Authors: Mary Burton
“If you think of it, call me.”
“Sure. Have you found Nancy yet?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Call me when you do.”
“Sure.”
He hung up. “Nancy sold her mother’s house and Diane was selling her house.”
Bishop snapped his fingers. “Now that’s a connection that makes sense.”
Rick flipped through his notebook again. “The sign in Diane Smith’s yard read ‘Nashville South Realty.’”
Bishop shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to this group.”
He plugged the name of the agency into his phone and after a few seconds a website appeared. “I’ve got an address.”
“Unless they have an all-night realty service, it’s going to have to wait.”
Rick checked his watch. It was well after midnight. “Right.”
“We’ll be there bright and early, Boy Scout.”
Rick scratched the back of his head. Forty-eight hours until the anniversary. Made no sense that these two cases would be connected to the Thompson murder, but he couldn’t shake the sense that they were and the clock was ticking down fast.
Wednesday, August 23, 7:55
A.M.
Rick and Bishop arrived at Nashville South Realty located in a storefront office of a strip mall. They crossed an empty parking lot and arrived at the front door to find an
OPEN
sign.
Checking his watch, Rick realized they were early. “Nice to see some folks still get to work early.”
Bishop rubbed his eye. “So you ain’t the only eager beaver in Nashville?”
“Maybe we should start a club.” They walked up to the empty receptionist desk and rapped his knuckles hard. “Hello.”
“Just a moment.” The clear voice emanated from down the long hallway filled with doors leading into dark offices.
Seconds later, steady footsteps sounded on the tiled hallway and a midsize man appeared. He wore dark suit pants, a crisp white shirt, and a red tie. His dark hair was slicked back and gold cuff links winked at his wrists. He extended his hand. “I’m William Spires. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” Rick pulled his badge from his breast pocket. “I’m Detective Rick Morgan and I’m with the Nashville Police Department. I’m checking into a couple of listings, one was handled by your company.”
“I can look them up for you.” Spires moved to the receptionist desk and sat down in front of the computer. “What’s the addresses?”
“The first is in the 12 South neighborhood.” He read off the address.
Spires typed on computer keys. Seconds later his smile faded to a frown as he stared at the screen. “That house burned eight days ago.”
“There was a house sold by a Nancy Jones six months ago. It’s located near Germantown.”
Spires typed into the computer and then waited a beat as the information popped up. “That house sold for a nice profit.”
“Did the same agent handle these properties?”
Spires studied the computer screen. “No, different agents. But both houses were multiple listings. Any number of agents could have been in either house.” He sat back. “What’s this all about?”
“We’re investigating two homicides. Both women had been involved in a real estate transaction in the last year.”
“Like I said, a few agents would have had access to the properties. And, of course, each house had a key box, which meant as long as a realtor had access to the box they could get in the house. It’s all very common. In this day and age, houses can be a tough sell and realtors are willing to share the commission for a sale.”
“Who had the listings on these homes?” Rick asked.
Spires checked the computer. “The Jones house was listed by Larry Martin and the Smith house was listed by Janet Douglas.” He scribbled down information on a piece of scratch paper. “Here’s their contact information.”
Rick glanced at the numbers and scribbled them down in his notebook before handing the paper off to Bishop. “Know anything about her realtor?”
“I know them both. I trained them both in a sales seminar last summer. They have solid reputations and have been in the business for years. Each does have their own website and they will feature properties daily. If it’s on the web there is no telling who could have seen the homes for sale.” He leaned down and typed in a web address and turned the screen toward the policemen. The screen featured a good-looking guy, sporting a leather jacket. “This is Larry. Like I said, great guy.”
“Thanks.”
Spires reached into his pocket and pulled out a business-card holder. “Take my card. If I can be of any help, let me know.”
Rick glanced at the card.
NASHVILLE SOUTH REALTY, A SUBSIDIARY OF TEMPERANCE REAL ESTATE. “
How long have you been with Temperance?”
“About a year. They acquired us.”
“Why?”
“It happens all the time.”
“But it always happens for a reason.”
