Deserves to Die: Selena Alvarez/Regan Pescoli 6

  He’d wooed her easily, his laughter infectious, his kisses promising so much more, his hands on her body exciting and a little rough, but she’d wanted something that would crack the veneer of her family’s genteel and oh, so fake civility.

  The summer had swept by in dark moonlit nights, hours of pent-up passion, and quick decisions that, in hindsight, had proved deadly—a wedding on the broad lawn under a hot August sun. Sultry air and thick clouds, a storm brewing that had been, as she looked upon it now, a warning she hadn’t heeded.

  “Jessica?” Misty’s harsh voice broke into her reverie. “I think table seven might want those.” She nodded her head at the tray of burgers Jessica had been holding, the one that shook in her trembling hands. “Hey, you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, swiftly returning to the harsh lights and noisy din of the diner. She didn’t bother to explain. Couldn’t. She just set about her work, listening hard to the bits of conversation that buzzed through the diner and telling herself that she couldn’t take a chance any longer. Whether the woman who had been found under the falls was the victim of his cruelty or not, it was time to take action.

  Chapter 16

  Pescoli eyed her ring, the diamond glittering brightly under the failing fluorescent tubes humming above Blackwater’s head in the meeting room attached to his office. Blackwater was presiding over a hastily convened gathering and she’d taken her usual chair, the spot where she’d sat so many times while Grayson had spoken to them. A small group had been called in for a briefing and discussion of the case uppermost on the minds of the citizens of Grizzly Falls. The windowless room felt close.

  “Okay, looks like we’ve got ourselves a serial killer,” Blackwater said, standing at the head of the long cafeteria-style table where everyone else was seated.

  “Another one,” Brett Gage interjected. As the chief criminal detective, he oversaw all cases, and, like Dan Grayson who had been his boss, he gave those under him free rein. At forty, he was only slightly older than Pescoli. A runner who was in great shape, a father of two who had completed four or five marathons—maybe more than that.

  “Yes, another one.” Blackwater nodded curtly. “And that’s not making the mayor very happy. She called this morning and reminded me of the fact that our little corner of the state seems to be a hotbed for homicide. I couldn’t argue. She’s worried about a mass exodus of citizens and I don’t blame her. When we actually confirm that these two victims were killed here in Grizzly Falls by the same person, all hell will break out.”

  “Again,” Gage said, and Blackwater sent him a quick, hard look. Everyone in the department knew that Gage was angling for the vacant under-sheriff job and, apparently, he was determined to make his mark at this meeting. Politics. In the middle of a homicide investigation.

  “Right, again. My point.” Blackwater wasn’t backing down. “So, it’s early, I know, but what have we got?”

  Alvarez, seated next to Pescoli, said, “We’re a little ahead of the game on this one. We know the victim died last night. Sometime between ten and two is the best guess, taking into account the temperature of the water. This makes sense as so far, no one saw or heard anything.”

  “In the middle of town? Before the bars closed?” Blackwater asked.

  “I said, ‘so far,’ ” Alvarez repeated. “Deputies are still checking with the establishments open last night. We also think we might have an ID. There were several cars left down by the waterfront, but one, a late model Mercedes, has Washington plates and is the only vehicle not registered to a local. We checked with Washington DMV. The car is registered to a Calypso April Pope.”

  “Seriously?” Pete Watershed said, chewing his Nicorette gum with a vengeance. He was the only deputy in the room, called in for some reason only Blackwater understood. “Calypso? Who would name a kid that? Calypso April Pope? Jesus!”

  Pescoli shot him an oh-just-shut-up look which he ignored.

  Alvarez barely missed a beat. “That’s the name on her license and the picture looks like our victim.”

  “Calypso danced her last dance,” Watershed said.

  Blackwater glared, reminding him, “You’re here by invitation. And next time?” His face was set in disapproval, his irritation palpable. “Lose the gum.”

