Senseless (27 page)

Chapter 19

Tuesday, April 11, 11:15 A.M.

The sketch Garrison faxed to the pub last night still niggled Eva’s mind as she flipped the sign from
CLOSED
to
OPEN
. She’d not recognized the man but sensed he was no stranger either.

Damn. She rubbed her eyes as the first customer of the day sauntered through the front door. She recognized him. Stan. A regular, he always showed up for lunch before eleven-thirty. And each day he ordered the same thing: turkey, with white American cheese on white bread, chips on the side, soda with no ice.

Stan nodded and came into the pub, taking his regular seat. According to King he’d been coming here for over a decade. Since she’d been serving him, he sat in the same booth.

Eva filled a glass with soda and set it in front of him. “Morning, Stan. You want the usual? ”

“Morning, Doris.” He stared at his cola. “Yep. I’ll have the regular.”

“Great.” Relief washed over her at the normalcy of the moment. He treated her today just like he had yesterday. Nothing had changed.

She put in his order, and then seated a few more customers. No one said anything about the article and she started to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could stay under the radar. Maybe no one cared about her past.

Eva set Stan’s turkey sandwich in front of him and refilled his glass with cola from a pitcher.

Instead of diving into the meal as he always had, he stared at it and his brow furrowed.

“Something wrong, Stan? Did I put the chips in the wrong place?”

He continued to stare at his plate. “So is what the papers say true?”

And so it began. She’d resolved this morning when she’d read the article that she’d not lie about her past. “Some of it.”

“What was it like in jail?”

She kept her shoulders relaxed. “Not the kind of place I ever want to go back to.”

He rotated his plate so that the chips shifted from four o’clock to seven o’clock. “How do I know you haven’t slipped poison into my food?”

She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

His lips flattened. “Serious as a heart attack.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or show her this was a joke. But when he only projected seriousness, her anger rose. “Look, if you don’t want to eat,” she said as she reached for his plate.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?” Anger now tugged at her insides.

“I’m just saying, I got to be careful if I’m dealing with an ex-con. That is what they call you people, right? Ex-cons?”

“There a problem here?” King said as he dried his hands on his apron.

“There’s no problem,” Eva said.

Stan shrugged. “I just asked about the morning article. Didn’t expect her to get so prickly about it.”

King planted a meaty fist on his hip. “You got a point to make, Stan?”

Stan arched a thin eyebrow. “You know you have a murderer working for you.”

King’s expression turned fierce. “Stan, you aren’t one to hold someone’s past against them, are you? Yours is a bit colorful.”

Stan stood, his thin body stiff and awkward. “I may not be perfect, but I ain’t no murderer. And I don’t like the fact that a murderer is serving me.”

Eva could see King’s temper rising. “Stan, if I were going to poison you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? ”

King’s eyes flashed with outrage. “Poison!”

Stan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Eva smiled. “I’m not going to poison you or anyone else. I do need to take orders at table six and seven. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’ve got to get moving.”

As Eva moved away, Stan said, “I don’t know if I trust that girl. ”

King waved Stan away as he scooped up his plate and headed back to the kitchen. “Shut up, Stan. And get the hell out of my place.”

Fifteen minutes later after Eva had taken orders and refilled drinks, she pushed through the kitchen door and moved over toward King as he dropped the basket of fries into the hot oil. “There are a lot of people like Stan, King. And most won’t be as up-front as Stan is. They might want to get another morbid look at That Waitress at King’s but they’ll stop coming.”

“Screw ‘em.”

“Easier said than done.” Suddenly a deep weariness settled in her bones. Would this follow her all her life or would the day come when no one cared? “I’m worried about Bobby. This is going to draw the attention of Social Services.”

King pulled out a chef’s knife and started to carve a turkey. “I’m his foster parent, not you. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“If Connor Donovan keeps writing his articles, then it could be a huge problem. Ten years ago, he built a career on my case.”

