The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (36 page)

“Um hmm.” Sky had a splitting headache but she was in no mood for Kyle’s bitching.

Sick with worry after Ellery’s arrest, she’d driven back to her office to go through the items from Nicolette’s apartment one more time. Her efforts yielded a telephone number, written in blue ball point pen on the inside corner of the Papa Razzi napkin. The one she’d found stuck in Nicolette’s encyclopedia of magic spells.

The napkin was probably the item the Papa Razzi server saw Manville give to Nicolette, outside the restaurant bathroom.

How could Sky have missed the number? What else was she missing?

“You’re not driving, are you?” Kyle’s voice grew prickly. “That ER doctor said absolutely no driving. You probably sustained a concussion. That’s nothing to mess around with.”

“You worry too much, detective.” Sky ran a finger over the throbbing lump above her left ear.

“I miss you, darling. How can I be expected to do my best work without my muse by my side?”

“I have to go, Kyle.”

“Axelrod misses you, too. He hasn’t been the same since he saw you in that strapless number at Kildare’s. I think our boy’s in love.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Darling?”

“What?”

“If you find anything on Manville, you’ll let me know, right? You won’t try handling it yourself?”

“Good bye, Kyle.” Sky hung up and stared at the small television next to the door. No point in turning it on, she’d let her cable service lapse last year. No reception.

“Candace has cable,” she informed Tiffany. “Besides, I think it’s time you two met.” Sky slipped the trench coat on and left with the Shih Tzu tucked under her left arm.

The morning proved windless and gray, so bleak that Sky wondered if the sun would ever shine again.

But Tiffany seemed in high spirits, sniffing her way down the alley to the parking lot behind Sky’s office. The dog relieved herself in a clump of sturdy weeds and Sky popped her into the passenger seat.

“Bark if you see anything suspicious,” Sky ordered, pulling into morning traffic.

Five minutes later, Sky stood on Candace’s porch and pushed the doorbell. She knew her friend was home because a dilapidated Chevy Malibu sat rusting in front of the house.

“Come in, honey. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.” Candace Carbotta was dressed for work in a roomy black dress and laced boots. “Who is this?”

“My rescue dog.” On the way to the kitchen, Sky offered Candace the most recent chapter of Tiffany’s life and times.

“Abandoned? I’ll take her.” Candace set a plate of jelly doughnuts on the table and put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Sky. “Ever see the world’s greatest cat burglar on Oprah? No? He recommends little dogs. Says they bark at everything and everyone.”

Taking Tiffany from Sky’s arm, Candace sat down and began hand-feeding the Shih Tzu tiny morsels of a Boston crème. “Mr. Cat Burglar says thieves step over goldens and labs on their way to your bedroom safe.” Candace grew somber. “Any progress on the murder?”

“Switch on channel seven.” Sky selected a doughnut and took a bite. “They should be announcing the arrest of the prime suspect any minute.”

Candace touched her free hand sequentially to forehead, heart, and each shoulder in the sign of the cross. “Thank God,” she whispered, flipping on the small television next to the stove.

Jake and a jackal-faced DA came into focus. They stood next to Magnus at a podium.

“Jake looks sexy as hell,” Candace observed. “I swear, that man just gets better looking with age.”

Sky gave a noncommittal shrug and watched Jake. The detective’s dark suit and crisp white shirt exuded self-assurance. He had that freshly showered, clean-cut aspect. Sky could almost smell his aftershave.

“Through multiple lines of evidence, Ellery Templeton has been linked to at least one homicide in an ongoing investigation by the Newton Police Department,” the DA said, “in conjunction with state police from the Middlesex County District Attorney’s office.”

The press conference continued but Sky quit listening.

At least one homicide – what did that even mean? Was the DA suggesting that Ellery was guilty of other murders? What were they trying to pull?

Sky concentrated on her breathing because she didn’t want to freak out in front of Candace. Her friend would start asking questions, who knew where that might lead?

“How can a man look that good
and
catch the bad guys?” Candace plumped her dark hair and peered at the screen. “He’s so forceful. Did you see the way he shut down that obnoxious BBC reporter? Reminds me of his quarterback days.”

Sky had heard enough.

