Final Grave (27 page)

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Perfectly fine. That’s me, perfectly fine Ronald Fehr.”

She knew that voice and the four rum and coke’s it took to create it. “Becky said you’d listened to a message on my answering machine.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Furious.
Livid.
Enraged
. “It’s late, Ron. Just tell me about the phone call.” Her voice hardened in annoyance. “What did the woman say?”

“See, you’re mad.” He breathed deeply. “Yeah, I’m thinking it was a woman. Whoever it was said your name and the area code was Boise, so I thought—” He just left it hanging.

“You did right. It was important.” It might have been someone checking to see if she was still in Boise. “Can you go back to the house, get the number for me?”

“I cleared it, erased it. I… I just didn’t think.”

She wanted to scream, you never do! But she held her tongue. “I suppose the phone company can get us a print out but it takes a while.”

“The divorce papers came today,” he said.

“I mailed them from Tampa International, so that sounds about right.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing.” He sounded miserable, something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah, I know, but it seems too fast. Too final.”

Words she’d prayed to hear six-months ago, but not now. Yet the pain in his voice softened her urge to throttle him. “You have Debbie. Go to her. I’m out of the loop.”

“Meri Ann—”

“Listen, Ron. Please don’t call me, again, tonight. Go to sleep, and let me do the same.”

“You’re not even at Becky’s. Where are—”

“Goodnight. I mean it. No more calls.” She hung up.

The previous combing and brushing had not calmed her hair at all. So while her pants were in the dryer, she took a quick shower, mainly to wash her hair. Afterwards, she wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel. It felt strange to be in Mendiola’s house, particularly in his bathroom with him just outside the door. Granted he was dead to the world, but still there were elements of daring and intimacy too. It had been a warm friendly evening and she had to admit he was beginning to grow on her. She smiled at herself in the mirror, then set about finding a hair dryer.

Three drawers stood to the right of the sink. She stuck pay dirt in the bottom drawer where she found a hot pink hair dryer, two lipsticks, a half empty bottle of Giorgio Armani’s Sensi. No doubt these belonged to his former fiancée. She wondered why hadn’t he tossed these personal articles? Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he still cared or maybe the woman still came over.

A silver picture frame lay face down on the bottom of the drawer. It had to be a photo of the woman. Curious to see what she looked like, Meri Ann slid it out from under the cosmetics and turned it over. The attractive brunette in the portrait tilted her head seductively.

Meri Ann toes curled so tight they felt like rocks. Her eyes widened in shock. She knew that face.

The dark eyes burned into her as mean as the last time she’d seen them in Boise High’s gym, the day she had jabbed her fist between those two dark orbs.

The inscription read, “To Jack with love, Kari.”
Kari
?

Oh, my God. It was Karen Harper.

# # #

Meri Ann’s eyes felt gritty, that too-early-for-morning-and-too-late-for-night feel as she drove slowly beneath the well-lighted portico of River House and back around to the bay of garages. She parked between Becky’s Esplanade and Renee’s Toyota. The lights were on in the house but that didn’t mean anyone was awake. She certainly hoped not. Quietly, she closed the car door, and made her way to the house.

Every step she took, she recalled Karen Harper’s synthetic smile in the photograph. It brought back the horrid memory of her high school betrayal. Six hours ago, if someone had bet her a million dollars she’d end up in Mendiola’s shower, then find Karen Harper’s photo in his bathroom drawer, she’d have grabbed the bet at any odds. And she’d have lost.

Chin tucked to her chest, Meri Ann limped to the back door favoring her sore toe. Her key was out and pointed at the lock when the door opened.

Becky met her head-on.

“It’s ten till four.” Becky sucked in a breath, threw out her chest. “I’ve been watching the clock and listening to every sound. Scared out of my wits.” She glared at Meri Ann. “Where have you been? What’s that on your cheek?”

“You know where I’ve been.” Meri Ann’s grip tightened on the doorknob, her nerves raw from lack of sleep. She knew that look on Becky’s face—the urge to blame someone.

“I didn’t think you’d be up,” she said.

“Wrong. Try again.” Becky stomped her right foot in anger. “Last time we talked you said you’d be back by eleven. Forget sleep. I thought you were dead or injured by that sumbitch Graber.”

