Get in line, Carter had thought, but had said, “We’re working on it. If anything breaks, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thanks, Carter.” She’d laid a hand on his, as if they’d somehow bonded. Then she’d wrinkled her nose and offered him a smile that was supposed to be cute and unthreatening. It wasn’t. The woman was a shark in a tight skirt and three-inch heels, out to promote number one and eventually become D.A. She didn’t care whom she skewered with her stiletto heels on the way up. Carter knew it. Everyone in the department knew it.
Fortunately, she’d finished with him and, shoes clicking down the hallway, had left him to his work. He spent the next few hours fielding calls, finishing reports, and studying pictures of the two missing women and Mavis Gette. Physically, they were similar in build, though not coloring. They were all pretty and petite, around five feet, three inches, all around thirty, all Caucasian. But Mavis had been a transient. Roxie a career woman. Sonja a wife and mother trying to make ends meet. Mavis and Sonja had lived in California, Roxie hadn’t.
But there was something that tied them together. He just couldn’t see it yet. Absently, he wrote the names of the women on a legal pad, thinking about each.
Mavis Gette’s dead.
Sonja Hatchell and Roxie Olmstead are missing.
You can’t tie them all together by the evidence.
And yet…as he stared at the computer images of the three women, he felt that they were connected. He just hadn’t figured out how yet.
“Hey!” BJ said, poking her head into his office. He’d been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approach. “How about I buy you lunch?”
“What’s the special occasion?”
“We both need a break.”
“Don’t we always?” he asked, but was already reaching for his jacket. “Don’t we always.”
“Listen, Carter, don’t you know the old adage about looking a gift horse in the mouth? So shut up and keep up, unless you want to buy your own damned burger.”
“And I thought you were springing for steak.”
“In your dreams,” she said as they headed down the stairs and outside. Despite the cold weather, they walked the few blocks to the Canyon Café and grabbed a booth. Though it was late, the little restaurant was crowded, filled with patrons who had driven into town after over a week of cabin fever. The kids were back in school, all the businesses open, the Interstate no longer closed. Yeah, life was back to normal, except that he had one dead body, two missing women, and a stalker to deal with along with the regular crimes.
The strains of country music could barely be heard over the buzz of conversation, rattle of silverware, and crackle of the fryer. Two waitresses were hopping, pouring coffee and water, while a short-order cook placed orders on the counter and the smells of frying onions and sizzling hamburgers competed with the aroma of freshly baked pies.
BJ had snagged a recently vacated booth and they waited while a single busboy cleared the table and pocketed the two-dollar tip left among straw wrappers, napkins, and dirty dishes. Once the Formica had been swabbed clean, a waitress who’d worked at the café for as long as Carter could remember poured coffee and took their orders.
“Anything new with the bust of the kids up at Catwalk Point?” BJ asked.
“So that’s what this is all about—you want the inside scoop. From the OSP.”
Her eyes narrowed at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “Right—consider the fish and chips a bribe. I’m a high roller. But yeah, since you and Sparks are tight, I thought you might know more.”
Carter laughed. “The girls are safe. No charges, but because of Megan, you know that much already.”
“What about the others?”
“The boys will probably have to do some community service for providing alcohol, even though they aren’t twenty-one themselves. Actually, they’re getting off pretty easy.”
“Too easy,” she said. “But the good news is that Megan finally saw the light and broke up with Ian Swaggert.”
“Will it last?”
“Too early to call. But I’m hoping.” She lifted crossed fingers for Carter to see. “Ever since the ‘incident,’ and that’s what we call it, mind you, ‘the incident,’ Megan’s been toeing the line around the house. Jim doesn’t go ballistic like I do, just kind of mopes and looks at Megan with big, sad, disappointed eyes. You know the routine—his expression says all too clearly, ‘How could you do this to me?’ Like it’s all about him. Hey, I’m not complaining. It seems to be effective, at least for now. We’ll see, though, if that little worm Swaggert leaves Megan alone. He’d better, or he’ll have to answer to me.” She took a long swallow of her coffee. “See how you’re missing out, not having kids?”
The waitress deposited their lunch, a burger and fries for BJ, halibut and chips for Carter. BJ dug in as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. “I’m blowing my diet today,” she admitted. “It’s hell to try and lose weight during this weather. I mean, who wants a spinach salad with no dressing when it’s ten below?” She bit into her burger with gusto.
They talked about nothing important for a while, waved
to a few local patrons they knew, and were nearly finished eating when BJ said, “I’ve finally got a report for you about who’s been renting or buying Jenna Hughes’s movies. Believe me, the list is long and infamous.” She pushed her basket aside. “Your name came up a few times.” He didn’t comment. “But then, you’re in bad company.” She pulled her wallet out of her purse and slapped some bills onto the table. “I checked with the video stores in town, in the surrounding areas, online, and even the library’s records. A lot of people have been watching Jenna Hughes movies around here, let me tell you. At least since she moved up here, and I’m not even talking about those people who have personal collections that they taped from their televisions.”
They walked outside and BJ huddled deeper into her coat. “So, aside from mine, any names pop out at you?”