“Can I look around upstairs, Candace?” Sky tossed the doughnut in the trash. “I think I left a box of clothes in the third floor closet.”

“The walk-in? Sure, honey. If you don’t find it there, look in the efficiency. I threw a bunch of stuff in there last fall. Go up the back steps, it’s unlocked. The gal who rents your place is gone for the day. And probably half the night. Poor thing practically lives at the law library. Boston College runs those first-year law students ragged.” Candace threw a quick hand up. “I almost forgot! You have a letter.”

She disappeared into the living room and returned with a white envelope.

“Here it is. The mailman delivered it yesterday. Or maybe the day before.” Candace looked at the oven clock. “I’ve got to run, honey. I’m late for work. Here’s puppy.” She ruffled Tiffany’s brindle coat and returned the dog to Sky’s lap. “Finish your coffee, eat a doughnut. Just let yourself out through the upstairs apartment when you leave.”

Tiffany, thrilled to be back in Sky’s orbit, snorted and jumped at her face, making it impossible to read the return address. Sky slipped the letter into her pocket.

She considered sharing her doubts about Ellery’s arrest with Candace. But to what end? Kyle was right, she needed proof. The press conference had confirmed her worst fears: Jake was after Ellery like he was settling an old score.

“Keep your doors locked, Candace.” Sky gripped her old friend’s arm. “Promise me.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. I keep a loaded gun under my pillow. Besides, Jake arrested the killer, right?” Candace gave Sky’s cheek an affectionate pat. “It’s you I worry about. You’re so thin. Maybe you’ll put on some weight now that this investigation is over. Can I have this dog?”

“I’m keeping her,” Sky said, to her own surprise.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” Candace slipped a gigantic mustard yellow purse over her shoulder. “That dog has the most soulful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Candace waved goodbye and left.

A few seconds later, Sky heard the Malibu roar to life. The engine was so loud the windows rattled.

“Candace needs a new muffler,” Sky informed the dog.

After topping off the mug of coffee, she took the back staircase up to her old apartment. Entering through the kitchen, she followed carpeted steps to the third floor bedroom.

Too bad Candace had already rented the place. Maybe Sky could get back to her old life, if she lived here again – her life before Jake.

The box of clothes rested just inside the walk-in closet.

Sky thought about the impending dinner at Porter Manville’s place. She needed to get into the man’s house, look around. That was the goal of the moment.

“Think there’s something in this old box I can wear tonight?” she asked the dog.

A wave of exhaustion swept through her, so sudden and intense that Sky barely managed to drag the clothes from the closet before collapsing on the carpeted floor.

Tiffany wiggled out of her arms and bit at some orange fabric hanging over the side of the box. Sky pulled the item out of the dog’s mouth and held it up.

“Maternity top,” she explained. “Isabella Oliver,” she read the label. It was a tunic the color of orange marmalade. “I wore it too much,” Sky confessed. “But Jake loved the way I looked in it. Like I had a basketball stuck under my shirt, he said.”

Sky stuffed the tunic into the box and closed the flaps. What possessed her to look for this box? She certainly didn’t need maternity clothes.

The idea of pregnancy gnawed at Sky and Theresa Piranesi’s toxic smile emanated from thin air.

Sky felt herself grow afraid.

Her heart skipped a beat and she clenched her fists.

Panic attack.

Her gut contracted and Sky shoved the box with a foot, gripped by a claustrophobic need for more space. She sucked in the bedroom’s stale air, intending to will the fear away, when a loud thud shook the floor below.

Tiffany trotted toward the steps and sniffed suspiciously at the air.

Sky looked toward the doorway with a sense of dread. Candace had probably forgotten to tell Sky something, she would appear in the bedroom any moment.

Sky couldn’t let Candace find her this way. It was too humiliating. She was about to call out to her old friend, tell her she’d be down in a minute, a stall for time, when it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard Candace return.

Had she been too preoccupied to notice the Malibu’s deafening muffler? Rising to her feet, Sky stepped to the window and looked down over Norwood Avenue. No Malibu in sight.

Tiffany gave a throaty growl.

Sky scooped the dog up and listened.

Below, the floor boards of the dining room creaked and someone whispered ‘
Shit
’.

