Sole Witness (20 page)

Mr. Jackson answered the door. Tall, wan, jittery.
“May I help you?”

“I’m Detective Davis Hamilton with the Isla Concha
Police Department. I’m very sorry to bother you at home, sir, but I hoped to
ask you a few questions about your daughter.”

A short, pale woman peered over Mr. Jackson’s
shoulder. “Did you find her killer?”

Davis hedged, hating to see the disappointment in
their faces but knowing at this point there was little he could disclose
publicly. “Not yet.”

Mrs. Jackson’s eyes dulled with defeat. Her husband
opened the door and motioned Davis inside and to a couch. They took the two
overstuffed chairs opposite him, neither of them looking at the other or
touching.

Intruding on grief always made Davis feel like a
jerk.

“What do you need to know?” asked Mr. Jackson dully.

“Can you tell me a little about your daughter’s
activities? We’re trying to piece together where she might have come across the
killer.”

“Activities?” Mr. Jackson stared over Davis’s
shoulder. “She worked. That was her main activity. Kindergarten teacher. This
was supposed to be her vacation. Spring Break.”

Probably not too many unsavory characters in
kindergarten. Davis jotted a note anyway. “And friends? Husband, boyfriend?
Social life?”

“She’d been dating Marco for a while now. What was
it honey, five years?”

“Six.”

“That just ended last weekend.” Mr. Jackson gasped.
“You don’t think he–”

“No! No,” Davis assured him. “We don’t. Did she date
anyone after Marco?”

Mrs. Jackson crossed her arms. “Three days,
Detective. Our daughter was not easy.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to imply that. I
just have to ask questions. I’m trying to determine who she came in contact
with.”

She squinted at him before responding. “Lori
Summers, of course. They’ve been friends since high school. Lori’s the one who
encouraged Kimber to follow her dream. Kimber always tried to get her to do the
same, but that girl’s a stubborn one.”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Jackson relaxed her crossed arms. “Kimber said
it was a cop out, is what it was. Lori thought she wasn’t smart enough for
college, thought modeling was something a girl did when she couldn’t get by on
much more than her looks.”

“Modeling wasn’t her dream?” Davis asked and
flinched. He’d allowed himself to get completely off-topic from Kimberley’s
death.

“Hardly. Wanted to open some sort of school or club
thing. Help encourage young girls to develop self-esteem. Never did anything
but talk, Kimber said. Might be some kind of supermodel, but that girl could
use some self esteem of her own. Kimber tried to help.”

Davis nodded and forced down the barrage of
questions bubbling in his throat. Right now, Lori was not his concern. He
needed to find and trap a killer.

“Did your daughter ever mention a friend by the name
of Amber Tompkins?”

Mrs. Jackson blinked. “No. Never heard of her. Did
you, dear?”

Her husband shook his head. “That one of the
teachers from her school, maybe?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Jackson mused. “They do seem to
come and go. Hard to say.”

Davis stood. “Thank you so much for your patience.
I’ll show myself out.”

He was wasting their time. Lori was right—she was
the common thread. He should be at her parent’s house, not Kimberley’s.

Within half an hour, he pulled in front of the
Summers residence. Small bungalow. Ratty grass. Crooked shutters. Empty
trashcan lying on its side by the curb. He rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered was an older, greyer version
of Lori. A little shorter, a pound or two heavier, maybe, and a few frown
lines, but otherwise the resemblance couldn’t be missed.

“Detective Davis Hamilton, ma’am. May I ask a few
questions about your daughter?”

To his surprise, Mrs. Summers burst out laughing.

“Davis Hamilton? Well, ain’t you all growed up. What
a joke. I told her back then you’d never want one such as her, and I was right.
Took nothing less than a death to get you to come around last time, and another
one to get you here today.”

He shifted on his feet, at a complete loss as to how
to respond without coming across as an even bigger jerk. He also couldn’t miss
the pungent stench of alcohol soaking every word.

She coughed without covering her mouth. “Well,
there’s nothing I can say about Lori that’ll help. There was nothing I could
say
to
her to help, either. Probably can’t be helped. Good-bye.”

Davis braced his arm against the slamming door,
wincing at the impact.

“What?” she snapped, one hand on her hip.

All of Davis’s professionalism vanished in a burst
of fury. Her daughter was in danger and she was more concerned with drinking
herself into an early grave?

“Someone’s trying to kill her,” he bit out. “You’re
her mother. Don’t you care?”

She laughed again, cold, bitter.

“Why should I? Someone killed my other daughter.
Lori herself, with her reckless ways. I always told her she should be more like
Sara. I got no idea why Sara’d need to do anything that dangerous to impress
her stupid sister.”

“Lori didn’t make Sara do anything,” Davis blurted,
unable to believe he was arguing like a teenager instead of interviewing like a
cop. “She looked wrecked at the funeral. I’m sure she felt terrible. Sara was
her sister.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. And she never modeled again,
blah, blah, blah. Threw herself a pity party is what she did. It was
my
daughter,
my
baby who died. And I’m not going through it again. Get out,
and don’t come back.”

This time, Davis allowed the door to slam in his
face.

Cheery little thing, wasn’t she?

Man. He couldn’t imagine Lori growing up with a
mother like that.

Then again, his own parents at least meant well, but
they too had managed to ruin his life for a while with their insistence that he
marry someone like Juliana. It took a disastrous divorce for him to realize
that pleasing his parents only went so far.

And that being a big shot attorney like his father
with a society princess wife like his mother were the last two things on earth
he desired for himself.

Davis climbed into his car and started the engine.

