Perfect Victim, The (8 page)

"Child, I don't want to be the one to tell you all this
.
Siloam Springs is a small town. Talk is cheap and vicious in small towns. Agnes Beckett received her share over the years."

She nodded her acceptance of that
.

"
If you
'
re looking for information on the murder, I've got the last three editions of the weekly newspaper in my recycle pile
."

Addison brightened somewhat at the idea of having some solid information at her fingertips. Information that wasn't hearsay or rumor.
'
'I
'
d appreciate that very much
.
"

Jewel took the last bite of shortbread
.
"I hope you're not too terribly upset with all this. Did you know her well?"

"No, not well
.
"

"
I guess that's a blessing under the circumstances.
"
The older woman rose and disappeared into the rear of the trailer.

Addison let out a breath. She looked down at her hands, found them shaking. She hadn't known Agnes Beckett
.
But she did know one thing for certain. The day Agnes Beckett had given up her three-day-old baby, she'd saved Addison from what probably would have been a very hard life.

Jewel returned with a small stack of newspapers
.
"It made quite a stir here when it happened
.
First murder in over fifteen years
.
And so brutal
.
"

Addison winced
,
not wanting to imagine the brutality of a stabbing. It was incomprehensible what human beings could do to each other. It was incomprehensible that it had happened to her birth mothe
r
just three weeks earlier
.

"Thank you." Rising, she slipped into her coat
.

"The stories in there will be more objective than the ones you'll hear from anyone in this town, including me."

"Where is she buried?" The question sprang free before she'd realized she was going to ask it.

"Twin Oaks, I imagine. Down the road a ways, past the bridge on the left. Only cemetery in town."

It was sleeting when Addison walked back to the car. Tiny particles of ice mixed with rain pelted her. as she stood on the broken asphalt staring at the mobile home where her birth mother had lived-and died-just three weeks earlier. She wondered what had become of her belongings. If she'd had a decent burial. If anyone had mourned her passing.

Feeling more alone than she'd ever felt in her life, she slid behind the wheel and headed for the motel.

An hour later, Addison sat cross-legged on the queen-sized bed in her room at the Red Rooster Motor Lodge, using her manicure scissors to cut articles from the newspapers Jewel Harshbarger had given her. On the bed next to her lay a half-eaten club sandwich, a bag of soggy french fries, and the soda she'd picked up at the motel restaurant.

She'd read each story twice, forcing the words into a brain not ready to absorb, each time their significance cutting a little deeper. The Preble County coroner had ruled Agnes Beckett's death a homicide. The sheriff's department concluded later that the murder was the result of a robbery. Judging from the marks on her neck and left wrist, what little jewelry she'd been wearing was yanked off and taken, as well as her purse, which was found a few days later minus the wallet.

What Addison found most disturbing was the fact that in the three weeks since the murder, a suspect hadn't been mentioned. The thought sent a powerful sense of outrage rolling through her. Was it because of Agnes Beckett's lack of social status that the police weren't pushing for an arrest? Would the murder of a more affluent person have generated a greater degree of public outrage? Would the woman who had lived
in that tiny mobile home be forgotten? Her murder left unsolved?

The questions troubled her deeply, and Addison knew she couldn't let it end this way. It seemed incredibly unjust that she had lost her family not once, but twice. First the only parents she'd ever known, then the woman who'd given her life
.

There was a lack of closure in the
-
way her search had ended. She had come here to this strange little town to meet her birth mother
.
Three weeks ago, someone had taken that dream away from her forever. She would never meet Agnes Beckett. After all the effort and the hope, fate had intervened in the cruelest way, leaving her with nothing but a solitary trip to the cemetery.

The reality of that hit her hard, striking her in a place that was raw and exposed. She sipped the soda to ease the tightness in her throat and read the articles again, focusing this time on the status of the case. She
put them in
chronological order by date, realizing only then that the stories became smaller as the news grew older. Even in small towns people grew tired of news quickly
,
she mused.

