The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (28 page)

Sky washed her hair twice with lavender shampoo to remove all traces of the sticky hairspray, then turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Tiffany’s bark sounded from down the hall – sharp, high pitched, insistent. Sky heard footsteps pound, then a sharp rap. Someone called her name.

She wrapped the Turkish towel around her body and cracked the door.

Teddy Felson stood in the hallway outside the bathroom in jeans and a blue Columbia parka.

“Hey,
mush
!” Teddy gave Sky the standard Lake salutation, he pronounced it
moosh
. “What’s up with that dog?” Irritation rippled across his fleshy, handsome face. “When I walked in your office it bit me.”

“She’s my bodyguard. Be out in a minute.” Sky closed the bathroom door and dried off. After giving her wet head a few seconds with the stubby blow dryer, she pulled on a pair of pink sweats and zipped up a blue hoodie with the word ‘OBEY’ screened across the chest in extravagant fonts. A gift from Jake. ‘Wishful thinking,’ he’d said at the time.

Sky left the bathroom and padded back to her office with Teddy at her heels.

“Nasty murder,” he said. “Who kills someone at Heartbreak Hill? The morning of the Boston Marathon, no less. That’s some fucked up shit.” Teddy had a Lake accent, dropped most of his r’s. “I hear Jake’s going after that guitar player, what’s his name? Ellery Templeton.”

“Who told you that?”

“Please. I have my sources.” Teddy followed Sky into the office. “So, what’ya need?”

Sky showed Teddy the internet shot of Porter Manville and gave him the CEO’s home and office addresses. “I want to know where Manville goes, who he talks to, anything you can find. I’d love to have the garbage from his house. And trash from his private office, if you can get it.” Sky draped the towel and slip over her office chair. “I think he’s from Texas.”

Teddy started to tap his foot, he seemed a little jumpy. “Number one,” he said. “You know you can’t use anything I bring you as evidence, right?”

“I know.” Sky also knew that the homicide team had little interest in Manville, they had Ellery in their sights. All traces of forensic evidence could very well be lost by the time Jake and Kyle got around to investigating the CEO. Better to find something now, even if it couldn’t be used in a courtroom. Sky needed something concrete, something to get their attention.

“Number two,” Teddy continued, “I hope you’re not expecting Jake.” He gave a furtive glance toward the door.

Teddy’s statement took her by surprise. "Absolutely not,” she said, too loudly.

“Good.” Teddy zipped his parka. “Do me a favor? Don’t mention our little arrangement. Jake doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him.”

Sky knew the Lake stories about Jake and Teddy, rivals as kids, rivals as cops. Jake made lieutenant and Teddy resigned from the Newton Police force, started free-lancing. Which only increased the bad blood between them.

“Here,” she handed Teddy the remaining wad of cash from her evening bag. “You’ll need operating money.”

Teddy Felson’s weakness for the roulette wheel at Foxwoods was common knowledge. But Sky trusted him. Teddy was a creative investigator. Everybody had their frailties, didn’t they?

“Don’t worry, Teddy. This is between you and me.” She secretly agreed with the PI, if Jake found out … well, he wouldn’t find out, that’s all. “Does your phone have a good camera?”

“State of the art.”

“Good. Take pictures.”

“Will do.” Teddy shoved the cash in his wallet. “Thanks, boss. I’ll see what I can find.” He backed his way to the door with an eye toward Tiffany. A low growl came from the sofa but the dog was invisible, she’d dug her way deep into the Barguzin.

Teddy eyed the coat. “Funny. I didn’t figure you for the fur type.” He lingered in the doorway. “You heard the latest about Jake and Theresa Piranesi, right?”

“Good night, Teddy.” Sky shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door.

The Lake had to be the smallest town in the world, everybody knew everybody else’s business. It was enough to make a person claustrophobic.

What about Jake and Theresa? What did Teddy mean?

A confusing flurry of emotions zigzagged through Sky. Why should she care what Jake was doing, or who he was doing it to? He couldn’t be trusted, he was unfaithful, she hated the very sight of him.

Sky collapsed on the sofa.

Last night, the love-making, all those feelings she’d tried to drown out on Nantucket, it felt like a scab had been ripped off. She ached for the comfort and heat of Jake’s body. She’d made Jake return her office key, but Sky realized she still harbored a foolish hope, that they could be together. Fear spiked through her.
What about Jake and Theresa?