So, what was he doing for his future now? Did he
really know what he wanted? Was he ruining his life again? Was he ruining
Lori’s by dragging her down with him?

A flash of curtain at one window let him know Mrs.
Summers kept her eye on him. No doubt through the distorted lens of a bottle.
Man.

He eased his car onto the road.

Lori’d been hurt enough. Her mother was no Mrs.
Brady. Hell, in the past, he’d hurt her, too. She needed to be loved.
Cherished. But by who? Him? A cop with an attitude?

She was already in his house. Of course he’d love to
keep her there. But could he? Was it fair to her? Starting any kind of
relationship right now would be taking huge advantage of her heightened state
of stress, to say the least.

Already he felt like a jerk for making love to her
last night. He wouldn’t erase it if he could, of course, but he shouldn’t have
indulged his desire. She needed to feel appreciated.

Respected.

A real man wouldn’t so much as kiss her again until
this whole thing was over, so she’d know his affection was real. For her. She
mattered too much to be treated cheaply.

Could he really do it? Stay away from her as long as
it took, no matter the temptation to do otherwise, so that he could prove she
meant something important to him?

Davis sighed. He’d have to.

He was a cop.

*          *          *

Amber feigned sleep until her
chosen alibi left for work. He’d been a perfect mark. Horny enough to ask no
questions and discreet enough to let her Camry be the car in his one-stall
garage.

After showering, she headed to
the closet to pack as many supplies in his old gray duffle bag as she could.
Just as soon as she took care of business, she was outta this town.

Clothes, toiletries, smokes, what
else? Food. Amber strode into the kitchen and depleted the supply of South
Beach meal replacement bars and Diet Coke. Damn health fanatics.

Last but not least, money.

“Here’s where keeping your eye on the prize comes in
handy,” Amber muttered to herself as she popped the hideous family portrait
from the office wall and twirled the hidden dial.

The safe swung open.

“And here’s where making your birthday the
combination turns out to be a big mistake.”

She pocketed what bills she could, dumping the rest
in the duffle bag and leaving the jewels alone. Before heading to the garage,
she grabbed a tube sock from the bedroom and stalked through the house, wiping
off anything she might have touched.

In another ten minutes, she was on the road.

Part of her brain said the smart thing to do was to
leave town. Now. Put as must distance as she could between herself and Isla
Concha. Get away from Florida altogether.

Hell, it was probably a good five-hour drive to the
border, and that estimate didn’t include Spring Break traffic.

The other part of her, the more vindictive part,
said hell no.

No way was she leaving town without putting an end
to the scheming witch who started this whole mess and got her into this trouble
in the first place.

But how? There was no way she could go back to work
and hunt up the account.

By now the cops were probably crawling all over her
usual hunting ground. Without the advantage of the finance terminal, how could
she track Lori? It’s not like she could waltz into any old bank and hijack
their system without raising any eyebrows.

Wait. Oh, yes she could. Thanks to George Culver,
bank manager of the satellite branch outside of town.

Amber gunned the engine. It was Georgie’s lucky day.

He was seated at his desk when she sashayed through
the door. His jaw nearly hit his keyboard when he saw her.

“Amber! What are you doing here? I called you seven
times this morning and kept getting your voice mail. You never called me back
yesterday. About Saturday. Our date.”

What an idiot. “I’m so sorry, George. How
thoughtless of me. I wanted to tell you in person that I would be honored to go
out with you on Saturday. I can hardly wait.”

His wheeled office chair shot backward as George
jumped to his feet. “Really? That’s fantastic. Wow, Saturday night. Two and a
half days. Wow.”

Not only was he quick with math, he had such a way
with words. Amber fluttered her eyelashes to hide her disgust.

“George, would you fetch me some coffee? Three
creams, two sugars. An ice cube.”

“Of course, Amber. Yeah. Right away.”

He started walking off. Amber retrieved his chair
and plopped down behind his computer screen. “Oh, and is there anything to
snack on in the break room here?”

“Um, yeah. Doughnuts. Do you like doughnuts?”

“Oh, I love them! Just as long as there’s no cream
inside. I’m lactose intolerant. Better check the color of the jelly, too. I’m
allergic to red dye.”

There. That ought to keep him busy for a while.

George bobbed his head and disappeared around the
corner. The tellers cast her suspicious looks but made no move to intercept her
or ask annoying questions. Good.

Amber wiggled the mouse and the screen flickered to
life. He hadn’t had time to sign out, which meant she didn’t have to worry
about guessing any passwords.

Fingers flying, she wasted no time calling up the
one checking account she cared about.

Two transactions yesterday. Both on the same street.
One to transfer money, one for a café. Amber scribbled down the locations on
the back of a deposit slip and stuffed it in her purse. For good measure, she
clicked open an Internet browser and mapped out the addresses before
double-checking the account.

No transactions for today.

Was it too early for Sleeping Beauty to get up? Or
was she in hiding? She better be scared, because Amber was on her way.

Even if she didn’t have an exact address, nothing
could stop Amber from trolling the area, looking for her. Sassy Summers
probably thought she was being smart, shacking up outside of city limits. Too
bad that bonus fell just as easily into Amber’s corner.

She’d trace her steps. Hunt her down. Kill her.

After closing out of the computer screens, Amber
waltzed out the door without waiting for George. He’d get over it. She had a
bitch to catch.

Wouldn’t it be funny if she found her just standing
around, playing games with an ATM? Amber slid behind the wheel of her car. No
doubt Little Miss Model thought she was pretty smooth, dodging bullets at the
tiki bar. Amber turned the key in the ignition.