Meri Ann pushed past her and Becky slammed the door, the force rattling the big kitchen window.

“Well?” Becky said, with the indignation of a parent with an out-of-control child.

“Don’t get after me, Becky.” The revolver in Meri Ann’s backpack made a thud on the table when she set it down. “I’m in no mood, and you know what? Personally, I think you owe
me
an explanation.”

Becky raked her fingers through her curly hair. “I guess Ron called you?”

Meri Ann nodded.

“Maybe I dozed just for a minute, ’cause his call woke me,” Becky said. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly. He started cursing and telling me he had to talk to you. It ticked me off. I caved, kid, gave him the number. But even if he hadn’t called you, I’d thought about doing it myself.”

Becky still looked mad but not as mad. “Your clothes look slept in. Hair’s wet for Pete’s sake. What’d you do, jump in bed with him, then take a shower?” She exhaled, loudly. “He’s a cop and you barely know him, don’t even know his first name. That is so unlike you.”

“I’m a cop, too and a grown-up, Becky. I didn’t sleep with
Jack
Mendiola the way you mean it—not that my sex-life is anyone’s business but my own—but I did fall asleep on his sofa. And I shouldn’t have done that when I’d promised you I’d be back early. I’m sorry. But I am glad I went there. I got to know him better and he’s an okay guy. Now I’m asking you, please, back off. I’m every bit as tired, frustrated, and upset as you are. Not just about Ron calling.”

“What else, kid?”

As much as she hated to even mention the photograph, she felt obligated. “It’s an uncanny coincidence but while I was looking for a hair dryer, I found a photo of his ex-fiancée.”

Becky looked askance at her. “So, big deal.”

“It’s Karen Harper.”

Becky rubbed her forearms, then her stomach. “You got cozy with someone who’s been with the bitch. I’m gonna be sick.” She made a gagging sound, curled her upper lip.

Lights flashed at the front of the house. Meri Ann started.

“What’s that?” Becky said.

The two of them sprinted to the workroom’s picture window. They peered at a set of red taillights.

“It’s the deputy on patrol,” she said. The marked sedan slowly circled the cul-de-sac, then a second time.

Becky started to cry. “I don’t feel safe anymore. I miss Meg.”

“Wish I could make it go away,” she said. “But I can’t, not just yet.”

She returned to the kitchen in a somber mood.

Becky opened the refrigerator and took out a leftover piece of Sara Lee banana cake. “Want some?”

“No thanks.” Meri Ann waited while Becky ate a few bites. “There’s more you should know about the tape on your answering machine. The voice was my mothers but it was spliced together. The killer wants me in Boise. Lieutenant Dillon thinks we can draw him into the open; convince him we accept the answering machine message as real. I’m to make a televised plea for Mom to call me back.”

“You’re going to be a decoy? On Television?” Becky pulled a chair to the table, sat in it with one leg under her. “That’s crazy. You can’t do that.”

“Well, I’m going to. Something’s got to bring this to a head.”

“Oh, kid, I forgot. Your boss called. He says you’re not going to some conference unless you’re on the plane tomorrow morning. I think he said you might be fired.”

“Pitelli said,
fired
?
” Meri Ann buried her face in her hands briefly.

“Come on, he can’t mean it.”

She figured the sheriff had taken a personal affront to her missing the meeting with him. “We’ll see,” she said.

“What a revolting mess. And I got a wedding on Friday. Meg is out of town.”

Meri Ann cocked her head to the side. “Where’s the wedding?”

“At Crane Creek Country Club. Why?”

“Is the groom’s name, Scott?”

Becky nodded. “How’d you know?”

“He’s Mendiola’s friend.”

“Wow. Small town, huh?”

Meri Ann nodded, acknowledging the fact. No matter how much Boise had grown, it remained a small town in so many ways. She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh.

“You look worn to a frazzle,” Becky said. “You’d better get some sleep.”

“Excuse me,” Renee said, her blade-thin frame pressed against the doorjamb, “but she needs more than sleep.” She scrutinized Meri Ann, as though she’d found the key to the universe. “Your hair,” she said. “Get yourself into the shop tomorrow. You seriously need a stylist.”

# # #

Upstairs, Meri Ann sat on the bed, leaning back against a stack of pillows, staring out the window at the black sky. How she yearned to crawl under the covers and not deal with her boss.

