Blood of Eden (12 page)
Authors: Tami Dane
“The closest spot with Wi-Fi. I hope your laptop battery's charged up.”
The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you can see.
âWinston Churchill
9
Twenty minutes after we'd made that dizzying exit off the freeway, we were strolling up to the first house, not far from Debbie Richardson's home, our ruse all figured out, props in hand. It just so happened that Gabe's junk in his trunk had a purpose. My computer had come in handy too. We learned there was a local zoning issue that some folks were trying to get on the next fall's election ballot. They needed signatures. We needed a reason to go door-to-door. It was a perfect excuse. We printed out some fake forms at a nearby library and headed out.
After we'd visited twenty homes, however, we realized we had a big problem. A good two-thirds of the female residents in the area fit the description of our next victim.
After we'd talked to our twenty-first brunette, aged thirty-something, I decided we were wasting time. Precious, irretrievable minutes. I wasn't sure Gabe agreed with me.
“Now what?” At an intersection, I dropped the clipboard on the grass and plopped on my butt on the curb. So what if I looked ridiculous as I sat on the ground? My feet were killing me. I was exhausted. And I was more frustrated than I'd ever been in my life. “I'm going to need foot surgery after today.”
“Go ahead and rest for a few. I'll take the next couple of houses solo.” Gabe loped down the sidewalk, with that loose-hipped swagger I hated so much.
A minute later, a little girl wearing a plastic firefighter's hat, rubber boots, and a tutu came rolling up from the opposite direction on a plastic three-wheeled bike. She skidded to a stop at the end of the sidewalk and asked, “Who are you?”
“I'm a stranger,” I answered. I've never been a big fan of kids. Right now, I wasn't in the mood to change that. “Didn't your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, gave me an up-and-down assessing look. “You don't look so dangerous, though. What are you doing?”
“Working,” I answered, not bothering to argue with her about the dangerous thing.
“You couldn't be working too hard. You're sitting down.”
“I'm just taking a break for a few minutes.”
“Oh.” The kid climbed off her bike, pointed at the clipboard sitting on the grass. “Are you selling something? My mom hates it when people come to our door, selling stuff. She pretends we're not home.”
“I do that too ... sometimes.” I kicked off my shoes and rubbed my right foot. My toes were numb. That couldn't be good.
“Tutu Girl” pursed her little lips. I tried not to notice how cute she was. “That's lying. My mom tells me lying's bad.”
“Yeah, well, there are times when lying isn't such a bad thing.” My arch cramped and I gritted my teeth and stretched my foot. “Anyway, don't you have a ... a play date or something?”
“No. Everyone's at day camp or in day care. I'm bored.” She kicked a rock. It skittered down the sidewalk. “I used to go to day care every day, but my mom quit her job. Now we stay home all the time. But next year I'll be in kindergarten.” She pointed down the street, in the general direction from which we'd come. “My best friend, Veronicaâshe's in third grade. She lives in that house, down there. But she's gone. She went to summer camp with Julia even though it doesn't start for two whole weeks. Her mommy's all alone now, and she got mean. So I can't play there.” She leaned close. “I think her mommy's sad she's gone.”
“I bet she's very sad. I would be,” I lied. I'd always told myself I'd have no kids. Kids were a bad idea for me, for so many reasons. For one, I have no patience whatsoever. And two, I was doing the world a favor by not passing down my DNA to future generations.
“I have an idea.” My new friend plopped her little tutu-clad butt next to mine. “How about I help you? I know everyone on the street. I know who's at home and who's not. They won't be able to pretend they're not home.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think we're just about done. It's getting late.”
Gabe was heading back. He was looking a little defeated now too.
After eyeballing Tutu Girl, Gabe said, “This is getting us nowhere.”
“I totally agree. But what do we do next?”
“You could come to my house,” my new friend suggested, adjusting her plastic helmet. “I have money. In a soup can. I've been saving for a new bear at Build-A-Bear.”
