Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (45 page)
There was a silence on the line, and she wondered what the agent was thinking. Eventually he said, “Well, we can be certain Frost didn’t take it for medicinal purposes since it was ingested shortly before death. So that means the UNSUB brought it with him. You said it wouldn’t be found outdoors?”
“In Tennessee it would have to be grown inside,” she affirmed. “But I don’t think the offender’s reasons for using it have anything to do with its alleged healing powers. I did some research on plant symbolization. Apparently, turmeric symbolizes purification. The other window on the church I told you about? It had pinecones on it. In religion, pinecones symbolize immortality.”
“Have you found any verification that the plant on the church window really is an image of turmeric?” Powell asked.
Somewhat deflated, Ramsey leaned back in the desk chair. “Not yet. I’ll continue looking into that end.”
“I’m no nature expert, but one plant can look a lot like ’nother. An image on a window, especially, can be imprecise.”
“There must be a county horticulturist around here somewhere.” She looked at her watch. Noted that it was nearing five, when most county employees would be heading home.
And when the town’s only liquor store would be closing.
Banishing the errant thought, she continued. “I’ll start delving into the church history. Try to get verification that the plant image on the church window really does depict turmeric. But this fits, Powell. It all fits. That ViCAP hit I was telling you about? The homicide four years ago in DC? She had some sort of undigested plant root in her system, too. She was also dumped in water, which might be symbolic if we stay with the religious connection.”
Powell grunted. “Well, if we can get our hands on that hair in the detective’s evidence log, and it matches the one found in Frost’s apartment, we’ll know the two cases are linked. Too soon to get excited over the possibility yet. But good job, Clark. Work up a profile usin’ the religious link for the perp. I’ll head back in a day or two to go over it with you.”
“Already got started on it.” All of Raiker’s consultants were cross-trained in various aspects of investigation and profiling. Since joining his team, Ramsey couldn’t imagine carrying out an investigation without developing a profile. “How’s it going with Sanders?”
She could hear the shrug in Powell’s voice. “He’s shut down, probably on his attorney’s orders. But the forensic accountin’ done so far shows he’s in deeper than he wants to admit. The money from the life insurance policy wouldn’t make all his credit problems go away, but it would buy him some needed time. The place he opened has been a money pit and is bleedin’ red ink. I’d say he knows we’ve got motive and he’s sweatin’ it.”
“I’ll touch base with Rollins. See if anything’s come from that search he was going to do to find a connection between Sanders and someone in the area.”
“He’s next on my list to call, so I’ll ask him. Seems like I’m spendin’ all my time on the phone these days. But Jeffries is pleased with our progress so far.”
The moment the call was over Ramsey headed for the door, already dialing directory assistance. She went through several queries as she drove to the liquor store and made her selection a few minutes before it was due to close. Was back in the car again when she’d finally connected with the local county extension office.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s ’bout one minute to closin’ time. Perhaps you can call back tomorrow.” The woman’s drawl was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“I don’t think you understand.” Ramsey let civility slip a notch and steel took its place. “I’m working with the TBI investigation.” She gave no details, but knew she didn’t have to. Everyone in the area had heard about the murder victim discovered on county property recently. “I’m certain your office will want to extend us every courtesy.”
“But . . .”
“In a timely manner,” she added firmly.
Which was how she happened to be standing fifteen minutes later on the sidewalk, once again staring up at the stained glass windows. This time with a prematurely balding young man at her side by the name of Lonny Beaumont.
“Huh,” he said reflectively.
Ramsey shifted from one foot to the other with barely concealed impatience. “Do you recognize the plant or not?”
“Huh,” he repeated. “Y’know, it’s funny how a fella can pass by a place ever’ day, and never really ‘see’ it, y’know what I mean?” He scratched his balding pate, fell to contemplating again. “Those are pinecones over t’other side, of course.”
“Yeah. That I was able to figure out on my own.”
He obviously wasn’t a student of sarcasm. Hers seemed to sail right over his head, which was, with its scarcity of hair, visibly too small for his gangly large-framed body. Lonny rocked back on his heels and pulled at his lower lip, squinting up at the window with the plant on it.
“Can you make an educated guess what that plant is?”
“We-e-ll,” he drawled out the word long enough to have Ramsey ready to reach in his mouth and pull out the rest of the sentence. “I could. Problem is, a guess is all it would be. Tucker’s actually more of what you’d call a horticulturist. That’d be Tucker Green, and he’s at a meetin’ all day today.” He fell silent, cocking his head to study the window from another angle. “Might be I could bring him by tomorrow, get his take on it.”
“Wait.” She strode to the car and grabbed the sheets of photos Dev had already taken of the window. Burning off a tinge of her frustration by slamming the door, she approached him and held them out. “Here are some pictures. Maybe you can show them to him and he can do a little research.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a card and extended that, too. “Have Tucker call me tomorrow once he’s had a chance to look at these.”
Lonny took the card, studied it. “Work does tend to pile up when we’re gone.” He glanced up again. “I can’t promise that he’ll . . .” A look at her unflinching expression had him swallowing. “I’ll tell Tuck it’s urgent.”
“You tell Tuck it’s urgent,” she agreed. “Tell him it’d be better that he call me before I come looking for him.” She was almost sorry for that last statement when Lonny’s gaze widened, fixing on the bulge beneath her jacket.
He swallowed hard again. “I’ll do that ma’am. Or . . .” he glanced at the card again. “Miz Clark?”
