Bite the Moon (24 page)

Several times that afternoon, I considered calling his mother, Jillian. Each time, I changed my mind before I finished dialing the number.

At last, Heather rescued me from phone duty. She arrived with pink cheeks, twinkling eyes and a purse as big as Houston. She pulled out the first paper bag. “Beer bottle,” she said.

I looked inside. “There’s still beer in it.”

“
Well, if I let him finish it first, he might have thrown it away before I could grab it. He went for a leak. I made my move.”

“
Didn’t he wonder what happened to his beer when he came back?”

“
Yeah. Sure. But I played dumb. He wandered around for a while looking for it. Then he gave up and got a fresh one out of the fridge.”

With fingertips barely touching the next bag, she elevated it from her purse, swiveled and dropped it on the counter, her face squeezed tight with distaste. “And this. This is disgusting.”

A crumpled up tissue lay in the bottom of the bag. Disgusting? A wadded tissue? Oh, man, I sure hoped it wasn’t what I was thinking. “Uh, Lisa, besides being disgusting, what is it?” I held my breath praying I was wrong.

“
Spit. He has allergies. Sinus drainage. He spat in it.” Her whole body shuddered with revulsion.

What a relief! “Could be worse, Lisa.”

“
Ha. If it weren’t for Happy, I wouldn’t have had it next to me in the car for that hour-long ride.”

“
Anything else?” I asked trying not to laugh at her.

“
Yes,” she beamed as she tilted the next bag in my direction. “A joint.”

“
You ripped off his pot?”

“
Oh, Molly, of course not. I just asked him for one for the road. He rolled it. He licked it shut. I held out the bag and he dropped it in.”

“
Didn’t he think it was odd that you had him put it in a bag?”

“
Listen, he already thought I was odd. I cried the whole time I was in his house. He would have gone along with most anything just to get me out and on my way.”

I shook my head. My stash of illegal substances doubled instantly. Heather just faced off the man who she thought killed her boyfriend without batting an eye. Amazing.

“
Heather, did you notice anyone else around the house while you were there?”

“
No. I didn’t think there was anyone but Trent.”

“
No signs that somebody else might be crashing there?”

“
Like who?”

“
Fingers Waller.”

“
The keyboard player? Why would he be there?”

“
His girlfriend mentioned the possibility. I was trying to tie up loose ends.”

“
Okay, I’ll go back up there tomorrow and search the house.”

“
Heather, you can’t just knock on someone’s door and search his house.”

“
Of course not.” She plucked up a strand of her hair. “This blond stuff. It’s not real. My real color is mousy brown. So, guess what? I do have a brain. Ta-da.”

For a second she had me. I thought I’d offended her. But no, she was making fun of me. It was good to see her upbeat about something—even if it was at my expense.

“
And you know what? I can add. Without a calculator! Isn’t that incredible?”

“
Okay, Heather.” I laughed. “You made your point. So what’s your plan?”

“
I ask for a tour of his house.”

“
You’ll ask for a tour? Oh, that is so girl, he’ll never fall for it.”

“
Wanna bet? If he doesn’t, I’ll start crying again. He’ll do anything to get me to stop.”

I laughed. Oh yeah, I’d known men like that. And women who knew how to use them. I always acted offended when a woman resorted to that trick but, secretly, I was envious of their easy on/off faucets and willingness to do anything to get what they wanted.

“
So, do you want me to go back to Austin tomorrow?” Heather asked.

“
You did good today, Heather. Let’s see where this DNA leads before you take any more risks.”

“
If you change your mind, you’ve got my number. See you around, Molly. And thanks—really—for letting me help.” A tear threatened the corner of her eye. She brushed it away and she was gone.

I putzed around the house the rest of the evening. Read the newspaper. Watched the news. Played solitaire on the computer. Wrapped it all up with an episode of
Forensic Files
on Court TV.

I was heading for bed when the phone rang. I almost picked up the receiver but pulled back just in time to let the answering machine take it.

A distorted singsong voice filled the room: “This little piggie went to Solms Halle. This little piggie took a big fall. And this little piggie had no home. Now here’s piggie number four. Is she afraid to walk out her front door?”

A childlike laugh rang out, followed by the sound of ragged breathing and a slurp of melting Milk Duds. The answering machine clicked off. I stood rooted in place. Was there something else in my mailbox? Another present on my doorknob? A booby trap outside my front door? Or was there nothing—nothing at all? Nothing but the fear of something hidden—the unknown lurking in the darkness?

Staying out of the line of sight of the windows as much as possible, I went room to room turning off all the lights. I stood to the side of the windows, peering out in every direction. I saw nothing.

I feel asleep in a chair near the front window, gun in my hand, sweat on my palms.

He smiled as the lights snapped off one by one. Her fear was so strong, he imagined he smelled it. He sniffed the air and inhaled deeply.

He felt a twitch and a throbbing in his pants. She was far more exciting than the three men before her. He never anticipated this thrill, this sexual charge. The others were quick and efficient—necessary kills but nothing more.

Toying with her was an experience beyond comparison. The anticipation had been such an intense pleasure. The kill would be exquisite.

Would curiosity get the best of her tonight? Would it propel her outside and into his arms? The possibility that tonight would be the night was exhilaration as well as a disappointment. He knew he would miss the game when it was done.

He saw fleeting shadows of her movements through the house. He ached to be inside with her, watching each cautious step, seeing the soft trembling in her hands, feeling the adrenaline course through her veins.

His breathing grew labored. His heart beat a tattoo in his chest. He reached down and rubbed himself. He jerked his hand back. Not here. Not now.

Then, for a long time, he saw no sign of life in the house. Every unidentified sound made him tense with longing. He waited until the hope that she would step outside died a natural death.

