Saving Scott (Kobo) (13 page)

“Now that
sounds deep. Philosophical, even.”

“Or maybe it’s
because I’m lazy. It’s easier to start by focusing on one person. Helps narrow
potential suspects.”

“So, what do
we know about the victim?” Kovak flipped the marker in his hand.

“We, as in
me? What was in the file I saw. She’s thirty-seven years old, single, and in
debt up to her eyeballs. What do you have?”

“Knocking on
doors was basically a wash. I did get one comment from a—” Kovak consulted his
notes. “A Belinda Nesbitt. She’s a relative newcomer. Runs a shop full of
kitchen gadgets next door to the bakery. She, like everyone else, didn’t see
anything. But unlike everyone else, she was willing to bypass the ‘don’t speak
ill of the dead’ syndrome and suggested there might be a long list of
boyfriends with potential motives.”

“Names?”
Scott asked.

Kovak
snorted. “We should be so lucky. I think a field trip is in order.”

Scott’s
blood started pumping. “I’d better clear it with the chief.”

“I’ll take
care of it,” Kovak said. “Meet you out back in five. Use your detective skills
to figure out which car is mine.”

Scott didn’t
question Kovak’s ability to get clearance from Laughlin. He made a quick stop
at the men’s room, then went out the rear entrance and surveyed the parking
area. Two black-and-whites and a crime unit van were obvious. A black Chevy
Impala and a gray Dodge Stratus were possibles. The tiny hubcaps, radio
antenna, and light bar in the rear window of the Stratus marked it as an
official vehicle. He strode toward it and was leaning against the front fender
when Kovak approached. The car locks popped open.

“Next time,
give me a hard one,” Scott said, buckling his seatbelt.

“You got it
because Iliff’s Tahoe isn’t parked out here.”

“Budget cuts
haven’t hit personal vehicles yet?” Scott asked. “You don’t have to share? You’ve
got it better than I did.”

“I’m sure it’ll
be next, especially since we’ve changed to working alternating three and four
twelves instead of five eights. But the chief isn’t going to remind the bean
counters.”

Minutes
later, Kovak stopped the car in front of an old but well-maintained redbrick
apartment building. Scott eyed the dozens of steps leading to the entrance.

Eight, he
counted. It only looked like dozens. He could do eight. Hopefully, without
embarrassing himself. Kovak trotted up the stairs without a backward glance.
When Scott reached the top—thankful for only minimal outbursts from his
leg—Kovak stood at an open apartment door, thanking a man Scott assumed was the
building manager. A reasonable assumption, since there was a plaque on the door
that said
Manager
.

Haven’t
lost your chops.

The man
closed the door. Kovak waved a key and started walking toward the elevator.
Inside, he pressed five. “She was two months behind in her rent. The manager’s
impatient for any legal necessities to be finished so he can rent it again. He
was carrying her because she’d fallen behind once or twice before and always
made good. And no, he never saw her bring men home.”

“His
reaction when you reported the death?” Scott asked.

“He’d
already heard. News travels fast around here. Expressed appropriate mumblings
of shock, sadness.”

“Not truly
mourning her demise, then,” Scott said. “Already looking to fill the void in
his checking account. Your take? Any possible reason to add him to the list of
suspects?”

“I got the
impression he was simply being pragmatic. This renter is dead, long live the
renter. But I can’t see it as a motive to kill her.”

Although
Scott hadn’t observed the conversation firsthand, he trusted Kovak’s instincts.
The elevator doors slid open on the fifth floor. Kovak exited, hesitated, then
pointed to his left. Scott followed.

“Five-seventeen,”
Kovak said, stopping at a door halfway down the hall. He went to slot the key
into the lock.

Scott tapped
his arm. “Might be prudent to knock first.”

“The manager
said she lived alone. Quiet. Model tenant. Another reason he cut her the slack.”

Scott fought
a rising tide of anxiety. “Still doesn’t mean the apartment is empty.”

Kovak’s eyes
widened. “You mean you think the killer is inside?”

“Not really.
But expecting the worst can extend one’s life expectancy.” Scott fisted his
hand and rapped on the door. “Pine Hills Police.”

***

Without
thinking, Ashley dashed out of the office behind Maggie and followed her to the
parking lot. “I’ll come with you.” She pulled open the passenger door of Maggie’s
meticulously maintained Saturn sedan and buckled herself in before Maggie had a
chance to protest.