Spires shrugged. “We had the contacts that were valuable to them and they had capital that the company needed. It was a win-win for everyone.”
“So this means Temperance had access to your records?”
“Sure. That was part of the deal.”
Rick flicked his finger on the edge of the business card. “Thanks for your help.”
“Like I said, call me any time.”
Jenna arrived at KC’s at four to set up her easel and stool. Within ten minutes, she was drawing the face of a young woman out partying with a group of her friends. The woman had a quick smile and a relaxed manner that Jenna could only fake on her best day.
As she sketched the woman’s jawline in charcoal, she wondered if there’d ever be a day when the weight of her past was lifted and she could breathe without feeling a pressure on her chest.
An hour and a half past and she drew three portraits. No one wanted the forty-dollar pictures. Twenty dollars seemed to be the afternoon’s limit. But she’d pocketed one hundred and sixty dollars, enough to keep gas in her Jeep for a few weeks.
Three men, dressed in jeans and dark Tshirts, stopped to look at her art. They had short haircuts, tight on the sides and high on the top. No doubt military men on leave. She sighed, knowing they’d not want a picture. She started to pack up.
“Hey, you finishing up?” one of the guys asked.
A tart response danced on the tip of her tongue but she swallowed it. “That’s about right.”
“How about you have a drink with us?” another offered. The men exchanged glances that didn’t set well with her.
Before she could answer, she felt a presence and glanced up to see Rick Morgan standing behind her. He didn’t physically touch her, but the energy radiating from his body electrified her body.
“She’s having a drink with me,” Rick said.
She’d have argued with him, if not for the guys who looked as if they didn’t take no for an answer easily.
“Thanks, but not tonight, guys,” she said.
“What if we want a picture?” the tall one asked.
Rick, silent, shifted his stance and, as one guy strolled away, he said, “She’s done for the night.”
She collapsed the legs of the easel and then the stool. Both fit into her large satchel along with her box of pastels and pad of paper. “You heard the man.”
The trio frowned as if they were itching for a fight as much as a drink or a woman. As if reading their thoughts, Rick put his hand on his hip sliding his jacket back a fraction so that his badge and gun showed. “Move on.”
Their expression softened. Each was smart enough to know a tangle with the law would not bode well. They turned and ducked into the bar next to Rudy’s.
Jenna watched them leave, not ready to turn her back until they were out of sight. “Thanks for the backup. How’d you know I was here?”
Rick’s gaze lingered past her in the direction of the men a beat longer. “KC called. Said that art kid was on his doorstep.”
“Kid. I haven’t heard that in a while.”
“To KC, anyone under sixty is a kid.” He nodded toward Rudy’s. “Want to grab a coffee?”
“Or a beer.”
He smiled. “Sure.”
They followed the music into the bar and found a back corner that could pass for quiet. KC appeared at their table before they could get totally settled. He glanced between the two as if searching. For what, Jenna didn’t know, but she was too tired to worry about it.
“So what can I get you?” KC asked.
Rick turned to Jenna. “What’ll it be?”
She’d eaten here enough that she knew the menu by heart. “A beer and a small pizza.”
“I’ll take a burger and soda,” Rick said. “Still got a bit of work to do tonight.”
KC nodded. “Will do.”
Jenna sat back in her seat. “You checking up on me?”
“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you haven’t had any more road problems.”
“Not a one. A very peaceful night and day.”
Rick loosened his tie and sat back in the booth. A blues song crooned in the background. “I thought you had portrait work.”
“Finished. She loved it.”
“Why do the street drawings? Seems a waste of talent.”
“Street drawing keeps my sketching skills sharp until I return to the real world and my old job. And it pays the rent. I’m on unpaid leave and have bills to pay in two cities.”
Rick didn’t comment even as a tension rippled over his expression. “When will you go back?”
“Who knows? A week or two.”
He sat back in the booth. “What’s holding you here?”
She arched a brow. “You in a rush to see me go?”
“Not at all.”
“So what do you do when you’re back in Baltimore?”
She glanced up, a half smile tugging the edge of her lips. “Nice conversation shifter.”
