Killer Heat (16 page)

When Terrance dropped his head in his hands, Jonah motioned to the couch inside. “Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes.”

Leaving the door open, Terrance crossed to the living room, where he fell onto the sofa and stared off into space.

Jonah nudged Francesca into the apartment. Other than the sofa, a chair and the weight set they'd been able to spot from the door, there wasn't much furniture, but large amateurish paintings covered the walls.

“She did all these,” he said, following Francesca's gaze from a large sunflower with thick globs of yellow paint on each petal to a windmill towering over blowing grass to a portrait of Terrance himself. Although Bianca hadn't been a very good artist, each painting revealed a love of nature and an exuberance that made Francesca sad to think this life had been extinguished.

Jonah sat on the weight bench while she took the chair. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked Terrance.

“I don't know. Her being dead feels so…unreal.” He pulled strands of his beard through his fingers. “I guess it helps to know she might've come back to me if she'd been capable of it, that she might've missed me as much as I've missed her. But to think she was hurt and I wasn't there…that, in a way, I caused her death because of that stupid fight…”

“You didn't cause it,” Francesca insisted.

“She wouldn't have been out there alone if we hadn't argued.” His eyes suddenly filled with anger. “Who did it? And why?”

“That's what we're trying to find out,” Jonah said.

The hand fingering his beard grew idle. “You don't know?”

“No.” Francesca's iPhone rang with a few strains of “I'll Stand by You.” Adriana was trying to reach her. Unwilling to step outside, she silenced it instead of taking the call. “We're hoping you can help us find the person who's responsible.”

He spread his hands. “How? Just tell me how.”

“Have you ever heard the name Butch Vaughn?”

“Never.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive. Butch isn't a very common name. It would've stood out.”

Jonah described Butch, too, but this also drew a blank, so he moved on. “What about Dean Wheeler?”

Terrance started to shake his head, but doubt crept into his expression and he stopped. “Wait a second…that one sounds sort of familiar.”

Francesca scooted forward. “Do you have any idea where you might've heard it before?”

“No, but…I suppose Dean could've been one of her patients.”

“She was a doctor?”

“A nurse. At Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital on the other side of town. She was always coming home with stories about the crazies she met there. She didn't call them that, of course. She was pretty PC, defended them whenever I said anything about the nut house. She got to know some of the patients quite well. Felt sorry for most. Loved a few. Was afraid of others.”

Had Dean ever been a patient at Laurel Oaks? If so, was he one of those Bianca had feared? “Maybe we've found the link,” Francesca whispered to Jonah. It could
be Dean and not Butch who'd committed the murders. But it couldn't have been Dean who'd cut her phone line, not unless she'd seen only what she'd expected to see when she looked out at the pool. Had her mind been playing tricks on her?

“It should be easy enough to check,” Jonah said.

Terrance blinked several times. “What are you talking about?”

“There's a man with behavioral problems who's also been associated with another death,” Jonah explained. “We need to find out if he was a patient at Laurel Oaks.”

“After everything she tried to do for those people that would be ironic, wouldn't it?” Terrence muttered.

“What was she driving when she left?” Jonah asked.

“A gray Toyota Prius. Sort of charcoal-colored. She insisted on owning an electric car, wanted to go green and save the environment. I've never seen such a recycling buff. She was so…unusual. So…special,” he added. “I've never gotten over her. Maybe I never will.”

Francesca caught sight of a photograph sitting on the counter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, slightly over-weight and wearing a witch's costume, smiled out at the room. “Is that Bianca?”

Terrence nodded. “On our last Halloween together.”

Jonah got up and strode over. “Did you ever recover her car?”

“No. Then I would've known something happened to her. She'd never abandon it.”

“So where could it have gone?” Francesca asked, but even as the question passed her lips, she knew—the salvage yard.

T
he Dean Wheeler situation was an excuse to call Jonah. Adriana knew it. She could wait until Francesca called her back. She'd hear from her eventually. But she had something worth telling, something that could possibly affect Fran and Jonah and whatever case they were working on, and she couldn't resist calling Jonah with it.

In case Dean returned, she kept her boys where she could see them and used her cordless phone to dial Jonah's number. She'd memorized it and thrown away the paper on which she'd jotted it when he'd called her yesterday. She didn't want to risk having her husband come across that number. What if he thought it was a message for him and called Jonah?

That wouldn't be good. She hadn't even told Stan that Jonah was back.

“Hello?”

The sound of Jonah's voice caused the usual flip-flop in her stomach. She hated it. But, as much as she wished otherwise, she couldn't seem to manage a more acceptable response. “Hi, uh, Jonah? This is Adriana.”

There was a slight pause. “What can I do for you, Adriana?”

“I've been trying to reach Francesca, but she's not
picking up. You wouldn't know where she is, would you?”

She hoped not. She wanted to use Dean's visit to strike up a conversation that might lead into the more personal questions she was dying to ask. But it wasn't to be.

“She's right here,” he said. “Hang on a minute.”

