“Gran?”
Everyone turned as Erin stood in the doorway. She’d had a haircut since this morning, and the shorter cut made her look even younger. Or maybe it was the way she looked up at Rachel’s grandmother with childlike innocence.
“Erin,” Adele said. “Please go back to the party.”
“But something is wrong. Everyone is acting funny.”
Rachel hurried to Erin’s side. “It’s going to be okay, but you need to go back to the den.”
It touched him the way Rachel was never impatient with Erin. In fact, it was obvious the whole family cherished her.
Erin turned and caught sight of him. “Boone! You came to the party. You’ll tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing that concerns you. Just police work, and after it’s over, someone will explain, but right now you need to do what Rachel said.”
“Okay.” Erin looked down at his feet. “Cowboy boots. They’re my favorite.” She lifted her gaze and smiled at him. “I like you. You’re cute.” Then she turned to Rachel. “If you don’t marry him, I am.”
“Erin!” Rachel looked over her shoulder toward the door. “Where’s Terri?”
“Talking to Nana.” The pint-sized woman put her hands over her ears as another emergency vehicle wailed to a stop. “I don’t like that noise.”
“Me, either,” Adele said. “Let’s go back to the party.” She started to leave, then turned to Boone. “Please take care of my granddaughter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sorry about that,” Rachel said when the two had left.
He shot her a quizzical glance. “For . . . ?”
“I can take care of myself, and as for Erin, you’ve been around her enough to know she pretty much says what’s on her mind.”
He grinned at her. “I kind of like what both of them said.”
Rachel drew in a shaky breath. “Well . . . thanks for taking up for me in front of my father . . . I don’t usually let him get to me like that.”
“He’s probably just worried.”
“No, he really hates me being a cop.” She tilted her head toward the driveway. “Do we stay here or—”
“We definitely stay here until the all clear.”
Sweat trickled down Rachel’s back as the humidity wrapped around her. She and Boone and the other officers had congregated on the lawn far enough away from the package that if it blew, no one would be injured. The robot was in place and inching its way past the live oak tree to the spot where she’d laid the box.
“All this trouble . . . what if it’s nothing?” she said to no one in particular.
“Then we’ll try to figure out why someone gave you a present and didn’t put their name on it.” He nudged her. “You never said the party was for you too. Is the gift from a special guy? Maybe there’s jewelry in there.”
“I can guarantee there’s no jewelry, and I don’t do birthdays.”
“Everybody does birthdays. But I didn’t think today was yours.”
“It’s not.” She knew what he was doing. Trying to distract her. But she wasn’t about to tell him what day her birthday was if he didn’t remember.
“It’s Tuesday, same day as your grandmother’s.”
So he hadn’t forgotten. Rachel glanced up at him, her heart hitching as he winked at her. If he meant to distract her, he certainly had. She swallowed down her panic, remembering the way she’d cut and run before. After her husband died, she’d been gun-shy of men for more than one reason. With her thoughts a tangled mess, she shifted her attention back to the yard.
The robot picked up the package with its long arms and moved to the X-ray machine that had been set up. “All clear. No bomb,” the tech said.
Her knees wobbled, and she caught herself before anyone noticed. She probably would never hear the end of the jokes, but at least no one wanted to kill her. Stepping off the portico, she said, “Let’s see what’s in it.”
“Wait,” Boone said. “Let the experts handle it.”
Rachel halted as another K-9 dog approached the package, but he showed no interest. “No drugs, at least. Now can I open it?” Her answer came in the form of a man in a hazmat suit. “Why is—”
“You get the whole enchilada.”
“What?”
“They’re making sure there’s nothing hazardous in it.”
“As in poison?” That thought had not even entered her mind. “Who’s in the hazmat suit?”
“Rodney Cortez.”
She didn’t blink as Cortez unwrapped the package. White powder sprayed the air, and he pushed the box away from him without dropping it. Within minutes, he had sealed the box in a plastic bag.