“I like to think I’m smooth. What do you do?”
“Before my aunt died, I hung out with her. I have friends. We drive to the harbor or hang out. Regular stuff.”
KC arrived with their drinks and set them on the table. He looked as if he wanted to stay and talk but a glance from Rick sent him back to the bar.
Jenna laughed. “That look sent poor KC scurrying away. You must be one scary dude.” She sipped her beer savoring the flavor as it cooled her dried throat.
His smile did little to soften the intensity that she guessed grew exponentially the deeper it went. “KC is a good guy. But he’ll stand here for an hour talking.”
She traced the rim of her cup. “Any leads on the Lost Girl?”
“Not yet.” Rick sighed. “There was no report filed on a child of her description during a twenty-five-year time frame.” He shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “You and the Lost Girl are about the same age.”
“I thought about that.”
“We’ve dates when the pond was drained and the burial site accessible. But no hits.”
“Ever thought the killer worked for the parks system? Hell of a long shot to just stumble onto the drained lake.”
“I checked with the head of maintenance. Each time they drain the pond, it’s announced in the media. But you’re right about a possible job connection. We’ve got the parks system compiling a list of employee names.”
“And the blanket?”
“Georgia went over every square inch of it. Found a couple of hairs, a bloodstain, and two other stains. DNA on the hair and blood and she thinks the other stains were food.”
“High-or low-end blanket?”
“High. But not so special that it would only have been exclusive. Dozens of stores could have sold it.”
“It just might come down to my sketch.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
KC was grateful to focus on food rather than emotions. The pizza crust was crisp and the sauce and cheese blended perfectly. She savored every bite. Rick, like her, also concentrated on his food. He was a cop, after all, and ate when he could. Cops never knew when they’d be called into the field or for how long. Eat when you can. When their meal was done, Jenna pushed her plate away and dug two rumpled twenties from her pocket. “This one’s on me.”
He balled his napkin and held it in his fist. “You get the next one. I got this one.”
She crushed the bills in her fist, ready to toss them on the table. “A next time? Who’s to say there’ll be another time?”
He placed the crumpled napkin by his plate. “You’re on Georgia’s radar. She’s yet to land her first cold case for this team she’s assembling in her mind and I suspect she won’t let you go so easily.”
Jenna laughed. “I liked helping her. But my paying job is in Baltimore.”
He ignored the Baltimore mention. “She’ll have more cases for you. She’s a woman on a mission.”
“Georgia wants to find all the missing. Wants to bring them home.” Jenna traced the rim of her cup. “That’s not always possible.”
“Don’t tell her.”
“I did a lot of reading on Nashville. Dug through the newspaper on microfilm for the last twenty-five years.”
“So you know about Georgia?”
“Yeah. I can relate to her. We’ve both lost mothers.” She stopped short of saying they’d both been murdered.
His jaw tightened. “She doesn’t talk about it. She’s pretending it never happened.”
A sad smile tipped the edge of her lips. “She hasn’t forgotten. It’s still there. She just can’t deal. Yet. It took me twenty-five years until I ran into a trigger that set me off.”
He picked up the paper that had covered the straw and folded it over and over until it was a small box. “The girl in the closet.”
“Yes.”
“So what’s your plan?”
A shrug. “I go back to my life in Baltimore and live happily ever after.” That had been the tentative plan when she left Baltimore but, now, going back didn’t feel exactly right, as if somehow this journey had already changed her. Smiling, she gathered up her supplies. “I better get home. It’s been a long day.”
He moved to slide out of the booth. “Let me walk you to your Jeep.”
“I’m fine. Parked out back. KC is always nice enough to let me use his extra reserved spot.”
Rick glanced toward the former cop who stood behind the bar and laughed with customers. “Good.”
“Take care, Detective.”
“Until next time.”
She laughed, not sure if she was glad to be leaving or glad this wasn’t the end of the road for them.
Rick was finishing one of KC’s strong coffees when his cell rang. A glance at the number told him it was the main desk at police headquarters. He answered on the third ring. “Morgan.”