Final Grave (10 page)

Meri Ann eased forward on her chair. “What was she wearing?”

Becky wiped her wet thumb on a napkin. “I don’t know; she had on a raincoat.”

The image of the woman on the street flashed through Meri Ann’s mind. One sighting meant nothing. Two made her wonder. “I may have seen her, too. Let me know if you see her again.”

“Sure, kid.” Becky pushed back from the table and went to the stove. She dipped a spoon into the macaroni and tasted it. “Dinner’s done.” She dished it onto the cobalt blue plates.

“On a lighter note, Becky, I’ve got photos out in the car. Pictures of you and me at Mom’s birthday bash.”

“I remember. Jeez, we were so geeky. Hey, Jason played DJ.”

“Oh, yes. I remember Jason. He was Mom’s hair stylist.”

“Yeah. At Chez Jay’s. I’d forgotten she went there.”

“Me too.” Meri Ann picked up her fork. Steam wafted up from the macaroni. Granted it swam in oil, but the golden mounds of noodles garnished with mixed vegetables took her back to schooldays.

After dinner, she and Becky laughed over the photos, the ones without Wheatley. Meri Ann never got around to making the Florida call. Eight-forty Pacific Time translated to ten-forty Eastern, and she didn’t want to bother her boss. She happily followed Becky into the dining room and got her first lesson in building trees.

By midnight, the project was boxed and loaded into Becky’s SUV. They locked up the house for the night and headed upstairs.

She fell into bed exhausted. Her weary thoughts briefly drifted to the woman in the raincoat. Then sleep came hard and fast.

# # #

The stairs creaked as he descended into the cool, dark refuge. After his eyes adjusted, he lit the candles on either side of Joanna’s photo. The light flickered on her face, her eyes. For an instant she was alive and her pale brown eyes looking right at him. She moaned. Then he reminded himself that photos don’t speak. The groggy whimpers came from the room behind him. He kissed his fingers, touched them to Joanna’s lips. “I’ll be back.”

The barmaid lay on the stainless steel table in the laboratory. As he approached the door, the young woman moaned again, louder.

The door creaked as he opened it, and his pitiful victim grew quiet. He switched on the light. She writhed on the table, straining against the bungee cords binding her legs and arms. They were wonderful restraints, so much kinder to the skin than ropes. Yet he frowned at the appearance of her pale flesh against the shabby, blue and red cords. These restraints were, after all, fifteen years old, frayed, faded, and stretched, the same ones he’d used all those years ago. Their imperfection pestered him like a persistent fly. He would buy new ones.

The woman rolled her head from side to side. Her eyes fluttered open. Mouth open, she panted in alarm. Her ocean of hair was loose from her braid and lay in waves, but it was not Joanna’s hair, not her hands, not like her at all.

“Be still,” he said. “I’m going to untie you, soon. It’s senseless to fight. You’re too groggy.”

But she might be a fighter. Joanna had fought him, and so had the woman before her. His muscles were lean and honed from hunting, rock climbing and running. He felt up for it. Still, Meri Ann would know self-defense, the tricks of her trade. Her training would test his strength and reflexes.

The barmaid’s eyes darted wildly like a frightened bird’s. He prepared a syringe for another dose of Valium. The tethers on her arm made her veins easy to find. She barely winced when he punctured the soft flesh.

“Later,” he whispered in her ear. He stared across the room at a bank of locked cabinets.

“First, I have bones to sort out.”

Chapter Twelve
 

M
eri Ann awakened to an unnerving sound at the bedroom window as the wind worked on a long arm of a blue spruce, its needles scratching the frosty windowpane. An extra quilt lay at the foot of the bed. She drew it around her like a granny shawl. Her bedside clock radio read, 5:40 AM, and she thought about Sarasota.

It would be light there, warm, the air thick and sultry and the Gulf of Mexico a gem-like aquamarine. She’d be at work or headed there, and her boss…

It was as good a time to call as any. She flicked on the bedside lamp and picked up the phone. With the two-hour time difference, she’d probably catch him on his way to work.

He answered on the first ring. “Fehr?”

“Just wanted to check in.”

“Anything new yet on the case?”

“Not so far. I saw the crime scene and went to their forensic unit. They’re ready to start the DNA testing and run a mass spec.”

