeed it was. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
What a sweet woman. The tears ganged up on Teagan and pushed against the barricades. She pushed through the screen door and let it close behind her. The dank midafternoon air felt cooler on her skin than the sticky, people-warmed air inside the house. She raised her face to the afternoon sun. South Texas spring was fleet of foot. Soon summer’s steamy days with one-hundred-plus-degree weather would drive people indoors most afternoons.
People liked to complain about San Antonio weather. Not Teagan. She wanted it to seep into her bones and force the coldness that invaded them during Evelyn’s funeral to leave and never come back.
“You look like you could use a stiff drink.”
Teagan forced her gaze from the baby-blue sky to the man standing at the end of the sidewalk. Cole Reynolds held up a foil-covered casserole dish. “Dana Holl told me Mrs. Conklin’s children and grandchildren are staying here for a few days, so I threw together a lasagna and brought it over.”
“You threw together lasagna?” Teagan trudged down the steps to join him on the sidewalk. “That’s a neat trick most people can’t master.”
“I’m pretty handy around the kitchen.” He wiggled his bent arm, from which hung a H.E.B. reusable grocery bag. “Breadsticks and a salad to go with it.”
His girlfriend was a lucky woman. “Nice. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“You look done in.”
“It’s been a long few days.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” His empathetic smile made the skin around his eyes crinkle. Warm eyes. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that, but I’m sure the last thing you expected when you moved into this neighborhood was to find yourself touched by the murder of an elderly woman.”
He ducked his head. “It’s so sad, isn’t it? This stuff happens everywhere. It’s unbelievable. One of my students was murdered by her boyfriend last year. There’s no escaping it.”
“It seems that way.” Teagan returned his smile. “It’s kind of you to think of Evelyn’s children. It’s been rough on them.”
“Could you do me a favor?” He held out the dish again. “I don’t want to intrude. I didn’t know Mrs. Conklin well, although she always had a treat for Huck. It seems presumptuous for me to barge in in the middle of the wake. Deliver this with my condolences?”
“Are you sure?”
“Please. I was just going to leave it on the bench there by the door, and then you came out.”
“I’m happy to do it.”
He handed over the lasagna, hot pads still in place, and the bag of sides with a small flourish. “I hope you feel better. Like I said, I’m always available to listen.”
“Thanks. I’ll let them know to return your dishes and hot pads to you.”
“No rush.” He did an about-face and headed toward his house. He had a leisurely stride that said he didn’t care who watched his progress.
Teagan stood there for a few minutes enjoying the quiet. He looked back once and waved. Her hands were full but she nodded. What a nice man. Nice was such an innocuous word. But in the midst of this horrifying season, nice felt good. So would average and ordinary. The more trauma she faced, the more she valued ordinary, everyday life.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped, nearly dropped the dish, and whirled toward the house.
Justin stood at the door. “You shouldn’t be standing outside by yourself. Come inside.”
“You scared me.”
“You should be scared. A psychopath is toying with you. Get in here.”
“I wish he’d just get it over with.” She stormed up the steps. “I’m ready for him.”
Justin’s frown grew into a scowl. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“I wish for peace—”
Justin’s cell phone buzzed like an angry cricket. He held up his finger and answered.
“Uh-huh. On our way.”
“What is it?”
Justin grabbed her arm and propelled her down the steps. “When was the last time you drove your car?”
“It’s been days. You guys won’t let me go anywhere on my own. Why?”
“Billy found a letter under your windshield wiper.”
The killer was relentless. And brazen. “How is that possible? He simply sashayed up to my car and left me a note?”
“You’ve been gone a lot. It’s not like we watch your house when no one’s there.”
Teagan skipped like a little kid to keep up with Justin. “I hate this.”
“You and me both, Sis.”
Billy stood in Teagan’s driveway, cussing a steady stream. Gracie pulled out her cell phone and thumbed a message.
The letter lay on the hood of the car. Hands behind her back, Teagan leaned closer for a better look.
Dear T,
You just don’t get it.
This will not stop.
I will not stop.
Not until I have you.
The two of us shall dance.
I’ll have my due.
Your family will suffer as mine has.
Then it will be done.
My way.
See you soon.
Your friend,
Amos Redding
She straightened, did an about-face, and concentrated on breathing in and out.
“CSU is on the way.” Gracie slid her arm around Teagan. “We need to know. What’s the reference this time?”
Teagan pulled away. “This one’s different. In Dead or Not Amos Redding plays a cat-and-mouse game with Jay Southerland. Redding is a psychiatrist. He’s smart and violent. He kidnaps a patient and her family. It’s brutal.”