Malevolent (8 page)

“So you didn’t investigate any further? You didn’t check out David any further?”

“Why would we?”

She sighed. “You wouldn’t. Your case was closed.”

Jackson frowned. “Why do you want to know more about David? You’ve already agreed that he can’t be the stalker.”

“Yes, but someone who knew certain traits about David is, and no one was stalking Emma before she killed her husband.”

“Okay. I’ll give you the personal traits item. And I agree the timing is suspect,
if
we assume that the stalking is a recent occurrence. But it could be that someone was stalking Ms. Frederick before she killed David and she simply wasn’t paying close attention then because she was focused on her marital problems.”

“That’s fair enough,” Shaye said, but he could tell she didn’t like conceding the point. “But if we assume someone was stalking Emma before David returned from Iraq, then the question is why? She doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who goes around making enemies.”

“Agreed. I don’t think Ms. Frederick is intentionally seeking out trouble, but by virtue of her job, she could have gotten a rise out of someone unstable…say someone who lost a loved one under her care and is looking for someone to blame.”

Shaye frowned.
 

“You’re wondering if someone would really take things that far over something so innocuous,” he said.

“No, not at all. I have a limited amount of faith in humans as a species, and have little problem imagining someone that petty and insane.”

Jackson marveled at the way she easily processed a diabolical mind. “You are a wealth of comfort, Ms. Archer.”
 

 
“People can see their friends, mother, priest for comfort. That’s not part of my job description. But in my next meeting with Emma, I’ll ask about her patients.”

“Even though you’re still leaning toward the David connection theory?”

“Yes. Again, it’s the timing and the personal information, and that whole coincidence thing.”

If he was being honest, Jackson agreed with her. Assuming Emma Frederick had a stalker, it was more likely someone connected to her dead husband rather than a patient. But the thought of this young, inexperienced woman tangling with the kind of person who’d go on a revenge kick over a piece of shit like David Grange had him feeling more than a little uneasy.
 

“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking? Jackson asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Fair enough. Because you look too young to hold a private investigator’s license. And that’s a compliment, not an insult.”

“I’m twenty-four and an overachiever.”

“Good for you. Who did you intern with?”

“Breaux Investigations.”

Jackson knew the agency by reputation. They operated a clean business, mostly handling insurance fraud and disability cases. He’d never heard of them delving into the felony end of things.

“What?” Shaye asked. “You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where there’s something you want to say to me, but you’re figuring I’ll tell you to mind your business.”

“Or something less polite given your love of truthful and direct. Tell you what, instead of the big brother speech, I’ll just split the difference and say ‘Please be careful with your investigation.’”

“Of course, but why the advice?”

“If someone is stalking Emma Frederick and you get in the middle of it, you’ll just be an obstacle in the way of what he wants.”

Her expression darkened a bit, but he could tell it was a conclusion she’d already come to herself. She might be young, but she wasn’t as naive as he expected.

He rose, placed some money on the table for Christi, then pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Shaye. “That’s my cell number. If you run into trouble or get a hold of evidence that I can work with, give me a call.”

She took the card and nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He crossed the café and opened the door. As he stepped outside, he glanced back and saw her tucking his card into her purse. Maybe she’d be all right. A stalker versus a young, pretty, and inexperienced PI didn’t seem like a fair match, but there was something about Shaye Archer that made him think she was a lot tougher than she appeared.
 

He hoped his impression was correct. Because if the stalker turned out to be real, she was putting herself right in the line of sight of someone mentally unhinged.
 

Chapter Five

Emma pulled on her top and grabbed her purse. Housekeeping carts lined the hotel hallway, and she said hello to the ladies as she passed. She’d been so wound up when she got to the hotel early that morning that it had taken her hours to fall asleep. Even though she’d partaken in the minibar and tuned the television to infomercials. It was now 10:00 a.m. and she’d finally given up the thought of getting any real rest.
 

The only good thing about today was it was her day off. First, she was going to grab some breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then she was going to see to her car. She got into the elevator and pulled out her cell phone, then dialed the car dealership.
 

“Hi,” she said when the service adviser answered. “This is Emma Frederick. I had a problem with my car battery last night. Can I bring that in today and have someone check it out?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Frederick,” the service adviser said, “but we’re already overbooked. June in New Orleans. Everyone’s got AC problems. I could probably fit you in next Monday.”

Emma stepped out of the elevator. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just find a service shop to take a look. It’s probably nothing.”

“Well, if they find it’s anything but the battery, give me a call back. Your car’s still under warranty.”

“Thanks.” She hung up the phone and walked into the restaurant. “Can I get a toasted bagel with cream cheese to go?” she asked the hostess.

“Certainly,” the girl said. “I’ll have one of the servers get that right out for you.”

“Great.” She walked over to the nearest table and sat down. Given the late hour, only a couple of tables were occupied. Everyone else had headed off to their business meetings or out into the Quarter for tourist pursuits. She pulled up Safari on her phone and tried to think of the name of the garage her aunt had used to service her car. It was in Bywater and it was someone’s name, but that’s as much as she could recall.
 

