Mack grabbed her by the arm and, pulling her like a scolded child, ducked into his office. Once the door was firmly closed, he repeated, “What are you doing here?”
Without answering, Caryn unbuttoned her coat. She pulled it to the side and placed her hands on her bare hips. Strategically, she was wearing nothing but a tiny black thong underneath.
Mack let out a moan. “Jesus, Caryn.”
“Jesus had nothing to do with this. I came to apologize.”
Mack couldn’t resist. He rested his cool hands on her warm hips. “Apologies are out of character for you, aren’t they?”
“Bad behavior runs in my family.”
Mack’s frown turned upward as his eyes lit up, but the light quickly dimmed. He looked at his watch and backed away, then fell into the black leather recliner in the corner of his office. “You can’t be here. Erin’s coming into work at eleven today.”
“Tending bar?” she asked.
Mack nodded. “Yes. But she’ll come in here first, into my office. She always does.”
“So?” Caryn lifted her leg over the arm of the wide, worn chair and joined Mack in the fat recliner, squeezing in behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed, giving him a light massage.
“So, it’s ten forty-five.” He leaned back and turned, burying his face in her neck.
Her arms wrapped around Mack as she nuzzled against him. He turned around to face her with one foot on the floor and one knee on the cushion of the chair. His hand moved up her flat belly, stopping at her breasts. Caryn relaxed back into the chair. In doing so, the recliner tilted backward with their weight.
Mack braced himself with one hand on the back of the chair. Then he reached for the tilt lever and, lifting his foot off the ground, laid the chair in its fully reclined position with the footrest out.
Caryn looked up at Mack balanced on his hands and knees over her. “That gives us fifteen minutes.” She reached for his belt. While she unfastened it, Mack pressed his lips against hers, then reached behind Caryn with his arm and, in one awkward movement, slid underneath her and switched positions with her. Now she was kneeling over his body as he reclined on his back.
“I’ll make it the best fifteen minutes of your life.” Caryn peeled back Mack’s pants, allowing him freedom from the confines of his jeans and boxers. He sprung loose. The coat came off with a flap of her arms, falling into a pile on the floor beside the recliner.
She hooked her thong with two fingers and straddled Mack. As she settled over his pillar, she rocked with the chair, back and forth.
Mack closed his eyes and moaned.
CHAPTER 42
CARYN
Five, twelve, ten, and ten. Caryn counted the steps to her condo. At her door, she had an unusual sense that something was wrong. It worried her that Ekhard had threatened her. All the way home from Mack’s hotel, she had watched in the rear-view mirror for Eks’s car following her. She’d looked for it in the condo parking lot, just in case. In his house, he had glared at her as if she were prey. His eyelids narrowed and he focused on … her hands? His lip curled into a snarl when he threatened her life.
Inside, the condo building was quiet. Not even the sound of her neighbors’ TV could be heard. Upon turning the key to her place, she found the deadbolt unlocked. Have I forgotten to lock it? Not likely. Was Mack inside again? She turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open.
“Mack? Are you here?” Caryn peered inside, then set her briefcase on the floor before turning on the light. Her kitchen looked exactly as she had left it. She tiptoed to the pantry where she kept a toolbox and silently lifted out a long steel hammer. With it in her hand, she stopped to listen.
No unusual sounds. A used red coffee cup from the morning sat near the sink with a white kitchen towel folded next to it. A dirty pot from boiled pasta on Thursday night remained full of dishwater in the sink. Other odds and ends—a couple of fine-tipped pens, her solar calculator, and a pad of paper, unopened mail, bills, and credit card proposals—were spread out on the island.
The living room looked the same as she had left it too. Still, the door had been unlocked. In her stomach a knot seemed to grow to the size of a golf ball. With the hammer gripped and ready to swing, Caryn checked the voice mail on her landline.
“Hi, Caryn. Are you home?” Annoying Brad. How many times had she regretted giving him her phone number?
