“Ignore her.” Marty’s voice reflected the absurdity of the suggestion. He ran a hand through his short dark hair.
“What do you want first?” Sam asked.
Marty hunched over his pad, pencil ready, anxious to get to work. “Male?”
“Yes.”
“Shape of face?”
Sam was silent for a moment, then reported, “Round. Slightly overweight.”
Marty started to sketch with quick, broad strokes. He drew in the shape of the face and put preliminary suggestions of eyes, nose and mouth.
“Dark hair and eyes,” Sam said. “He’s Hispanic.”
“Length of hair? Style?”
“Short, close cut. Average hairline, not high and not low.”
Marty drew quickly, just a few strokes here or there to set the features. Lacey was amazed how much the man could capture with a few pencil lines.
“Okay, eyes,” Marty said. “Wide, narrow, close, far apart?” He held the pencil poised as Sam conferred with Theodora.
“Close together, narrow. No, not that close. Slightly wider. Yeah, that’s good.” Marty’s hand flew across the page as Sam dictated.
“Nose?”
“Narrow, hooked.”
“Mouth?”
“Wide. Thin-lipped. Pencil mustache and a soul patch.”
The deft strokes added fullness to the face, depth to the eyes. Lacey peered at the face as it solidified into a realistic and very unique identity.
“Any scars? Tattoos?”
“A cross on the side of the neck. Our right, his left.”
Marty sketched in a cross, but Sam leaned over his shoulder and pointed. “Flared on the ends, not blunt like that.”
Marty added flourishes to the ends of the cross arms. Lacey was reminded of a fleur-de-lis.
“Like that?” Marty asked.
“Yeah. But a little wider.”
“Okay. What about the eyebrows?”
A moment of silent consultation. “Not very thick or full. And straight, not much of a curve.” Sam chuckled. “She said they’re like mine.”
Marty turned in his chair and studied Sam’s face. Then he went back to his drawing and sketched in the brows.
Lacey looked up at Sam. He shrugged, a slight smile on his face.
“Ears?” Marty asked.
“Small. Close to the head.”
Marty began to deepen his strokes, bolding the lines. Little by little, the face became more defined.
“Anything else?” he asked as he drew.
Sam crossed his arms and studied the picture. Lacey noticed he leaned slightly to his left, as if listening.
“The bone of the brow is a little more pronounced. Shading the eyes a little more,” he said. “Oh, and he’ll have a bruise or a scar on his left temple.”
A few dark strokes added depth to the eye sockets.
Lacey glanced at the portrait as Sam seemed to confer with Theodora. It certainly looked complete to her. She couldn’t think of any features they hadn’t discussed.
“That’s very close,” Sam said finally. “She says you’re very good.”
Marty’s face flamed. “Uh, thanks.” He continued to refine the lines of the drawing, his strokes darker and bolder than the preliminary ones. Finally he held the drawing up and away and studied the picture.
“Good?” he asked.
Sam nodded. “Good. Theodora says you can take it to the bank.”
“All right,” Rod said. “We’ll take this back to the station and scan it in, see if we can match it up with anything in our database. Then we’ll get some inquiries out.” He made a rude noise. “I will never understand people getting very visible and very distinctive tattoos when they’re going to be engaging in criminal activity. Not the sharpest crayon in the box.”
“Good for us, though,” Lacey laughed. “With any luck, we’ll get a hit.”
“We’ll give it all we’ve got,” Rod promised. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Once Rod and Marty left, Lacey gathered up her things as well. “I guess I’ll go home and see if I can uncover any more information about the house.”
“Don’t work too hard,” Sam said. “I think we’ve got a solid case with the info you have. If not, we’ll find out Wednesday.”
“Don’t work too hard,” she repeated with some skepticism. “This is me we’re talking about, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” He caught her hand and pulled her into his arms. “But really, I think we got this. You can relax a little.” He nuzzled her neck.
She pressed close to him. “You wanna come home and ‘relax’ with me?”
