The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (134 page)

When he reached the door to 3-F, he could hear a child was crying inside and the muffled voice of a mother at wit’s end, her tone alternately threatening and cajoling. He knocked, and after what seemed an eternity the door eased open a crack.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Peering out at him was a thin, tired face framed by scribbles of permed yellow hair.

“I’m a friend of Anna’s,” he said. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

“I don’t know anyone named Anna.”

“You knew her as Monica.”

Recognition momentarily animated her tired blue eyes. “Oh,
her.
Yeah, I read about it in the paper. Tough break.”

“That’s why I’m here. Mind if I come in?” he asked.

She hesitated, then the door opened a little wider, revealing a wiry woman in shorts and a halter top. Her muscles looked to be from hard physical labor rather than workouts at the gym. “Look, this isn’t a good time,” she said. “My kid’s sick and I have to be at work.”

“It won’t take long.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“It wasn’t hard.” Keith had gotten the name off her AOL account. It turned out Krystal Longmire had quite a history, though she’d moved around some since her last known address—Lompoc State Penitentiary. “By the way, I’m Marc.” He put out his hand, which she shook reluctantly, still eyeing him suspiciously.

The child inside began to whine. “Brianna, honey!” Krystal yelled over her shoulder. “Drink your juice like a good girl!” She turned back to Marc. “I’d better go.”

“Please. It’s important.”

Krystal heaved a long-suffering sigh. “All right, but only a minute.”

She’d stepped out onto the ramp and was easing the door shut behind her when the little girl wailed piteously, “Leave it open so I can see you!” He caught a glimpse of a small, pale face amid the murky depths of the shade-drawn living room.

Krystal folded her arms over her chest. “Look, mister, I don’t want no trouble. I’m having a tough enough time as it is.”

Not as tough as Anna, he thought.

“I’m not here to make trouble.”

Her mouth kinked in a hard little smile. “Yeah? That’s what they all say. I got two kids and three years of hard time from the last guy who sold me that bill of goods.”

“Anna told me about you. She seems to think very highly of you.”

Some of the hardness went out of her face, and she nibbled on a thumbnail before self-consciously lowering her hand. “Look, I feel bad about what happened to her. I mean, she was nice and all. But it’s not like there’s anything I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

She was turning to go when he took a last wild shot. “You were there that night, weren’t you?”

It had the desired effect. Krystal froze, and an arm riddled with old tracks shot out to yank the door shut, unleashing a wail from inside. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to,” she hissed, “but if you’re not outta here in thirty seconds or less, I’m calling the cops.”

“I think,” he said in the same mild tone, “that if you were going to call the cops, you’d have done it weeks ago.”

She sagged against the cinderblock wall. “What do you want?”

“Answers.”

“I only know what’s in the papers.”

“Where were you that night?”

“Home with my kids.”

“Can you prove it?”

She glared at him. “I don’t have to.”

“Not to me. But I’m sure the police would like to know.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out his cell phone.

She put out a hand to stop him from punching in the number, flags of red standing out in her cheeks as if she’d been slapped. He didn’t know if it was guilt or just the fear of someone who’d spent time behind bars. “Don’t. They’ll think I had something to do with it.”

“
Did
you?” He held her gaze.

“No.” Her voice was faint. Inside the whines were quickly escalating into howls. “I’m coming!” Krystal called over her shoulder, the expression on her face that of a battle-fatigued soldier gearing up for yet another assault. She turned back to Marc. “My little girl? She’s been in foster homes half her life. She cries all the time and can’t sleep unless there’s a light on. My parole officer gets wind of this, I’ll be back in jail so fast I won’t know what hit me. I can’t do that to my kids.”

“You seem pretty worried for someone with nothing to hide.”

“They get you on something. They always do.” For a fleeting moment he almost felt sorry for her. “You don’t know what it’s like.
She’s
the only one who gave a shit. And look where she ended up.”

A howl ending in a hacking cough worthy of Mimi in
La Bohème
arrived as if on cue. “Here’s how I figure it,” he said. “You wanted to see with your own eyes if Monica, or should I say the person you
thought
was Monica, was as great as she’d seemed. Just a peek, then you’d be on your way with no one the wiser. How am I doing so far?”

