FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (19 page)

He carefully tucked a paper napkin into the top of the straightjacket.

As if it mattered one iota whether she dribbled blueberries on the damned thing.

“I hope it’s still warm enough.” He fished a plastic fork and knife out of his shirt pocket and opened the styrofoam container he’d placed on the bedside table. Cutting off a piece of pancake, oozing with dark blue syrup, he lifted it to his own mouth.

He curled back his thin lips to reveal even white teeth and nibbled on the edge of the pancake. “Hmm, warm but not hot. Do you like your food very hot?”

A second of debate. “Yes.” She wasn’t sure what he’d do about the lukewarm food, but anything to postpone having to eat it.

“Just a moment then. There’s a microwave in the kitchen. Don’t you move now. I’ll be right back.”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he moved away from the bed.

Again she studied the spot he touched, trying to memorize where it was on the wall.

“It’s activated by my palm print, my dear. Won’t do you any good.”

Click, whir, and he was gone through the opening that slid closed again behind him.

As promised, he returned quickly. “Here we go.” He opened the container again and stabbed the chunk of syrup-soaked pancake with the fork. Holding his other hand under it, he lifted it toward her mouth.

She tried not to think about the fact that it had already touched his lips. The sly glint in his eye told her that he wanted her to think about that. She swallowed bile and opened her mouth partway. He stuffed the bite of food in. Syrup ran down her chin.

He snatched another napkin from his shirt pocket and patted at her face. “Tsk, I knew this was going to be messy, but it’s so worth it. There’s nothing quite like IHOP’s blueberry pancakes, with warm, blueberry syrup.” His voice caressed the last words.

Fortunately, the pancake was mushy enough it slid down her throat with little effort on her part. But she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t gag on the next bite.

“Could I have some water, please?”

“Well, of course, my dear. How obtuse of me not to think of that first. Your mouth must be downright parched.” He babbled away as he picked up the water bottle and held it for her. “Unfortunately, that’s a side effect of that little tranquilizer I gave you last night. Dry mouth.”

She took a long pull on the straw, forgetting that the bottle contained power drink. She gasped, then coughed as some of the liquid went down the wrong way. More ran down her chin.

He jumped back. Anger flashed across his face. Then the benign expression was back. “My, what a mess. Let me get a washcloth.”

He went into the bathroom and returned with one, damp with warm water. He carefully washed her face with it and dabbed at the splotches of the drink on the straightjacket. They were a sick shade of yellow that one would never find in nature.

“Ah, but your pancakes are getting cold again.” He quickly cut off another chunk and held it out to her mouth, his other hand again under it to catch drips.

She swallowed, breathed in slow through her nose, hoping to settle her heaving stomach, and then opened her mouth. The warm, sweet pancake slithered down her throat with minimal chewing and swallowing required.

Keep eating,
she told herself.
You need the energy.

“Good, you need to keep up your strength now.” His echo of her thoughts almost made her gag again.

He held up another bite. She dutifully ate it. They continued the routine until all of the stack of pancakes was gone.

He pulled the napkin loose from under her chin and wiped her mouth with it. “Very good, my dear. Now let me check your ankles for chafing.” He tapped her on the shoulder, indicating she should lie back on the bed.

Part of her wanted to resist, but there was nothing to be gained from it. She turned slightly and laid back against the pillows. He leaned down and lifted her feet up onto the bed. He loosened first one, then the other sheepskin band on her ankles. “Good. No chafing.” He drew them snug again and wrapped the velcro strap around the outside of each ankle to hold them in place. The straps were connected to each other with about three feet of nylon rope.

“I wish I had thought of this sooner. I used to use metal shackles on my guests. So uncomfortable. And they couldn’t move around the room, which made a couple of them quite stir crazy.”

Sally gritted her teeth against a surge of rage. She couldn’t let it show or she’d never convince him to let her out of the straightjacket. She struggled up to a sitting position on the side of the bed again.

He moved over to where he had put the brown paper bag down on the floor. “Next item, you may or may not like. It’s up to you.”