Why didn’t she let Teddy talk?

Pride, pure and simple. She hired him for information but she was too proud to ask about Jake. Stupid.

Sky ran to the door and yanked it open.

“Teddy!” she yelled down the hall.

But she was too late, the PI was gone.

There was a better way to handle this, anyway. Sky pulled her cell from the evening bag. She would talk to Jake. Meet him somewhere, apologize for her behavior at Kildare’s. Clear things up. Tell him that she loved him. Right now, this minute. Last night was
not
a dream. She and Jake were connected. Candace and Kyle had tried to tell her, but Sky had been in denial. Now she could see the obvious. She belonged with Jake.

Why had it taken her so long? Maybe Alexei knew the answer, Sky certainly didn’t. A rising sense of anticipation gripped her. The way out of this misery was here, in her hand.

Sky scrolled to Jake’s personal number and hit dial for the first time in a year. Three long rings. Midway through the fourth ring, someone answered.

“
Hi! You’ve reached Jake Farrell. He’s busy right now [laughter] …”
Theresa Piranesi’s recorded voice might as well have been a right hook. Sky terminated the call mid-message and let the phone drop from her hand.

Things began to unravel, the floor felt spongy beneath her feet. Sky’s heart skipped a beat as she made her way back to the sofa. She sucked in deep gasps of air but now her heart was pounding, pounding so hard she could feel it beating in her throat.

Fear – nameless, shapeless fear – descended. The office walls seemed to contract. Sky felt trapped with an internal bomb and it was about to explode.

She grabbed the yellow gym bag with shaking hands and emptied the contents on the floor, wadded trench coat, running shoes, wind breaker, underwear, bras. She found two amber prescription bottles, shook both, but they made no sound. Empty. She must have popped the last beta blocker yesterday.

Sky moved to the office chair in slow motion, trying not to fall. This was the point of no return, surely her heart would explode. A tremor shook her body and she gasped for breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead and slid down her cheek. A tingling started in her elbows and moved to her hands.

Each sensation came with a shockwave of panic. A word formed in her mind: Heart attack.

She needed to do something. Anything. Or she would die, here in this office. Sky reached for her cell, intending to call 911.

But as quickly as the panic had come, it drained away.

Sky’s heart slowed, the pinpricks in her hands faded. She sat back in the office chair and took a deep breath.

Tiffany’s flat, chrysanthemum face stared out, unblinking, from beneath the fur coat.

“Panic attack,” Sky explained. “I’m feeling a little better now.”

The dog snorted indelicately and jumped off the sofa. She pranced across the floor and offered Sky’s bare toe three licks with a rough pink tongue.

Sky scooped Tiffany up and clasped the tiny body to her chest. The dog’s warm, yeasty scent and steady heartbeat were soothing, her tight curl of a tail wagged in lazy contentment. Tiffany was happy simply to be held.

Sky looked around her office at the confusion of the wrap-around bookshelves. Psychology texts, student term papers, magazines, periodicals, shoved in any which way, a few nearly falling out, clinging to the shelf by inches. A mirror of her own life. The blue and white Chinese vases, the Persian rug on the floor, those were window dressing. The bedlam of the bookshelves told the real story.

Sky couldn’t kid herself any longer. She knew enough clinical psych to recognize the symptoms.

“Anxiety.” She whispered it in Tiffany’s ear like a dirty word.

Candace was right. Sky needed help.

But there wasn’t time for that. Tomorrow morning, on the way to the police station, she’d pick up a refill of the beta blockers at Eaton Apothecary, it was only half a block down on Watertown.

Seeing Jake without a chemical buttress was out of the question.

Sky wouldn’t think about that right now. There was work to do.

“Let’s check my e-mail.” With Tiffany on her lap, Sky sat at the computer and looked for any messages from Madeleine Fisk or Jenna Weems. Or the tattoo artist. Nothing. She texted Ellery:
r u ok? lets talk

“Bedtime.” Sky turned off the lamp and lay down on the sofa with Tiffany at her feet and the cell next to her on the floor. She didn’t want to miss any calls from Ellery. She pulled the fur over her body and closed her eyes.

Sleep didn’t come.

Images rolled through Sky’s mind: Ellery’s sad smile, Porter Manville’s skeletal mask, Nicolette Mercer’s corpse, face up in the dirt.