“It will blow over. ”

King sounded so confident, as if he could weather any storm. But she wasn’t so certain. His profit and loss margins on the restaurant were slim and if he lost even a handful of regulars he’d soon be in the red. “Maybe I should move out for a while. Until the media stuff blows over.”

King glared at her. “No. This is your home. We will get through this.”

We will get through this.
That was the last thing Angie had said to her a decade ago. Angie had underestimated how much damage Donovan could do.

A horn blared outside. Eva pushed open the swinging door and through the front window saw a news van trying to find parking. Her thoughts turned to Deacon. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she trusted him and sensed he might be able to help in some way.

“This will not turn into the nightmare it did a decade ago.”

Donovan’s article had generated a great buzz. Already, he spun ideas for the follow-up piece, which his editor had scheduled for the Sunday edition. If he played it right, this story would grab the attention of national television news, which could very well lead to a book deal. Eva Rayburn had launched his career and now she was going to save it. She was the gift that kept on giving.

Like the series a decade ago, he’d portrayed Eva as a femme fatale, a woman who’d do anything to break free of her foster care roots. Now he’d suggested that she might have returned to the area to get the revenge on the women who’d testified against her.

As he sipped his coffee, he contemplated getting an agent and a book deal. Fans already wanted to know more about Eva, and if Connor didn’t get her story, another reporter would. But so far, he’d had no luck getting her on the phone at King’s and King had threatened to break his kneecaps if he showed his face again at the pub. There had to be another place he could ambush her. He was a fast talker, he could be charming and he just needed to get her alone when she didn’t have her defenses in place.

His phone rang and he picked it up on the second ring. “Donovan.”

“This is Eva.” Her voice sounded soft, barely a hoarse whisper.

He sat forward in his chair, his heart pounding furiously.

“You’ve been trying to call me.”

“I sure have. I really want to interview you. And I’m sorry about the other night. I had no right to ambush you like that.”

“I’m ready to talk now.”

He scrambled through his papers for a pen. “You name the time and place.”

“There’s a house I know. In an hour.”

Donovan scribbled the address on the edge of the morning newspaper. “I’ll be there.”

He hung up the phone and let out a whoop.

Since he’d read the article, Garrison had been thinking about Eva all morning. He’d called the pub but the line was always busy. That son of a bitch Donovan had opened the door for every nut-job and copycat to come after Eva. He feared this kind of media glare would send her running to the next town.

His phone buzzed and he snapped it up. “Garrison.”

“There’s a Ms. Rayburn down here to see you,” the officer at the front desk said.

“I’ll be right down.”

He pulled on his jacket and hurried down the stairs to find her standing in the lobby, clutching her backpack. Her back was rigid with tension. “Ms. Rayburn.”

“Detective Garrison.” She moved toward him in quick efficient strides.

“How are you holding up after Donovan’s article?”

“We closed at one today. A television news reporter made the day miserable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll survive. But I’m worried about Bobby and King. They shouldn’t have been dragged into my mess.”

This would all blow over eventually, but the interim could be miserable and destructive. “I’ve not been able to remember anything about the other man in the sketch. But I want to help you find this guy.”

“Come up to my office. I want to show you something.”

“Sure.”

He opened the door for her and followed her up the stairs to his office. “Another woman was murdered six weeks ago. She wasn’t branded but her wounds make me think she’s connected to the other killings.” He reached in the file and pulled out a picture. “This is her DMV photo.”

“Okay.” She slid slender fingers into her pockets.

He laid the picture on his desk.

Eva studied the image for a little more than a second before she said, “Eliza Martinez.”

Unexpected excitement rushed through him. “You know her?”

“She cleaned the sorority house.” She picked up the picture. “Her hair is grayer, but she looks almost exactly the same. How did she die?”

“She was stabbed. Four times.”

“The number four again.” She traced Eliza’s face with her fingertip. “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

“I’m hoping you can tell me.”

“She was a nice lady. She even taught me her empanada recipe.”

