“You’ll make it,” he said. “You have a cop’s heart.”
“Why did you become a cop?”
He focused on opening the last box. “It was the thing to do when I returned from Iraq.”
A wall slid between them, just like it had the one other time she’d asked him about his past. Rachel had suspected before that Boone had secrets, and judging by the set of his mouth, he intended to keep them. She understood that and sat down beside him. “If the program isn’t here, I don’t know where else to look.”
“Then we go to plan B.” He handed her a stack of papers and several packets of photos developed at Walgreens.
“Which is?”
“Don’t ask. You won’t like it.”
The first packet of photos was of her tenth birthday, and she laid them aside. She opened another and caught her breath. “Pay dirt.”
“What?”
He leaned toward her, and a whiff of his aftershave reminded her of the ocean. Focus. She handed him the first picture. “This was taken the night of the Elvis contest. That’s Mom with Harrison Foxx.”
Rachel sorted through the pictures that were of her mother and the performers from that night. “Here’s one of Mom and Terri. They were the best of friends.” She pulled another one out. “Oh, look. Here’s one of Foxx and Monica Carpenter.”
He glanced at the photo. “She hasn’t changed much. Just older.”
“She doesn’t have the owl glasses yet.” So Monica was there that night. She flipped through the pictures, finding another one of Monica and Vic Vegas and Randy Culver. She handed it to Boone and examined the next photo. Foxx had his arm around a woman she didn’t recognize, even though she looked familiar.
“Culver was really young then,” he said.
“Yeah.” She frowned at the next photo. Someone, Nana maybe, had caught Foxx and her mother in an embrace. She chewed her bottom lip, caught between wanting to tear the photo in half and defending her mother.
Guilt flooded her heart. No. She knew her mother, and she would not betray her marriage—that’s what her dad did. If this photo were anything other than innocent, Nana would not have saved it. Still, it was with reluctance that she handed it to Boone. “I’m sure this isn’t what it looks like.”
He studied the photo. “Who do you suppose took it?”
“Terri or Nana. One of them was always taking pictures.”
Boone waved his hand toward the boxes. “How did your mother get involved in this Elvis stuff, anyway?”
“That can be blamed on Nana. I told you she went to Humes High with Elvis, but I don’t think I told you she graduated with him.” She sorted through the photos, looking for . . . exactly what, she wasn’t sure. “They were in the class of ’53,” she said, looking up.
He frowned in concentration a moment and then winced. “That means Elvis would be eighty-two? That’s hard to picture.”
“Yeah. And I don’t think he would have aged as well as Nana.” Not many people aged as well as her grandmother. “Nana stayed in touch with Elvis off and on, even after he became famous. He invited them to Graceland when Mom was thirteen. Gave them the million-dollar tour, and Mom was hooked. She never got over being a fan.”
He turned the photo over. “Harrison’s name is on the back. How about the others?”
She hadn’t checked the backs. The names were written in a distinctive slant. “Yeah, they all have names on the back. This looks like Terri’s handwriting.” Rachel looked up. “So even if we don’t find the program, we have the names of several of the performers.”
“Let’s keep looking, though. I’d like to have the name of every performer who was there that night. Any of them could have been jealous of Foxx.”
“And if Vic was on to something and told the wrong person . . . that’s motive for his death.”
“As for Randy, maybe the killer saw Vic talking to Randy Culver and was afraid he’d told Randy what he discovered.”
“I wish we could have talked to him longer. Have you heard how he is?”
Boone took out his phone. “Not lately. I think I’ll check.”
He dialed the Med and asked for ICU. When he hung up, he said, “He’s in and out of consciousness. They said we could go in to see him, though. That he might wake up any time.”
“Great.” As she began putting the papers back in the boxes, the front door opened, and Nana came in, looking almost as fresh as when she left. “Have a good game?”
“Yes. I let him win the last set, and he asked me out for coffee after church tonight. Are you coming? I missed you this morning.”
“I doubt it. I’m picking Erin up at Gran’s and taking her to the home.”
Boone stacked the boxes. “Where would you like me to put these?”
“In the garage,” Rose said. “Go through the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
“I think I can find it.”
Once he left, her grandmother beamed at her. “I’m so glad you and Boone are back together.”
“Nana! We are not together. He’s my boss.”
“Oh, posh! Why don’t you bring him to dinner some night? You’re not getting any younger, you know. And I’d like a great-grandchild.”
She could never bring Boone around Nana again. “Please, don’t say anything like that around him. Okay?”
“Well, he’s a hunk, if you ask me,” Nana said with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “But you know I wouldn’t embarrass you.”
Sure, she wouldn’t. Rachel picked up the photos on the table. “Do you know who took these?”
Nana took the photos and gave a small gasp. She closed her eyes as tears formed on her lashes.
She’d wanted to get her grandmother off her case, but not like this. “I’m sorry, Nana. I shouldn’t—”
“No. It’s all right. I was looking at her wedding pictures earlier today.” She straightened her shoulders and examined the top picture again. “Terri took these the night Gabby died, using her camera. Terri had them developed and gave them to me later, but I never got around to looking at all of them.” She sorted through the others. “I don’t believe I ever saw this picture. He was in love with your mother, you know. Had been since high school.”