Sky pushed off the fur and sat up in the dark. Light from a street lamp shone through the window and cast a muted glow over Tiffany’s brindle coat.

“I’m taking a run,” Sky informed the dog. “Bulloughs Pond. I need another look at that crime scene.”

At the sound of Sky’s voice, one of Tiffany’s eyes opened a fraction. But a full belly and the night’s excitement must have taken their toll on the pregnant dog because she promptly fell back to sleep.

“That’s okay. I’ll go by myself.”

It would never have crossed Sky’s mind to run alone in Boston, not at night. But Newton was different. Newton was one of the safest cities in America, according to a recent and highly publicized FBI designation – based on six crime categories, even Monk couldn’t argue with those stats.

Sky rummaged through the mess of clothes on the floor for a running bra and her worn Reeboks. She finished tying the shoes and pulled a pink wool stocking cap over her head. The OBEY sweatshirt was thick, her North Face jacket should be warm enough. So what if she got a little wet from the snow? It would only take her thirty minutes to get to the pond and back, it couldn’t be more than a three mile run.

Sky slipped her keys into the front pocket of the jacket and checked Molly Payne’s street address in her journal. Pulsifer. It wasn’t far from Bullough’s Pond and Sky decided to run by the house on her way, check it out, see how Molly lived. It was unsettling to think that the six-year-old girl was their only eye witness.

“Keep an eye on things, Tiff.” Sky gave the sleeping dog a gentle pat on the way out and shut the office door behind her. At the last second she unlocked the door and grabbed the amulet and a set of brass knuckles from her desk top.

Sky used them as a paper weight. The brass knuckles had been a gift from one of her Psych 101 students, a kid from Philly with dark-haired good looks who’d suffered a painful crush on Sky. Crushes came with the territory, every instructor had stories. The young man had presented the knuckles to Sky with a grin. ‘They worked good for me,” he’d said.

Sky pulled the amulet over her head and dropped the heavy brass knuckles into a pocket. Why take any chances?

The aroma of fried rice and onions from Ru Yee’s followed Sky along the carpeted hallway and down the stairs. She locked the outer door and zippered her keys. According to the clock above Kildare’s Pub, it was 3AM. There would still be time to catch a few hours of sleep when she got back.

Sky started running south on Adams, through falling snow. The muffled rumble of a car engine came from a few blocks away, otherwise, the street was quiet. The light was on in Magni’s panetteria and Sky caught the fragrant scent of baking bread. A dusting of snow on the trees and bushes transformed the Lake into a Nordic postcard, even Esposito’s Gym and the laundromat glittered. The gaunt verdigris angel atop the easternmost spire of Our Lady’s looked down with watchful eyes as Sky approached the intersection.

She crossed Washington and left the Lake behind, jogging up the winding sidewalk and over the Mass Pike. Beneath the bridge, low beams from sparse, east-flowing traffic threw the falling snow in high relief.

Sky was starting to warm up, get her rhythm. She allowed herself to think about Jake’s cell phone message. Theresa Piranesi’s taunting tone gave evidence that Jake was moving on. Why couldn’t Sky do the same?

What was love, anyway? Just one big dopamine squirt.

Sky followed the perimeter of Cabot Park, past the tennis courts and bocce ball lane, past the field where Jake coached boys’ softball in the summer, rimed now with frost. The low rumble of a car echoed across the park and Sky’s head jerked at the sound. She’d heard it outside her Lake office a few minutes ago. Kyle was right, she decided. It was simple paranoia. She needed to work on that.

Visible from nearly a block away was the stone sculpture of Humpty Dumpty, perched on Cabot Elementary’s brick wall. The giant egg-shaped head was illuminated from beneath, Humpty stared into the snow with a wicked grin.

She turned onto Pulsifer. The lane wound upward in a gentle slope and Sky reached Molly’s address, a white Cape with green shutters and a steep pitched roof. The little house sat back from the street on a skinny ribbon of turf, squeezed between two much grander properties: a massive crimson Victorian to the left and a mushroom colored McMansion to the right.

The cottage looked old – it had probably functioned as servants’ quarters for the Victorian, years ago. But the house seemed to be holding its own among the flanking behemoths. Sky spotted a tiny bike with training wheels on the large round millstone that served as the cottage’s front step. The bike seemed to say ‘Don’t mind the snow, spring is here’. The windows were dark, the house was silent. Sky took comfort from the idea of Molly safe inside, sleeping.