“Not bad. You oughta get a job working for one of those tabloids.” Her flat gaze gave nothing away.

“Look,” he said, “you don’t owe me a thing. But you
do
owe Anna.”

“Even if I knew something, which I don’t, my kids come first. Anyway, how do I know you’re not a cop?”

“You’d be on your way downtown for questioning if I were.”

“And you’d have a couple of screaming kids on your hands,” she lobbed right back.

“I could still have you taken in.”

“Maybe, but you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re decent, that’s why.” She made it sound like an insult.

Marc looked at her long and hard, as if to disprove her assessment of him. But she’d clearly endured worse than anything he could dish out. She would bend, but she wouldn’t break. The only hope was for Anna to appeal to her in person.

The wailing from inside grew louder.

Krystal was pushing open the door when she paused to look over her shoulder. He was surprised to see her washed-out blue eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Tell Anna …” her voice broke a little, “tell her I’m sorry.”

The following night, back in his room at Laura and Hector’s, he filled Anna in. “I think she knows something,” he said. They were in bed, Anna nestled in the crook of his arm. “Either that, or she’s just plain scared.”

“Of what?”

“Getting thrown back in jail.”

“Why would she feel guilty if she hadn’t done anything wrong?”

“She’s an addict. We think everything bad that happens is our fault because most of the time it is.” He smiled ruefully.

He told her about his brief conversation with the detective in charge, a tough former marine who, from the looks of it, was no stranger to the bottle himself. Burch had brushed him off, informing Marc that he wasn’t interested in pursuing any new leads. His exact words were, “If her lawyer wants to blow smoke out her ass trying to pin it on someone else, I don’t have to play along.” But Marc omitted that part.

“So we’re back at square one,” she said gloomily. He could see every minute of the past four weeks in her face: the dark circles under her eyes, the faint lines like parentheses on either side of her mouth.

“I had my friend do a search on that other guy, too.” The man known only as Hairy Cary, whose fascination with Monica had bordered on obsessive had turned out to be a married man with five kids—a Baptist minister, no less. “I pity his poor wife, not to mention his congregation.”

“Do you think he had something to do with this?”

“Anything’s possible. There’s only one problem: He lives in Kentucky.”

“Last I heard, they have flights out of Kentucky.”

“I’m not ruling it out,” he said. “In fact, I’ve put in a call.

In the meantime I think it’d be worth paying another visit to Krystal.” He smiled. “You might have better luck.” Anna pulled the covers up around her, shivering despite the space heater that glowed like a coal in the darkness. “It’s funny. I wouldn’t have pegged her as a stalker.”

“They come in all shapes and sizes,” he said, thinking of Hairy Cary.

“Do you think she’s a murderer?”

Marc shook his head. “Call it a hunch, but no I don’t.”

“It could have been an accident.”

“All I know is, the sooner we find out what, if anything, she’s hiding, the better.” He looked out the window. The barnyard was a barren moonscape, the elongated shadow of the dog ambling across it like some alien creature.

“If she won’t talk, we could have Rhonda subpoena her.”

“She’d be a hostile witness. It could backfire.”

“You think she’d lie on the witness stand?”

“Without an eyewitness, who could prove she was lying? Besides, we don’t know for certain that she is.”

Anna sighed. “I guess we’ll know tomorrow.” They planned to drive down first thing in the morning.

“Speaking of which, we should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day,” he said.

Anna rolled onto her side, winding her arms around his neck. “I’m not sleepy.”

He kissed her on the lips. “Miss me?”

“Would you think less of me if I said yes?”

“I didn’t know it was a bad thing to miss someone.”

“It is if the person you’re missing doesn’t miss you, too.”

Marc tilted his head, smiling. “You know what I wish? That you could see yourself the way I do.”

“Tell me what you see.” She regarded him gravely.

“A beautiful, brave, sexy woman.”

“Do I sense an ulterior motive?” Smiling, she slid a hand under the covers.