He crept around to the back of the house and dismantled the rifle he had rigged to the back door. Had she opened it, a dummy round would have struck her in the chest. It would not kill her, but it would knock her off her feet, giving him time to move in on her.

Tonight was not the night. He sighed. But that night was near.

I sipped on my second cup of coffee, trying to recover from a night spent in the chair. A quiet knocking broke the morning’s silence. I approached the front door wondering if it might not be a better idea to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head. A young woman with long brown hair pulled back and clasped at the nape of her neck stood on my porch. Her face glowed with an aura of serenity, the kind of peace won only after hard battles with personal demons. She looked far too young, though, to have made that journey.

I eased the door open a crack. She spoke at once. “Hello. I’m Jenny Kriewaldt. Are you Molly Mullet?”

How did she know my name? And in knowing my name, how did she know where I lived? Was she related to Jesse? He had a sister. Could this be her?

Before I could ask, she added, “I’m Jesse’s twin sister. I understand you’re looking for whoever killed my brother.”

“
How did you know that?”

“
We stopped in Austin before we came here,” she said as she fumbled in her purse. “And we spoke to him,” she said, flipping a business card in my direction.

It was Sergeant Barrientos’ card. “And he told you where I live?”

“
Oh, no. He said he couldn’t do that.”

That was a relief. “So how did you find me?”

I found your address on the Internet and got directions from Mapquest. Or I should say
he
did, she said, pointing to a car parked at my curb.

I looked out and saw a shadow behind the tinted glass. Unease roiled my stomach. “Who is he?”

“
Just a friend. He drove me up from College Station. Say, can I come in and talk to you for just a minute?”

I felt comfortable with Jenny, but a stranger lurking outside my door made me edgy. Then again, a stranger lurking inside my house wasn’t on my list of favorite things, either. But at least I could keep my eye on him. “He can come in, too, if he’d like.”

“
No. That’s okay. He’d rather sit in the car and smoke.”

With reluctance, I invited her inside and offered her a seat. I sat in the chair that offered the best view of the car and her “friend.”

“
Do you know anything about Jesse’s murder?” I asked.

“
No. Not really. But I thought it might help if you knew something about Jesse.”

“
Tell me about your brother.” I doubted if she had any significant information to offer, but if she needed to talk, I could do my good deed for the day and listen to what she had to say.

“
Jesse and I are orphans. We were sixteen when our parents died in an automobile accident on an icy road. Our dad was a state employee. He worked for the comptroller’s office for twenty-two years. Mom was a teacher—elementary school—third and fourth grades.

“
When they died, everyone who knew them pulled together to help us finish our schooling. Between scholarships, grants and contributions, every penny of expense at a four-year state school was covered for both of us. I chose to attend Texas A&M. I really wanted Jesse to come out to College Station with me. But he said he had to be in Austin, the live music capital of the world. He enrolled at the University of Texas. I didn’t know it for months, but he dropped out of UT after six weeks. He said it distracted him from his music. He said he had to devote himself to his muse. He was such a dreamer.

“
After he moved out of the dorm, he never had a real place to live. He crashed on one friend’s sofa, then another. Sometimes he slept in the streets. I hoped in time he would get this songwriting stuff out of his system and settle down to the business of life.” She paused and flashed a rueful smile. “When I said stuff like that to him, he said I sounded like Dad and asked me when I’d start crunching numbers for the comptroller. I’d remind him that I was a genetics major, and he’d say I couldn’t deny my genetic destiny. I’d end up at the comptroller’s office one day. The numbers called to me from my blood.”

She blew a blast of air up from her bottom lip, flaring the loose strands of hair on her forehead. “Anyway, I worried about Jesse a lot. Then, one day, I stopped worrying. He gave me this CD,” she said, handing it to me. “When I listened to it, I knew he had the touch. I knew he had the talent to make a living with his music. Not as a performer, of course. Jesse’s singing left a lot to be desired. But I knew he was good enough to make a decent living writing songs.

“
When ‘
Bite the Moon’
hit the charts, I recognized it right away. Jesse had no phone number I could call, so instead of leaving messages with his friends, I drove down to Austin to celebrate his success. That’s when I found out that Trent Wolfe didn’t buy Jesse’s song. He stole it. I was angry. I told Jesse not to let Wolfe get away with it. I told him to hire a lawyer. But Jesse had to go it alone.”

An involuntary sob escaped. Her body shook for a moment and I rose to offer her my arms. She waved me away, straightened her back, folded her hands in her lap and continued. “He called me on a Saturday afternoon. He was so excited he could hardly talk. ‘I saw the band manager,’ he said. ‘He’s going to fix everything. I get credit for the lyrics. I get credit for the composition. They’ll put ads in the trades and correct all future CDs in production.’ ‘But do you get money, Jesse?’ I asked him.

“ ‘
Yeah, I get a lump sum and royalties, too. But hey, my name, Jesse Kriewaldt, will be out there. I made my bones at last.’ I never spoke to my brother again. He said he would call in a couple of days but he didn’t. I called some of his friends. They hadn’t seen or heard from him either. Then I knew why.” She hung her head. Her shoulders rose and fell with a big sigh.

“
Anyway, I wanted you to have a copy of the CD, and I wanted you to have this,” she said, pulling a small photo album out of her purse. “I made reprints of my favorite pictures of Jesse and made a bunch of these. When I heard about you, I wanted to you to see him. I wanted you to be able to visualize him while you worked. Jesse was the only family I had. And now he’s gone. And I’m on my own. I’m having a hard time accepting that.”

I said, “Thank you.” I wanted to say so much more, but could not find the words. She seemed so centered for one so young, but she’d certainly paid a high price to get there.