Tiffany’s growl escalated to a piercing bark.

Sky slipped into the walk-in closet with the dog in her arms and pulled the door shut behind her. Feeling her way in the dark, she stumbled to the back of the closet and groped through a densely packed rack of clothes until she hit solid surface.

Tracing a spiral pattern, Sky felt blindly with her right hand until she hit a knob. Yes, this was the door Candace had described, the door that led to the illegal apartment.

Sky twisted the doorknob hard and pushed awkwardly with a shoulder through the hanging clothes with Tiffany barking at full volume.

The door gave and Sky nearly fell into the efficiency.

She barely had time to steady herself when an arm reached through the closet doorway. The hand grasped at her, so close that Sky could make out inky stripes blotched along the index and middle fingers. A prison tattoo.

Sky twisted to the right and leaned against the door with the full weight of her body, crushing the arm just above the wrist.

“You fucking bitch!” a man’s voice shouted. The arm disappeared.

Sky slid the flimsy lock shut and waded through a jumble of stacked chairs and boxes to the front door while the closet knob rattled behind her.

An enraged snarl came from the other side of the wall, followed by a full body slam against the closet door.

Sky stumbled over a fallen table lamp and broke her fall with her free hand when she heard the lock give way.

A man tripped forward into the room just as Sky reached the front door of the efficiency.

She pulled the door open and flew down three flights of winding steps with Tiffany yapping wildly under her arm.

The staircase led to an enclosed porch at the back of the house.

Sky squeezed between an abandoned desk and dresser and opened the outside door.

Leaping from the top of the porch steps, she landed on scrubby grass and ran to the Jeep.

She slipped into the driver’s seat and scanned her surroundings. Two high school girls shuffled in tandem down the sidewalk, texting on their respective cells. Otherwise, the street was deserted, no other cars.

Sky fumbled at the ignition while Tiffany barked full throttle from the passenger’s seat.

Glancing toward the side yard, Sky saw a solid, squat man with razor cut hair and a thick tattoo that coiled around a bull neck. He wore jeans and a nondescript jacket.

Panting from the chase, the man pivoted toward the Jeep and stood with legs apart. He lifted both arms straight and Sky caught the barrel of a revolver pointed in her direction.

Sky gunned the Jeep down Norwood just as a bullet ripped through the soft canvas roof. She veered onto Clarendon for a block and took the next left.

When she reached the east side of Cabot Park she called Kyle on speed dial and explained the situation between gasps for air.

“He shot at us,” she said, fighting back angry tears. “He nearly hit Tiffany.”

“I’ll get someone there,” Kyle promised. “I’m still in Cambridge. Go to the station, start flipping through pictures. We’ll nail this asshole.”

Sky gave Kyle a brief description of the gunman. “Tell them to look for a bullet,” she added, “on the ground. Corner of Norwood and Clarendon.”

“Did you hear me, Sky? Go directly to the station. That’s an order.” Kyle hung up.

Sky called Candace just as the police sirens sounded. Two wailing black and whites passed her as she headed for the Mass Pike. Which happened to be in the opposite direction of the police station.

Candace wasn’t picking up. Sky left a message and turned to Tiffany.

“One stop before the station,” she told the agitated Shih Tzu. “I think it’s time I saw my shrink.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sky meant to drive straight to William James Hall. Instead, she was sitting in the basement bar of Grendel’s in Harvard Square clutching a cup of coffee in her shaking hands.

The leap from Candace’s back porch had left her legs feeling rubbery and her left knee throbbed. She’d managed to catch her breath during the drive to Cambridge but the adrenaline rush had her mind racing. That thug with the tattooed neck wanted her dead. Could he be the shooter at Bullough’s Pond?

Guilt insinuated itself.

The police station, that’s where she
should
be, looking through mug shots. Fresh memories were the most reliable, she’d said it to the detectives so many times. So why the sudden need to see Alexei?

Tracing the morning’s events, Sky realized that it wasn’t just the gunman she feared. It was that panic attack in the upstairs bedroom at Candace’s. It seemed to come out of nowhere and it terrified her to think it might happen again.

Maybe Alexei had something, some kind of drug Sky could take to keep the panic away.