“A detective asked about you this morning. What’s that about? I hope you’re not in any trouble. What did she want? She wouldn’t tell me, but I don’t like the police asking questions. The other residents might get scared.” There was a long pause before he continued. “You know my number, right? I’ll try again later …” Beep.
She hung her trench coat on the coatrack, then slipped out of her high-heeled shoes and kicked them into the corner. News that a detective had stopped by didn’t faze her in the least. Confident that she’d given Detective Jewell just the right amount of misdirection, Caryn didn’t worry about her.
Beep. “This is Brad again. I told your brother you’d be back soon.” Caryn’s blood ran cold. Ekhard was here? Eks found out where I live.
“He was such a nice guy. I didn’t know you had a brother. I invited him over for a brewski. Anyway, when you get in, call me.”
Ekhard had been here. The idea of him creeping around her place gave her goosebumps. In the bedroom, her mother’s faded white jewelry box had been opened. Dumped out, the contents of the box were scattered across the dresser. Caryn didn’t wear the jewelry. What she kept inside were personal items collected from special people in her life. A collection of memories. In order to assess the strewn contents, Caryn set down the hammer with a loud clunk. What would Eks have taken?
She placed the pair of pearl earrings that had belonged to a friend from college back in the bottom corner behind Amy Dufresne’s monogrammed pen set. She had stolen the earrings so long ago that she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. The locket with the initials H.J.M. was here too. She had been fantastic in bed. Caryn counted; seven items collected. One, the most important piece of the collection, was missing. Where was the pink-heart pendant?
Irritation incited ire. Then fury rose, heating Caryn’s face and neck. She tore her sweater off and hugged herself, fingernails digging into the backs of her arms. That pendant was part of her collection. Wired and fired up, Caryn paced. He threatened to kill me.
Fucking Ekhard.
* * *
“I’m telling you, Mack, someone broke into my condo.” Caryn’s tone was frantic, panicked.
Through the cell phone Mack whispered, “I’m in the middle of something right now.”
His quiet voice infuriated her. “You’re busy?” Caryn shouted. “How can you be busy now? What’s more important than me?”
“I can’t get away,” he said. Then turned away from the receiver he said, “It’s nothing, honey. A minor hiccup at work.”
I’ve just been reduced to a hiccup. “Is she there? Are you with her?” Caryn heard shuffling on the other end of the line.
“Call the cops. File a report. I can’t help you right now,” he said.
“I mean …” Caryn inhaled deeply, switching gears. She wanted—no, needed—Mack here. She softened her tone and lowered her voice. “I’m scared, Mack. Can you please come?” She begged with the most helpless, needy voice she could muster. “Please, Mack, I need you.”
“Hold on.”
Caryn waited. He must have moved out of Erin’s earshot.
“Look, you caught me at a bad time. Erin asked the neighbors over for dinner. She just got home from the grocery and I’m cooking dinner. I’ve got two frying pans going and …” He paused. “What was taken?”
“Nothing. I checked the whole apartment. I still have everything.” Except for one very personal part of my collection.
She didn’t tell him she had found her jewelry box opened and its contents strewn across her dresser. In the grand scheme of things, the pendant wa
s insignificant in terms of value. Still, she treasured it. “My class ring from IU is the most valuable thing I own, and it wasn’t stolen,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. At the least, call the office of your condo association and tell them someone broke in. Maybe others in your building have reported a break-in too. They have security cameras. They might be able to identify the guy.”
That didn’t matter. She knew Ekhard had done it. The only thing she wanted was for Mack to come over and baby her. For him to prove his devotion.
CHAPTER 43
MORGAN
The Toyota made record time driving to Lafayette. Morgan decided this car could make her very happy.
The Baker and Baker accounting firm was located in a brand-new building on the posh side of town. The glass and chrome furnishings, the quiet conference rooms with long walnut tables and leather chairs, suggested that the firm attracted high-paying customers.
Cheryl Baker had given Morgan access to Nathaniel’s notes, computer, and billing software. Sitting at what used to be his desk, Morgan waded through file cabinets full of his clients’ information. She was looking for a something—anything—to connect him to Fay.