Was it her imagination or was everybody younger than she was these days? Younger and too damn easily intimidated. Giving an inner sigh, she relented, sent him a genuine, if small, smile. “I’d appreciate it. And thanks for meeting me here after work hours.”
Lonny seemed to relax a bit. Turned to look at the church again as if the answers to Ramsey’s questions were emblazoned on it. “T’weren’t no problem. United Methodist is right on my way home. I was born and raised in a house over on Grant, three blocks south of here. Maybe you’ve gone by it. Gray house with pink shutters? Funny story ’bout them shutters. See they was s’posed to be maroon, but the man at the paint store, he . . .”
Ramsey headed for the Ford. He didn’t seem to realize he was alone. She could still hear him talking as she got in and turned on the ignition. There was no telling how far he’d get into the story before realizing his audience had left.
She pulled away from the curb, feeling a tiny flicker of guilt. Then her glance fell to the purchase she’d made earlier. The wine was getting warm. She still needed to drive back to the motel for her laundry, which was going to make her late for those hamburgers with Dev.
Just that easily, the guilt vanished and a feeling of warm anticipation took its place. Because she didn’t want to examine that emotion too closely, she resolved for once just to let it be.
“You get the dryer runnin’ okay?” Dev walked through the back door with a platter piled with enough hamburgers to feed a small village for a week.
“I’m not completely without domestic skills.” She put down the book she’d been examining and moved the wine-glasses out of the way so he could place the platter on the table.
“So I see.”
She’d been left with the job of setting the table and readying vegetables she’d never eat to top the burgers. Oh, and opening a bag of chips to pour into a bowl. Which, if truth be known, was pretty much the extent of her prowess in the kitchen. It wasn’t a matter of not knowing how to cook as much as rarely bothering. It was far easier to rely on takeout, especially with the hours she kept.
Still, this was nice. Cozy. Her side of labor for the meal hadn’t entailed much, so she’d gone wandering around the house. Spied the book near the computer with Dev’s name emblazoned across the front and picked it up.
She was still reeling with impressions. “Somehow you failed to mention your doctorate.”
He was rummaging in the refrigerator, before he straightened with bottles of ketchup and mustard in his hands. Approaching her, he set them on the table. “Doesn’t come up much. Unless . . .” He sent her a look filled with mock hope. “Does the thought of advanced degrees by any chance make your clothes fall off?”
Ramsey smirked. “You’ll have to expend a little energy to that end yourself.”
“There you go. I knew it wouldn’t impress you, so there was no need to mention it.” He stabbed a burger and set it on her plate before rounding the table to his own seat.
She flipped open the back jacket again, studied his photo. It showed him unsmiling, wearing glasses she’d never seen him in. He looked serious and scholarly. Befitting of the accolades in the bio beneath. “Best-selling and award-winning author, huh?”
He lifted a shoulder easily and piled two hamburgers with all the fixings, with the smooth dexterity of a man used to fending for himself in the kitchen. “My agent puts that together. It’s always a mistake to believe your own press, I always say.”
Studying him shrewdly, she was certain he was underestimating his success. That in itself wasn’t surprising. But she was coming to suspect that his lazy good humor and self-deprecating manner were as much a defense as the admittedly prickly shield she’d erected around herself. And it was amazingly effective. She’d met him several times herself before she’d thought to look deeper for more.
The admission was accompanied by a tinge of shame. “I’d like to read the book.”
“Tomatoes?” When she shook her head, he put that plate down and picked up another to offer. “Lettuce?”
“Just ketchup. Can I borrow this one?”
He watched her closely, something unidentifiable in his eyes. “It’s probably not goin’ to be your thing.” When she didn’t answer, he merely shrugged, reached over to take the book and look at it. “Sure, if you want to. This one took place in Louisiana. Lots of atmosphere in Louisiana. An old plantation house was s’posed to be haunted. I went down there to decide.” Without getting up out of his chair, he reached behind him and pulled open a drawer. Rummaging inside it, he withdrew out a pen.
“Was it?”
His grin was wicked. “Guess you’ll find out when you read it.” He flipped open the front cover, and with a flourish, wrote a message and signed it. Then he handed it to her. “There. It’s yours.”
Curiously touched, she took the book from him. “Thank you.” Most of her reading, even in her off hours, consisted of case studies, procedural texts, and true crime, which was really little more than an extension of her job. Dev’s book was going to be a welcome change from that. She suspected it would give her a clearer picture of the man.
“You just goin’ to eat ketchup on that burger?” Wincing, he reached for a few chips to add to the growing mound of food on his plate.
“Why cover up the taste?” she countered. “Especially with a bunch of stuff I don’t eat under any circumstances.”
His eyes danced as he looked at her over the rim of his wineglass. When he set it down he said, “Your eatin’ habits rival a five-year-old’s. We’re goin’ to have to do somethin’ to . . .”
A hammering at the back door interrupted him. Glancing at the clock, he said, “I had a surprise arranged for you, but she’s earlier than I expected.”
She? Ramsey’s curiosity was piqued as Dev got up to pull open the door. Curiosity transformed to surprise at the sight of Leanne Layton on the back porch, her manner circumspect.
“I put them in bags to smuggle them out more discreet-like, but you can carry them in the house because I’m here to tell you, they are heavy. Hi, Ramsey.” The woman sent her a gay wave. “Guess that first date the other night went all right, huh?”
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