Authors: Anthony Izzo
Evil Harvest (22 page)
She went into the bathroom, showered and blow-dried her hair.
After the shower, she returned to the bedroom to put on her makeup. Matt was doing push-ups, the muscles in his back and arms flexing and pumping.
“Too bad I’m already showered. You look like you’re working up a sweat,” she said. “I could help you with that.”
“You’re too much woman for me. I don’t know if I could handle you again.”
She nudged him in the ribs with her bare foot, knocking him off balance, causing him to fall on his side.
“I’ll show you too much woman.”
“Brutal. You’re a beast. How about I make some coffee?”
“Sounds good. It’s in the third cupboard on the right on the bottom.”
He got up, put his clothes on and headed for the kitchen.
After putting her uniform on, she joined Matt in the kitchen.
Two green mugs of steaming coffee sat on the table.
“So did you enjoy last night?” he said.
“God, yes. Couldn’t you tell?”
“It’s been a while, that’s all.”
“You were great.”
“I aim to please.”
“What’ve you got planned for today?” Jill said.
“I’ve got to make a couple visits.”
“To who?”
“The Reese family. I have to tell them what happened to their daughter. The cops probably gave them a line of crap.”
He took a sip off his coffee. Jill went to the cupboard and took out a box of Grape Nuts and a bowl and spoon. Taking a half-gallon carton of milk from the fridge, she brought everything to the table and sat down. Then she poured the milk and cereal in the bowl and stuck the spoon it.
“Where else are you going?” she asked.
“The girl who found the body. I want to make sure she’s all right. That Rafferty didn’t harm her.”
“Be careful,” she said, and took a bite of cereal.
“You too. I don’t want him harassing you again.”
The company of a boa constrictor was preferable to the company of Lincoln’s police chief. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon.
“Pick you up at six?” he said.
“Yeah. I’ve got to get going in a few.”
She looked at the clock hanging over the fridge: it read six twenty-five. The two of them sat in pleasant silence while she finished eating. When she had crunched the last of her cereal, she rinsed the bowl and spoon and left it in the sink.
Slurping the last of his coffee, Matt got up and put the cup in the sink. He went to the door. She moved in close to him and kissed him. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged. He returned the hug, slipping his hands around her lower back and squeezing. She closed her eyes.
“See you tonight,” he said.
“Can’t wait.”
After leaving Jill’s, Matt went back to his Aunt Bernie’s.
He showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes. He also took the Beretta and the hunting knife with him. On his way to the truck, which he had parked in the driveway, he heard the window screen click as his Uncle lifted it.
Rex Lapchek stuck his unshaven face out the window and said, “You put gas in that?”
“Of course,
sir
.”
sir
.”
“You’d better. Better not scratch it either, numb nuts.”
He gave his uncle a big grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, dear uncle.”
“Better keep that grin off your face too.”
Or you’ll wipe it off, right?
His uncle drew his head back inside and slammed the screen shut.
Matt hopped in the truck and slid the knife and gun under the passenger seat. Jill probably wouldn’t even get in the truck if she knew what he had hidden under the seat. But he felt slightly better with the weapons in the truck. Slightly.
With the murder last night, and with the creatures’ heightened activity, traveling unarmed would be a health hazard. He wanted to bring the Mossberg with him, but that was a little harder to conceal, and if he ran into Rafferty again, he didn’t want to wind up in the slammer. A handgun and knife fit nicely under the seat. A shotgun didn’t.
He arrived at the Reese home ten minutes after leaving his aunt’s house. He’d looked up the address in the phone book; it was an easy one to find—they were the only Reeses in Lincoln.
The house was a gray English Tudor covered partially in ivy. Had to be at least five thousand square feet. A triple-paned bay window looked out over the front lawn, which was lush and emerald-like. He didn’t think an artist could paint a more vivid green with a palette full of colors at his disposal.
The Reeses must’ve spent a lot of time on that lawn—with the heat, everyone else’s on the block was sick yellow and brown. It was like comparing a young man’s lush head of hair to a wizened geezer’s thinning locks. The hedge that separated the property from the neighbor’s was clipped square, and a short wall of decorative stone snaked along the front of the house.
As he walked up the driveway, he looked up at the chimney. It was slate gray with a letter “R” set inside the brick in a lighter shade of gray. A custom-built job, probably in the family for generations.
He rang the doorbell at the side door. While he waited, he looked around at the black Humvee parked in the driveway. It looked as dark and imposing as a killer whale.
The woman who answered the door was nearly his height. She was thin as a sapling. He noticed her hands, the long, slender fingers gripping the door handle.
She opened the door wider. “May I help you?” she said in a slight British accent.
The woman wore a white silk blouse and black silk pants. Her hair, polished ebony, flowed to one side and draped over her right shoulder. She seemed to glow, a contrast of light and shade.
“Is Mrs. Reese home?”
“I’m Lila Reese.”
“Carla’s sister?”
“Her mother. What do you want?”
“My name’s Matt Crowe. I have some information about your daughter. She’s missing, isn’t she?”
“She’s probably with Ronnie.”
“Ronnie?”
