Unlucky 13 (Women's Murder Club 13)

I was scared to death for Cindy.

CHAPTER 47

MACKIE MORALES HAD been driving for more than seventeen hours, crawling at sixty, making pit stops in rundown gas stations off the highways, paying cash, avoiding toll booths, and keeping to service roads—whatever she had to do so that the stolen car wouldn’t be tagged on camera or noticed by a state trooper.

So far, so good.

Randy was humming an uplifting tune inside her head.

He was feeling good, proud of her and looking forward to seeing Ben. That little booger.

She felt that way, too. She couldn’t wait to scoop Ben up in her arms and hug him and kiss his adorable baby face. And after she’d loved up her baby, she wanted a toilet seat that she could actually sit on and a hot shower and clean towels. She wanted her mother to make her a big fattening meal. Anything Mom cooked would be the best thing she’d eaten in her life, and then a long, deep sleep in a big clean bed. Oh, wow. Just think of that.

It wouldn’t be safe to stay more than a day, but if she slept and kept indoors, a twenty-four-hour layover should be okay.

After that, she had work to do and plans to execute.

“You’ll have my back while I sleep, right, lover?” she said to Randy.

Right, Princess. Best Girl. Goddess of my heart.

Mackie laughed and then became more focused as she homed in on her mother’s house.

It was after 11:00 p.m. when Morales entered the Anza Vista area, northeast of Golden Gate Park. The night air was clear, and the moon was really turning on the wattage, making it look like blue daylight.

Her mother’s neighborhood was treeless, block upon block of what could be called modernist row homes. The houses were all different but close enough in appearance that they gave the development a bland sameness and uniformity.

Now she was driving up a deserted Anza Vista Avenue, which divided the double row of pale facades with their parking garages on street level and stairs going up to the front door.

Her mom’s house was just ahead, and like the rest of them, it was tan-colored with two gable-like rooftops over square alcoves, a two-car garage on the lower level, and an ornate iron gate locking the stairway to the front door.

Mackie’s eyes started to tear up. Minutes from now, she’d be in her mother’s warm hug—but Randy was disturbed.

Something’s wrong, he said.

“What? What?”

She saw a blue sedan, Japanese, parked several houses down, with a good view of her mom’s front door. What was wrong was that the sedan was parked on the street between two of the homes and yet the driveways of those homes were empty.

Why if you had a driveway and a garage would you park a car on the street?

Maybe it belonged to a guest. Maybe, maybe…or maybe a plainclothes cop was watching her mother’s house.

Mackie drove slowly toward the blue car, and just before she passed it, her headlights hit the windshield. A woman was behind the wheel. She was white and blond, and Mackie had seen her before. She worked very hard at not pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Instead, Mackie drove down the avenue at the same cautious speed, took a turn at the end of the next block, and headed out of the development in the direction of the bridge.

She knew the face of the driver. It belonged to Cindy Thomas, Richie’s ex-girl and Lindsay Boxer’s friend.

Mackie’s face flushed. She could feel her heartbeat pounding all the way out to the ends of her fingers. Randy was dead because of Lindsay Boxer. Everything that had gone wrong was because of her.

It all began and ended with Lindsay.

PART THREE

RED SKY IN THE MORNING

CHAPTER 48

FIRST THING MONDAY morning, and at DA Len Parisi’s request, Conklin and I jogged down to the third floor to his offices to meet the new ADA, who would be representing People versus Holly Restrepo, scheduled for arraignment at ten.