Cringing with disappointment—and a small amount of embarrassment—she held her breath as she waited, wondering what she'd expected to accomplish by talking to Jonah, anyway. Even if he suddenly decided that he regretted his choice ten years ago and wanted to be with her, they couldn't have a relationship. She had a family now, would never leave Stan. So why was she still so eager for his attention, still hoping he'd realize what she had to offer and want her the way she'd always wanted him?

“Adriana?”

At Francesca's voice, she released her breath and tried to act as normal as possible. “Hi. Where've you been? Why aren't you answering my calls?”

“Sorry. It's been a crazy day. What—what's going on?”

That little hitch worried her. Was Francesca's response cooler than usual? Maybe. Or was she imagining it? Sure she'd called Jonah, but she'd immediately requested Francesca. That should've made it okay.

However, she'd done similar things a decade ago whenever she could—and that made her self-conscious about it now. “I wanted to tell you that Dean Wheeler came by.”

“What did you say?”

“Dean Wheeler. That guy you mentioned? The brother-in-law of the man you think might've murdered that woman?”

“I know who you're talking about. I just can't believe he showed up at your house.”

“It was weird. He knocked at my door about—” she glanced at the clock “—an hour ago.”

Fortunately, the information she had to impart directed all attention away from the fact that she'd called Jonah, just as she'd known it would. She felt both relieved and guilty about that. She hadn't talked to Jonah for more than a few seconds, but at least there shouldn't be a backlash for making the attempt.

“What did he want?” Francesca asked.

“He had your pictures, the ones you carry around in your purse.”

“What was he doing with those?”

“He said he was trying to return them. That he'd already been to your place. I have them here now, but I don't know why he didn't leave them on your doorstep.”

“Neither do I. Except…he seems very interested in my friends and neighbors.”

“I have to admit his visit was kind of unsettling. Even after I promised to give you the pictures he didn't leave. He went around the house, into the backyard and peeked in the downstairs windows. He nearly scared Levi to death. The poor kid was just waking up from his nap when he saw a strange man staring at him from outside.”

“Did Dean try to get in? Attempt to harm you or the boys in any way?”

“No. When he realized he'd frightened us, he ran away, and he hasn't been back since. I've kept a close eye on the yard, just in case.”

“When's Stan getting home?”

Francesca's subdued response actually made Adriana feel more frightened than she'd been before calling. She'd
already convinced herself that Dean was simply an unusual but well-meaning person. “Any minute. Why?”

“I'll feel more comfortable if you're not alone. Keep the house locked up, and if Dean comes back, call the police.”

Adriana watched Tyler wield the television remote, looking for a program he and his brother could agree on. “But you don't
really
think he's dangerous, do you?”

“He might be. Don't take any chances.”

“I won't.”

Someone spoke in the background, most likely Jonah. The voice was muffled, suggesting Francesca had covered the mouthpiece. “How'd Dean get there?” she asked when she was back. “Did someone drive him?”

“Not that I could see. There was no car. He claims he took a bus.”

“All the way from Prescott?”

“He acted as if no price was too high. Like he really wanted to do you this favor.”

“He could've called me about it. Or mailed them to me.”

“I think he wants contact. I'm telling you…it was as though he felt you two were in some sort of relationship. A close friendship, at least.”

“That makes me shudder, Adriana.”

“I can see why. Are you…are you going to be okay?” She wasn't really worried. Francesca was with Jonah, wasn't she? He'd look out for her. Adriana had always felt safe when she was in Jonah's company. She was sure he could handle himself in a fight if necessary, and he was street-smart, savvy in a way her soft, bookish husband was not.

“I'm fine. Worried. This case has me reeling. I've never been involved in anything like it.”

“Do you think you'll be able to solve it?” she asked. But what she really wanted to know was whether Francesca and Jonah were getting back together. Francesca hadn't come home last night. Adriana knew because she'd driven by her place twice, had gone the long way to the video store just to see if she'd find Jonah's car out front. She would've asked Francesca about Jonah, except she'd lost all right to that information when she betrayed her ten years earlier.

“I hope so.”

The phone beeped, signaling another call. She held it away from her for a second to check caller ID. “Stan's trying to reach me. I'd better go.”

“Okay. Let me know if you hear from Dean again.”

“I doubt he'll be back. Not tonight.”

“He has your number, too. You should be aware of that.”

“Got it. I'll talk to you later.”

Thinking that had gone as well as could be expected, she breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up and answered her husband's call. “Hi, honey. You almost home?”

“I'm afraid not. One of my patients, a five-year-old girl, has just been admitted to the hospital with a serious infection.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Sometimes she didn't understand how he withstood all the stress of his job. Being a doctor paid well, enabled her to be a stay-at-home mom to their children. But she was concerned about him, knew the worry he felt for his patients weighed heavily on him. “Is she going to make it?”

“I hope so.”

Gazing outside, she thought about her encounter with Dean. “How long do you think you'll be?”

“Who knows? Don't wait up, though. It might be late.”