“Her boyfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Carla’s body was found in the park last night. I saw the police take it away.”
“That’s nonsense. She’s with Ronnie.”
“Can you prove that?” Matt said.
“I don’t have to prove anything, especially to a stranger.”
“Where was your daughter last night?”
“Working.”
“She never came home, right?”
“Her boyfriend has a place, Mr. Crowe.”
It was a damn shame that a college girl didn’t come home and the mother just assumed she was staying with her boyfriend. She hadn’t even checked up on the girl from the sound of it.
“Mrs. Reese. Do me a favor. Call her boyfriend. Please?”
She eyed him the way the lion must have eyed the mouse, deciding the fate of the prey. “Why should I believe you?”
“You don’t have to. For your daughter’s sake, please call.”
She waited a moment, rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Wait here.”
She returned with a white cordless phone in her hand. She dialed a phone number and put it up to her ear.
Matt listened.
“Hello, Betty?
“Fine, how are you?
“Did Ronnie go out with Carla last night?
“No?
“She’s not at your house?
“Can you ask him if he knows where she is? She didn’t come home last night.
“He hasn’t talked to her? Okay, thank you Betty. Good-bye.”
She pressed the Off button, a blank look on her face.
“She didn’t go to Ronnie’s. She didn’t go. Where could she be?” she asked Matt, as if he would say, oh, she’s in the trunk of my car, I’ll unlock it and get her for you right now. He knew where Carla was, but he had a feeling this woman wouldn’t hear it even if he told her again.
The blank look disappeared and her face changed, a clear blue sky turning into a black tempest. “How do I know you didn’t do something with her? Maybe you abducted her.”
“Number one, I’m not a murderer or a kidnapper. Number two, if I was, I wouldn’t show up at the victim’s house.”
“I suppose not.”
“Look, Mrs. Reese. My family was murdered here. I know what the police are like. If you call them, they’ll lie to you. They’ll tell you they never found a body.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“If you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll leave.”
“Wait here.”
She disappeared, shutting the inside door behind her. It was ivory colored with a frosted oval window. The door opened again, and it was apparent she still didn’t believe he was completely harmless.
She held a .45 at her side.
“Now you can come in, Mr. Crowe.”
She led him through the kitchen and dining room, then through a pair of white French doors.
Brilliant sunlight poured through the bay window at the front of the room. Likewise through a skylight in the ceiling. A creamy Persian rug with an inky pattern partially covered the honey-colored hardwood floor. With the sunlight and the abundance of white furniture, it looked like the waiting room to get into heaven.
“Sit down, please.”
The couch swallowed him whole. Getting up in a hurry would be a definite impossibility. He propped his elbow on a pillow, only to have it slide off the shiny material. Satin.
Lila Reese sat on the matching love seat directly across from him and crossed her legs. She set the .45 on the cushion next to her, but kept her hand on top of it.
“My father was a Mossad agent. This gun belonged to him. And he taught me how to use it. Just in case your intentions are not as you say.”
“Whatever makes you more comfortable.”
“Now what’s this nonsense about my daughter?”
Matt told her the story of how the body was found, what the witness saw, and the body being carted away in an unmarked white van.
“How can you be sure it was Carla?”
“The girl who found her told us it was Carla. She graduated from Millard Fillmore, right? The girl recognized Carla from school.”
Lila Reese looked to the mantel, where an eight by ten photo in a black frame was propped up. The girl in the picture was a younger, prettier photocopy of Lila Reese.
Because the picture was in black-and-white, he couldn’t tell the eye color, but if he were a betting man, he would bet the farm that they were fiery blue, like her mother’s. Even in black-and-white they were extraordinary.
She remained silent, staring at the photograph.
Matt felt awkward, like being in an elevator full of strangers. “I know how hard it must be to hear this. I lost my family here too. The killers were never found.”
“Not my Carla,” she said. “It’s impossible.”
She looked through him, like she was watching something through the bay window, a passerby on the street. He wondered if her mind had snapped, or if she was starting to shut herself off from reality, retreating into the part of the mind that didn’t have to face reality, the part responsible for daydreams and denial.
“It was some other girl. The girl who found the body must be mistaken.”
“It was her.”
“Then why haven’t the police contacted me?”
“The police in this town are crooked, Mrs. Reese. Don’t trust them.”
“You’re obviously some sort of paranoid, delusional man.”
“This town is dangerous. Have you lived here long?”
“Eight months. We have several homes around the country.”
“I suggest you use one of them and get out of town.”
If her gaze were any colder, ice crystals would’ve formed on her lashes. “I’m sure Carla will be home in time for supper.”
She stood up, and with her right hand, smoothed the front of her pant legs. The .45 hung in her left, the barrel pointed at the floor. He had no problem imagining this woman bringing the gun level and pulling the trigger. Especially if she thought he was a maniac.
“Leave, Mr. Crowe. I’ll be talking to the police, and if you’re lucky, I won’t mention this discussion.”
Matt pushed himself out of the quicksand couch, lost his balance and flopped back into the cushions. The second time he tried, he planted his fists into the cushions and used them to leverage himself up.
He paused at the French doors and turned toward her. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”
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