Head Start (Cedar Tree #7) (3 page)

“Jesus,” Joe says. “Are we sure, aside from the bodies of course, that all six of them fell victim to the same perp? Better yet, are we sure six is all there is?”

“That’s where I’m hoping you guys can help out. Other than the three bodies, I don’t even know for sure the others, still technically listed as missing, are connected. I need someone to run a ViCAP search, see if any similar cases might be linked, and then follow up with whatever police department. Then I need sharp eyes on patterns, similarities, anything in the victims’ profiles that overlaps. Anything that may give us a starting point on this guy.” Damian gets up and checks his watch. “I have to run. Autopsy scheduled in an hour and a half and I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” With that he’s gone.

“Have a bad feeling about this one.” Mal is the first to speak.

“Right,” Gus breaks in. “Neil, you run ViCAP.”

“I’m on it,” I tell him, my laptop already open to the sign in page.

“The rest of you, run through the files you have and start digging for similarities.”

Katie is shifting in her seat beside me. “I may have found one,” she says, flipping back and forth between the profiles of the six women. “All of them appear to work in the medical field in one capacity or another.”

I grab the file and shift through the papers. Sure enough, a pharmaceutical rep, two nurses, a medical secretary at a private clinic, an anesthesiologist and an ultra-sound technician.

Gus gets up, walks to the dry erase board on the far wall and starts writing. “Neil, add that to your search and include all of the Four Corners region. Joe, make a note of all the reporting officers on each of these profiles and find out as much as you can about each of these victims. Mal, I want you to follow Gomez back to Durango. Get any information that comes out of that autopsy and keep us up to date. I want you to be our eyes and ears there. The rest of you, keep going through these files with a fine-tooth comb. Going just by what we have, this guy has been at it for over a year. God knows how many are out there. Let’s stop that fucker now.”

K
endra

I almost drop my groceries on the doorstep, trying to balance the paper bags on one arm, while digging frantically through my purse to find my keys. The phone I forgot on the counter when I left to get some groceries is insistently ringing on the other side of the door.

“Hang on, dagnabit,” I mumble under my breath, as I finally pull free my key ring and wiggle the quirky lock on my door. Stumbling over a few packing boxes, I manage only to lose the containers of yogurt that were balancing precariously on top of my bag of veggies before I make it to the counter where I dump the bags and snatch up my phone.

“Hello?”

Dead air. I almost hang up when I hear a deep sigh on the other side.

“Am I interrupting something?” Neil’s all too familiar voice has my heart suddenly racing for another reason altogether.

“I should be so lucky,” flies from my mouth before I can slap on a filter. I’m so glad he can’t see the pained look on my face as I literally bite my tongue—hard. The soft chuckle does nothing to settle my sudden nerves.

“You know that can easily be resolved, right?” he coos, immediately sending a tingle down to my toes.

“Ha!” is the only intelligible word I can form before shaking my head and determinedly changing the subject. “I just walked in with groceries and had forgotten my phone at home. What’s up?”

All I hear on the other side is a sharp hiss.

“You know it’s becoming more and more difficult not to find double meaning in everything you say.” Before I can give that a response, he continues, “I just wanted to check in with you about the move. You were supposed to call me with a place and time?”

Shit.
I know I was and I’d been postponing, having reconsidered the wisdom of letting him help me move. I mean, it’s not like I have a lot of stuff. It would only take me three or four trips in my little SUV. The couch and the bed would be a bit of a problem, though. “I know. I’m sorry, it’s been a bit of a hectic week. It’s this coming Saturday, but you know what? I can probably manage.” And I would. Somehow.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Would’ve called you earlier but this case... Let’s just say it’s intense. So give me the address and what time do you want me there?” He totally disregards my last remark and I figure it’ll probably be less of a headache to let him help than it would be to try and deter him.

“I can make sure I have everything packed up, and the bed dissembled the night before. So let’s say nine o’clock?”

“Where are you gonna sleep?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“If you’re taking apart your bed Friday night, then where are you gonna sleep?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh. On the mattress on the floor.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “You know I can help with that too.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been able to sleep by myself for forty years, I think I’ll manage,” I blurt out a little irritated. The guy is relentless.

“Kendra? I meant disassembling the bed.”

“Oh.” I need to get off the phone before I make an even bigger ass of myself. “No need. I’ve done it before. So, is nine okay for you?”

“I’ll bring coffee,” he says simply before hanging up.

I drop the phone on the counter and bang my head a few times. Why is that man so persistent? I can’t seem to get through to him that I am probably ten years older than he is; way too old for him. More importantly, he’s way too young for me. I’ve seen up close and personal how these
May-December
relationships work. Always explosive in nature, and short in duration. My mother was an expert. The first five years after my father passed away when I was only twelve, Mom never dated. A beautiful woman, she didn’t lack for suitors but she would swear high and low that my father had been her one true love and she wasn’t interested in anyone else. It was the commitment she had an issue with. Most men her age were looking for a wife, and she was not on the market. I was in my senior year in high school when she overheard one of my male friends call her a MILF. I about gagged. When Mom asked what it meant, I was going to make something up, but my then ten-year-old sister was all too eager to explain. Finding out she was attractive to younger men opened up a new world for her. One where marriage and building a long-term future were not expected, but in fact avoided as much as possible. I hit college and it was like my mother was given new life. She used every excuse in the book to come visit me, just so she could check out the male college population. Needless to say, she developed a reputation fairly quickly, to my absolute horror. I didn’t date through college, the risks of going out with someone my mother had already slept with was too big. Besides, my sister was fast following in my mother’s footsteps, and at fourteen had had more boyfriends than me at twenty-two. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom
and
my sister, but there is a reason I no longer live in Durango. I’m happy they’re having such fun, embarrassing as it might be. But the moment people started calling me
One of those Schmitt girls,
I was out of there.