She looked to see that Nana held the photo of her mom and Harrison embracing. “How did she feel about him?”
“She wasn’t in love with him, and she would never betray your father. But with Lucien so caught up in his work, sometimes I think she enjoyed the attention Harrison showered on her.”
What if her mother and Harrison . . . No, they did not have an affair. A memory flickered in her mind. Her parents arguing that night . . . about Harrison? And then it was gone. “How did the Judge feel about Harrison’s attention?”
“He didn’t like it, and I didn’t blame him. I told Gabby she didn’t need to encourage Harrison. He was a ne’er-do-well, even hit me up for a loan, and he liked the women too well. Your mother wasn’t the only one he paid special attention to.”
“You didn’t loan—”
“Of course not. His history of repaying loans was not good.”
“Do you have anything else that needs to go into the storage room?” Boone asked as he came back into the room.
“No, that’s it.”
He shifted his gaze to Nana. “Do you know any of the people in those photos?”
She glanced down at the pictures in her hands. “I haven’t looked at them all.”
Nana went through the stack, occasionally pulling out a photo. When she finished, she spread the ones she’d chosen on the table and tapped the one nearest her. “Monica Carpenter. I saw her the other night at Blues & Such. She always was a funny little thing. I didn’t like her, but Gabby was kind to her. Besides hanging around Harrison, she and this stagehand were tight.”
She pointed to another photo. “He was there Friday night too. Emceeing.”
“Jerome Winters?” Rachel looked at the chubby teenage boy in the picture. She supposed a skinnier version could be Wi
nters. “He worked the stage? Are you sure?”
“Oh yes. Looks different now. The way I remember him, he had a lot of ambition, and he thought Monica could help him.” Nana snorted. “Poor thing couldn’t help anyone. She had too many of her own problems, starting with Jack Daniels.”
“She has a drinking problem?”
“She did back then—heard Gabby and Harrison talking about it once.”
Interesting. If she still hit the bottle, it might account for the way she’d looked this morning and the dark circles under her eyes. Maybe her drinking came from hiding something. Like a murder. The event planner definitely deserved a second look.
“Did you see her talking to anyone?” Boone asked.
“She talked to everyone, especially the Elvises. She even talked to me, asked if I was coming back Saturday night. I said probably not, that I was attending a party at Judge Winslow’s.” Nana nodded with a wink. “Impressed her, I did.”
“Did she know who you were?”
The older woman frowned. “You know, she did. She called me by name.”
Rachel exchanged glances with Boone. Maybe Monica didn’t have to look Rachel up on Google yesterday. Maybe she already knew who she was.
“Could she have remembered you from when Mom was involved with all those Elvis shows?”
“Why, that’s probably it. I was always there with Gabby, helping out.” She glanced at the other photos. “It’s funny how many of the people in these photos are still hanging around the Elvis events. Like Randy Culver. He’s really done well. I heard on the news this morning he’d collapsed. I hope he’s going to be all right.”
“I do too,” Rachel said. “Who are the other people in the photos?”
Nana shuffled the photos again, stopping at a shot that looked as though it was taken backstage. She pointed out a brunette who looked to be in her thirties. “Can’t remember her name, but she was moonstruck on Harrison. Followed him around like a puppy.”
Rachel looked closer at the photo. She’d seen her in another photo. The woman’s round face looked vaguely familiar. Even though probably a hundred pounds overweight, she was dressed stylishly in a gray-and-silver metallic top and black satin pants.
Nana tapped a photo of Harrison Foxx with his arm wrapped around a shapely blonde. “Lucinda Vetch. She had a thing for Harrison. She came into Blues & Such Friday night with someone half her age.”
Ah, the elusive Ms. Vetch. “Do you know her well?”
“So-so. She’s high up in the deb scene.”
“Do you have an address for her?” Boone asked.
“Not offhand, but I can get it for you.”
“Thanks.” She hugged her grandmother. “Call me when you get it.”
Nana saluted like she had her marching orders. “Yes, ma’am.”
After they bid her grandmother goodbye, they stepped out into the afternoon heat. “Are these temperatures supposed to break anytime soon?” Rachel asked.
“I think a cool front is supposed to come through by Monday or Tuesday. Probably bring some storms.”
Anything would be a relief compared to the heat, and they sure needed the rain.
Boone used his remote to unlock his truck door. “I think the next thing we need to do is talk to Culver. He mentioned that Vegas argued with someone Friday night. Maybe it was Monica.”
It was sweltering inside the car, and she fanned herself until cool air flowed from the air conditioner. “Randy also mentioned a necklace. I wish we could find out more about it.”
Something about the necklace Culver mentioned intrigued her. Why would Vic make a big deal out of a necklace? Maybe Monica saw the argument. It was clear she hadn’t told all she knew. Rachel definitely wanted to follow up alone with the event planner.
Boone nodded toward the photos still in Rachel’s hand. “Maybe whoever killed Foxx thought he had a thing for your mother . . . or your mother had a thing for him.”
