The Seventh Victim (22 page)

He loaded his fork. “I’d eat here every day if I could. I’m surprised you never heard about this place seeing as you’re part Texan.”

The jab had her smiling. “My grandmother was a great cook, and we ate in almost all the time. As a kid I’d beg to go to a fast-food joint, but she’d never allow it unless it was my birthday. Looking back I can see what a dope I was as a kid.”

“My mother was either working or going to school. Home-cooked fare was rare. But Manny’s mom kept me well fed.”

The glimpse into his past tweaked her curiosity. Though tempted to dig deeper, she resisted. As nice as he might appear, he wasn’t her friend.

They ate in silence for a time. The food was good and eased some of her tension. She was far hungrier than she’d realized and found her senses and nerves stabilizing with a full belly.

“So is the house the reason you came back to Austin?” Beck said.

“Pretty much.” She wiped her hands with a yellow paper napkin.

He sat back in his seat and regarded her closely. “You like it here?”

“I did.” She frowned. “I’d honestly thought the past was done, and I could truly start living again. I shouldn’t have stirred up old news.”

A silence settled between them.

“There’s a Dr. Jo Granger who consults with DPS and the Rangers. She is good, Lara. She could help you remember.”

She shook her head. “There are no memories.”

“You need to talk to her.” His clipped tone told her he didn’t like hearing no.

Tough. She wasn’t playing his game just because he could play nice. “All I need to do is get my dog. Can we go now?”

He reached for his hat, but the furrow in his brow deepened. “I’ll ride out with you to your cabin and have a look around. Someone got into your place, and I’d sure like to know how.”

If it were just her, she’d have told him not to bother, but she couldn’t risk someone else hurting Lincoln again. “Okay.”

He drove her back to the vet hospital, where she paid a hefty vet bill that maxed out her credit card and then collected her groceries and a groggy but tail-wagging shepherd. He walked out to her truck like a sailor who’d had too many cheap whiskeys on shore leave. With a boost from Beck, the dog hopped into the front seat of her truck, licked her on the hand, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Beck touched the tip of his hat. “Lead the way, Ms. Church.”

“Okay.” She slid behind the wheel, patted Lincoln on the head, and headed back south. She barely remembered the harried ride north just hours ago. It had passed in a blink. The return trip took forever. Likely because she was so conscious of Beck’s black SUV trailing behind her, moving in and out of traffic as she did.

It was as disconcerting to have Beck close as it was comforting. She might not like the guy, who could be a hard-ass, but he’d projected genuine concern when he showed up at the vet clinic.

“You can stop right there, Lara Church.” She tightened her hands on the wheel. “He is all about this case. You are a means to an end. So do not read into this what is not there.”

The sound of her voice had Lincoln raising his head and yawning.

She patted him on the head. “We’re almost home.”

A half hour later she parked in front of her cabin. By this time, Lincoln was awake, snorting and raising his head as she parked. Seeing home, he wagged his tail and barked.

She hurried around to the passenger side as Beck’s SUV parked behind her. She opened the door and the shepherd jumped down. He wobbled a step or two and then took off toward the edge of the woods, where he promptly raised his leg and peed.

As the dog sniffed and rooted through the woods she moved to the front door.

Beck cut her off. “Before you open that door, take a moment to look around the place and see if anything is out of place.”

She turned, key in hand, to find him standing at the base of the porch, his hand resting casually on his gun. The brim of his white hat angled just a bit. “What should I look for?”

“Whatever doesn’t fit or feel right. Come on down here and just look.”

She moved back down the stairs as he eased back a step. Her gaze traveled over her home. No broken windows. No overturned pots. No marks. “It’s the same.”

His sunglasses tossed back her reflection. “Do you keep a spare key hidden around here?”

“I do.”

He frowned. “Show me.”

Around the side of the house at the back patio she lifted an urn filled with withered flowers and removed a key. “It’s right where I left it.”

“Anybody know about that key?” The rough edge had returned to his voice.

She dropped the key in his outstretched palm. “No. I mean, I never told anybody.”

