The Killing Edge by Heather Graham
He hurled the tomato at a woman of about forty who was standing very near Chloe.
The woman ducked, slipped and fell. The police went after the man, who raced away down the sidewalk.
Chloe bent instinctively to help the woman who had fallen. Others nearby also stepped forward, but as the woman stood up, glancing at Chloe gratefully for her support, she said, “Please, please, I’m fine. Don’t hover, my friends. I’m all right.”
Chloe dusted off the woman’s shirt, where bits of grass had clung. “Thank you,” the woman said. She was bone thin, and had a sadness about her that was haunting. She was pretending that the attack had meant nothing, but there were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I don’t mean to pry, but…why?”
“It’s because of what happened in that house on the beach,” the woman said. She met Chloe’s eyes and said, “You’re a kind soul, I can feel it. Would you get me some coffee?”
“I’ve got it,” Victoria said. “You two sit down. There’s a table over there.”
Chloe led the woman to the nearby picnic table and sat next to her.
“Luckily most people have no idea—” The woman broke off and offered her hand. “I’m Sister Lucy. I don’t use my last name, but it’s Garcia.”
Chloe stared at her blankly for a minute, then realized that Garcia was the name of one of the men who had been found in the Everglades, not the man she had identified but the man who had been with him.
“You know about my brother, don’t you?” Sister Lucy asked.
Evidently her face had given her away, Chloe thought.
She nodded. “Yes. He was one of the dead men found in the Everglades ten years ago, wasn’t he?”
Sister Lucy nodded. “He didn’t do it,” she whispered. “Everyone thought I was crazy, because there was a note…he was dead. But he didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”
Victoria came over with the coffee, sitting down next to Lucy and saying, “It’s all right. We believe you.”
“Shh!” Sister Lucy said. “He’s coming.”
They looked around to see who she was talking about and saw Brother Sanz heading their way.
Lucy stood immediately. “Brother Sanz. I was welcoming these ladies to the church and thanking them for helping me up.”
Brother Sanz offered his hand to Victoria and then Chloe. His handshake was firm and warm, and his smile was warmer. “I commend you ladies for your courage, not just in helping Sister Lucy but in coming here tonight. We’re being blamed once more, and once more we are innocent. But I will not let our church fall apart again. We do too much good. Thank you for coming, and for helping Lucy against those who would condemn without trial and take what they think of as justice into their own hands. I hope to see you here again.”
“I’m sure we’ll be back,” Victoria said. “But it’s quite late for us. We have to go to work in the morning, so we’d better say good-night.”
“Thank you so much for a very informative and enjoyable evening. And good night,” Chloe said, then turned.
And crashed straight into Luke Cane, who caught her, steadied her and looked into her eyes.
And knew exactly who she was.
THIRTEEN
Seated next to Victoria in the living room of her carriage house, Chloe appeared aloof and indignant, but he knew it was a ruse. Just like the ridiculous dresses, wigs and makeup they had been wearing. Now the wigs were gone, their faces had been washed, and they were down to the dowdy dresses.
Now it was just himself versus Chloe and Victoria, who was staying absolutely silent. She had started off by trying to take the blame, but Chloe, in a burst of temper, had told her that she was an adult and absolutely free to make her own choices, and she had chosen to go along to the church.
That was now.
But he had seen her expression when she and Victoria had first run into him, and he knew that she was also being antagonistic because she realized she had done something foolish and potentially dangerous. And yes, she had allowed Victoria to urge her into it.
He was trying hard to tread carefully here. She was over twenty-one and usually of sound mind, and if she chose to, she could demand that he get out of her house and he would have no choice but to go. And yet it was difficult not to betray his anger and incredulity that they had pulled such a stunt when they had just seen their friend’s blood congealing in a pool of solid crimson.
He was pacing back and forth, and he told himself to stop, and managed to at least stride into the kitchen and find a beer. A long, slow swallow helped him get a grip.
He went back to the living room and looked at the two of them. “What didn’t you see when we went into that house the other night?” he asked. “You know—you know—what people, and quite possibly those people, are capable of. You’ve seen it twice now. What were you thinking?”
“We were never in any danger,” Chloe insisted. “Whoever killed Myra and the others doesn’t go after his victims in public places. I’d be in more danger here, if he were after me. But he’s not. Think about it—fanatics killed our friends ten years ago. If someone had specifically wanted either of us dead, they wouldn’t be waiting around ten years. And the crime scenes weren’t the same, so there’s no reason to think the two crimes are even related.”
“Maybe the killer didn’t have time to write on the wall this time,” Luke said, finally taking a seat across from the two women.
“Why did you go looking for us at the church, anyway?” Chloe asked suspiciously.
“I called you, but you didn’t answer. Then I came here—and you were gone. Why did you turn your phone off, anyway?”
“Because we were in the meeting,” Chloe said. She turned away, looking guilty for a moment, but her mask of regal in dependence was quickly back in place.
