Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (12 page)

Marlowe’s bravado wavered and he appeared to age two decades in two seconds. “And?”

“We found the body of your son, Mike.”

* * *

As Jake and Rick sat in the living room of Bethany Reed’s mother, Jake put aside his distaste for Dalton Marlowe, reminding himself that grief dragged out the worst of emotions. He understood firsthand that it could drive anyone to do just about anything.

Now, he focused on the grieving eyes of the woman before him. There were many parts of the job that were not easy but this was the worst.

Mrs. Reed was a short and plump woman and, though age had pulled the edges of her eyes down, her hair remained an unnatural shade of dark brown. She sat on the green silk couch of a living room decorated in Colonial style next to a portrait of her husband and wept. Her thin shoulders looked fragile and broken as she leaned forward, a tissue clutched in her hands.

“And you’re certain it’s Bethany?” Mrs. Reed asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Her dental records are an exact match.” Jake avoided as many details of the crime scene as he could manage.

“I’m glad my husband has passed now. I miss him, but I know now he’s with our Bethany. They have each other.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How did you find her?”

“Another body was found in the park.”

“I heard about that on the news today.”

He shifted, and tugged his jacket forward. “Bethany was found close by in a back chamber of the cave.” He reached for his cell and pulled up the picture of the pendant. “We found this near her.”

With trembling hands, she took the phone and studied the picture. Tears welled in her eyes. “I gave this to her when she turned sixteen. She wore it all the time.”

“We also found a body next to Bethany’s. It’s Mike.”

Tears spilled down her face. “Ah, no. Poor Dalton. He must be absolutely devastated. He hung the moon on that boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She balled her hands into tiny fists. “How did she die?”

He wanted to keep several details of the case quiet until he had a little more time. As much as he wanted to tell Mrs. Reed, he said only, “We’re still running tests. But as soon as I know, I’ll tell you.”

She raised a trembling chin. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Amber Ryder is back in Nashville.”

The older woman’s eyes brightened with an odd happiness he did not expect. “How’s Amber doing? Last time, the police had just about everyone in this town put that poor girl through the wringer.”

“She’s doing fine. What do you know about Amber?” Jake asked.

She knitted long, pale fingers together and settled them in her lap. “She was smart as a whip. Not as smart as Bethany, but smart. She helped Bethany from time to time with the kids at school. Bethany was smart in so many ways, but her social skills were lacking.” She glanced down at her hands. Carefully, she unfurled her fingers and stretched them out. Pink manicured nails glistened in the soft light. “Amber was such a great kid. My Bethany was a great kid.”

“Amber was hoping to get scholarship money to attend college.”

“She had applied to several Texas schools and the counselor said she had a very good chance. She was very excited.”

“It sounds like you knew her well.”

“She was in my house all the time. She was my Bethany’s friend and needed an adult female to nurture her. I know her mother loved her. But she had her own issues, so I was happy to look after her.”

“How did she and Amber become friends? From what you said, they don’t strike me as a likely pair.”

“Bethany needed someone to show her how to be a teenager. How to fit into a school like St. Vincent. It’s one thing to be given money to attend, another to navigate the waters. Amber needed a family to look out for her. It was natural for me to fold her into our family.” A ragged breath caught in her throat. “Amber was always so polite and nice when she was here. I used to joke that she was too skinny. And I was always feeding her. Every time she was here she said thank you. Not all kids are that polite, but she was.” Dark eyes filled with fresh tears. “After all this time, it’s still Amber looking out for Bethany.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Reed shook her head. “I know she wasn’t popular after what happened in the woods, but my husband and I never lost sight of the fact that she was just a child herself. We both think if she came from a different side of town, she’d have been treated better.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You said she’s in town. Where is she now?” Mrs. Reed asked. “She’s not staying with her mother?”

“Why would her mother be a problem?” Jake asked.

“Tracy’s not a bad woman, but as I suggested, she found motherhood constrictive. If she were more attuned to Amber, that girl could have had such a different life. Amber Ryder was smart enough to do anything she wanted, but Tracy didn’t care much.”

