Blood Stains (9 page)

Franklin couldn’t read the expression on her face. He couldn’t tell if she was into the guy, which could have meant that their dinner had been a personal affair, or if their meeting was strictly business. However, he was certain that whatever the reason for her presence, it had nothing to do with him.

When she headed for the elevator, he started to leave. Then, before he knew it, he was following her across the lobby. When the doors opened, he was one of seven others who boarded with her. Confident he would not stand out in a crowd, he took out his cell phone and pretended to be checking messages. She never looked back, but when she got off the elevator on the sixth floor, he got out behind her. Careful to leave a good distance between them, he followed. When he saw her go into Room 604, he had all the information he needed. He turned around and headed back to the elevators, rode down, then went out front to pick up his car. Franklin was a man who did not like surprises. He didn’t know her name, but he knew where she was staying. He wasn’t expecting to need that info, but he believed in being prepared.

Traffic was busy, as usual, as he headed home, his thoughts turning to the tasks at hand. He had to be in court at 9:00 a.m. and he still needed to polish up his summation. The district attorney’s job was coming open, and when election year rolled around, he wanted his name on that ticket.

Maria showered quickly and got ready for bed. But when she crawled between the sheets, she realized she was still too hyper from her dinner with Bodie Scott to settle down. She reached for her journal. She was homesick and tired, and still grieving for her father. Just seeing his handwriting was enough to make her cry. But there had to be something in those pages that would trigger her memory. She needed to remember—and to remember everything—in the very worst way.

She flipped the journal open, scanned through several pages, then stopped on a date.

July 3rd—her birthday.

You turned eight today, but you didn’t want a birthday cake. You wanted pie. Lemon pie. So your mother made pie. We put candles in the meringue and everything. Sang “Happy Birthday” to you, and when you leaned forward to blow them out, all of a sudden your expression went blank. You didn’t move. You didn’t even try to blow out the candles. I spoke your name…. “Maria…Maria…what’s wrong?” I said. You looked up at me with this strange expression and said, “Mommy doesn’t like lemon.” Hannah patted your back and said, “Yes I do, honey. It’s one of my favorites, remember?”

You shuddered, then blinked, and the moment passed in the commotion of blowing out the candles, then cutting the pie. But I knew what had happened. A piece of your past had emerged. I waited and waited for a sign from you that you were regaining your memory…that you might want to talk about what you’d seen. But the time never came. Whatever had slipped into your thoughts had slipped out again as fast as it had come.

Maria’s vision blurred as she laid the journal aside. So much pressure to remember. How was she going to find the switch to make it happen when she’d spent twenty years subconsciously suppressing everything about her past?

Frustrated and a little overwhelmed, she rolled over onto her side, closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

Bodie was still thrown by the call he had received at the hotel. Dave and his wife, Patty, had been out to dinner and were on their way home when they were sideswiped by a drunk driver. They weren’t badly injured, but their car was totaled and they were both getting patched up in the E.R. Dave was missing his wallet, and Patty’s purse was in shreds all over Peoria Avenue. By the time they’d located it, someone had taken the cash. Patty had consoled herself with the fact that she’d retrieved all her credit cards and her driver’s license. Dave was hoping his wallet was still in the car, but that meant he was minus money for cab fare, so he’d called Bodie.

Bodie had come through for them in record time. He’d been properly horrified by their stitches and bruises, and loaded them into his car and took them home. By the time they pulled up in front, it was after eleven and Patty was in tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept muttering. “I don’t know why I keep crying.”

“It’s just shock, honey,” Dave said. “I feel a little like crying myself.”

“Wait a minute,” Bodie said, and quickly got out of his car, then helped her out. He steadied her on one side as Dave took the other. Together, they got her inside the house and into the bedroom. At that point, Bodie knew it was time for him to disappear.

“Is there anything else I can do for you guys?” he asked. “Do you need some water…some ice packs…anything?”