“He kept very good records.” Cheryl leaned on the door jam. Her perfectly sprayed, rounded hairdo looked stiff and unnatural.
“I see that.” Morgan leaned back and stretched her arms overhead.
“Have you found anything?”
No one could find Ekhard. And now Nathaniel was missing too. “I haven’t found what I’m looking for,” she admitted to Cheryl.
“Is there any way I can help?” Cheryl’s lace-trimmed blouse made her look much older than Morgan thought she was.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Ekhard Klein?”
When Cheryl shook her head, her hair didn’t move.
“How about Hallie Marks?” Morgan asked.
“Oh sure. I hired Hallie to help us redecorate. We recently moved from another location to this one. We needed some updates.”
“Mrs. Baker, where did Nathaniel Johnson go?”
“He wanted to branch out. He’s started working for himself in Danville. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to take any of his clients from here. He claimed to have formed a client base on his own.”
“Danville?” Morgan took a breath and held it. Danville was where Hallie lived.
“That’s right.”
“How long did he work here?”
“About six years.”
* * *
Morgan took from Ekhard’s office what would fit in the rented car. She spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the night looking through his files—looking for any evidence to connect him more than superficially to Hallie or Suzanne. Early in the morning she came across a familiar name. Jennifer Delacourt. It may have been lack of solid sleep, or it may have been a real clue. Donnie would probably think this was way off base, because Morgan’s judgment was slipping. She knew he was right.
Six years ago, Jenny Delacourt had owned a flower shop, and Nathaniel—Ekhard—had kept the books for her. That year, she was attacked by blunt force to her face and hands. The case had been big news, and Morgan had heard of it because Stan Williams was the detective at the crime scene. Jenny had lived through the criminal attack but refused to implicate her boyfriend. The case was recorded as a random attack. Now, Morgan didn’t think so.
When she returned to work the next day, Morgan told Donnie about it. “When I called this morning, the folks at Beauty Blossoms said he had worked for them. Jenny was the manager at the florist when he did their books. She was attacked and hospitalized the year he worked for them.”
Morgan continued, “The assailant crushed her face and hands. Her hands were smashed so badly that one had to be amputated. Poor woman didn’t die. Once her insurance money ran out, she wasn’t able to afford any of the medical procedures she needed.”
Donnie drew his eyebrows together. “Not this again …”
“Just give me a second, will you?”
Exasperated, Donnie leaned back and shook his head.
She continued, ignoring his attitude. “In my notes, Delacourt told the Marion County DA that she didn’t want to file against the attacker. Claimed she was in love.”
Donnie’s lips curled in disbelief. “Why don’t I remember that case?”
Morgan replied, “Stanley Williams was assigned to it. I read his notes. Her cheekbone was shattered and both her hands.”
“Jesus.”
Morgan shrugged. “She was faced with fourteen reconstructive surgeries.”
Donnie leaned forward. “Did she ever identify the guy?”
“Not even when one of her hands was amputated.” Morgan flipped a page in her booklet. “Her boyfriend claimed she was having an affair, which she denied. She told them it was a random attack.”
“I don’t get the connection. Who was arrested?”
Morgan pushed her black blazer aside and put a hand on her hip. “No one.”
Donnie twiddled his pen. “Explain this to me. How did Jenny Delacourt get away?” Morgan’s mouth opened wide, letting a yawn escape. She couldn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t getting any sleep. At this point she didn’t care. “Jenny didn’t get away. She was left to die.”
“I’m not seeing it. I think he would have finished the deed.”
Morgan wasn’t so sure. “Depends on the circumstances.”
“Couldn’t you find anything else to implicate Ekhard?”
“No. I want to interview Jenny.” She closed her kitten notebook and stuffed it back into her pants pocket.
“Uh-uh.” Donnie pursed his lips and shook his head. “Go home and sleep this one off. Stanley won’t give you the case.”
