Dying Scream (28 page)

“Who?” Brenda said.

Vega showed her the picture. “This man on the back row. He’s not standing next to her but he’s smiling at her.”

“Yeah, he’s the one. Her boyfriend. But his name isn’t Craig. I think she said his name was Tim.”

“And you are certain he was her boyfriend?”

“Very. She showed me the damn picture enough.” The quiver in her voice robbed the words of intended anger. “Do you really think that body is Kelly Jo?”

Gage hadn’t come here expecting to make a death notice. But there was no getting around it. “We have to make a positive identification first. Did Kelly Jo have dental x-rays made?”

“A couple of times. She saw my guy, Dr. Dawson.” The woman turned to the refrigerator and pulled off an appointment card for the boys. “Here’s his number.”

Gage jotted down the full name and number. “Can we keep the photos?”

“Yeah, but I’ll want them back eventually. Like I said, Max will ask questions one day.” She accepted the card back from Gage and put it back on the refrigerator under a magnet. “Do you think this Tim guy killed her?”

“We don’t know. But you might as well know, the guy died about ten months ago.”

“You’re chasing a dead man?” Bitterness coated the words.

Craig didn’t have the balls. He made messes, didn’t clean them up.

The more Gage learned about Craig, the less convinced he was that he was the killer.

“I don’t know. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Promise.”

“Yes.” He handed her his card.

Gage and Vega left and as he slid behind the wheel his phone started to ring. “Hudson.”

“It’s C.C. Ricker. I got an update on Adrianna Barrington’s phone records.”

“Okay.”

“I cross-checked against Rhonda Minor’s name and Colleen Morgan’s name.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“We have a hit.”

“When?”

“Four years ago. September second.”

Gage gripped the phone. “She called Colleen Morgan?”

“That she did.”

“Shit.”

C.C. sighed. “I’d have thought you’d be happy.”

Gage wasn’t happy one damn bit. Adrianna had kept information from him yet again. “I am.”

Chapter Nineteen

Tuesday, October 3, 3:00 p.m.

Brett Newington, station manager for Channel 10, adjusted the cuff of his hand-tailored shirt as he reviewed the copy the new evening anchor had written. He didn’t like the text. It was sloppy and wordy.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Plus she was too fat for his tastes. She didn’t have a spark and she wasn’t quick on her feet. Basically, she was no Kendall Shaw.

Kendall. He got pissed every time he thought about her. He’d offered her everything and she’d turned him down flat to open that damn PR firm and marry that cop. Ungrateful bitch. Whore.

A hard, frantic rap on his door had him looking up sharply. Standing in his doorway was a rumpled old man who smelled of dust and age and looked like he’d been plucked out of the stacks of a dusty library.

“Who the hell are you?” Brett asked.

“Dr. Cyril Heckman.”

“How’d you get in here?”

Dr. Heckman eased into his office and closed the door. “I snuck in.”

Brett rose, lifting the phone receiver as he did. “I’m calling security.”

“No, don’t. I have a great story for you.”

Brett started to dial. “I doubt that.”

“Have you heard of Adrianna Barrington? Kendall Shaw Warwick’s sister?”

She’d had a press conference last week. It had been about selling land and moving graves. He’d not covered it because he’d be damned before he did a favor for Kendall’s sister. Still, he was curious about Dr. Heckman’s visit.

When security picked up Brett said, “Never mind.” He set down the phone. “Keep talking.”

“I’ve been trying to get to you for days.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me why you’re here.”

Dr. Heckman blinked as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Adrianna Barrington has got trouble on her land.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Dr. Heckman recapped the story of the bodies. He didn’t have many details, only that one had been female and the cops suspected murder.

Brett threaded manicured hands together. “I’ve not heard anything about this.”

“The cops are trying to keep it quiet. They don’t want the coverage.”

All the better. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing really. But I suspect you can figure out what’s happening.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Adrianna Barrington is trying to destroy that property. If enough people know what she’s doing, the land sale could fall apart. Nothing on the estate would change.”

