“That so bad?”
“The images were painful. My mother and aunt looked so much alike and yet were total opposites.”
“How so?”
“My mother was the difficult, moody one, according to my grandmother, while my aunt was the light of her life. My aunt adored Cassidy. And in the end my aunt killed herself. My grandmother said once she always feared my mother would take her life. Never Aunt Leslie.”
“Your mother ever consider leaving you in Texas full-time?”
“My grandmother asked her every year if she would. They often argued over it. But Mom always took me with her in September.” She shrugged. “I always wondered why Mom just didn’t leave me in Texas. Motherly devotion wasn’t her driving force. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was as simple as Grandmother wanted me.”
Beck didn’t press her for details as he took a second glance at the shadowed outlines and then moved down the hallway. When he reappeared minutes later he said, “All the windows are locked and secure. And there are no signs of a break-in, which is all the more reason for you to not hide that key outside anymore. Better, do you have someone in town you can bunk with for a while?”
“Not really.”
“What about that art lady?”
“Cassidy? She hates dogs, and I don’t want to impose.” They got along well enough, and Cassidy would have taken her in, but asking her cousin for help went against the grain.
He frowned, clearly irritated. “She’s family. She wouldn’t mind.”
“I would. I can take care of myself. I spent a dozen summers in the area with my grandmother. And I’ve got Lincoln.”
Frustrated by her stubbornness, he frowned. “A dozen summers. That’s a lot of time in the area.”
“Four months out of the year I was here between ages six and eighteen.”
“How were your summers here?”
“For the most part fine.”
He arched a brow. “For the most part?”
“The first week I’d miss my mom. And then I’d start to get used to the place again, and then I’d have to leave. I hated leaving.”
“Where’d you and your mother live?”
“All over. Depended on where her husband at the time lived.”
“Anything memorable happen during those summers?”
“Memorable how?”
“Anything that sticks to mind.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Cassidy and I were either here at the house or helping our grandmother in town at her shop. It was a good time.” She frowned. “Do you think someone from my past is the killer?”
“I don’t know. I do know someone knew about that key and drugged your dog.”
Shock and adrenaline gave way to anger. “Maybe some nut who read the morning paper broke into the house.”
“Maybe the article did unsettle someone. Maybe the article and Lincoln are unrelated. But I’d bet my last dollar that the two are connected.”
Fingers curled into fists. She had no answer to that puzzle. “How can you know that?”
“I don’t, and until we know, be careful, Ms. Church. Keep the doors locked even when you are inside alone.”
Her defenses rose. “I do.”
A dark brow arched. “I walked in on you in your studio the other day.”
Color rushed up her cheeks. “I was working and just got lost.”
“All it takes is once.”
Being spoken to as if she were a child grated. “I can take care of myself. I almost shot you.”
Amusement lightened his gaze. “Not even close.”
“I had my shotgun.”
He leaned forward just barely. “If you’d not lowered it when I asked, we’d not be standing here having this conversation.”
A deadly intensity swirled around him. She could argue all she wanted, but she was no marksman and would have lost to an expert. Nodding, she dragged a hand through her hair. “I get it. I will be careful.”
His gaze held hers an extra microsecond. “I’m going to have DPS swing by every half hour. Someone out there is fixated on you.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s the Strangler.” She spoke the words, hoping he’d agree. “It could just be about the article.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Don’t you bet on it for a minute. Not for a minute.”
Chapter 14
Monday, May 27, 8 AM
In the early hours of Monday, the third victim’s fingerprints scored a hit in the AFIS. The victim’s name was Blair Silver, age twenty-three years old. She’d been arrested two years ago for possession of cocaine. The girl’s well-to-do family had hired an expensive attorney, who’d arranged a plea agreement to a misdemeanor charge. Reports from Blair’s parole officer, however, had been positive. She’d been clean and sober for eighteen months and was finally going places with her life. Beck tracked down the girl’s mother and arranged a meeting at their home.
Adjusting his tie, he rang the bell as he stood at the front entrance to the big, beautiful house. Beck shifted his stance a couple of times. He didn’t love big homes. Didn’t have anything against them, just wondered why anyone would need this kind of space. And this house, judging by the clean, sterile looks, wasn’t too old.
As footsteps sounded on a tile floor, he rubbed the back of his neck, dreading delivering his message to Mrs. Silver.
The front door opened to a petite, midfifties woman, who stared up at him with a wary gaze. Her hair was done, her makeup styled, and she wore dark pants, a white blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings. The outfit was simple and expensive.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Silver?”
She nodded. “You must be Sergeant Beck.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.”
She escorted him to a sunroom filled with plants, overstuffed couches, delicate tables, and gilded framed pictures. Drapes, with the shimmer of silk, pooled on the polished floors.
She sat on the sofa and motioned for him to take the seat across from her. “Can I get you something to drink? Sweet tea or a cola?”
“No, ma’am, but thank you.”
She smoothed her hands over her pants. “You said you had questions for me.”
His seat was fashioned out of bamboo and struck him as too delicate for a man his size. He was careful not to lean back or to the side on the armrest. “Ma’am, I’ve not come with good news.”
Her lips flattened into a grim line. “It’s about my daughter, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” No easy way to say this. “We found her body yesterday.”
Mrs. Silver lifted her chin and curled manicured fingers into fists. “I’ve been waiting for a visit like this for a long time.”
“Ma’am?”
“Blair has made some rather unfortunate choices in the last five years. I knew she’d been in recovery for the last year or so, but each day I feared she’d slip again. I kept telling her that her wild lifestyle would come to a bad end, but she refused to worry.” She drummed manicured hands on her pants leg. “We fought on Friday.”
“That when you talked to her last?”
“Yes. It was after eleven.” She drew in a breath. “Can you tell me how she died?”
“She was strangled.”
The older woman’s face pinched with surprise for just a brief moment, and then the expression vanished before she met his gaze again. “Strangled? I was certain you were going to tell me it was a drug overdose or an accident.”
“No, ma’am.”
Mrs. Silver sat so straight he thought her spine would snap. “Where was she found?”
“Near the interstate.” Every death notice was different, many times unexpected reactions. Tears. Anger. Denial. Frustration. He usually got some kind of response. But Mrs. Silver was completely flat. It was almost as if she’d not actually heard him.
He watched her closely. “Ma’am, can you tell me if Blair had boyfriends or acquaintances
that might have done her harm?”
“Truthfully, I don’t know any of her friends anymore. The set of friends she had a couple of years ago were not good people. But she kept swearing to me she’d changed and her friends had changed. I just couldn’t allow myself to hope. I called her often. Was always checking up on her.”
He couldn’t imagine not dogging a child who was headed toward trouble. “She listed your address as her permanent address.”
“Well, I suppose you could say it was her last permanent address. She’s been moving around a lot for the last couple of years.”
“What was she studying at the university?”