“Well, when you didn’t answer, and then I saw that the cars were still here, I figured you were up to something, and I figured it had to be the potluck supper.”
“You mentioned that you were thinking about going, but that was…before,” Chloe murmured.
“We learned something tonight,” Victoria said. “Well, Chloe did. She managed to be in the right place at the right time.”
Luke stared at Chloe. “You might have mentioned this.”
“You might have given me a chance.”
He waited silently for her to go on.
“There’s a woman there named Sister Lucy. Sister Lucy Garcia. She was the sister—the biological sister, I mean—of Abram Garcia, the man who supposedly shot and killed Michael Donlevy and then himself in the Everglades. The guy who supposedly put his murder-suicide note in a plastic bag so that it could be found with the bodies out on the trail. And here’s the interesting part—”
“A guy tried to throw a tomato at her,” Victoria interjected.
“He missed her, but she slipped, and I helped her up, and she told us that her brother didn’t do it—that the church got the blame, but it wasn’t responsible. The thing is, Abram Garcia wasn’t the man I saw. So I know Michael Donlevy was there, but I can’t guarantee that Abram Garcia was, so maybe his sister is right and he really was innocent. No one believed her, of course. There was the note, and there was my sketch of Michael Donlevy. I don’t know. It’s confusing, that’s for sure.”
He shook his head. “I’ll go down there and find a way to speak with her.”
“Right. It’s fine for you to go there,” Chloe murmured.
“Please. I never thought of you as stupid, Chloe. I’m an investigator. I was a cop. I know what I’m doing.”
“Excuse me, but I got information you might not have gotten. And don’t go telling me that you’re so big and strong.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “I saw some of the biggest macho jocks in town die in a pool of blood, just like the girls.”
“I know that,” he said quietly. “But it’s my job to deal with the killers of the world. Those guys were still just kids, and they were taken by surprise.”
“Victoria,” Chloe said flatly, unhappily, before turning her attention back to Luke. “It wasn’t a bad idea, going there. Vickie is good at what she does. You knew it was us, but only because you were expecting to find us there. And we did find out about Lucy Garcia. That gives you a lead. Right?”
He nodded. “A good lead. And thank you. But please, I don’t want to die.”
“What?” Victoria said, puzzled.
“You two almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Oh, be serious,” Victoria said, smiling.
“I am serious,” Luke said.
They didn’t get a chance to speak further then, because there was a soft tap at the door, and Chloe leaped up to answer it.
Leo came in and frowned when he saw her dress. “What? Did you sneak out and hold up a flea market?” he asked.
“Vickie and I were just fooling around,” Chloe said.
Well, Luke thought, he couldn’t really call her a liar for that.
Leo looked distracted when he turned to Luke. “Welcome back. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
“Was it a worth while trip?”
“I think so.”
“I hope so,” Leo said. “The police have nothing, from what I’ve gotten from Stuckey. No footprints, no fingerprints. There was no forced entry. They’re figuring the murderer left by the back, but sand doesn’t hold prints, and there was no blood trail, nothing. It’s like a phantom committed the murders and then disappeared.”
“How are they doing with their investigation into the Church of the Real People?” Luke asked. “I see Stuckey tomorrow morning,” he added. “So if you feel uncomfortable talking about it, it’s fine.”
“No, I don’t mind. The church is being open and seemingly helpful, but everyone still has to tread carefully. You can’t rip a place apart because of something that happened a decade ago.”
“No,” Luke agreed.
“All right, then I’ll see you tomorrow, since it looks like you’ve all decided to stay over here,” Leo said. “I just wanted to be sure Luke was back safe.”
He left. But before the door closed, Victoria called to him to wait. “I’m going to sleep in the main house,” she told Luke and Chloe. “And no offense, Chloe, but please, don’t follow me and worry about me. I’m fine on my own, and frankly, I like to stretch out. The two of us in that bed did not work.”
She was out the door before either of them could say anything.
Silence fell.
Chloe looked at Luke. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she finally said.
“Wrong? No.”
“Oh, God, I hate that! I like it better when you’re yelling.”
“You scared me. It wasn’t wrong, exactly, but it wasn’t the right thing to do, either,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have lied to you. But I don’t have to ask for your permission to do what I think I should,” she said.
“No,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. Really. Do you believe me?”
“Of course.”
“But?”
He shrugged. “You’ll do whatever you want again, Chloe. You’re a wild card.”
She stood up. “I’m sorry, then. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t known there would be police everywhere.”
“All right.”
“I’m going up. To bed.”
He nodded.
“Are you staying here?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be here.”
She hesitated for another second. Then she was gone, up the stairs.
He sat, staring at the emptiness of the couch for a long time. He didn’t know what had him so paralyzed. It wasn’t his time in New Orleans; it wasn’t even realizing that the government called on psychics for help.
He closed his eyes and remembered Miranda.
Remembered getting home.
Seeing her.
He didn’t dwell on the memory, but sometimes it came back unbidden. At least tonight he knew why.