Dave shook his head, then winced.

“No. We’ll be all right. Just slow and sore. I guess I don’t need to tell you I won’t be in tomorrow.”

“I won’t, either,” Bodie said. “I’m heading to Lake Eufaula in the morning to run down a lead.”

Dave frowned. “For what case? What don’t I know?”

Bodie hesitated, then shrugged. “You remember that woman who came in this morning while everyone was eating my cake?”

Dave’s eyes widened. “That real tall one with long dark hair?”

“Yeah.”

“What about her?”

“She claims to be a witness to her mother’s murder, which turned out to be one of our unsolved cases from twenty years back. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you more about it when you’re feeling better.”

Dave sighed. Right now he felt like shit and couldn’t work up enough interest in something that had happened twenty years ago to push for more answers.

“Thanks again, buddy,” he said.

“That’s what partners are for,” Bodie said. “I’ll let myself out. You guys get some rest.”

It was close to 1:00 a.m. by the time Bodie got home. He dropped his keys on the hall table and headed for the kitchen. Out of habit, he checked his messages, then smiled as he listened. Both his brothers had called with birthday greetings, and there was a call from his parents, as well, wishing him happy birthday, then asking when he was coming home for a visit. It was too late to call them back, so he headed for the bedroom. It was already tomorrow, and he needed to get some rest. After a quick shower, he crawled into bed and wearily closed his eyes.

“Dance with me, Frankie. You know how I like to dance.”

The music swelled as the tall, leggy brunette, wearing nothing but a red teddy and high heels, began moving and swaying to the rhythm.

“Stop it, Sally. I don’t want to dance. I want to fuck.”

Sally frowned. She stopped, turned off the music and then stripped abruptly before she turned to face him.

“Fine. If we’re all business, that’ll be fifty dollars.”

Frankie tossed a handful of bills across the bed. She picked them up and counted them slowly, struggling to keep track of the amount in her head.

He frowned. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night.”

She stuffed the money into her purse, then turned and all but strutted toward the bed.

Frankie shuddered. Despite the fact that she was nothing but a whore, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Sometimes he treated her badly, just to remind himself that he was the one in charge and she meant nothing but a good fuck. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. Tonight it didn’t. He wanted her bad and hated himself for his weakness.

She was an Amazon, girded with nothing but her sex appeal and those black high heels.

“So how do you want it, Frankie? Blow job or all the way?”

“All the way.”

She took a condom from the bedside table.

Frankie frowned. “I’m not wearing a condom. I don’t like the way it feels.”

“It’s the condom or a blow job.”

“Hell, no,” he said. “I paid you. I get what I paid for.”

She stopped. He couldn’t read the look on her face, but when she turned around and walked back to her clothes and took the money he’d just given her out of her purse, he couldn’t believe it. But it wasn’t until she tossed the bills on the bed and reached for her clothes to get dressed that he lost it.

He came off the bed in a rage, grabbed her by the arms and threw her down onto the floor, on top of the dress she’d been about to put on. Before she could scream, he was on top of her, then in her. The violence of what was happening was a turn-on he hadn’t expected. He knew she was screaming now, and trying to kick him off, but he didn’t care. He rode through the rape on a high like nothing he’d known. When it was over, he got up and started dressing, but she didn’t move.

“Get up,” he muttered, then took the money and threw it toward her.

Quiet tears were running down her cheeks as she rolled over onto her side, curling up into a fetal position.

“Get up, dammit!”

Sally was shivering, but her voice was firm. “You got what you wanted. Get out. Get out, and don’t ever call me again.”

“I’ll call anytime I want,” he yelled. “You’re the one who’s for sale, remember?”

All of a sudden she was on her feet. Blood was dripping from a cut on her bottom lip, and there was the beginning of a bruise already taking shape beneath the skin on her cheek. She should have been submissive. Instead, he knew a moment of fear when she walked toward him, then stabbed a finger in his chest.