A look filled with disapproval settled as he turned the key over in his hand. “How long has it been there?”

“I don’t know. My grandmother used to keep a key there.” She held the gold key in her hands. “This key is new. I had the locks replaced when I moved in.”

“Why take the time to put in new locks when you leave a key outside?”

Color warmed her cheeks. “Because if I get locked out, which has been known to happen, I have no one to call. And seeing as Lincoln doesn’t have pockets, I thought it wise to keep a key hidden.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “Not smart.”

“You’re right. Not so smart. But a necessary evil.”

“Pocket that key now.” His fingers brushed hers when he handed the key to her.

She clenched her fist over it. “What if I get locked out?”

“Then call me. I’ll get you inside.”

He said it as if he meant it. “I’m not calling you if I get locked out. That’s crazy.”

He leaned forward a fraction. “What’s crazy about it?”

“If you live in Austin then it means you’re a good half hour away.”

He grinned. “This is Texas, Ms. Church. A half hour is just around the block for us.”

Dependence was a slippery slope. And dependence on a man who’d already stated his murder investigation trumped her wishes was foolish. “Still.”

“Still nothing.” He looked around as if the matter had been decided. “Let’s have a look inside?”

It would have been nice to brush him off, but if someone had gotten into her house before, they could have returned while she was at the hospital.

She unlocked the back door, but he moved in front of her and entered the house first. A flick of his thumb and the lights clicked on. His right hand rested on his gun.

She followed. The cool interior was a welcome change from the heat, but it did little to soothe the tightness in her belly.

He pocketed his sunglasses and let his gaze scan the room. As he searched for predators, she spotted a shirt she’d tossed on the floor, a nightgown she’d discarded when she dressed in the middle of the room yesterday morning, and a half dozen cups filled with varying levels of tea. She started to collect the cups and put them in the kitchen sink.

He checked windows, tested the front door lock with his hand, and then strolled down the hallway toward her bedroom. Images of her unmade bed had her wishing she cared more about house chores.

As Beck moved through the house he moved slowly, taking in every detail of the home’s interior: a stack of magazines on a dusty coffee table, a casually tossed jean jacket on a cloth couch covered with a flowered quilt, hiking shoes covered in dust and mud. The walls had once been covered in photos, but the images were gone, leaving behind their shadowy outline on the wall.

“Why take the pictures down, Lara?”

Her name sounded rougher when he spoke it. “Old family pictures of my mother and my aunt.” They’d been smiling, young and happy.

“That so bad?”

“The images were painful. My mother and aunt looked so much alike and yet were total opposites.”

“How so?”

“My mother was the difficult, moody one, according to my grandmother, while my aunt was the light of her life. My aunt adored Cassidy. And in the end my aunt killed herself. My grandmother said once she always feared my mother would take her life. Never Aunt Leslie.”

“Your mother ever consider leaving you in Texas full-time?”

“My grandmother asked her every year if she would. They often argued over it. But Mom always took me with her in September.” She shrugged. “I always wondered why Mom just didn’t leave me in Texas. Motherly devotion wasn’t her driving force. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was as simple as Grandmother wanted me.”

Beck didn’t press her for details as he took a second glance at the shadowed outlines and then moved down the hallway. When he reappeared minutes later he said, “All the windows are locked and secure. And there are no signs of a break-in, which is all the more reason for you to not hide that key outside anymore. Better, do you have someone in town you can bunk with for a while?”

“Not really.”

“What about that art lady?”

“Cassidy? She hates dogs, and I don’t want to impose.” They got along well enough, and Cassidy would have taken her in, but asking her cousin for help went against the grain.

He frowned, clearly irritated. “She’s family. She wouldn’t mind.”

“I would. I can take care of myself. I spent a dozen summers in the area with my grandmother. And I’ve got Lincoln.”

Frustrated by her stubbornness, he frowned. “A dozen summers. That’s a lot of time in the area.”

“Four months out of the year I was here between ages six and eighteen.”

“How were your summers here?”

“For the most part fine.”

He arched a brow. “For the most part?”