“Was there anyone that could have wanted to hurt the girls or Mike?”

“I’ve had five years to think about that, and I have the same answer I did then.” She raised her watery gaze to Jake. “I don’t know of anyone who would hurt her.”

 

W
hen Jake parked in front of the small bar in the west end of Nashville, his third coffee consumed, his second wind kicked into play and chased away the fatigue that burrowed into his skull. Juiced like this, he could keep going most of the night.

The bar where Tracy Ryder worked was housed in what had been a one-story home with a large front porch, tin roof, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Small round tables with their patrons crowded the porch and main room inside.

He got out of his car, jangling his keys in his hand as he followed the small slate path to the front steps. Guitar music blended with a rusty male voice and the hum of a dozen conversations. He shrugged his shoulders, easing his right elbow back until it butted against his gun.

A few patrons on the front porch stopped in mid conversation to glance his way as if they understood this call was business and not pleasure.

His dark hair, slicked back, accentuated his square face and the beard covered his strong chin. Cowboy boots didn’t quite offset the crisp white shirt, the dark tie, or the swagger practiced by every boy on the streets of South Boston. Most didn’t know which side of the law he preferred until he showed his badge.

Let ’em wonder.

Boots thudding hard on the pocked pine floor, he pushed through the front-screened door. In the corner to his right sat a guitar player, his gaze focused on his callused fingers plucking out-of-tune guitar strings. The guy, a younger version of Willie Nelson, tied back his long hair with a piece of rawhide and wore his beard thick and scraggly. Though his jeans looked tattered, Jake would bet there was a fancy designer label on the waistband.

Jake paused, as the singer crooned and found himself listening for sharp notes or dropped keys. He never paid close attention to the honky-tonk musicians until he first heard Georgia sing. Onstage, her guard relaxed and she leaned into the mic greedily, even desperately, smiling as if she knew a very important secret. She poured heart and soul into the melody and when she reached for the high notes, everyone in the room noticed.

A short blond gal with cutoff jeans, a peasant top barely covering full breasts, pink hoop earrings, and red cowboy boots stopped as he scanned the room. She balanced a tray holding four beers, grinning as her pale blue eyes studied him. “Can I help you, doll? You’re looking a little lost to me.”

“I’m looking for Tracy Ryder.”

The waitress shook her head slowly. “She’s not your type.”

He grinned. “And how would you know what my type is?”

She winked. “I can read people, sugar. I can spot couples who are made for each other in a heartbeat. I can also call it when a couple isn’t meant to be.”

“And Tracy and I don’t have the magic?”

“No, sugar.” She moistened her glossy lips. “But I think you and I might be able to make some real special magic.”

He leaned toward her a fraction with a slight smile. “That so?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes narrowed as she caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “Where are you from, baby? Got to be up north. New York?”

“Close, but not quite. Boston. I’m a Southie.”

Her gaze cataloged him. “Yeah, you’re not a Southern boy.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Even seven years in Nashville had not upgraded his outlier status.

“Not at all. We welcome all kinds in Nashville, especially your type.”

“Good to know.” He liked this woman. A year ago he’d have taken her to his bed. Now, he found himself comparing her to a particular redhead and found her lacking. “And Tracy is where?”

She moistened her lips as she pulled a pen from her pocket and scrawled her number with a heart on a napkin, which she handed to him. “Out back. Having a smoke.”

Grinning, he carefully folded the napkin. “Thanks, doll.”

“You gonna call me?”

One or two words would seal the deal. Still, he shook his head. “Not tonight, doll.”

“Doesn’t have to be tonight, sugar.”

He made a show of tucking the napkin in his pocket. “Maybe some other time.”

He wove through the crowded room and pushed through the swinging doors leading to a kitchen filled with the scents of fried chicken, hush puppies, and sweet potato pie. Out the screened back door, he surveyed a parking lot filled with cars. He spotted a woman standing over by a tall oak tree, leaning and drawing heavily on a cigarette. Reed thin and short, her bejeweled jeans hugged her narrow hips. Blond shoulder-length hair was fashioned into a shag and heavy dark blue eye makeup accentuated crow’s feet. She looked like an older, harder version of Amber.

