Part 17 (1/2)
And where is that? Pescoli wondered, staring at the arch of the bridge backlit by the rising sun, then watching as the body bag was loaded into the ME's van. Just where the h.e.l.l is that?
The buzz in the diner was all about the body that had been pulled from the river this morning, customers chattering and gossiping, bits of information floating in the din of the dining room. Over the clatter of forks, rattle of ice cubes, and gurgle of the espresso machine, the conversation was centered on a second body found in so short a time.
”It just never seems to end,” Misty confided to Jessica when both were at the serving counter, picking up orders. ”Hey, Armando, this omelet's supposed to come with guac!”
”S, s!” he snapped, irritated. He found a dish of guacamole and placed it on the platter. ”Where is Denise? I cannot do this by myself!”
Denise Burns was a fry cook sous-chef. And she was over an hour late.
”She called Nell. Got caught in that mess of traffic near the bridge.” Misty surveyed her two platters, then pulled them from the counter. To Jessica, she said, ”We've already had one psycho this season and now this.”
”You think there's a madman running around?” Jessica asked, eyeing a platter that Armando slid onto the counter. ”Wheat toast,” she said to the head cook, ”not sourdough.”
”Dios! I cannot work like this!” Armando grumbled just as Denise, in a gust of cold air, walked through the back door.
”Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she said, holding up her hands as if she expected Armando to open fire. ”It's impossible to get through town right now. The d.a.m.n bridge I usually use is closed and all the roads are backed up.” She was stripping off her jacket as she came inside and threw her purse, scarf, and phone into her locker. It banged shut as she reappeared, wrapping an ap.r.o.n around her slim waist. ”Bring me up to speed,” she said to Armando as she twisted her hair into a net and began was.h.i.+ng her hands.
After slapping a stack of wheat toast onto the counter, he began reading off the orders to her, rapid-fire.
Jessica carried her platters to a table near the windows where a mother of three kids under six was trying to convince her three-year-old daughter to eat ”one more bite” of a barely touched waffle. The baby was picking at Cheerios on the high chair tray, and the third child, around five, was plucking the blueberries out of his pancakes.
”Sorry for the delay,” Jessica said, finally delivering the parents their breakfasts.
The mom said, ”No problem,” though it sounded as if it really was a major inconvenience. The dad didn't look up from his cell phone.
”Can I get you anything else?”
”Catsup,” the mother said as her husband eyed his small screen.
”The body they pulled out of the river today was a woman,” he told his wife. ”There's talk that she might've been murdered.”
Jessica's heart lurched.
”We moved here to get away from all of that, George!” the mom hissed. ”Isn't that what you said? If we leave the city, life will be safer. Slower paced?”
”Who gots murdered?” the three-year-old asked.
”n.o.body. I mean n.o.body we know.” The mom shushed her.
Jessica moved out of earshot, wending her way through the tables, telling herself this latest murder had nothing to do with her. Nothing. It was just partial stories, bad information, gossip.
But throughout the morning s.h.i.+ft and into lunchtime she heard more and more about the woman found in the Grizzly River, supposedly first seen by a woman who owned wolves and cast spells, a witch of sorts, if the gossip could be believed. Table after table of patrons speculated about the ident.i.ty of the woman and if, as Misty had mentioned earlier, another madman was in their midst.
Around ten, a big man came into the diner and though Jessica was certain she'd never seen him before, there was something familiar about him. Within minutes, she realized he was Zedediah, ”Big Zed,” Grayson, Cade and the fallen sheriff's brother. She steeled herself, wondering if Cade would join the large man, but thankfully that wasn't the case. He was seated in Misty's section, so she didn't have to deal with him.
Others did, however, including Nell, who deigned to come out of the office to offer condolences. She'd been tallying receipts from the day before, balancing them with the payments received. ”So sorry for your loss.”
”Oh, Zed, a shame about Dan. Such a good man,” a seventyish woman with a red beret pinned to her s.h.i.+ny gray hair offered up, her friend nodding solemnly.
”We're gonna miss Dan. h.e.l.luva man,” a farmer-type put in.
”The town will never be the same,” declared another man in a suit.
And so it went for the hour that Zed occupied his chair. He was alone, an unread newspaper spread on the table. He scooped up his paper as soon as he was finished eating, squared his hat onto his large head and, after paying his bill, strode quickly out of the building.
Misty sidled over to Jessica and confided, ”That's one of the dead sheriff's brothers. You know, there's a strange thing about him. He doesn't quite seem to fit with the others. Dan was a handsome man, as was his brother Bart, the one who offed himself in the barn. You heard about that?”
Jessica nodded, though she didn't admit she'd heard about the suicide from Cade, years before. Luckily, Misty didn't ask.
”Well, that Bart, he was a looker, too. And Cade . . .” Misty made a big show of fanning herself. ”Hot, let me tell you. That cowboy can park his boots under my bed any day of the week. Any day. But Zed,” she said, watching through the window as the big man made his way to a huge king cab. ”He's different. Not just in size being that he's a head taller and got seventy pounds or so on his brothers, but he keeps more to himself. Not as friendly. Almost . . . oh, I don't know, darker somehow. Someone you wouldn't want to meet at night in a deserted alley, you know what I mean?”
Jessica watched Zed put his truck into gear and drive off.
”Oh, maybe I'm all wet. I mean, Zed's done nothing to make me think there's anything wrong with him. It's just that he's so d.a.m.n different from his brothers.” Misty shrugged. ”But it takes all kinds, now, doesn't it? Say, would you cover for me for a minute? I need to take five.” She was already reaching for the pack of cigarettes in her ap.r.o.n pocket and heading for the back door before Jessica could agree.
Near noon, Jessica learned that Sheriff Blackwater had held a press conference. According to the customers who had smartphones and Nell, who caught it on the office TV, he'd stood on the steps of the department and made a public statement. She'd been too busy to watch the report, but from what she could gather from the customers who'd caught the news, the acting sheriff's speech had been short and concise without any room for questions. The sheriff's department wasn't giving out much information other than that the woman's death was being investigated as a homicide. Her name wasn't being released, pending notification of next of kin.
Jessica went cold inside.
Another woman fished out of a body of water.
Talk of mutilation.
Has he followed me?
She nearly dropped a tray of drinks, she was so distracted.
Quicksilver memories slid through her brain-seeing him for the first time at her parents' home near the river, the smell of magnolia in the air, spring air clear, the cloudless sky a cerulean blue, the murmur of guests as they'd wandered the grounds. His gaze had found hers and she'd sensed then that he was a rogue, a handsome man whose civility was probably only skin deep, that there was more to him to explore.
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 pa.s.sion, 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 ma.s.s 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 h.e.l.l will break out.”