“The first week I’d miss my mom. And then I’d start to get used to the place again, and then I’d have to leave. I hated leaving.”

“Where’d you and your mother live?”

“All over. Depended on where her husband at the time lived.”

“Anything memorable happen during those summers?”

“Memorable how?”

“Anything that sticks to mind.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Cassidy and I were either here at the house or helping our grandmother in town at her shop. It was a good time.” She frowned. “Do you think someone from my past is the killer?”

“I don’t know. I do know someone knew about that key and drugged your dog.”

Shock and adrenaline gave way to anger. “Maybe some nut who read the morning paper broke into the house.”

“Maybe the article did unsettle someone. Maybe the article and Lincoln are unrelated. But I’d bet my last dollar that the two are connected.”

Fingers curled into fists. She had no answer to that puzzle. “How can you know that?”

“I don’t, and until we know, be careful, Ms. Church. Keep the doors locked even when you are inside alone.”

Her defenses rose. “I do.”

A dark brow arched. “I walked in on you in your studio the other day.”

Color rushed up her cheeks. “I was working and just got lost.”

“All it takes is once.”

Being spoken to as if she were a child grated. “I can take care of myself. I almost shot you.”

Amusement lightened his gaze. “Not even close.”

“I had my shotgun.”

He leaned forward just barely. “If you’d not lowered it when I asked, we’d not be standing here having this conversation.”

A deadly intensity swirled around him. She could argue all she wanted, but she was no marksman and would have lost to an expert. Nodding, she dragged a hand through her hair. “I get it. I will be careful.”

His gaze held hers an extra microsecond. “I’m going to have DPS swing by every half hour. Someone out there is fixated on you.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the Strangler.” She spoke the words, hoping he’d agree. “It could just be about the article.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Don’t you bet on it for a minute. Not for a minute.”

Chapter 14

Monday, May 27, 8
AM

In the early hours of Monday, the third victim’s fingerprints scored a hit in the AFIS. The victim’s name was Blair Silver, age twenty-three years old. She’d been arrested two years ago for possession of cocaine. The girl’s well-to-do family had hired an expensive attorney, who’d arranged a plea agreement to a misdemeanor charge. Reports from Blair’s parole officer, however, had been positive. She’d been clean and sober for eighteen months and was finally going places with her life. Beck tracked down the girl’s mother and arranged a meeting at their home.

Adjusting his tie, he rang the bell as he stood at the front entrance to the big, beautiful house. Beck shifted his stance a couple of times. He didn’t love big homes. Didn’t have anything against them, just wondered why anyone would need this kind of space. And this house, judging by the clean, sterile looks, wasn’t too old.

As footsteps sounded on a tile floor, he rubbed the back of his neck, dreading delivering his message to Mrs. Silver.

The front door opened to a petite, midfifties woman, who stared up at him with a wary gaze. Her hair was done, her makeup styled, and she wore dark pants, a white blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings. The outfit was simple and expensive.

He touched the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Silver?”

She nodded. “You must be Sergeant Beck.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”

She escorted him to a sunroom filled with plants, overstuffed couches, delicate tables, and gilded framed pictures. Drapes, with the shimmer of silk, pooled on the polished floors.

She sat on the sofa and motioned for him to take the seat across from her. “Can I get you something to drink? Sweet tea or a cola?”

“No, ma’am, but thank you.”

She smoothed her hands over her pants. “You said you had questions for me.”

His seat was fashioned out of bamboo and struck him as too delicate for a man his size. He was careful not to lean back or to the side on the armrest. “Ma’am, I’ve not come with good news.”

Her lips flattened into a grim line. “It’s about my daughter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” No easy way to say this. “We found her body yesterday.”

Mrs. Silver lifted her chin and curled manicured fingers into fists. “I’ve been waiting for a visit like this for a long time.”

“Ma’am?”

“Blair has made some rather unfortunate choices in the last five years. I knew she’d been in recovery for the last year or so, but each day I feared she’d slip again. I kept telling her that her wild lifestyle would come to a bad end, but she refused to worry.” She drummed manicured hands on her pants leg. “We fought on Friday.”