Another officer in a hazmat suit vacuumed up the powder on the ground. Cortez peeled the white suit off and rolled it inside out before sealing it in another plastic bag. He walked the evidence to his van before joining them.
“What do you think it is?” Boone asked.
“Won’t know until it’s analyzed,” he said, glancing toward Rachel. “I’m sorry, but I guarantee it’s not good. It was spring-loaded to release when the top of the box was lifted. If it’s something like anthrax, everyone in the room could have been affected.”
Rachel hugged her waist. She didn’t trust her voice to answer, not the way her insides were shaking. Seeing the white powder fly into the air had stunned her, but wrapping her mind around someone actually trying to kill her stretched beyond her grasp. And even though she faced danger every day she strapped on a gun, this was different.
This was personal.
But who and why? She had no past cases that warranted this type of response. And the only homicides on her present caseload were normal gang-related or domestic violence homicides. Except for the Vegas case. But what made it so dangerous?
“What if I told you Harrison’s murder is connected to your mother’s death.” Vic’s words. She couldn’t get away from them. And if the three murders were connected, why would that make someone try to kill her? The text warned her off the case . . . What if they weren’t trying to kill her but trying to get her removed from Vic’s case? What did she know that someone was afraid of?
Since she had no proof the deaths were related, she would hold on to her suspicion until there was something tangible to take to Boone. Until that happened, this was her case. Period. She looked up into Boone’s dark brown eyes studying her and squashed the guilt that flooded her mind.
“Do you want me to tell your father?” Boone asked.
That was twice he’d offered to be a buffer for her. Rachel shifted her gaze to the white van where Cortez had stored the evidence. She’d forgotten all about her dad and the people inside. She straightened her shoulders.
“No. He’ll expect a report from me,” she said, hating the quiver in her voice. Rachel turned and marched up the steps, her high heels clicking on the concrete.
“Wait, I’m going with you.”
He wasn’t asking. And she was glad.
Her father waited in the chair by the front window, had probably returned after they left. Terri sat on the sofa, and both of them looked shell-shocked.
“I gather it’s not a bomb,” he said.
“No.” Boone spoke before she had a chance to. “It’s some type of white powder. And since it was delivered here rather than her home, I’m not certain it was meant for Rachel. Who found the package?”
“I did.” Terri leaned forward and placed her hand on her knees. “I had no idea it might be anything like this—I just can’t comprehend this is real.” She shifted her gaze from Rachel to Boone. “Who would do something like this?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Boone said.
“I assume my daughter has been put on administrative leave.”
“Why would you expect me to be put on leave?” Rachel asked. “If officers were put on leave every time someone threatened their life, there wouldn’t be any left to work. Besides, we don’t even know if I’m the target.�
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“But you don’t have to worry about her investigating this,” Boone said. “If it turns out to be some sort of poison, Tennessee Poison Control will take over the case. And if it’s something like anthrax, the feds, as well as the US Marshals’ office, will step in since a federal judge is involved. Probably will anyway.”
Tennessee Poison Control. Feds. US Marshals. She must be more rattled than she thought not to realize how big a deal this was.
The Judge unfolded from the chair, towering over her. “Take a few days off, Rachel.”
She held his gaze, not wavering. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Investigating homicides is my job. And what if the package was for you? You have more enemies than I do.”
“Then it would have had my name on it, not yours. Who are these enemies you might have?”
He would latch on to that. “I misspoke. I don’t have any enemies that I know of.”
“I believe you have at least one,” he said quietly.
16
RACHEL BIT BACK THE RETORT on the tip of her tongue. She and her father were like sandpaper, but she relaxed a little as Boone shook the Judge’s hand.
“We’re finished here,” he said and turned to Rachel. “What time did you say the performers would be at Blues & Such?”
She checked her watch. “Now. Are you ready to leave?”
“Give me five minutes to talk to Cortez.”