Morgan knew that Donnie didn’t like Stanley because of what he’d put Morgan and every other woman in the precinct through. However, she wanted to at least ask him. Though she didn’t know him well, Stan couldn’t be as bad as they said.
Donnie’s attention shifted to the mess on his desk. As he began shuffling through papers, he reorganized the flat-pile filing system. It was his way of telling Morgan to go ahead and do what she needed to do. “And don’t schedule another evening interview, please. The girls have tennis matches every weekend, and Angie wants …”
“I know. I know.” She took a scolding posture, placing both hands on her hips, though she wasn’t much taller than Donnie sitting down. “You have your family. I’ll make sure it’s during the workday.”
He moved piles, avoiding her gaze.
“Thanks, Donnie.” Relieved that he’d come around, she lifted the photo of Suzanne Aiken from the top pile. “Jenny was lying. It’s here in my notes. It wasn’t a random slaying. For certain, she was scared.”
CHAPTER 44
MORGAN: 16 Years Ago
The next morning, Morgan showered and dressed as if in a dream. She washed her hair and scrubbed her hands, while wondering where Fay could be. Something about Fay finding a boyfriend had upset Morgan, but now she couldn’t remember.
After they’d filled the car with the rest of her boxes and suitcase, Morgan’s mother called Mrs. Ramsey. Morgan listened to the muffled conversation from outside the kitchen. When her mother hung up, she came into the dining room and sat facing Morgan. Her furrowed brow and downturned mouth spoke more than she could say.
“She didn’t come home, did she?” Morgan asked, dreading the answer.
That day, instead of checking in at the dorms, Morgan and her parents drove to the Ramseys’ house. A police officer had swung by at Victoria’s request, but it was too early to file a missing person’s report. The officer took a few details, gave them business cards, and left.
“This is your fault, Morgan,” Victoria accused.
“Now come on, Vic. That’s not fair.” Morgan’s dad defended her.
Morgan shrank. “Mrs. Ramsey, I don’t know where she went last night. She didn’t call me.”
“Mo was home last night,” her mother adde
d.
Victoria flew into a tirade, blaming Morgan by default for influencing Fay with alcohol. Morgan shrank from the weight of it. If their parents found out about the pot, they would be in more trouble. The burden and worry sank her even further.
While her parents argued with Mrs. Ramsey, Morgan slinked out of the room. Perhaps she could glean something by looking through Fay’s things. She pushed open the door and peered into her sunny, bright-yellow bedroom.
Unlike Morgan’s bedroom, Fay’s was spotless. Morgan’s heart jumped to her throat. The bed was covered with a flowery bedspread without a single wrinkle. Pink and yellow pillows on top supported a handful of stuffed animals: four teddy bears given to her by her dad before he died and one orange monkey that she had won at the amusement park with Morgan. Despite transitioning to college—that was supposed to be today—Fay had one box sealed shut on the floor beside her desk. No papers or books covered the surface of her painted pink desk. The only other evidence of moving was Fay’s suitcase on the window ledge with clothes folded in tight little squares inside. Socks rolled into perfect balls lined the edges.
Morgan swallowed the dust in her mouth. Fay had a calendar. She did nothing without writing it on her calendar or making a list. Morgan opened the desk drawer, causing a row of blue pens to roll away. On the left, she saw Fay’s closed Day-Timer.
“Morgan are you upstairs?” her mother called from the stairway.
Morgan dragged the fat book out and opened it to August as footsteps thundered up the stairs. All three adults were looking for her. She flipped the pages to yesterday’s entry, tore the page from the book, and shoved it in her pants pocket.
“What are you doing in here?” Not a slender woman, Vic filled the doorway. “Leave her things alone,” she barked. Morgan closed the calendar and placed it back inside the drawer.
“Get out,” Vic said.
Behind her, Morgan’s parents beckoned her. “Let’s go, honey. There’s nothing we can do here. Fay will call when she gets home.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Stay away from her. It’s your fault she’s gone. I blame you, Morgan Jewell.”
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