  Watershed’s jaw quit moving and he swallowed hard, his chosen way to dispose of the gum, as Blackwater explained, “Deputy Watershed thought he saw the victim’s car earlier, pushing the speed limit around ten last night, but he’d already pulled someone else over for DUI, so . . .”

  That cleared up the reason for Watershed’s appearance. It wasn’t a major connection, but something. Still the deputy, handsome and always thinking he was God’s gift to women, bugged Pescoli. She’d been on the butt end of his jokes one too many times.

  Alvarez said, “We’re trying to find out more about Ms. Pope. So far, no missing persons report has been filed. We’re attempting to find any connection between victim one and victim two, assuming they were both killed by the same person.”

  The meeting went on with plans to call in the Washington State Patrol and, of course, inform the FBI, as it appeared as if they had a serial killer on their hands. There was discussion about procedure and autopsy reports and other details of the crime before the short meeting was adjourned with Blackwater saying, “Let’s find this guy. If we can do it without the feds, all the better.” Before anyone could protest, he held up a hand. “Hey, if we need them, yeah, work with them. They have access to manpower, equipment, you name it. The important thing is to get our man.” With that he scraped his chair back and everyone filed out of the room.

  Pescoli was two steps down the hallway when Watershed caught up with her. “So, are congratulations in order?”

  “What?” she looked up sharply, her mind zeroing in on her pregnancy.

  “Noticed the ring,” he said, nodding to it.

  She braced herself. Watershed and his ilk were the reasons she’d taken the ring off for awhile.

  “You gettin’ married again?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “To Santana? Jesus, Pescoli, don’t you ever learn? A cop, a trucker, and now what? Some goddamn horse whisperer dude? You know, your track record is—”

  “My business. Keep your nose out of it and shove it up your ass where it feels at home,” she snapped.

  “Wow. Touchy.”

  “Yeah, I am, so maybe you should back off a bit. It’s legal for me to carry a firearm, remember.”

  “Someone’s having a bad day. That time of the month?”

  If you only knew, she thought angrily. Why did stupid guys always go there? She jabbed a finger at his chest. “If you haven’t noticed, dickhead, things aren’t all that great around here. Not only have we lost one of the best lawmen in the history of the state, but since he’s been gone, two women have been killed and we’ve probably got a brand new sicko running around. Keep your adolescent remarks to yourself and stay out of my way.”

  “Sheeeit,” he said as Joelle came clipping down the hallway, her eyebrows raised over the tops of her reading glasses at the exchange.

  “Children, children, children,” she chided.

  Pescoli growled under her breath, stormed into her office, and started to slam the door, but Alvarez caught it, holding it open. “Why do you let him get to you?” she asked. “He’s just a loser who loves baiting women. Don’t go there.”

  “I usually don’t.”

  “Stress of getting married again? Because this stuff”—Alvarez motioned to the piles of paperwork on the desk—“is always here, at some level.”

  “I guess it is the idea of walking down the aisle again,” Pescoli lied. “But Watershed’s right, damn it. I’m not all that great at picking husbands.” She dropped into her desk chair. “But I’m right, too. It’s none of his damn business what I do.”

  “Amen.”

  “What a tool.” She scowled at the door, then determined she was going to shake it off. “Let’s get
to work.”

  Rather than drive all the way home, Jessica peeled off her work clothes in the small bathroom at the Midway Diner after her shift ended at two. She wasn’t due back to work until four-thirty, for the early-bird dinner crowd, so she decided to make good on her vow to become proactive.

  After changing into jeans and a sweater, then replacing her work shoes with boots, she found her jacket, threw it on, and made her way to her SUV where frost had collected on the windshield. The sun was actually out, beams glistening on the snow, the sky a clear, Montana blue, the day so bright she had to slip a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose. If circumstances had been different, she might have felt lighthearted; as it was, a deep sense of dread clung to her.

  She made one stop at the cleaners located in a strip mall on the outskirts of town. A smiling girl in braces worked behind the counter. After counting and gathering up Jessica’s uniforms, she promised to have them ready the next day. “No problem.”