As they
drove toward the Women’s Center, Ashley couldn’t help but notice everything
about Maggie seemed tight. Her lips, her hands on the steering wheel, the set
of her shoulders.

“Did
Kathleen say what happened to Lorna?” Ashley asked.

“No, but I’ll
bet a year’s supply of Menghai tea that her no-good husband is behind it.
Whatever
it
is.”

“What can we
do? You said she wouldn’t leave him.”

“First we
see what the problem really is. Kathleen’s not one to go off the deep end, but
she’s been known to exaggerate from time to time.”

Ashley
hesitated before asking the question that had been rolling around her brain. “What
can you tell me about Lorna’s situation? You said she was in an abusive
relationship, but when she came to the bakeoff committee meeting, she didn’t
look like her husband beat her—at least not physically.”

“She’s never
admitted to him hitting her. But you saw how she dressed that night. She’s
always covered from head to toe.”

“Have you
met him? Seen him hit her?”

Maggie shook
her head. “No, although I’m sure he’d seem perfectly normal. Most abusers manage
to keep that side of themselves out of the public eye.”

Ashley
wondered what had possessed her to tag along. She wasn’t good in personal
crises. How long had she let her parents and Barry dominate her? Easier to be
submissive. No wave-making. No following dreams, much less believing they could
come true.

Then again,
she
had
found her inner strength. Maybe she could share some of it with
Lorna.

As if she
didn’t already have enough on her mind.

Maggie swung
her Saturn into a parking slot. Ashley hurried to keep up with Maggie’s
determined stride. Kathleen Duncan met them at the door.

“She called
me about half an hour ago.” Kathleen fretted with her string of pearls. “I didn’t
know what to do. I told her to meet me here. I know it was my turn on the hot line,
but—”

Maggie took
Kathleen’s hands. “You did the right thing.”

“I’m not
sure I’m ready to be on the call list yet.” Kathleen wrenched her hands free
and smoothed her hair. “I—what if I say the wrong thing?”

“Don’t worry
about it,” Maggie said. “Where’s Lorna?”

“In the
second meeting room,” Kathleen said.

“You left
her alone?” Maggie asked.

“Only for a
minute. I saw your car drive up. I have to go, though. I’m due at the store.”

“Go ahead.
We’ll take over,” Maggie said.

Relief
flooding her face, Kathleen backed away, then turned and rushed for the door.

Maggie
strode down the hall, her red curls bobbing, Ashley at her heels.

Inside the
meeting room, wearing faded jeans, with her face hidden inside a hooded
sweatshirt, Lorna sat in a folding chair. Her sneaker-clad feet tapped a rapid
cadence on the tile floor.

Maggie
rushed to her side, sat in the chair beside her and rested a hand on Lorna’s
shoulder. “What happened, Sweetie?”

Lorna raised
her head and slid the hood off her face. Ashley couldn’t control the gasp when
she saw the swelling purple bruise under Lorna’s eye.

“I tried
believing what you said. That it wasn’t my fault. That I wasn’t a bad wife.”
Her face went crimson. “He’d said I wasn’t … you know … in bed. I bought some
fancy nightgowns and tried to … you know. He called me a slut and slapped me.”

A tear
trickled down her cheek. “Then I told him I wasn’t going to stand for any more
of his … flings.”

Ashley
lowered herself onto the chair on Lorna’s other side. “Is this the first time
he’s hit you?”

Lorna shook
her head. “The first time he’s done it where it shows.” She sniffled. “I’m
going to leave this time. I really am. But I don’t know where to go, or what I’ll
do when I get there.”

“You can
stay at the center for a while,” Maggie said. “Do you have family? Anyone else
you can go to?”

Another head
shake. “My parents died when I was little. My great-aunt took me in, but
she—well, she did the best she could. When I met Thad—he made me feel like he
cared about me. He was so … charming. And—” She ducked her head.

“He was a
way out,” Ashley said. “A new and better life, right?”

Lorna raised
her eyes. “Exactly. How did you know?”

“I almost
fell for the same kind of guy. Except I don’t think he would have abused me.
Just stifled me.” Ashley took Lorna’s hand. “You have to believe in yourself. I
won’t pretend it’s easy, but you can do it.”