She nodded. That would give her time to see the grandmothers and Erin to let them know she was all right.
Boone was ready to go by the time Rachel came out the front door, and since her house was only a mile away, she agreed to drop her car off there and ride downtown with Boone.
“Thanks for helping me out with the Judge,” she said, fastening her seat belt. “You probably saved me from saying something I would have regretted.”
“I don’t remember such . . . intensity between the two of you. What happened?”
“I don’t know.” They had been snapping at one another more than usual. Rachel stared straight ahead as twilight slipped away and overhead lights blinked on. “The middle of August is always a hard time, but this year is worse. We’ve both been edgy for a couple of weeks now.”
“Understandable. But tonight was the first time I realized he doesn’t like you being a cop. I mean, he’s a judge. He ought to be proud of you.”
“Oh, he has nothing against the police. You just don’t understand our family dynamics. Since I was a child, there were expectations. On both sides.” She’d often felt like she was in the middle of a tug-of-war game. “My mom and Nana on one side of the fence and Gran and Dad on the other.”
“What do you mean?”
“One side was planning my debutante season from the time I was born and the other my career as an attorney. I’ll let you guess which was which. In spite of my mother’s death, I did have a debutante season, and then went on to get a law degree, and passed the bar on the first try. But when Corey died, everything unraveled.” She sighed. “I thought Dad would have a stroke when I resigned from Silverstone and Webster and entered the police academy.”
He turned onto Poplar. “I always wanted to ask what made you do that.”
She didn’t answer right away, trying to decide how much she wanted to share. “I was bored to death at the law firm. One day I woke up and realized I could stay in a job I hated or I could leave. So I left.” She turned to him. “And I love being a cop. Especially a homicide cop.”
“You’re good, I’ll say that. But that was quite a change just because you were bored.”
Rachel should have known he wouldn’t be satisfied with her answer. As she searched for something that might be acceptable, she realized she hadn’t filled him in on her visit to Blues & Such earlier. “Um, there’s something I should have already told you. I drove downtown earlier to interview some of the tribute artists that were there last night, but they had left. I interviewed the event’s coordinator for the contest instead.”
“You’re doing it again,” Boone said as he stopped at a traffic light.
She turned toward him. The muscle in his jaw pulsed. “Doing what?”
He checked the light and then glanced at her, wistfulness plain in his eyes. “Changing the subject.”
“I guess I am.” Even if she wanted to open her heart up to Boone, she couldn’t. She’d learned that with Corey. Her heart lay in the center of a frozen wasteland, and she couldn’t do anything to change it. That Boone was still even interested surprised her.
“If you gave me any encouragement, I’d be willing to transfer out of the department.”
“You can’t do that. Homicide is your life! I won’t be responsible for taking you out of a job you love.”
“I’m tired of work being all there is. Don’t you ever think about settling down? Getting married and having children?”
Since Corey’s death, she’d avoided dating relationships until Boone talked her into getting a cup of coffee one day. “This is getting us nowhere.”
A sigh escaped Boone’s lips. “Yes, ma’am. Did you learn anything when you went downtown?”
She relaxed a little. “Ms. Monica Carpenter is one uptight lady. I think she’s afraid Vic’s murder might bring bad publicity to the Supreme Elvis contest.”
“Supreme Elvis? Oh, wait, I remember seeing that advertised on TV.”
“At first she acted as though she didn’t remember Vic Vegas, but I think she knows him better than she indicated.” Rachel pulled two folders from the bag she’d retrieved from her car. “I googled her and it looks like Monica Carpenter has been involved in Elvis events for a long time, so it doesn’t make sense she wouldn’t know Vic.”
“Good work,” Boone said. He pulled his truck into the same parking garage she’d used earlier.
Thank goodness he’d shifted into detective mode. “After I showed her his photo, she admitted to seeing Vic talk to Randy Culver, one of the contestants. I pulled some information off the internet on him as well.” She handed him copies of what she’d printed out.