  Jessica left and slid behind the wheel of her Tahoe again, steeling herself. Facing Cade wouldn’t be easy, but lately, what had been?

  “Nothing,” she whispered as she waited for a slow stream of traffic, four cars behind an older Cadillac that inched through the streets, as if it were rolling through glue.

  Finally, she was able to turn down a side street before making her way to the county road leading out of town. Now that she had made her decision to face Cade again, she pushed the speed limit, afraid she might chicken out.

  It wasn’t all that hard to locate the Grayson ranch. Nearly everyone who had come into the diner had talked about the sheriff’s death and how hard it was on a family that had been in the area for generations. Misty, always a fountain of gossip and information, had told her where the Grayson spread was located and Jessica had double-checked on the Internet and the white pages.

  As the sunlight bounced off snow-covered fields, she followed the directions on her GPS to the address where an old mailbox confirmed that she’d found the Grayson homestead.

  “Here goes nothing,” she whispered as she cranked on the wheel and eased her SUV along the long lane that had, at one point, been cleared of snow, piles of the white stuff lining the drive, tracks visible in a newly fallen layer. Jessica’s heart was thudding, her stomach in knots as she considered how Cade would react to seeing her as they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. “Too bad,” she reminded herself.

  Wide fields flanked the lane as it rose to the heart of the ranch where a sprawling ranch house had a three hundred and sixty degree view of the surrounding property. Half a dozen outbuildings had sprouted around the residence, but Jessica zeroed in on a garage, the doors open, one bay empty, another filled with a pickup that was facing outward. Thankfully, Big Zed was gone, or at least his truck was. She needed to talk to Cade alone.

  “Now or never,” she said, eyeing the rearview mirror and catching the reflection of her oversized shades in the glass as she parked near a path winding to the front door. She cut the engine in a parking area where the snow had been mashed by various vehicles and pocketed her keys.

  She hiked her way toward the three front steps that had been cleared of snow, and climbed them to a broad porch where a dying wreath was mounted upon a massive door.

  She rapped loudly. Three sharp knocks. From inside, a dog began barking wildly as if his sudden rash of loud woofs made up for the fact that he’d been asleep at the switch, not hearing that a stranger had arrived.

  “Shad. Enough!” a male voice, Cade’s voice, ordered.

  Jessica’s heart fluttered. Oh, dear God, what am I doing?

  The door opened suddenly and Cade, in faded jeans and a flannel shirt that he used as a jacket over a black T-shirt, stood on the other side. He was unshaven and his hair was rumpled, uncombed. He had that outdoorsy I-don’t-give-a-damn look that she’d always found far too sexy, but she ignored it. Whatever they’d once had, that white-hot spark of years ago, had been extinguished by lies. Her lies.

  “Yes?” he said.

  A speckled hound, his gait uneven, rushed out. Rather than snarl and growl, it wiggled and wormed around her feet, begging to be petted as he balanced himself on three legs.

  “Hello, Cade,” she said and saw his eyes darken for a second before she leaned down and gave the dog a couple pats on the head. To the animal, she said, “I’m guessing you’re Shad.”

  “You know me?” Cade asked.

  “Yeah, I do.” Straightening, she pulled her sunglasses from her face.

  “You sure? Oh. Jesus! Wait a second.” Cade’s face hardened. “You look like—”

  “I know.” She yanked out her dental appliance, the one that changed the shape of her teeth, and the other that plumped her cheeks. As he stared, she next removed her wig, letting down her hair.

  “For the love of Christ.” His eyebrows slammed together. “Anne-Marie?”

  “In the flesh.” She patted her stomach. “Well, more than just flesh. I’m wearing a little extra, you know, to complete the look.”

  “Holy shit.” Dumbstruck, he filled the doorway, a tall, rangy man who was glaring at her as if she were Satan incarnate.

  “Can I come in?”

  He hesitated.