Even brutal
,
unsolved murders.

But there were positive steps she could take to make sure her trip hadn't been in vain. She could visit the sheriff and make sure the case was being investigated
i
n a professional manner
.
It was a painful thought, but she could go back to the mobile home and go through her mother's belongings
.
It might give her some insight into the kind of woman Agnes Beckett had been
.
It might give her some closure.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Addison rose from the bed and pulled on her coat, deciding her first stop would be the sheriff's office.

"You wanna know
what
?”

Addison resisted the urge to sink into the vinyl chair opposite Sheriff Delbert McEvoy's desk
.
She was bone tired,
but somehow felt she'd have the upper hand if she stood. "I'd like to know how the investigation into the murder of Agnes Beckett is progressing."

McEvoy eyed her suspiciously. "You some kind of a reporter or something?"

"I'm a relative." She'd gone over the conversation they would be having during the drive to his office. She had foreseen the questions, and she was prepared.

"The newspaper has been carrying the story," he said.

She took a deep breath and grappled for patience, wondering why he seemed indisposed to helping her. "I've read the articles and have yet to see anything that tells me how the case is progressing."

He sat up straighter, his belly shifting to expose a large silver belt buckle. "Miss…"

"Addison Fox," she said, extending her hand. She hadn't realized it until now, but she'd accepted the responsibility of making sure her birth mother wasn't forgotten. Certainly not before her murder was solved.

Taking her hand, he shook it gently. "Just how are ... were you related to Agnes Beckett?"

That was the question she'd pondered most. Had her biological mother been alive, Addison would have kept her relationship to Agnes Beckett confidential. Now that the woman was dead, she supposed it really didn't matter. "I'm her daughter." Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. The words sounded strange, and she realized it was the first time she'd spoken them aloud.

"You're pullin' my leg." His face split into a lopsided grin as if one side of him believed her; the other, that she was somehow trying to dupe him.

Irritation sparked inside her, and she did her best to squelch a nasty retort. "No," she said coolly. "I'm not kidding."

As if realizing his rudeness; he lost his smile. "That's a mite surprising, is all I'm saying."

''That she had family?"

"Well
..
. yes."

"Why is that surpr
i
sing? She was capable of reproducing, wasn't she?"

Crimson crept into his cheeks. "That's not what I meant
.
"

"What exactly
did
you mean?"

"
I had no idea she had kin. No one in town knew it
,
"
he said.

No longer feeling the need to stand, she sank into the chair, letting a long, tired sigh slide between her lips. "Well, she does, and I'd appreciate a little cooperation."

He leaned back in his chair and slid the wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other
.
"I reckon Pete Lyons down at the funeral home will want to talk to you."

"She left a debt?"

"The trailer is foreordained for auction to pay for the funeral expenses. Ladies Club paid for the marker
.
"

"I'll take care of the debt
,
" Addison said quickly. "And I'd like to go through her things." Both sentences were out before she realized her thoughts had taken that route
.
Odd what shock and stress did to one's mindset
,
she thought dully.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible until the estate goes through probate." His chest swelled with newfound authority.

"In that case, I
'
ll have my attorney contact you." She felt a moment of satisfaction when he stiffened. "For now I'd just like to know if you've got any leads or if you're any closer to making an arrest
.
"

Glowering, he sauntered to a vertical file cabinet
.
He rem
i
nded Addison of a big, fat turkey that had had its feathers ruffled by an unassuming hen.

"Her credit cards haven
'
t been used
.
" He paged through the file
.
"No checks have turned up
.
"

She nodded, feeling minutely better now that he was cooperating. "Do you have any suspects?
"

"Not yet
.
" He pulled a file from the drawer and walked back to the desk, dropping it in front of her. "Excuse me
while I get a cup of coffee." Snatching a Cincinnati Reds mug off the desk, he stalked out of the office.

Jerk
, she thought with disgust, wondering how, in the span of just a few hours, this promising day had transformed into the afternoon from hell.