Brett’s heart raced. An unmarked grave. Murder. Fucking over Kendall’s sister. Stories just didn’t get any better.

It was late in the evening and Adrianna was less than a mile from home when her cell rang. She hit the hands-free option as she turned down a side street. “Adrianna Barrington.”

“This is Brett Newington.”

“Who?”

“I’m the station manager at Channel 10.”

She gripped the phone. “Yes.”

“I hear you’ve had a bit of excitement out at the Colonies.”

She smacked her hand against the steering wheel and swallowed a curse. “I don’t know what you’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard a lot. Care to comment on the discovery of two dead women?”

“No.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of digging in the last couple of hours. No one’s telling me the identity of the bodies. Care to comment?”

She hung up. “Damn it!” This wasn’t going to be good.

The phone rang again and she nearly didn’t answer it but on the third ring picked it up. “Adrianna Barrington.”

“Hey, Ms. B. You called?”

Dwayne Wells. She shoved out a relieved breath. “Yes. Just was checking in for Friday. You and Ben set to move all the art to the hotel?”

“We are set.” Papers flipped in the background. “And as I understand it, we also have art to collect from the Renfo, Medina, and Schenley family collections.”

“Correct. You anticipate any problems?”

“Not a one, but if we hit a snag I’ll call.”

So nice to have someone do their job without her having to chase after them. “Thanks, Mr. Wells.”

“Will do.”

“Dwayne, have you or Marie heard from a reporter from Channel 10?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“One just called me.”

“We won’t be talking to no reporters, Ms. B. Secrets are safe with us.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“You call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up, still troubled about the call from Newington and debating whether she should call Gage or Mazur. Both needed to know. From what Kendall had told her about Brett, he was capable of causing big problems.

Gage first. Mazur second. As she dialed Gage’s number and rounded the corner of her street, she spotted the cop car parked in front of her house. She didn’t have to look inside the car to know who it was. Gage Hudson, but there were no signs of his partner.

Stomach clenching, she pulled into her driveway, shut off the car, and grabbed her purse. She marched straight toward him.

“Ms. Barrington.” Gage sounded annoyed.

Good. She wasn’t in such a stellar mood herself. “Detective. I just got a call from a reporter, Brett Newington. Channel 10. They know about the graves.” She didn’t bother to turn but focused on unlocking the deadbolt on her front door.

Shadows from the post light sharpened the angles on his face. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t talk to him. He’ll do whatever he can to get the story.”

“I can handle it myself.”

Gage shook his head. “He’s not a good guy. Nasty stories have surfaced about him. Nothing has been proven, but he’s trouble.”

The hint of genuine concern smoothed out her frayed nerves. “Okay, I’ll be careful. What are you doing here?”

“I have a few questions for you.”

She opened the front door and clicked on the foyer light. Grabbing the mail from the box by the front door, she shifted through it, half-expecting a card laced with aftershave or a creepy endearment. There was nothing. She wavered between being disappointed and relieved because with Gage here, she’d have a witness. “What kind of questions?”

His gaze dipped to the mail in her hand and then back up to her face. “About your cell phone bill.”

“It’s late and I’ve had a long day. Can we do this another time?”

Even white teeth flashed. “We need to do this now.”

“Or you’re going to drag me downtown?”

He slid his hands into his pockets. The casual gesture oddly made him more intimidating. “Basically.”

She pursed her lips. “Ask away.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, one foot resting on the second step. “You want to do this on your front porch?”

Adrianna glanced up and down the street wondering who was watching. “Fine, come inside.”

She flipped on lights as she headed down the center hallway toward the kitchen. Gage closed the front door with a soft click and followed her, his purposeful steps never wavering.

In the kitchen, his gaze meandered around, absorbing every detail. He seemed a bit surprised by what he saw. The room was scrubbed clean but the stainless equipment’s well-used patina reflected lots of use. Batter stains discolored the pages of an open cookbook on the counter. A cherry print apron dusted with flour draped over a chair at the table. It was a cook’s kitchen.