He pulled an object out of the bag and showed it to her. It was a round analog clock, with big black numbers and old-fashioned, saucer-shaped bells on the top. “It’s not as old as it looks. It’s battery operated, but it has a nice ticking sound. So soothing.” He flipped a switch on the back of it and it started ticking. “The alarm is set for seven p.m.”

“What happens at seven?” She knew damn well what the answer was but she had a perverse need to make him say it.

“Why, that’s when we part company, my dear.” He gave her a gentle smile, then glanced at his watch. “I usually give the clock to my guests at the twelve-hour mark, but alas I overslept a tad this morning. My apologies, my dear.” A flash of the sly look again.

“What time is it?” She managed to get the question out in a semi-normal voice.

By way of an answer, he started turning the hands on the clock until it read seven-ten. “But as I said, it’s totally up to you. I’ll take it away again if you want me to.”

“No, I’ll keep it,” she pushed out through stiff lips. It would give her some sense of when he would be likely to come back.

He tilted his head in a slight nod and put the clock down on the small table.

“Uh, I’m really hot and sweaty under this straightjacket. You’ve got that gun you can use to keep me from trying anything. Do you think I could get out of this thing for a few minutes and maybe wash up some?” She tilted her head toward the bathroom and tried to school her face into a passive expression.

“Hmm, that would be helpful later, you know, afterwards.”

Adrenaline shot through her system. Her heart pounded. “What do you mean?” Her voice trembled and she instantly hated herself for asking the question.

He smiled at her and patted her knee. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I always leave my guests clean and in a place where they’ll be found quickly.” He stepped away from her. “Maybe I can let you wash up a little later, but for now I need to run an errand.”

He walked over to the wall, sketched her a cheery little wave, then touched the magic spot and left.

The clock ticked in the silence. Sally resisted the urge to bring her foot up and smash in its face.

It was the ultimate psychological torture, to hear and see the minutes ticking away. But she doubted any of his “guests” had ever turned down the clock. Better to know than to not know how much time one had left.

CHAPTER TWENTY

6:15 a.m. Sunday

The jangling phone jolted Kate out of her semi-slumber. Her head was slumped over onto her shoulder. When she moved it, pain shot from her neck up into her skull.

Tim grabbed the receiver as the second ring began, then punched the speaker button.

“Tim? Uh, SSA Cornelius?” Jane’s voice, tired but with a hint of self-satisfaction in it.

“Yeah, you’re on speaker. Kate’s here…and Lieutenant Anderson,” he added as Judith strode into the room.

“I’ve got an address for you. I think it’s current. If so, we’re in luck. She lives in Maryland.”

“About time we had some luck with this case,” Judith muttered.

“Debra Cummings, née Chandler, lives in Ellicott City.” Like most non-Marylanders, Jane emphasized the
cot
of the last syllable.

“Where’s Ellicott City?” Tim also mispronounced the town’s name.

For some reason, that jarred Kate’s nerves. For a moment, she was looking across the table at a total stranger.

“County seat of Howard County,” Judith said. “West of Baltimore.”

Kate glanced at her watch. “And by the time we get there, it will be a semi-decent hour to be banging on someone’s door on a Sunday morning.”

Judith nodded curtly. “You two go interview her. I’m going to get my people back on the streets canvassing again.”

“What’s the point?” Kate startled. She hadn’t meant to say the thought out loud.

Judith looked at her, blew out air. Her face deflated for a moment, then the cop mask was back. “We keep looking,” she snapped, “until we find something.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

Something
…
Sally’s corpse if nothing else.

Kate’s shoulders sagged. Her vision blurred. She blinked hard.

Tim was jotting down the address Jane rattled off. “Thanks.” He disconnected the phone and jerked his head in the direction of the door. “She always that bristly?”

“No, only when she’s been without sleep for two nights running,” Kate said, her tone sharp. “Judith’s a good person, and a damned good cop.”

Tim held up his hands in a surrender gesture as he stood up. “Let’s go to Ellicott City.”