“A mass spec in Boise, Idaho. Wow. I kinda thought they might still be rustling cattle and dealing with range wars.” He paused a beat for effect. “Just a joke, Fehr.”

The hay theft that Mendiola was working on crossed her mind but she would save that one for another day. “Technology’s gone global, even here in the wild west.”

“And you leave tomorrow morning?”

“Yes. My flight arrives in Sarasota at seven in the evening.”

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Perfect. We’re meeting with the Sheriff at 10:30 in the morning.” Pitelli’s usually gruff voice grew soft. “I know it’s hard on you, but you’ll survive this.”

Sometimes Pitelli grated on her nerves, but she respected him and liked him too. His migration from New York to Florida made him a transplant like herself. He’d worked hard for acceptance just as she had. He treated her fairly and liked her equally in his own way.

“Thanks.”

After a brief goodbye, she hung up.

She nestled against the pillows and picked up a
National
Geographic
, but the picture of a trophy board of monkey and deer skulls in a Lisu hunter’s lodge set her on edge, the idea of skulls. She snapped it shut.

Once showered, she felt more like herself. She dressed in layers, threw a fistful of herbal tea bags into her backpack and started downstairs. At the second story landing she heard Becky singing. Meri Ann smiled. As much as her otherwise talented friend loved music, she couldn’t sing for beans.

In the kitchen, she set about making tea. A few minutes later, Becky strolled in. “Why don’t you come with me to Chez Jay’s.”

“Just like that, not good morning or how did you sleep?”

“Well, that too, but time’s going so fast and seems like we haven’t had that much time together. My appointment’s at seven. Just do it.”

She sipped her tea, watching Becky’s cajoling blue eyes. “Sure, I’d love to keep you company.”

“Cool.” Becky’s grin made her already full cheeks look fuller.

Meri Ann recalled the photos taken of her mom at the party and recalled the salon’s owner, Jason. Women confide in their beauticians, she mused, and her mother had gone to him for years. She set down her teacup. “You think Jason might be there?”

# # #

Meri Ann recalled that Chez Jay’s faced Warm Springs Boulevard. According to her dad, the thoroughfare was named for the geothermal hot springs that once heated its older homes, an inexpensive natural source of heat for the wealthy. The downside was a telltale stink of sulfur, the reason most owners had converted to oil or gas in the 1950s. Still, the lovely neighborhood had always fascinated her, especially the size and outrageous gingerbread trim on the Victorians that lined the boulevard—Chez Jay’s no exception.

The frilly mansion formerly belonged to a state senator, an undistinguished lawmaker remembered more for his art collection than the legislation he sponsored. Of course, Jason collected, too, but in his own personal style, that much she remembered.

Meri Ann pointed to a naked mannequin in a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat on the front porch swing, “That’s new. Oh, my God, and Texas Longhorns above the front door.” She shook her head. “Amazing.”

“I promise you, kid, inside’s better than ever, and he’s got enough moldy old stuff upstairs to open his own museum.” Becky pulled into a back parking lot and stopped beside a red, four-door Toyota. “Well, Renee must be here.”

They entered through the back door.

“Beautiful hardware.” Meri Ann admired the antique brass doorlatch but experience left her wary of its defense against burglars, but only for a moment. At least the man had security cameras.

Becky had forged ahead into the main salon, an area with over a dozen workstations. She called out, “Hel-loo. Hel-loo.”

“I’m back here,” a husky female voice called out.

“That’s Renee,” Becky said. “Remember, I told you about her.”

“Of course.” Meri Ann said, just as something overhead caught her eye. A stuffed owl hung from the ceiling, wings spread wide, talons eager for prey. Automatically she stepped backward, losing her balance. Her arm struck a wobbly counter. She caught herself. “That bird looks so real.”

Becky scowled “That stuffed critter’s not gonna hurt you, but those piranhas will if you knock ’em down.”

Fish about the size of a man’s hand swam in a sloshing jug only inches from Meri Ann’s arm. The fish had grown too big to fit through the narrow neck of their tank. She questioned Jason’s taste in décor, but supposed his patrons encouraged his hobby. She found most of the quirky collectibles entertaining but not the live fish.

A stunning young woman with straight black hair, straight bangs, and a strikingly lithe body entered from a side door, a pale Cleopatra in a long black dress. “What’s all the racket?”

“Hey, Renee.”

“Hi, guys,” she said as she crossed the room, stirring a goopy solution in a plastic cup.