I grabbed my clipboard and slid my feet back into my shoes. “Thanks, kiddo, but we couldn't take your money. We're not selling anything, anyway.”
“Running ... hmm ...”
Standing next to me, Gabe stared off into the distance. The setting sun created deep shadows across his face, emphasizing the angle of his cheekbones. He looked older. More mature. More dangerous than I'd ever seen him. Nothing like the little punk I'd known since high school.
“You said one of the victims jogged in the morning?”
Begrudgingly, I pushed up to my feet. “Yeah, Laura Miller did and ... ?”
“My mommy goes jogging sometimes,” Tutu Girl said. “She pushes me in a big stroller. But I'm not a baby.”
“I wonder if the other two victims were joggers too. Did you find that out?” Gabe asked.
“Victims?” Tutu Girl echoed.
“No. We didn't make it to the other victims' homes today. We were supposed to, but instead, we took a little detour to the hospital.” I motioned toward the car, parked a quarter of a mile or so away. “We were following up on Fischer's notes. I hadn't read them all yet. He keeps very ... detailed notes. If they were joggers, you can bet we'll find it in the file.”
“At least that would help us narrow things down a little. Let's go.” Gabe took long strides toward the car.
I gave Tutu Girl a little wave and followed Gabe, my heels
click-clacking
on the cement with every step.
click-clacking
on the cement with every step.
And with every step, I gritted my teeth. The agony. I would never wear high heels to work again.
Behind me, I heard the rumble of plastic rolling on cement, the rhythmic
thunk, thunk, thunk
of the big front wheel hitting the cracks in the sidewalk. It seemed we were being followed. By one very curious firefighter/ballerina.
thunk, thunk, thunk
of the big front wheel hitting the cracks in the sidewalk. It seemed we were being followed. By one very curious firefighter/ballerina.
We crossed the street.
The sound stopped.
I glanced back. The kid was sitting on her bike, at the corner. Probably wasn't allowed to cross the street. She looked across the chasm between us, her eyes dark. For just a moment, I thought I was looking at myself as a child. Desperate for companionship. I smiled, and she smiled back. I waved, and she waved back. She dragged her little bike around the other way, climbed aboard and
thunk-thunk-thunked
her way back toward home.
thunk-thunk-thunked
her way back toward home.
I hurried to the car, dug out Fischer's notes, and sat down to read them. There was no mention of either Debbie Richardson or Hannah Grant taking a morning jog. To double-check, we called the contact person for each. They verified that neither was a jogger, walker, or cyclist. We had hit a wall.
“Damn it.” I glanced at the clock, then at my throbbing feet.
“I was so sure... .” Gabe gave my shoulder a little shake.
“We've just wasted ... how much time? Maybe we should've met up with Fischer, after all.”
“We did what we thought was best.” Gabe started the car and shifted it into gear.
“We made a mistake.” I watched out the window as the car rolled down the street. I watched Tutu Girl pedal her little bike down the sidewalk, and I wondered why she was outside so late. Fireflies were twinkling like little stars in the deepening shadows. This was the hour a preschooler should be safe and cozy, tucked in her bed, in her home, with a storybook and a teddy bear.
Down the street, we continued. Around a corner. Past Debbie Richardson's house. The porch light was on. And another light shined through an upstairs window.
It hit me then. Tutu Girl had been talking about someone named Julia. It could be
the Julia,
Debbie Richardson's daughter. We hadn't talked to her yet. She hadn't made it home from camp when we'd interviewed Trey Chapman. I doubted the teenager would be staying in the house alone, but it looked like somebody was in the house. I tapped Gabe's shoulder. “Go back.”
the Julia,
Debbie Richardson's daughter. We hadn't talked to her yet. She hadn't made it home from camp when we'd interviewed Trey Chapman. I doubted the teenager would be staying in the house alone, but it looked like somebody was in the house. I tapped Gabe's shoulder. “Go back.”