He scanned the paper, then folded and pocketed it. “Ready?”
She nodded and climbed out of the truck. It had dropped maybe five degrees since the sun went down, but ninety-three was still ninety-three and humid. Even so, Beale Street hummed with tourists and music poured out of the open doors of establishments up and down the street.
Cool air and a voice that sounded remarkably like Elvis singing “All Shook Up” met them at the door of Blues & Such as Rachel followed Boone inside. Energy crackled in the crowd of mostly women whistling and clapping to the beat of the music. Donna waved at her from a corner table. She’d wasted no time in getting here.
“Are you crazy?” Rachel mouthed. She couldn’t imagine willingly getting in the middle of this crowd.
Donna laughed and shook her head, then pointed toward Boone. But it was too late. Rachel hadn’t seen him stop and bumped into him. He steadied her with his hand on her elbow, and she felt his touch all the way to her shoulder.
“Who would’ve thought there’d be this many people here,” she said over the noise.
“Heard on the news this morning there are people from all over the world in Memphis for Elvis Week,” he said and nodded toward the stage. “That guy is pretty good.”
Rachel glanced at the performer. Time froze, throwing her back to seventeen years ago. A stage like this one. Her mother mesmerized by the performer. Only it wasn’t this Elvis impersonator strumming a guitar. It was Harrison Foxx, and her mother was looking at him in a way she had no right to.
Was that really why her parents were separated? Her mouth dried up. Where had that come from? A hazy memory played just out of reach. Her mother told her to keep her plans and go with her friends. Because she had other plans? Plans she didn’t want her daughter to know about? No. Rachel shook off the ridiculous thought. Her mother loved her father and they were working on getting back together.
Rachel jerked as she realized Boone had said some
thing.
“This way,” he repeated, pointing toward the steps to the side of the stage.
A Mr. Clean look-alike stopped them, and Boone flashed his badge as Rachel stepped forward.
“We’re looking for either Jerome or Ms. Carpenter,” she said.
Muscle-bound pointed toward a side door. “Go through there. You’ll find them in the staging area.”
“Can you tell me what Jerome’s last name is?” Rachel said.
“Winters.”
The staging area held more white jumpsuits and black pompadours than Rachel had ever seen in one place, even seventeen years ago. She spied the event coordinator talking to one of the artists and called her name.
Monica Carpenter turned and palmed her hands when she saw Rachel. “Not now, Detective.”
“If you don’t have time, could you direct me to Jerome Winters?”
She jerked her thumb toward the stage. “He’s introducing the next contestant. Can’t this wait until we’re finished?”
Without answering, Rachel turned toward the stage. Jerome must be the one not wearing satin and sequins and holding a microphone. Midforties. And possibly wearing something to hold his stomach in. That or he worked out.
“Ladies, and the one or two gentlemen I see out there,” he said, his mellow baritone flowing from the speakers, “our next contestant is Randy Culver, coming to us from right here in Memphis where he was runner-up Supreme Elvis Tribute Artist of the Year last year. Let’s see if he has what it takes to win the whole thing this year. Please give Randy a warm welcome.”
He clapped his hands, encouraging the audience to do the same before he stepped to the other side of the stage and Culver stepped into the spotlight with his guitar.
Randy Culver. One of the names Monica had mentioned earlier. His name was on the back of the photo, and Rachel pulled it out and compared the singer to the men in the photo. Third man from Foxx on the right. Unlike Vic, Culver had aged well, but then he’d been much younger seventeen years ago. She turned and handed the photo to Boone as Culver sang to the crowd.
Shivers ran over her body as the dulcet tones of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” flowed from his lips. She glanced at the audience. They were on the edge of their seats, spellbound. Rachel wouldn’t be surprised if Randy Culver won this year’s Supreme Elvis contest—if she could vote, he’d have hers.
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