“Ashley’s
right,” Maggie said. “You’ve taken the first step. You’ve let Thad know he’s
not getting away with the way he treats you. Now for the hard question. Do you
want to try to work things out?”

Lorna tugged
on the sleeves of her sweatshirt. After a moment, she bobbed her head ever so
slightly. “When things are good, they’re good. If I knew why he gets so upset,
maybe I could fix them.”

Maggie
looked like she was going to say something, then frowned. After a heartbeat or
two, she rested a hand on Lorna’s shoulder. “I’ll set up a private counseling
session for you tomorrow morning. Then you can decide where to take it. Did you
pack a bag before you left?”

Lorna
pointed to an oversized tote under one of the tables against the wall. “Not a
lot, but enough for a night or two.”

After making
an appointment with a counselor and getting Lorna settled into one of the guest
rooms, Ashley and Maggie headed back to That Special Something.

“You think
she’ll be all right?” Ashley asked.

“That’s up
to her.”

“But what
about her husband? He’s the one who’ll have to change. Do you think he will?”

Maggie
sighed. “I’ve never met him. But plenty of his type. He’s got to want it. I
have to believe it’s possible. I’ve tried to get Lorna to understand it’s not
her fault. It’s all too common for a woman to believe she’s to blame. I hope
the counselors will help her see that the truth of the situation. And that her
husband will be willing to attend sessions. So many men refuse to think they
could possibly be in the wrong.”

As they
pulled into the parking lot, Ashley said, “I need to check on things at the
bakery.” She wasn’t ready for a heart-to-heart with Maggie, who undoubtedly
would want to know what Ashley had meant when she’d told Lorna she’d been in
her situation.

She let
herself in through the back door. Her cleaning supplies hadn’t done their work
by themselves. She started with the floor, scrubbing with more vigor than the
task required. The added benefit was that the sheer physical exertion helped
disperse some of the pent up anxiety.

A tapping at
the back door interrupted her labor. Ashley tiptoed across the wet floor to
answer it. Belinda stood there, the solemn expression on her face contrasting
with the cheery yellow apron she wore.

“Ashley, a
cop came by this morning asking about Felicity. He said they found her in your
bakery. What a shock. Are you all right?”

Ashley
nodded. “They’re still trying to figure out why she was in here.”

Belinda
craned her neck, looking past Ashley into the bakery. “Was it—gross?”

“I never saw
the body.” She shuddered at the thought of Felicity as a
body
. “And
there wasn’t any blood or anything. But I’m still cleaning.”

“Well, I
told the cops they should be checking into Felicity’s love life. She definitely
had a string of boyfriends.” Belinda lowered her voice. “Sometimes more than
one. Could be a jealous lover.”

Ashley made
a mental note to ask Scott if the cops had followed up. Belinda squeezed Ashley’s
hand. “I have to get back. If you need anything, or someone to talk to, give a
holler. I’m a good listener.”

Belinda
dashed through the alley, the ties from her apron floating behind her like
yellow butterflies. Ashley closed the door and resumed her cleaning detail.

Finally
satisfied that all traces of Felicity’s death had been scrubbed and disinfected
into oblivion, she started on the kitchen appliances. Although there was no
reason to believe they’d been contaminated, she knew she couldn’t prepare food
until she’d personally cleaned everything.

Pounding on
the back door pulled her away from the sink. Who now? More gossip seekers? She
wiped her hands and crossed to the rear of the shop.

“Ashley
Eagan?” A male voice, one she didn’t recognize. She ran through outstanding
deliveries and utilities hookups. Right. The phone company had said they’d be
by.

She opened
the door to a rotund, balding man. Shoving a recorder at her face.

“Miss Eagan?
Howard Vossler with the
Pine Hills Bee
. What was it like, finding a dead
body in your store?”

After
rapping on the door, Scott stepped aside. Cops didn’t call doorways vertical
coffins for nothing. Doors didn’t stop bullets. His skin went clammy. His
breathing accelerated.

“Hey, you
all right?” Kovak’s voice brought him back.

Not trusting
his voice, Scott nodded. Damn, this was nothing like what happened at the bank.
Transference, or something like that, the shrink had said. Part of why he’d
quit. Any semblance of a potentially dangerous situation sent him to what he’d
named his Dark Place. As if giving it a name made it easier to cope with.