“Huh?” He hit the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the street.
I opened the car door and scrambled out, heading back toward the house. I had no idea what I'd say to her if she was there. I had no idea what questions I needed to ask. But I wanted to talk to her.
I was on the porch before Gabe had turned the car around. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. I told myself the lights were probably left on to make the house look occupied. That's what people in the burbs did. But just for the hell of it, I knocked a third time.
Inside, I heard a thump. My heart started to pound. What if I'd caught a burglar? What if ... ?
The door swung open, and a disheveled teen girl gave me a perplexed look. “Yeah?”
“Hi, are you Julia Richardson?”
“Um ...” The girl glanced behind her. She combed her fingers through her blond hair. “Maybe.”
“My name is Sloan Skye. I work for the FBI. We're working on a caseâ”
“FBI?” The girl, who I was 99 percent sure was Julia Richardson, gnawed on her thumbnail. “What's the FBI investigating around here?”
“It's a complicated matter.” I heard Gabe's footsteps behind me. “This is Gabe Wagner. Can we ask you a few questions?”
“Um. Hang on.” Julia shut the door. Behind it, we heard shuffling. The muffled sound of a male's voice. The slam of a door. Then the front door opened again, and Julia, looking a little less nervousâand a little less disheveledâstepped aside and waved us in. She gathered her hair over her shoulder, almost covering the ginormous flaming-red hickey on her neck. “I just came home to grab a few things. I'm staying with my dad now... .”
“Thanks for talking to us.” I moved toward the staircase, giving Gabe some room to come inside. There was no male in sight. Romeo was probably hiding upstairs somewhere. Naked. “I apologize if this is a bad time. I saw the lights and thought I'd take a chance and see if someone was home.”
“I guess it's your lucky day.” Julia shrugged.
And some horny boy'sâif that love nibble was any indication. “We won't take up much of your time.” Trying not to judge the teenager for messing around with a punk so soon after her mother's death, I pulled out my little notebook. People handled grief in strange ways sometimes, especially kids. She was probably trying to hide from the pain. Or numb it. “We were told you were away at camp when your mother became ill.”
“Yep.”
“When did you leave?”
“A couple of weeks before she ... died.” Julia's eyes reddened. She blinked, sniffled. And the teenager who'd seemed so grown-up and sure of herself suddenly looked small and vulnerable. She fingered the mark on her neck, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and stared at the floor.
“I'm sorry.” I touched her arm. She flinched ever so slightly. “Nothing's going to bring her back, I know. But we're trying very hard to find out what happened to your mother, to give you answers.” A tear slipped from Julia's eye as she blinked. “Did you notice anything different or unusual about your mother before you left?”
“ No.”
“Were you in contact with her after you left?”
“Yeah, she insisted on calling me every other night.”
That was good news.
“Had she changed anything? Habits? Hobbies? Interests? Was she acting different in any way?”
After taking a moment to think about my question, Julia shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“What about people close to her? Friends? Coworkers? Family? Did she mention anyone acting strangely?”
“No.” Julia grimaced. “I'm sorry. I can't think of anything. It was all so sudden. I didn't see it coming.”
“That's okay.”
Julia's scarlet-tinted eyes found mine. “Do you really think someone did this to her? That she was killed?”
“At this point, we're not ruling out anything.” I scribbled my cell phone number on an empty notebook page and tore it out. I handed it to Julia. “If you think of anything, or notice anything, give me a call. Even if it's something small, even if you're not sure it's anything at all.”
“Okay.” Julia glanced at the paper before folding it into a tiny square and shoving it into her jeans pocket.
I headed to the door. Gabe stepped out before I did. I said a final thank-you and trotted down the front walk, trying hard to disguise the pain I felt with every step. Julia stood there, at the door, watching us, looking like she wanted to tell us something. I thought about going back, asking her if some stray thought was nagging her. Before I could, she closed the door.
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