  “It’s important, Cade. You know it is. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

  His jaw slid to the side and his gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Okay,” he finally agreed, stepping back and swinging the door wide. “But what the hell’s going on? What’s with the getup?” The dog streaked back into the house and before she could follow, he said, “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re in a little bit of trouble again.”

  “More than a little,” she admitted as he closed the door behind her and she remembered all too vividly what it felt like to kiss this love ’em and leave ’em cowboy. “This time, Cade,” she admitted, “it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “You can talk to Teri, she’s the waitress who served her,” Sandi, the owner of Wild Will’s said when Pescoli and Alvarez showed up at the restaurant.

  One of the deputies who had helped canvas the area had shown Calypso Pope’s picture to Sandi and she’d remembered one of her last customers from the night before. The detectives were following up, trying to figure out anything they could about the victim.

  “I know she’s dead, and I’m sorry, but let me tell you, that woman,” Sandi said, standing at the hostess podium, “was a real pain in the butt. Came in late, almost closing, and didn’t like Grizz.” She pointed to the mascot of the establishment, the huge stuffed grizzly bear that, with the changing holidays, was dressed in appropriate or not-so-appropriate attire, depending on how one viewed it.

  Pescoli had seen Grizz wearing an angel costume for Christmas, a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam outfit for Independence Day, and a Pilgrim hat and collar for Thanksgiving. At his place of honor in the vestibule, Grizz currently was dressed as Cupid in honor of Valentine’s Day, his snarl at odds with the cute little sparkling wings strapped to his broad, shaggy back.

  “Odd to think she didn’t see the humor,” she said.

  “A real sourpuss. Tried to go all organic and vegan, which is fine, but not here. This is Grizzly Falls, Montana, and it’s wild out here.” Sandi, a known animal lover who had three rescue dogs and two cats at last count, was clearly deeply irked. “It’s not as if I killed all these animals, for God’s sake. They came with the place when you-know-who and I originally bought it.” You-know-who was Sandi’s ex-husband; he who could not be named, apparently. They’d been through a bitter divorce and Sandi had ended up with the restaurant, only to make it thrive under her management. “She ended up with her nose in her iPhone—a lot of that going around these days—and ordered just pie and coffee, and left a miserable tip.”

  Pescoli asked, “Was she with anyone?”

  “Nope. Alone. I saw, you know, ’cause I’m always close. As far as I could tell, she didn’t speak to anyone.”

  “We’d like to talk with Teri. Is she here?”
r />   “Just came on an hour ago. You can use the office if you want some privacy.”

  Sandi led them into a crowded office with a desk and one chair, files piled to the high ceiling. She cleared off a stack of invoices and then found Teri. Wary, it turned out she was unable to tell them any more than Sandi had. Calypso Pope had arrived close to eleven and left at eleven thirty-two, according to the credit card receipt she’d signed.

  “Lousy tipper,” the waitress grumbled, almost as if getting killed served Calypso Pope right for being so cheap. Then she heard herself and straightened as if caught in some nefarious act. “Not that I would wish anyone dead.”

  “Was she wearing a ring?” Pescoli asked.

  “Oh, yeah, one with major diamonds. But no wedding band. Just like an engagement ring.”

  “You noticed there wasn’t a second ring?” Alvarez asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” Teri’s head was bopping up and down. “I pay attention. Me and my boyfriend, we’ve been looking at rings ’cause we’re coming up on our one year anniversary, and I think it’s time.”

  “How old are you?” Pescoli asked.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Give it a year or two,” she said and saw the girl’s eyes cloud. “Sorry. None of my business. Anything else you can tell us about the woman?”

  “Other than that she was in a real bad mood? I don’t know if that’s her normal personality or not, but if it is, she really needs an attitude adjustment. That’s what my dad always tells my mom when she’s in one of her bitch moods. Oops.” She placed her fingers over her lips. “Sorry. That just slipped out.”

  “No problem,” Pescoli said, thinking of the language she’d heard from her own kids.

  They ran some more questions but didn’t learn anything more as no one else in the place had been on duty or remembered the one customer.