He laughed. “I still have work to do here, but hold that thought. I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
“All right.” She sighed, then leaned up to kiss him. “I’ll be waiting.”
~~~
But neither “relaxing” nor waiting patiently were Lacey’s strong suits, and she knew it. Even when she closed her laptop and prowled the apartment, checking to see if she had enough dirty clothes for a load, her computer called to her. She ignored it and examined the contents of the fridge instead, trying to decide what to fix for dinner.
Her phone rang. Saved by the bell. She grabbed it and noted the name on the screen: Lindlor.
“Hello?” She held her phone to her ear with her shoulder while she dug out her notebook.
“Ms. Fitzpatrick? This is Yvonne Lindlor.”
“Yes, hello. Thank you for returning my call. I’ve got—”
“Look, I’m afraid I really can’t help you with that house. I haven’t lived there since I was five, don’t even remember much about it. I just didn’t want you to waste your time by calling me. There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“Oh.” Lacey sank down into a chair. “Well, can I just ask you a couple questions? If the answers are ‘no,’ then so be it. But I’d like to ask.”
She heard an aggravated sigh on the other end. “All right. What do you want to know?”
Lacey licked her lips. “Do you recall anything about the house being haunted? Anything about odd things happening there?”
“No.” The answer was out almost before Lacey finished asking. “I told you, I left when I was five, but I don’t remember anything like that.”
“You left when you were five?” Lacey paged through her notes. “But your mother lived in the house until 2008. Why—?”
“She sent me away. After my sister died, she sent me to live with my grandmother. She didn’t want me around. I’ve never been back.”
Lacey’s breath left her at the stark confession, at the thinly veiled anger and resentment. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Yvonne’s voice was hard, brittle, anything but contrite. “So are we done?”
“We think your mother is haunting the house,” Lacey said in a rush. “We think she’s stuck there, grieving. I’ve researched the story, I know about your sister, about the accident. So your mother took it very hard?”
Yvonne snorted. “You could say that. She disappeared. Into that room. Into a bottle. I never saw her again.”
“Never—?” Lacey frowned. “But why?”
“Look,” Yvonne said with impatience, “she blamed me for my sister’s death. It was my responsibility to watch her, since I was the oldest. And I was watching her, we were playing. But she took off running and just… disappeared. There was nothing I could do. But my mother blamed me for it and sent me away. End of story. That’s all I can tell you.”
Period, Lacey heard, even though the word had not been spoken.
“All right.” She sighed, recognizing a brick wall when she saw one. “Well, thank you for your time. I do appreciate you calling back. I’ll—”
“Yeah, you’re welcome. Goodbye.”
*click*
Lacey stared at the phone. All righty, then. So much for that. She tossed the phone aside.
So much anger; it had actually emanated through the phone. Not that Lacey could blame
her. That was some heavy shit to lay on a five-year-old. Blame? No one was to blame. It was a horrible accident. Yet Lacey knew it wasn’t unusual for someone in the throes of grief to search for—and find—a scapegoat. It was a human reaction, a desperate effort to understand, to gain control over an uncontrollable situation.
And bad news for both mother and daughter.
The only good news for Lacey was that the bad news confirmed her research. They could move ahead to the releasement on Wednesday. At least they could release Jean from her particular hell.
Yvonne wouldn’t be quite so lucky.
~~~
TWELVE
Tuesday morning, Sam left for the studio to check the newly fired ceramics. Lacey pulled out her to-do list for the open house, primarily confirming the arrangements she’d already made. She’d ordered two standing banners, tall, narrow photos of Sam at work, to place in the corners of the studio. Those should have been finished by now. She also needed to call the caterer to confirm the delivery time of the food, and she still needed to pick up several bottles of wine.
All that was forestalled by a call from the LAPD.
“Lacey, it’s Rod. Hey, we got a hit on Sam’s sketch. It’s not a perfect match, but as much as makes no difference.”