Becky greeted her with a quick hug. “This is Meri Ann.”

The woman’s dark lips stretched into a friendly smile. “Meri Ann. I hear you walk on water.” She set down the container. “Don’t tell me… .” She touched the back of her right hand to her forehead. Her eyes rolled upward in thought. “You’re an Aries, right? No, wait, Sagittarius, and I’m sensing a practical nature opposed to your headstrong sun sign. Perhaps Capricorn, or Virgo rising.”

Meri Ann smiled sheepishly. “Sagittarius, and I confess, I read the daily horoscopes, not that they do any good.”

“That’s not real astrology.” Renee exhaled reprovingly. “The dailies use only the sun signs in their predictions, not the other planets in the twelve houses. It’s way too general to be useful.”

“You two are nuts.” Becky grabbed a purple cape from a wicker basket and slid it over her head. She took a chair at Renee’s station. “Can you put on some music, something old, maybe disco? Hey, how about Abba?”

“Jason doesn’t like anyone touching the sound equipment, but, of course, I know how.” She smiled slyly. “So hang on a minute.”

Renee parted Becky’s hair down the middle and brushed the dark strip with solution. She chatted as she worked, “Becky says you’re a detective out in Florida. God, I want to go—”

The front door opened and a trumpet blared the “Charge” theme from overhead speakers.

An attractive man in his mid-to-late forties stood in the entry, removing his overcoat. Jason. Meri Ann identified him as one of the men in the photos with her mom, a big-boned man, with a friendly, teddy bear look about him. He ambled in their direction, stopping at the reception desk to check the registration book. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Renee, why so early?”

“I told you I was coming in at seven. Becky’s got a rush job in Sun Valley, so I had to work her in.”

He rubbed his head. “You did tell me, but I forgot. I’m just so preoccupied this week.”

Renee’s dark eyelashes fluttered. “I know. How’s your mom?” She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.

“Sorry, Renee. I’m just out of sorts. Mother is better, thank you. At least she’s out of the hospital.” He turned to Becky, “Good morning.” As he spoke his gaze shifted to Meri Ann. His expression changed to one of curiosity.

She detected the don’t-I-know-you look. It seemed anyone who had known her mother recognized the resemblance in her features. “I’m Meri Ann. I believe you knew my mother, Joanna Dunlap.”

He took a half step backward, his expression incredulous. “Joanna? Of course I remember her, and you are her daughter? I adored your mother. You know she designed my bookkeeping system when I started this salon? She even modeled for me at one of my early competitions. I’ve got pictures somewhere.” He paused. “It must have been a nightmare for you and your father.”

“It was.” Meri Ann cleared her throat. “I’d hoped to see you, to ask a few questions about her, that is if you have a moment.”

“I have time. Even if I didn’t, I’d make time. We can talk in my office.”

“Go on, kid, I’m not going anywhere.”

Meri Ann followed Jason through the salon, retracing her steps toward the backdoor.

“Speaking of photos,” she said. “I found some taken at Mom’s birthday party, just before she disappeared. You were in a couple.”

He glanced upward, as if pulling his memories together. “What a lively party,” he said. “Everyone adored the 50s theme. I know I did. We danced. We sang. She used my music, some old records and tapes of my mother’s. A friend of mine with a band supplied the turntables and speakers.”

There were two doors in the hallway. He stopped at the one closest to the back entrance, unlocked it and ushered her into a delightful office, rich with dark walnut woodwork, including two walls of bookshelves with woodwork similar to Aunt Pauline’s. The quiet, uncluttered room was a relief from the cluttered shop. “It’s not what I’d expected.”

The walls were without artwork, except for a dozen framed black-and-white headshots of models, which reminded Meri Ann of old movie star photos from the 1940s.

“This is the real me,” he explained. “The salon entertains my clients.”

He must have noticed her interest in the women.

“Do you like the portraits?” he asked.

“Very much. They are so dramatic. Who did them?”

“I did. The last one on the right is my mother.”

Thick dark hair framed a woman’s handsome face. “What a beautiful woman.”

“She was then, but now her eyes are cloudy, her hair thin. Once it was glorious, absolutely glorious. Poor Mother, she’s failing in every way.”

Meri Ann wished she had had her mother long enough to see her age, to live through a natural passage of time. “I’m awfully sorry.”