He was referring to the embrace between her mother and Harrison.
Rachel refused to believe there was anything between them. But hadn’t she seen the covert glances they exchanged? No. She’d misread their body language.
“Anyone who knew my mother would know better. My parents may have been separated, but it wasn’t because of anything Mom did.”
She slipped the photos into her bag. She was so tired of hiding her father’s affair, but to bring it up now could cost him the Appeals Court nomination. “I’ve gone over her file so much I can almost quote it. When the detectives discovered my parents were separated, they dissected the marriage and concluded it was exactly like the Judge said. He was to blame for never being home. Mom and Harrison were friends. Period. Nothing else.”
She’d often wondered why his affair hadn’t been discovered.
“But what if someone believed they had a thing going?”
“How could they think that? If anyone knew her, they knew she and Dad were working out their problems.” Except . . . she tried to push the memory away. Her mother and father yelling. No—her mother yelling, the Judge infuriatingly calm as always. She couldn’t recall exactly what they argued about, but somehow Harrison Foxx was involved. As soon as they realized she’d heard them, they dropped the argument . . . But was Rachel making more of it than it had been?
“Tell me more about your mother’s case and the burglaries going on in the neighborhood.”
“We’ve already been over this.”
“Humor me.”
She knew the cases by heart. “The MO was the same for all the break-ins. No forced entry, the homeowners were all out of the house, and only jewelry and electronics—things that were easily fenced—were stolen. A housecleaning service was the common denominator.”
“And no one was charged with your mother’s death.”
“No.” That had bothered her from the first time she looked into the case. “Six people were involved in the ring, and the night our house was broken into, all but one of them had an alibi. They were in jail, rounded up in a drug bust. That’s how they were caught—when they were printed, one of their fingerprints matched prints left at one of the burglary sites. They pleaded down and pinned the burglary at our house and Mom’s death on their absent buddy.”
“So they arrested him?”
“No. He died of an overdose. And then they recanted what they said.”
“Convenient.”
She’d thought so too. But she hadn’t been able to find evidence that pointed to anyone else. Until Vic said Foxx’s murder was connected to her mother’s. If only she’d believed him and gotten his files. For more reasons than one.
25
RACHEL WAS SILENT BESIDE BOONE as he drove downtown, allowing him to make a mental list. Pull Gabby Winslow’s case once he reached the CJC. Maybe the other detectives had missed something. Call the US Marshals for late-developing information on the ricin. Check out—
“It won’t take both of us to interview Culver,” Rachel said suddenly. “Why don’t you drop me off at the parking garage and go see him by yourself?”
“And you?”
“I think I’ll catch Monica Carpenter before she leaves. Nana brought up some interesting things that Monica might feel freer talking about without you along.”
“What sort of things?” He didn’t like the idea, especially if Monica turned out to be the one Vegas was arguing with.
“Her relationship with Harrison and possibly even Winters. And you don’t need me to talk to Culver.”
“Just watch your back. Someone tried to kill you or the Judge last night. And for all we know, that person could be Monica Carpenter.” He sensed her stiffening.
“Even if she’s the killer, she’s not going to kill me in her condo,” she said evenly. “I face danger every day I put on a gun, just like everyone else in the department. You don’t have to hover over me.”
“I’m not hovering.” Okay, so he was. But his kind of hovering had brought the soldiers under him home from Iraq. All alive.
Except one. “It’s one thing to face down a criminal holding a gun—that’s not personal and you’re well trained for it. Whoever sent the ricin is a different breed and doesn’t care who they hurt to get to you.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m coming with you to interview Carpenter.”
“Really, it’ll be better if you don’t—the questions I plan to ask aren’t the kind she’ll want to answer in front of you. You need to do your thing and let me do mine,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Criminals who do things in secret aren’t apt to attack in broad daylight. Besides, Monica Carpenter didn’t send me the ricin. She wouldn’t have known I would be at the Judge’s. Or where he lives.”
“His address would be easy enough to find out. And Rose told her about the party he was having—Monica could have assumed you would be there.” He made a left turn and then pulled into the parking garage. “But you’re right. You’re a cop and you can handle the situation. Just watch your back.”
“Ten-four.”
He grinned. “Where are you parked?”
“Second level.”
Once she got in her car and drove away, he took her parking space. The Med was a block from the Criminal Justice Center, and the short walk would give him time to sort out his thoughts on the case.
He’d just left the relative coolness of the parking garage when his phone rang. “Callahan.”
“This is US Marshal Steve Lock. I’m handling the ricin case involving one of your officers, Rachel Sloan, but she’s not answering her home phone, and I don’t have her cell number. Can you get me in touch with her?”
“She’s on her way to interview a person of interest. Let me text you her number.”
“Great. I’d like you to be present when I go over the events of last night. Say in half an hour?”
“Not a problem.” He’d still have time to check on Culver. “Why don’t we meet at the CJC?”
“See you then.”
Rachel would not be happy about having her plans interrupted, and sure enough two minutes after he sent the marshal her number, a text dinged on his phone from Rachel.
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