Now that I think about it, I should probably give Mom a call. Find out from her whether she is actually going on this cruise or whether it was a ploy by Karly to get me to come. But when I spot a small puddle forming under the bag that holds my one indulgence, frozen yogurt, I quickly tend to my priorities first. Yes, the frozen yogurt.

-

“H
ello?”

“Is this Kendra?”

He sounds almost wary on the phone. Lars is his name, a man I met about four months ago on the dating site I’d signed up for. Well I never actually
met
him, but we’d been e-mailing back and forth occasionally. After a week on the dating site, I’d taken down my profile. Too many creeps out there. A lot of them plain sleazy in their approach, and I swear some of them were married, looking for an affair on the side. Not my cup of tea. The only decent guy who’d approached me tentatively was Lars. We’d exchanged a couple of e-mails before I’d decided to take down my name and when I warned him, he’d asked if we could continue to just talk over regular e-mail. He’s a high school teacher in Gallup, New Mexico, and the moment he mentioned that, I’d looked him up. There hadn’t been any pictures for the teachers on the online staff directory for Miyamura High School, but the description fit him to a T. I had seen a picture on his profile on the dating site where he was hiking the Grand Canyon—one of the main reasons he’d peaked my attention. Rather studious looking, but handsome. Forty-three years old and never been married, according to his description, but looking for someone who shared his main passion: nature hikes. It seemed like a good place to start. Over the past months, he’d proven himself to be witty, regaling me with some funny teaching stories that would put a smile on my face. So when I spotted his e-mail, right after hanging up with Mom, who confirmed she’d be leaving with Karly over the weekend, I read it eagerly. To my surprise, he’s asking to meet. We’d never really talked about that possibility. Although in hindsight, it seems only natural things would progress to that at some point. Coffee in Cortez. He’s apparently on his way to a conference in Grand Junction and since it wouldn’t be out of his way to stop in Cortez, he thought I might like to meet. That’s when he asked for my number, which I freely give him. Four months of talking, surely if he was after something more nefarious than a bit of companionship, he’d have grown tired of me by now. I’d barely hit send on the e-mail with my phone number and the damn thing rings.

“Hi, Lars?” I respond, a little out of breath. It’s a bit unnerving to suddenly be talking to someone who’s been more of an abstract figure behind the computer so far. A gentle chuckle sounds over the line.

“That’s me,” he says. “A bit weird, isn’t it? Hearing a voice to go with the words we’ve been exchanging for the past months? I mean, you sound great. I mean, nice.” He seems a little flustered and for some reason that puts my mind at ease. “I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous. I’ve never actually gotten this far.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, a little confused.

“I mean, I’ve talked to a few people before, but never actually moved beyond e-mails.”

“Oh, well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never really done the online thing at all before. So all of this is new. Not sure what the rules or expectations are, but you mentioned coffee and that seems harmless enough.”

“Good. That’s good. Yes, so I’ll be driving to Grand Junction on Friday, and I was hoping maybe you’d be willing to meet me in Cortez. You did say you lived in Cortez, right?” He sounds like he’s smiling, not a bad sound at all.

“Yes, I do.” I don’t feel the need to tell him that Friday will actually be the last day I effectively live here. There is plenty of time for that.

“Okay, so maybe you know a place? Somewhere you feel comfortable meeting a middle-aged teacher from Gallup,” he chuckles in self-deprecation.

“Hardly middle-aged yet, Lars.”

“Hmmm, I like that. You saying my name.” The sudden shift from shy and hesitant to blatant flirting sends a bit of a shock to my system. I’m not quite sure what to do with that. Neil says stuff like that all the time, but it’s never given me a cold chill, like a sudden draft against my neck. Not entirely pleasant.

“So coffee?” I say rather curtly. He must pick up on it because when he speaks next, the shy teacher is back.

“If you’re sure, that would be great, yes. I’d love a chance to talk to you about those hiking trails in Mesa Verde you mentioned.”

Back on safer ground, I remind him I have several maps of the national park that I can bring for him to look over and he seems very receptive.

“So where and when is good for you?” He wants to know. “I’m leaving probably around five. Classes end at three o’clock and I’ll swing home to pick up my stuff and grab a bite, so I should be there around seven? Maybe seven thirty?”

I don’t have to think hard for a place to meet. Mal’s wife Kim and her friend Kerry introduced me to a great coffee shop a few months ago. “The Spruce Tree Espresso House. I’ll e-mail you directions. That’s probably easiest. And seven thirty sounds great, but won’t it be too much of a delay? If you still have to get to Grand Junction?”

“It’s probably four hours driving from Cortez, and the conference doesn’t start until the afternoon so I can sleep in.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. Then seven thirty it is.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says before I hear the distinct click of a hang up.

A little abrupt. I didn’t get a chance to match the sentiment or say goodbye. I shrug it off, making myself a note to find those Mesa Verde hiking maps before Friday.

Oddly enough, I don’t feel any nerves about meeting him. No nerves, no butterflies. Not excitement either. Just a tiny seed of discomfort at the slight personality shifts. That never really came across when we would talk via e-mail. It’s just coffee. If I don’t get a good vibe, I’ll say goodbye and leave it at that.

N
eil