“Why do you want to know about my cell phone?”

“You called a woman named Kelly Jo Morgan in September four years ago.”

“Four years ago.” They’d just broken up about then—a fact she doubted was lost on him. “I barely remember what I had for lunch yesterday. Who’s Kelly Jo, anyway?”

“According to your records, you talked to her three times on September second four years ago. Each call lasted between five and fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Who was she?”

“She was a stripper at a bar called Doxies,” Gage said.

She’d have laughed if he didn’t look so serious. “Now why would I be calling a stripper?”

“We believe she was dating Craig Thornton during that summer you two were apart.”

Adrianna shoved a hand through her hair. She’d heard from Craig’s mother he was mixing with a different crowd. “I was dating you that summer. I didn’t care who Craig saw.”

He tightened and released his jaw. “You sure about that? In the end you couldn’t let him go.”

“When I left Craig I thought it was for good.”

“You went back to him.” Accusation coated the words.

“It was complicated.”

A bitter smile tipped the edge of his lips. “Black and white where I’m sitting.”

A bolt of sadness shot through her body. Those days had been so painful. As much as she’d told herself she was doing the right thing when she’d left Gage, she’d felt awful. “I didn’t call her.”

“The calls were made on September second.”

“I didn’t call her.”

Gage laid the records on the granite counter. He pointed to the lines highlighted in yellow. “This is your number?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned forward to study the sheet. “Yes.”

“This Kelly Jo Morgan’s number?”

A frown furrowed her brow. “I don’t know what to tell you. May I look at the printout?”

“Absolutely.”

She picked it up and studied it. More memories swirled in her head. Slowly the day trickled back. “Mom and Frances were giving a party that weekend. It was a celebration of sorts.”

“You and Thornton had reunited.” He ground the words out as if he had cut glass in his mouth.

“Yes.” Uneasiness had made her feel like a fraud that day. That summer with Gage had changed her and she didn’t feel as if she belonged in her old life anymore. “I remember that night was a whirlwind. Lots of catching up after having been out of touch all summer. I saw so many people that night I didn’t have time to go to the restroom, let alone have three telephone conversations with a strange woman.”

“It’s easy to slip away in the middle of a party and make a call.”

“Not for fifteen minutes, like this last call. My mother was glued at my side almost the entire night.” She shot him an annoyed look.

“Where was your phone?”

“I don’t know. I left my purse in my mom’s bedroom. Anyone could have gone in and used it.”

“Did Thornton know the purse and phone were in that room?”

“Yes.” She dug long fingers through her hair. “Why was he calling her?”

“Kelly Jo told her sister she was going to have Craig’s baby.”

Color drained from her face. Hot tears sprang into her eyes. “Was she?”

“No.”

She swiped away a tear and turned away. “Sorry.”

Gage slowly collected the printouts and closed the file.

Adrianna cleared her throat. “She’s the other woman found on the estate?”

“We think so.”

She sighed. “You said she was a stripper.”

“Kelly Jo and Craig dated the summer you two were broken up.”

“Okay.” She felt no anger or jealousy.

“Did Craig own a gun?”

“His father owned a lot of rifles. Robert loved to hunt. So did my father. Dad and Mr. Thornton used to hunt together.”

“What about handguns?”

“I don’t know. Mom sold all of Dad’s guns after he died.” She drew in a sigh. “Craig sold all his father’s guns just before we were married.”

“Do you have a record of the sales?”

“I wouldn’t know where to look for them. They were all private sales.”

“I’ll check.”

To keep her hands busy, she started to make coffee. “I just can’t imagine Craig as a killer.”

Tension rippled as he collected the printouts. “Who do you think could have killed those women other than him?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Have you received any more cards or phone calls?”

“After you left my shop, someone sent me flowers.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Her reasons felt a little childish now. “I was annoyed and angry with you.”

He shook his head. “Anything else?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me.”

“The other night I got a postcard in the mail. Just a plain advertisement for aftershave—Craig’s old aftershave.”