He seized hold of her wrist, pulling it to his mouth and kissing her open palm. She smelled of freshly cut flowers, lavender or hyacinth. “Krystal wasn’t the only one I saw yesterday.”

Her smile faded. “I take it you mean Faith.”

He nodded. “I’ve never kept anything from you and I’m not going to start now.”

She tensed, drawing away. “Is there a point to this?” A steely edge had crept into her voice.

“I just thought you should know.”

‘“That you’re married? I’m well aware of that fact. I also know that you have no intention of divorcing your wife.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Would he have married Faith if he’d known what lay ahead? He honestly didn’t know, but it was pointless to wonder. The plain fact was he loved two women, and one of them, for better or for worse, was his wife.

“There’s always a choice. Weren’t you the one who told me that?” Anna was sitting up now, eyeing him with the same wariness Faith had. With her hair tousled and her shoulders gleaming in the moonlight, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Some choices you can live with; others you can’t.”

“So what you’re saying is that when all this is over, assuming I’m a free woman, we’ll go back to the way it was before? Or maybe you see us as weekend lovers—no strings attached, no questions asked.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marc, you don’t get to call the shots this time. If nothing else, allow me to make my own decisions.”

Marc wanted to applaud her even as he drew back in surprise. Clearly, the fire she’d walked through had galvanized her in more ways than one. “Fair enough,” he said. “I have just one request. Can we table it until then?”

She stared out the window. He’d begun to worry that she was lost to him already when she brought her gaze back to him. She reached for his hand, running her thumb along his wedding band. “Does your wife know?”

“I think she suspects.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t expect you to be celibate.”

“If that’s the case, she hasn’t said anything.”

Anna burrowed into his arms, kissing him deeply as she pressed up against him. He felt an answering tug in his groin, and pushed a hand between her legs. She was wet. Jesus.

“Yes, dammit, I missed you,” she whispered in his ear.

He rolled her onto her back, straddling her. They were both breathing hard. Normally he took his time, stroking and kissing until passion took over where her shyness left off, but he could see it wasn’t going to be that way tonight. She drew him into her, wrapping her legs about him, meeting each thrust with an intensity that matched his own. Moments later he felt her shudder as she threw her head back in a soundless cry.

Then he was coming too—a rush so intense he nearly blacked out. When Anna’s face swam back into focus, he saw that her cheeks were flushed and her mouth curved in a little smile.

“Remind me to go away more often,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but her face fell. He wanted to kick himself.

But she quickly recovered, saying with a lightness that tore at his heart, “If anyone’s going anywhere, it’s me.”

Marc led the way up the stairs, the metal risers ringing faintly beneath his feet. The sun hadn’t fully risen and already it was hot, the bedraggled plants around the pool drooping. The sounds of people up and about drifted through the closed doors he passed: muffled voices, the whirr of a coffee grinder, a TV weatherman announcing today’s forecast: “Sunny and clear, folks, with temperatures headed on up to the high eighties. Time to crack out those coolers and crank up that air conditioner …”

They reached Krystal’s apartment and Marc knocked. When no one answered, he tried the knob. The door swung open. No one was home. They walked wordlessly from room to room, the empty drawers and closets, the crusty rings on the medicine cabinet shelves bearing silent witness to what he’d known the moment he walked in: Krystal had bolted. All that was left besides the furniture were the dirty dishes in the sink and a bowl of cat food on the floor.

Mentally he kicked himself.
My fault. I let her get away.
On the other hand, what could he have done to stop her?

He turned to Anna. “The super might know something.” She nodded, but he saw his hopelessness reflected in her face. He very much doubted Krystal had left a forwarding address.

The super turned out to be the landlord as well, a paunchy middle-aged man with beige hair sticking up in tufts around his bald pate. When they told him about Krystal, asking if he had any idea where she might’ve gone, he cursed under his breath. “Like to know myself. Bitch owed two months’ back rent.” He fished a pack of Camels from the sagging pocket of his terry robe and lit one, squinting at Anna through the smoke curling up around his head. “You look familiar. Have I seen you before?”