He moved slowly and easily, wanting this to be a nice friendly conversation. He did not want to stir the pot . . . yet.

“Ms. Ryder?”

“Ms. Ryder?”

Whereas Amber had the healthful glow of youth, too many cigarettes and too much booze had leached away Tracy’s vitality, leaving her looking brittle.

She raised the cigarette to her lips and puffed. “That’s right. What do you want?”

He held up his badge. “Detective Jake Bishop. I’m with the Nashville Police Department.”

She stared at the large full moon in the sky and then took another pull on her cigarette. Slowly, she let out the smoke, allowing it to curl around her. “This about Amber?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I heard you found a body at the park. You coming to blame that one on my girl, too?”

“No, ma’am. But I am looking into the disappearance of Bethany Reed and Mike Marlowe.”

Tracy studied the tip of her cigarette. “Amber was dead on her feet when she arrived at my house this morning. She’s been staying in a motel and ran low on money so she came back here to her mama.”

“I didn’t realize she left the motel.”

“She was gonna tell that lady cop, but she drifted off and slept most of the day away. I’m glad she came home to me. I’ve missed her.” She took another drag and released more smoke. “She in some kind of trouble or are you just poking around an old case?”

“It’s a little bit more than poking around old files. We found two other bodies at the park. Looks like one is Bethany Reed and the other is Mike Marlowe. That discovery puts Amber right back in the middle of it all.”

She flicked her cigarette, watching the ash fall to the pavement. “Shit, so this is gonna be a replay of the last time. At least those kids have been found. At least those parents will have some kind of closure.”

He studied her face, which was highlighted by the overhead parking lot floodlight. “What can you tell me about that time? What were Bethany and Mike like?”

“Bethany, I only met once. She was a nice enough girl. Mousy. Not much personality, if you ask me, God rest her soul. Amber liked spending time at her house. Hard to believe those two clicked. I always thought Amber hung out at the Reeds’ house because that Reed woman doted on her. Mrs. Reed liked the way Amber paid attention to Bethany. I don’t think Bethany had many friends.”

“Why do you think Bethany and Amber got on so well?”

“Hard to say why they clicked.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, picking at a piece of tobacco left from her cigarette.

“And Mike?”

A frown deepened the lines around her mouth. “I only met him a couple of times. Amber didn’t talk much about him.” She dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the ground with the tip of her black cowboy boot. “I didn’t like Mike.”

“Why not?”

“Self-centered. Privileged prick who thought because of his mama’s money he could do whatever he wanted. His daddy was the same way. Acted like money made him better than everyone.”

“Mike spend a lot of time with Amber?”

“No. I mean they knew each other but they didn’t hang out a lot, well, at least around me. Teenage girls don’t like to stick around the house much, and she was always on the go.”

“How did those three hook up for that last hike into the woods?”

“It was Bethany’s idea.” Her gaze softened as if she were drifting to the past. “She was the organizer. The rah-rah kind of gal who wanted to organize the best science project ever. She asked Amber because she liked her. Knowing Mike, he finagled his way onto their team because his grades were so weak. His daddy fixed as much as he could, but you couldn’t help noticing that that boy had a chip missing.”

“A chip missing.”

“He was smart enough, but he never really had a set of balls.”

“Did Amber ever talk to you about what happened in the woods?”

She shook her head. “She didn’t remember a thing. In the months she was with me after her return, she never gave me a whiff that she remembered anything. And there were times I tried to trick her to see if she were lying. She never gave me any reason to doubt. Not once.”

“A lot of people didn’t believe her.”

“Oh, I know it. A fair share of folks thought she was a liar. She tried to go back to school and finish out her senior year, but those kids at that school made life hell for her. Finally, she gave up and finished her schooling up at home. Taught herself those last couple of months.”