“Where was she the day Josiah died?”

“She’d been at the house cleaning all day. There was a lot to do since most of the girls had moved out for the summer. I remember she left early because her daughter was ill.”

“No one made threats? No run-ins with Josiah?”

“I never saw anything. But I wasn’t always in the house. I do remember her daughter had a little crush on Josiah at the beginning of the school year.” Memories flickered on the edge of her mind. “Josiah liked Eliza. He called her his little mother.”

“Little mother.”

“Said she reminded him of his mother.”

Garrison rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Micah Cross said their mother died when they were about thirteen.”

“That would be about right. I saw her gravestone a few days ago.”

“You went to her grave?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to see Josiah’s grave. Both his parents’ graves were beside it. I don’t know anything about her.”

Tension tightened around his spine—a sign he was missing something. But nothing flickered. “You shouldn’t go back to the pub for the next few days. It’s not safe. Is there anywhere else you can stay?”

“No.”

“What about Angie’s house?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Yeah.”

“Call her, Eva. She wasn’t mentioned in the article, and staying with her will be safest for you, King and Bobby.”

Detective Deacon Garrison’s presence consumed the front seat as he drove Eva to her sister’s. Energy radiated from him. However, instead of intimidating Eva, his closeness left her a little breathless. She realized she liked having him close.

She smoothed her hands over her worn jeans. “Thanks for doing this, Detective.”

“It’s no problem. And you can call me Deacon, if you want.”

“Okay.” A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “And stop with the Ms. Rayburn stuff. Eva will do.”

“Right.” He maneuvered the car easily in and out of traffic. “Angie said she’d meet us at her house.”

“Yes. She was really sweet about it.” The concern in her sister’s voice still humbled her. “She’s got to get back to court, but said I could stay as long as I wanted.”

“Good.”

He drove down the tree-lined street and within minutes they spotted the one-level brick house. The lawn was well manicured, but no flowers filled the beds and the table under the big oak tree was blanketed with leaves. When Garrison pulled into the gravel drive, Angie came out the front door. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a dark business suit.

As Eva got out of the car, Angie smiled and crossed the lawn toward her. She hugged Eva. “I’m so glad you called.”

Eva studied her sister’s face. “Are you sure? If this doesn’t work …”

Angie squeezed Eva’s shoulder. “Don’t say it. I want to help.”

Tears tightened Eva’s throat. “Thanks.”

“I wish I could give you the grand tour, but I’ve got to be in court in a half hour. The second bedroom on the right is yours and the refrigerator has got the basics.”

Garrison moved behind Eva. “Thank you. ”

Angie glanced up at him, no hint of the defense attorney in her gaze. “Thank you for making her call me. I’ll be back late.” She kissed Eva on the cheek and headed toward her BMW parked in the street.

Garrison lingered and Eva was glad for it. “Want me to stick around a few minutes?”

She released a sigh. “That would be great. This is all a little weird for me.”

“I’ll make you coffee, provided your sister has it.”

She nodded and they moved inside the house. Only one area rug warmed the hardwood floor in the living room but it anchored the sofa, coffee table and two end chairs. Above the simple hearth hung a gilded mirror that caught the light from French doors that overlooked the backyard.

“Simple, tasteful and very Angie,” Eva said. “Her father’s family always seemed a cut above.”

“You’re half sisters.”

“Yes. Angie lived with her dad most of the time. She visited Mom and me occasionally. When Mom died, I went to foster care. Angie was in college on the West Coast.”

“Angie’s father didn’t consider taking you?”

“No. I’m not sure of the details, but I think my mom left him for my dad. I look like my dad so I guess having me around was a bad reminder.” She set her backpack beside the sofa and moved into the kitchen. Angie had left the lights on. The granite countertop was polished to sparkling and cluttered with only a microwave and a coffeemaker.

Eva opened a cabinet door and found coffee and filters. “Looks like we’re in business.”