Nonetheless, she called Pitelli.

There was no surprise in his voice despite the early hour. “Maybe not fired,” he said. “But unless you are on a plane in the next twelve hours, kiss the promotion goodbye. Hell, kiss Criminal Investigations goodbye as well as the funding for your self-defense program. You’ll be back on patrol.” His words hung like funeral crepe.

A transfer to patrol amounted to departmental suicide. She might never shake the stigma of a demotion.

“But I can’t leave Boise yet. Isn’t there something you can do?”

“The sheriff usually bends for me but not this time. He feels snubbed.” Pitelli sounded as deflated as she felt. “All I can say is I tried my best. I like you Fehr and your work. It’s a rotten break.”

“I understand.” But the thought of losing her job in investigations blew her away. After a throat-clearing silence, they said goodbye.

Her vocal chords ached and she rubbed her throat. She collapsed on the muslin quilt and closed her eyes. Let the Department rot. Her mother’s investigation was in her grasp, the reason she’d turned to law in the first place. She rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling.

“Dear God, let me find her killer.”

A fantasy of what she’d do to him took over. She would grip his neck and squeeze until her fingers ached, until his eyes bulged and gurgling sounds came from his mouth. She couldn’t see his features, but she felt him squirm, heard him beg for his life.

Perspiration broke out on her forehead as murder filled her heart. The depth of her hatred scared the hell out of her. The scene lingered in her head, like a paused DVD. It didn’t fade until she fell asleep.

# # #

Tina Wheatley removed a key from Robin’s ring while he was in the bathroom taking his morning shower.

It resembled a small, nondescript luggage key. Yet it had secured their two pistols stored in a sturdy metal box in his first-floor study since her first episode with the analyst. He’d never mentioned locking them up or why he’d quit taking her into the hills for target practice. His was a silent message: You are too sick to be trusted with a firearm; ergo I hide them away from you.

She pocketed the key, replacing it with a similar-looking one that fit her suitcase.

Her nerves jangled as they had when she’d stolen a bottle of perfume from the Estee Lauder counter at the Bon Marche. The clerk had turned her back for just two blinks of an eye, enough for Tina. She moved like a deft magician, slipping the bottle into the cuff of her jacket. She’d done it for the rush, reasoning that if caught she could explain it away—but not so easy to explain the key in her pocket to Robin or its replacement on the ring.

If he found it missing, he would instantly grasp her motive. He was trained to find flaws, to seek out structural weakness. Computers and mathematics enhanced his cunning. Yet he too had a fault, as deep as California’s San Andreas—the horrible weakness that he refused to acknowledge—Joanna.

The latch on the bathroom door clicked. She watched it swing open in the mirror. Robin stepped out, drying his hair with a towel. He looked distant and more preoccupied than usual. Nimbly, she nudged the key ring back to the place she had found it on the dresser. She picked up a lint brush and turned to him.

“Good morning,” he said.

She nodded, brushing the front of her sweater as though it needed it. Oh, she could be crafty, too. “I worried about your staying out so late last night, your sprained ankle and all. Where were you?”

Chapter Thirty-three
 

A
s Meri Ann entered Chez Jay’s the silly trumpet recording played ‘charge.’ The place was packed, speakers pumped out rap and the air reeked of ammonia.

“Hey,” Renee called. Her cheeks bloomed pink with blush. She still looked pale but exuded more energy than she had at four in the morning. “I’m just finishing up.” Her electric clippers buzzed along the neck of a twenty-year-old guy with freckles and neatly spiked hair.

“Take your time.” Meri Ann scanned the room. “Is Jason here?”

“Said he’d be in about ten.”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“So would I,” Renee said. “We got into it last night before I went to Becky’s. I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Meri Ann didn’t press for an explanation, merely offered a sympathetic nod and settled into a comfy stuffed chair. She picked up a
Vanity
Fair
magazine but only skimmed the pages. Thoughts of Mendiola kept her preoccupied. She felt closer to him as much a friend as a fellow detective. And, though she hated to admit it, another facet to their relationship had surfaced on her part—sexual innuendo. She suspected he felt it too. At least she thought he did, but his business-like tone when he had called her an hour ago on his way to a staff meeting left her uncertain.