“And then she took off for college.”

She fingered a tassel on her silver belt. “I never blamed her. She needed a fresh start. She needed to get away from all this. Hell, I’m almost glad she never did remember. Terrible things must have happened that day in the woods.”

“Why didn’t you leave Nashville?”

A sad smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Where would I go? I’m not smart like Amber. Or young. And my last husband’s illness ate up all the money. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Has she spoken to you about the past since her return?”

“We haven’t talked about it. Frankly, my head is still spinning with the idea of her returning and those kids being found.”

“Anybody threaten you after those kids went missing?”

She latched on to anger as if it had been a lifeline. “Sure, we had trouble. Someone threw a brick through our front window, and I found a dead cat on the front lawn. That was a real treat. And there were notes.”

“What kind of notes?”

“They mostly called Amber a liar and a murderer. There were some that thought she killed those two kids.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine that? She’s five feet five inches tall and a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet and they figure her for a killer. Maybe she could have taken Bethany if she got in a lucky shot, but Mike outweighed her by a hundred pounds.”

Dr. Heller theorized Bethany might have been stabbed based on slash marks on the bones. Bethany had stood five inches taller than Amber, so if Bethany were standing when she’d been stabbed, Amber couldn’t have done it, given the angle of the cut in the bone. That also left Mike, a large beefy football player who couldn’t have been taken by Amber unless she had help or was armed.

Forensic evidence aside, he understood a motivated killer could do things that defied the interpretations of the evidence. “Have you had much contact with her in the last five years?”

“Some. I went to see her at school once. She looked happy. Had a boyfriend. And we exchanged a few phone calls. I sent her money when I could.”

“And since she took her job?”

“She’s a grown woman. She’s got her life.” She reached in her pocket for her pack of cigarettes. A flick of the lighter and she lit another. She inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to trickle out of her nose. “I worry more about me paying my bills. Now that she’s back, this crap from the past is gonna stir trouble and cost me my job.”

He rested his hand on his belt. “Is Amber worried?”

“I don’t know. She never was the kind to show it. Always kept her emotions locked up tight.”

“Did she spend any time with her father?”

Tracy laughed. “He was never in the picture. It was always just me and Amber.” A very faint smile teased the edges of her thin lips. “We were the Dynamic Duo.”

“How’d she get into a school like St. Vincent?”

“She’s smart. She set her sights on the school. I told her not to dream so big, but she did. Somehow she found a way to do the impossible.”

“I understand she received a scholarship.”

“I didn’t ask where the money was coming from. As long as it wasn’t costing me, I didn’t care.”

“How did it go for her at St. Vincent?”

“How do you think? She was the outsider. Kids can be cruel. But she was smart and tough, so she stuck it out. Rich folks can smell poor a mile away.”

“It had to have been tough.”

“I know it was. Like I said, Amber doesn’t say much when she’s upset. But she got that glint in her eye and I knew she’d be okay.”

“What glint?”

“The one that said she’d get her way, no matter what, in the end.”

* * *

The light table in the forensic lab glowed as Georgia draped Elisa Spence’s skirt over it. She had processed the shirt, shoe, and undergarments but still needed to examine the skirt. Moving slowly and carefully, she spread the material wide and adjusted the hem until it was straight. Touching the items of the dead, especially one so young, always took more effort and concentration. Sometimes it was as if the dead reached out from the grave and begged her to find their killer.
Help me. Help me.
The words whispered close, brushing her ear as she studied the simple skirt.

Less than a week ago, Elisa had awoken and slipped on this skirt. Had she been distracted, worried, excited as she fastened each button? Had her thoughts been to the future? Georgia lifted the hem with a gloved hand and closed her eyes. She took deep, even breaths.

When Georgia opened her eyes, she pulled down the magnifying glass suspended from above, and with tweezers in hand, began to study the fabric with precise detail. Centimeter by centimeter she combed, searching for hairs or fibers that had clung to the fabric. No one entered a room or left without leaving some trace evidence. No one.