“Really? That’s great. Fast, too.”
“Yeah, we had good luck there. His name is Reynaldo Macias. He’s got quite a laundry list on his rap sheet, mostly two-bit stuff, but he did serve time for armed robbery.”
Macias. Why did that name tickle Lacey’s brain? She reached back in her mind…
“Only thing is,” Rod continued, “he’s not local. All the intel we have on him is from Vegas.”
“Vegas!” That was it. The drug lord she and Sam had tangled with last year was named Macias. Coincidence? She didn’t think so.
“That mean something?” Rod asked.
“It might. Sam and I got into a firefight with a drug cartel in Vegas last year; the kingpin was a Macias. Ramon, as I remember. He should still be serving time.”
“Ramon,” Rod repeated, most likely jotting notes. “I’ll check it out.”
“What about DNA?” Lacey asked. “Were you able to pull anything from that skin sample?”
“Nothing that matched anything we had.”
“Okay. Well, at least we’ve got a name. That’s a start.”
“Yup. We’re still working it. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Thanks, Rod. I appreciate the call.”
She hung up the phone with bubbles of adrenaline zinging through her blood. Macias? Was the attack on Sam’s studio payback for the capture of a relative in Vegas? But if so, why now, more than a year later? That seemed like a long time for a grudge to simmer.
Lacey drummed her fingers on her notebook. Vegas. Idly she rubbed her right shoulder where she’d taken a bullet from one of the drug dealers. How long ago? Fourteen months.
She flipped her notebook open to the first page and checked the date: February of this year. She’d have to go back to an earlier notebook. She went to the bedroom and pawed through a drawer where she kept her records. Ah, there it was: 2017.
She took the notebook and sank down on the couch to get comfortable. Paging through, she remembered how it all came about.
Sam had been dreaming about his former brother-in-law, Kyle Arredondo. His gut feeling was that Kyle was dead. Last known location was Vegas.
That seemed so long ago. Another life. That was before she and Sam had admitted their feelings for each other. Before she’d discovered the deliciousness of his lean, strong body. Before fits of jealousy on both their parts had forced them to face the truth.
She let out a single, scoffing laugh. Jealousy. As if either one of them could imagine life with someone else. They were perfect for each other, and neither Adrian DelMonico nor Courtney Desmond…
Lacey sat up suddenly. Adrian. Vice cop. If anyone knew about the Maciases, he would. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through to his contact listing, punched the button.
One ring, two…
“Vice, DelMonico.”
“Adrian. Hi, it’s Lacey Fitzpatrick from LA.”
“Lacey? Good lord. How are you?”
“Fine,” she chuckled. “How about you? Hard at it?”
“Always.” She could hear the smile. “What’s going on? You coming for a visit?”
“Afraid not,” she said. “Actually, it appears that one of your miscreants has relocated here. I’m hoping you can give me the lowdown on him.”
“Oh? Sure. Whatcha got?”
Lacey gave him a brief explanation of the break-in and the findings by the LAPD. When he was up to speed, she made her plea.
“Can you tell me anything about Reynaldo Macias? Is he related to Ramon?”
Adrian snorted. “He’s Ramon’s younger brother. Not as smart, and a lot more hotheaded. We’d have had him in the pokey a long time ago, but his brother did a good job of protecting him, keeping him on the fringes.”
“So why would he suddenly surface here? Did Ramon send him here?”
“No such luck. Ramon’s dead.”
“Dead? What happened?”
“Long story short,” Adrian said, “he got eliminated. We knew once he was in prison that the drug scene on the streets would change. There were a couple up-and-comers wanting to take over, and Ramon’s people still out there were showing up dead with some regularity. About two months ago, there was a big rumble in the prison. Ramon and his lieutenant were both killed in a knife fight. The king is dead; long live the king.”
Lacey exhaled heavily. “So someone else is in the catbird seat now?”