After a while, he dozed in the chair. And he stayed there all that night. He didn’t want to sleep well, didn’t want to dream.
She dreamed, and she was sure it was a dream because things weren’t exactly right. Things were too big, out of proportion, and melting, dripping, like in a Dali painting.
And Colleen Rodriguez was in her room again, wet and staring at her. And she was dripping, too. The white dress dripped. Her hair dripped.
And tears dripped down her cheeks.
Help me, please. Find me. Catch him.
When Chloe woke the next morning, she was exhausted. She didn’t know whether or not to mention her dream to Luke, especially since he had never come up to join her last night.
It hurt, but she still felt that going to the church had been important.
It wasn’t even nine yet when she went downstairs, but Luke was already gone.
She wasn’t alone, though. There was something on the couch. A mound, covered with a towel. She walked over to it—cautiously, because something under there was making little whining noises.
She moved the towel and saw that it was a pet carrier with a note taped to it.
Hi. My name is Theodore Roosevelt, Theo for short. I’m a Belgian shepherd, and I’ll grow up to be a very big boy. I’m not much good as a watchdog right now, but my father is coming by to stay with you for a while. He’s good at guarding yards and houses. Of course, a dog can’t go everywhere, but my dad is a cool dude and will be have any place dogs are allowed.
Chloe had been feeling particularly depressed, not because she was being haunted, but because Luke had chosen to stay away from her.
But the letter and the puppy made her smile. She took the little creature out of the carrier, and he immediately started licking her half to death. “Hey, hey, calm down,” she told him. Then, to herself, “Okay, this is great, I have an untrained puppy. How on earth did he manage that at such an early hour?” She turned back to the puppy. “I don’t even have food for you. What do I do with you now? Take you to work?”
There was a tap at her door, and she opened it. Leo, dressed for work, his brief case in his hand, was standing there.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?”
“I wasn’t sure I should let him leave you a puppy, but…he was so damn cute,” Leo said. “The puppy, I mean.”
“He’s adorable,” she agreed.
“His dad is out here. Want to come meet him?”
“I guess so,” Chloe said, and stepped out, hoping that the bigger version of Theo wouldn’t jump on her.
“Dad’s name is George,” Leo told her.
“Don’t tell me—let me guess. George—Washington?” she asked.
“You got it. He actually belongs to a police trainer— George, not the puppy. The puppy is yours. I guess Luke is friends with the guy and knew he had a litter of puppies ready to go. George is on loan. He’s supposed to be one of the handler’s best dogs. Nice as can be—unless someone threatens whoever he’s guarding. But I’m supposed to introduce you right away, so he’ll know you’re not threatening.”
“What about Victoria?”
“She met him on the way out,” Leo told her.
“Oh,” she said. She could see Theo’s father already. The dog had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. He was a giant, but he was beautiful.
“Hi, George,” she said.
George trotted over to her as sweetly as a kitten and nuzzled her hand, and she stroked his back.
“George stays in the yard while we’re gone. He’ll sleep with you at night, wherever you are,” Leo said. “I see.”
“Oh, Luke left something else for you, as well,” Leo told her. “It’s on the counter. I’ve got to go. See you tonight. If you’re not coming home for any reason, call me.”
“Will do. And you do the same, okay?”
“Abs
Leo left, and Chloe walked back inside to check out the counter, where she saw an exquisite and unique piece of jewelry lying on the counter. “Guess he was covering all the bases, huh, Theo?” she murmured as she picked up the necklace and examined it. The center circle, with the blessing, or whatever it was, was large and dangled lower than the other, smaller, charms. The necklace was beautiful, but she didn’t think it was the kind of thing Luke Cane would have picked out. Was it really intended for her?
She slipped it on anyway, picked up the puppy and headed out. She was careful with all the locks.
When she reached her office, Jim Evans was at his desk in the waiting room. He looked up in surprise, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was there, or because of the puppy in her arms.
“Don’t ask,” she told him.
“He’s adorable. A therapy dog?” Jim asked.
“Um, no. A present.”
“Ooh. Cute. I suppose I get to walk him now?” Jim said.
“We’ll both walk him, I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t had a puppy before.”
“What’s that on your neck?”
“Oh, another present.”
“Double ooh,” Jim teased. Then he grew sober. “You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect you, so I cleared your calendar.”
“Make a few calls. Some people may want to come in.”
“If you insist,” Jim said. “But…are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, I’ll get you going in the next hour. But a lot of people know you worked with Myra and the Bryson Agency. They’ll be thinking you’re the one who needs the help.”
“I’ll let them help me. That’s always good therapy,” she said, and started into her office.
“Oh, wait!” Jim said, and stood, then brought her a piece of paper. “This is from Harry Lee, the big honcho at Bryson. He’s been trying to get you—even came by, but I refused to hand out your home number. The man is still planning the calendar shoot. In Myra’s memory, no less.” Jim was indignant. He obviously didn’t believe it was to honor anyone’s memory. He was certain it was for the big bucks.