The shadows of the trees lengthened on the lawn as daylight faded to darkness. “Okay. No problem.” This wasn't a night Adriana wanted to spend alone. She hadn't even had a chance to explain that she'd had an unwelcome visitor. But she didn't see any reason to tell Stan now. Why worry him? He couldn't be with her; he had to take care of that child.

Fifteen minutes later she didn't mind being alone quite so much. She was too busy digging through the old photographs she'd taken out of the garage and was actually grateful for the privacy.

“There it is,” she murmured as she held up a picture of Jonah cradling their baby just before they had to relinquish her to the care of her new parents.

 

“Is everything okay?” Jonah asked as Francesca returned his phone.

She avoided his gaze in case he could see more in her expression than she wanted to reveal. She hated that Adriana had called him, even if it was to talk to her. She couldn't help suspecting her best friend of being a little too eager to hear his voice. Which was crazy. Adriana was married with two kids. She loved Stan. Francesca hadn't been a jealous person until ten years ago. After what had happened, she'd changed—and not for the better.

“I'm not sure,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

She told him what Adriana had said, then added, “Dean could've left those pictures at my place but didn't. I'm afraid showing up at Adriana's was his way of making me aware of his familiarity with my friends.”

“How'd he get there?” he asked, repeating the question he'd fed her when she was on the phone.

“By bus.”

“So that's why we haven't seen him. He's not around.” They were in the van Investigator Finch had arranged for them to use, parked on a dirt side road near the salvage yard. Through a pair of binoculars, they'd seen Paris come and go in the Impala, twice. Had watched Butch drive an old pickup around the property. Had even spotted Paris's parents driving off in a black Oldsmobile. But they hadn't spotted Dean. And now they knew why.

“He seems to get around pretty well for not having a car,” she said.

Jonah tapped the steering wheel. “He's starting to make me nervous.”

“How much longer until we hear from your guy about the meds?”

“He'll call when he has what we need.”

What they needed was a profile on Dean's mental condition, a list of the medications he was taking and whether or not he'd ever been a patient at Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital. Jonah claimed Department 6 had people who could get that information—who could get just about any information. He said that'd be quicker than going through the sheriff's department here in Prescott. Since Hunsacker and Finch were out knocking on doors to see if they could find someone who might've seen April along the highway the night she was killed, Francesca had no problem with turning to an outside entity. Her father was trying to help, too, wasn't he? But it was getting late. She doubted they'd hear anything until tomorrow and wasn't looking forward to the wait.

“You really think we'll be able to search for Bianca's car?” she asked.

Jonah slouched in his seat. “Butch has got to go in eventually.”

They'd been hoping for an opportunity to get close to the chain-link fence surrounding the salvage yard for hours. But there'd been too much activity. They didn't want to be seen snooping around, using binoculars, taking pictures. If he felt threatened, Butch could move or hide evidence. And if he
was
the person who'd cut her telephone line, Francesca didn't feel it was a good idea to keep jumping into his sights. She wanted to feel comfortable in her own house again. If that was even possible.

“This could take a while,” she said when she saw Butch getting back in his truck. “He's still working.”

She handed Jonah the binoculars to have a look for himself. “Surveillance too tedious for you?” he asked.

“I think it's the cramped conditions that are bothering me.”

“Cramped conditions? We have the whole van to ourselves.”

Therein lay the problem. It wasn't easy to be alone with Jonah during the day, let alone at night. Especially in such a private setting. They could do just about anything out here and no one would know about it. The potential for secrecy made Francesca feel free, daring, almost as if she could avoid responsibility for her own actions….

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she studied him for a moment, then drew a deep breath. “Tell me something.”

He set the binoculars aside. “What's that?”

“What's it like?”

Her change in tone caused a certain wariness to come over him.
“It?”

“Talking to Adriana after so long.”

He didn't respond.

“What? You don't want to answer?”

“Are we really going to do this?” he asked, watching her from beneath half-lowered eyelids.

“You had a baby with her. Don't you ever think about her? The child? How things might've been different if you'd married?”

“Don't dredge this up.”

“Why? You're the one who wanted to talk about it in the past. Well, now I'm ready.”

He scowled. “You're not ready. You're looking for a pound of flesh.
My
flesh.”

“And you don't think you owe it to me?”

“Fine.” He shrugged as if he didn't care but she suspected he did. “I wish I'd married her, okay? Is that what you want to hear? God knows you won't believe anything else, so there you have it. I was an asshole with no heart, out to hurt anyone I could, and I tried to destroy your life and hers just for the hell of it. I used you both, like I use all women.”

The muscle that jumped in his cheek warned her to back off, but the compulsion to hurt him as he'd hurt her goaded her to continue. “What if I'd gotten pregnant at the same time she did?”

He shook his head.

“It could've happened,” she went on. “You were sleeping with both of us.”

“I wasn't
sleeping
with both of you,” he muttered with a scowl.

“She didn't get that baby by immaculate conception, Jonah.”

It was only one night. At least, that was what Adriana had insisted all these years. Francesca wanted to hear
Jonah say it, too. But he didn't give her the satisfaction. He didn't even attempt to defend himself.