“Exactly. And Reynaldo’s free pass got cancelled. Even with his limited brain power, he had to know he wasn’t safe here.”
“Right,” Lacey said, assimilating the news. “And it’s not hard to guess who he might blame for all his misfortune.”
Adrian hesitated. “I’m afraid you’re right. If it weren’t for you and Sam…”
“His brother might still be alive and king of the hill.” She nodded to herself. “So Reynaldo is killing two birds with one stone. He’s relocated where he’s not known, and trying to exact some kind of revenge on us at the same time.”
“You got it.” Adrian sighed. “I’m sorry, Lacey. He’s a real loose cannon. You two should watch yourselves.”
“Oh, we will,” she assured him. “Plus we have a secret weapon. We have a ghostly guardian.”
“A… a what?”
Lacey chuckled. “Sam’s studio is haunted. The woman who used to own it guards it jealously, and apparently when Reynaldo broke in, she scared the crap out of him and sent him packing.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. But before he left, he panicked and bashed his head on the corner of a shelf. We got a skin and blood sample, but no match on the DNA. We’ve got a good sketch of him, though. I’ll send it to you.”
“Yeah, do. We were actually looking for him on a home invasion and a weapons charge. If you can nab him, we’ll take what’s left after you’re done.” He paused. “Hey, you know what? We’ve got DNA on Ramon. I’ll bet we can match it up pretty close with that new familial comparison process. Who’s heading up your investigation?”
Lacey gave him Rod’s name and number. “That would be great. Then we can be sure we’ve got the right guy.”
“Right. I’ll give him a call when we’re done.” Lacey waited while Adrian wrote down the number. “So, how are you and Sam doing? Still cracking the cases?”
“Yeah, we are. Busier than ever after that silly TV show. And we got married in April.”
“Married? You don’t say. That’s terrific. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Lacey grinned. “What about you?”
“Oh.” He blew out a breath. “You know; it’s tough building in any social time when you’re the job.”
“Come on,” Lacey scoffed. “You can’t tell me you don’t have time for a woman. You’re no
monk.”
Adrian laughed. “Well, there is this one woman. She’s a firecracker. Reminds me of you.”
Lacey’s face flamed, remembering Sam’s reaction to Adrian’s interest in her.
“Just watch out for those silent types in the periphery. You never know what might be cooking.”
“That’s the truth,” he agreed with a laugh. “But we’re just… you know.”
“Yeah, I know. All in good time.”
“Right.” She heard the squeak of his office chair. “Well, listen, let me call your buddy Rod and see what we can work out. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to nab this guy.”
“I hope so,” Lacey said. “Thanks, Adrian. I appreciate the help.”
“Anytime, Lacey. Say hi to Sam.”
“Will do.”
Lacey tossed her phone down and blew out a breath. Reynaldo Macias. If he was anything like his brother, he was a bad one. Ramon had been laser-sighted on becoming the top drug lord in Vegas, and had no compunction about killing whoever got in his way. Sam and Lacey had discovered at least one other body beside Kyle’s, and the gang had totaled her car in a drive-by shooting before they’d all faced off at the end. No, she couldn’t expect anything but the worst from Reynaldo.
She and Sam would have to be extra wary.
~~~
THIRTEEN
Wednesday evening they merged with a mass of the LA rush hour traffic and made their slow way to Kagel Canyon. Lacey wouldn’t imagine driving in this slow-motion river every day—twice every day. She was eternally grateful for the freedom to work from home.
She was also grateful that they’d be able to resolve the Reeds’ problem tonight and put it behind them so they could focus fully on the open house. Sam’s first firing had gone well and he hadn’t lost a single pot. Today he’d laid the second batch into the fire pit, and tomorrow he would fire the glazed pieces. It was all coming together.
Lacey pulled into the Reeds’ driveway and parked. She hauled her pack from the back seat while Sam plucked two smudge sticks from his cup holder. They mounted the steps to the Reeds’ front porch and Price immediately pulled the door open to greet them.
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