She did a search for “car repair” and “Bywater” and the garage name popped right up on top of the list. Andy’s Auto Repair. That was it. She pressed the button to call and by the time the server brought her bagel out, she’d talked to a nice man named Jimmy who said he’d be happy to take a look at her car any time that day. She paid for the bagel and headed out to the valet.
 

Given the time of day, the drive from the hotel to Bywater only took ten minutes. Jimmy was tall and skinny and probably all of twenty years old. She explained the situation with the battery, and he took her keys and assured her he’d check it out and would have it back to her in thirty to forty-five minutes. Then he pointed down the street to a café and said they had the best coffee and doughnuts in Bywater.
 

She thanked him and set off down the street. The bagel had filled her up just fine, but a latte and doughnuts sounded like a much better option than spending the next thirty minutes hanging around the waiting area of the garage.

Halfway down the block, the skin on the back of her neck started to prickle. She stopped short and spun around, scanning the street. There were probably fifteen people in her view—a couple of vendors changing signs outside their shops, two mothers pushing strollers down the sidewalk, three young boys with bicycles talking at the corner, a crowd of older men hovered over the engine bay of an old Mustang, and some random couples and individuals making their way to wherever they were going.
 

No one looked out of place. No one was looking at her.

But she could feel eyes on her.
 

She turned around and continued down the street, chiding herself for being so jumpy. Now was not the time to get paranoid. It was broad daylight, and she was in the middle of a street with a bunch of other people. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to approach her here. Not when there were witnesses.

At the end of the street, she checked for traffic and was just about to cross when she heard someone yelling behind her.

“Ma’am! You dropped this.”

She turned around and saw a boy of probably fifteen or so approaching on a skateboard. His long blond hair was dirty and pulled back into a ponytail. The rest of him didn’t look much cleaner than his hair.
 

He stopped in front of her and stepped off the skateboard. “You dropped this.” He held up a light blue scarf with white stars.
 

Panic raced through her body and she felt her knees buckle. She took two steps backward and leaned against the wall of the nearest building. “Where did you get that?”

The boy stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “It’s just a scarf.”

“Where did you get it?”
 

“Some dude down the street. He said he saw you drop it and asked me to bring it to you. Are you going to take it or what?”

He took a step closer to her and presented the scarf again.
 

Even though it made her stomach roll, she took the scarf from the boy. Her hand felt as if the silk were burning it. “What did the man look like?”

The boy shrugged. “Like a white dude.”

“Please. It’s important.”

The boy stared at her for a bit and she thought he was going to tell her to take a hike, but something in her tone must have convinced him to talk. “He was good-sized. Not skinny or nothing. Had really short black hair. Military cut, you know?”

With every word the boy spoke, Emma’s breathing became more and more shallow. “How old was he?”

The boy shrugged. “About your age, I guess.”

“Did you see which way he went?”

“That way.” He pointed behind them.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“Nah, but folks come from all over to have their cars fixed at Andy’s. I ain’t ever seen you before, either. I need to get going. I got work to do.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He gave her a nod, then put one foot on the skateboard and rolled off down the street.

Emma pushed herself off the wall and headed back to Andy’s, forcing herself to walk rather than run. That scarf had been a Christmas gift from David.
 

One of the items that she’d boxed up last week and thrown away.
 

By the time she reached Andy’s, she was drenched with sweat and her pulse was racing. She pulled open the door to the shop and stepped into the tiny waiting area. A small refrigerator full of bottled water stood in the corner. She hurried over to grab one of the bottles, but her hands shook so badly that it slipped from her grasp twice before she got it out of the refrigerator and onto the end table located next to the fridge.
 

She managed to get the top off and chugged back a big gulp. The cold water burned as it ran down her dry throat. She plopped down on an old wooden chair with a red-and-white plaid cushion, then put the cap back on the bottle and rubbed the cold plastic across her forehead. Her heart pounded in her temples, causing her head to ache. She drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, trying to calm herself, but it wasn’t very effective.
 

Someone had gone through her garbage and taken the scarf. What the hell kind of person did that? Crazy. She answered her own question, and the answer didn’t do anything to calm her nerves. It only made things worse.
 

She sat the water on the table and pressed her hands to her temples, silently willing the pounding in her head to cease. The description of the man that the boy gave her fit David. But David was dead. She knew he was dead. The paramedics and the coroner knew he was dead.
 

But he was still attacking her, even from the grave.

Who was doing this? David had casual buddies, but no particular friends that she was aware of. No outraged person had contacted her after his death. In fact, no one had contacted her at all except the oil company he’d been working for, and all they wanted was to know where to send his final paycheck. Granted, the fact that she’d been the one to cause his demise probably prevented people from wanting to acknowledge his death at all, but surely if someone were angry enough to stalk her, they would have made themselves known before now.

She drew in a deep breath and huffed it out, feeling slightly dizzy. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees, still clutching her head. She closed her eyes and silently willed the pounding headache to subside and her racing pulse to slow the hell down.

“Miss Frederick?”

Her head flew up and her eyes crossed as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She blinked several times and finally Jimmy came into focus.