“It’s pronounced
Ella-cut
City, emphasis on the first two syllables.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Sorry,” Kate said, but she could hear the touch of surly still in her voice.

They walked toward the precinct exit in silence. Tim leaned past her to push the door open for her. “You know, we’re all sleep-deprived here.”

“Sorry,” she said again, more sincerely this time. She was relieved when he did not take her elbow.

Kate’s Prius was filled with an awkward silence.

As she drove, she tried to figure out why she was mad at Tim. She could come up with no good answer to that question.

So who was she really mad at?

Of course Skip immediately came to mind. But why was she projecting her anger at Skip onto Tim? Just because they had the misfortune to both be born men?

Okay, that’s a petty thought.

She had nothing against men in general. Indeed, her closest friend, after Skip, was a man.

The insight hit her so hard, she jerked the steering wheel.

Tim glanced over from the passenger seat. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Skip wasn’t the one having a seven-year itch. Well, maybe he was, but he wasn’t the only one. She was snapping at Tim because she was attracted to him, and didn’t want to be.

Or did she?

It felt good to know someone besides her husband was interested in her, that she could still turn a guy’s head. But did that mean she was interested in him, or was she just flattered?

She furtively checked Tim out in her peripheral vision. Long legs, lanky build, broad shoulders, rugged profile. Her skin tingled.

Shit!
She shook her head.

Tim looked at her again. “You sure you’re okay? I can drive if you’re tired.”

“No, I’m fine. Any particular way you want to handle this?”

“I’m thinking we tell her that we have a potential new lead in her foster sister’s case, but we need to know a bit about the Delaney family dynamics.”

“You’re not going to tell her what we suspect?”

“No,” he said. “She might still be in touch with her foster father. And there’s also the liability issue. In case we’re wrong, it could come back to bite me and the agency if we make any direct allegations.”

“Come on. You know we’re not wrong. Not after what Skip found up there.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t a legal search.”

“So you get a search warrant and go in and find the same stuff legally.”

Tim stared out the windshield for a moment. “Yeah,” was all he said.

Gray clouds hung low in the early morning light. Kate glanced in her rearview mirror, then moved into the right lane. She figured Frederick Road was probably as fast as any route this early on a Sunday morning. She turned off on the Catonsville exit.

A few minutes later, suburbia gave way to a country road, lined with bare-limbed trees and pines, and the occasional housing development. The speed limit dropped as they approached old Ellicott City. They passed a row of ancient, farm-style houses so close to the road that their porches were practically on the shoulder. Kate suspected they were built back when the road was much narrower, possibly still a dirt track.

The road curved around to a small bridge that crossed the tributary to the Patapsco River on which the Ellicott brothers had originally built their mills. The town’s main street was lined with three-story townhouses, also quite old. Their first floors had been converted into shops and restaurants, with apartments above. The only signs of life this early on a Sunday were at a coffee shop and a bakery about a block apart.

In a pleasant male voice, the GPS told her they were one point four miles from Mrs. Cummings’ street.

“Almost there,” Kate said just to break the silence between them.

Tim didn’t respond.

A few minutes later she pulled into the driveway of a brick, two-story house in a middle-class neighborhood. A small pink bike with training wheels lay on its side in the front yard. Pink and white streamers hung from the white plastic grips on the ends of the handle bar. They fluttered in the morning breeze.

Kate said a silent prayer that they weren’t about to upset the psyche of the bike owner’s mother.

They got out of the car and walked up onto a concrete front porch. Kate pushed the doorbell button. A soft chime sounded inside the house. They waited about thirty seconds.

Tim reached past her and hit the doorbell again.

More seconds ticked by. He started to nudge past her, his arm raised to knock on the door, when they heard the thunk of a dead bolt being thrown.

The inside door swung open. A petite, thirty-something woman, dark-haired and wearing a blue terrycloth bathrobe, stood on the other side of the storm door. She touched the door’s handle.

Kate suspected she was checking to make sure its flimsy lock was engaged. As if that would stop them if they were home invaders.