“You will be sorry for this,” she said softly. “One day, you will be paying for more than a fuck.”

Frankie cursed, but standing toe-to-toe, he didn’t have the guts to hit her. Instead, he glanced around the room, making sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind, and slammed the door as he left.

You will be sorry…you will be sorry…will be sorry…sorry…sorry….

Franklin gasped and sat up with a jerk. His sheets were drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be having a heart attack.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” he whispered, as he laid the flat of his hand against his chest. “I’m okay. I’m okay. That was just a dream brought on by seeing that woman. It means nothing. Nothing.”

Slowly, his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. He glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:00 a.m. That was one hell of a way to start off a day.

Frowning, he threw off the covers, strode into his bathroom and began getting ready for work.

He splashed his face with water, then reached for the shaving cream, pausing for a moment to appreciate his features.

He looked good for fifty-seven, and he knew it. He wasn’t a big man, but he was fit. His features were even, his hazel eyes revealing his intelligence and charm. But it was the cleft in his chin that he liked the most. It gave him a certain memorable distinction.

He slathered the shaving cream on his face, then reached for the razor. Almost instantly, his thoughts shifted to last night and the coincidence of seeing Sally’s daughter after all these years. The more he thought about it, the more he felt the need to cover his tracks.

Just before he was ready to walk out the door, he slipped into his office and grabbed the Rolodex from his desk. There was only one name behind the
U
tab. He punched in the numbers and waited for it to ring. When the caller finally picked up, Franklin could tell he’d woken him up.

“Yeah?”

Franklin grinned. “Good morning, Ed. It’s me, Franklin Sheets. Sounds like the sleep fairy missed your house last night.”

“I’ve been working a case. I haven’t been in bed but a couple of hours.”

“That’s why I called,” Franklin said. “A case.”

The man sighed. “Can you call back this afternoon?”

“No, I’ll be in court, so wake up, Ed Underwood. Get your pen and paper, and pay attention. You’re supposed to be the best private investigator in Tulsa.”

“This is gonna cost you,” Ed muttered.

“It always does,” Franklin said. “Now listen up. I don’t have much time, but I need you to tail a woman for me for a while.”

Ed snorted, not bothering to hide his glee. “What’s up, buddy? Someone two-timing you?”

“No. Nothing like that. I told you. It has to do with a case,” Franklin said, anxious not to make his friend curious.

“Okay. What’s her name?” Ed asked.

“I don’t know,” Franklin said. “But she’s staying in Room 604 at the Doubletree Hotel downtown.”

“Crap. How do you expect me to—”

“You’re the P.I. Figure it out,” Franklin muttered. “Call me tonight with an update.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Ed said. “Now get off the phone so I can get dressed and get to the hotel before the morning traffic gets bad.”

Maria was in the shower, getting ready to meet Bodie Scott. She didn’t know what today would bring toward solving her mother’s murder. She did know that her anxiety over what to wear had nothing to do with looking up an old pimp and everything to do with spending the day with one good-looking cop.

Seven

E
d Underwood wheeled into the parking garage of the downtown Doubletree at straight-up seven o’clock. He didn’t know nearly enough about the woman he was going to tail to make this job easy, which meant some money would have to change hands.

Mentally marking his parking space, he dropped his keys in his pocket and headed for the main entrance. He’d been a cop before he’d become a private investigator, and he’d had a lifetime to accumulate a list of snitches from all over the place. It had been at least a year since he’d been in this hotel, but he knew a bellman who’d helped him out before. He just hoped the man still worked here and was on duty today.

He walked past several shuttle buses and a long line of cabs waiting for fares, which meant some big convention group was either checking out or checking in. As he entered the lobby, he paused in the doorway for a moment to get his bearings. The lobby was full of luggage and guests. Bellmen were all over, many coming out of elevators carrying bags, which meant the convention must be leaving. He glanced at his watch, then hailed a bellman coming toward him pushing a loaded luggage cart.