Satan’s Lambs (23 page)

“Clear,” Mendez said, finally. He took his handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. He waved a hand at the room. “He might have been looking for the money, but he must have known—”

“Mendez.”

“—
you
had it. I don't—”

“
Mendez
. Hayes hasn't been here.” Lena cleared her throat. “I've been busy, Joel. I haven't had time to clean up.”

“You haven't … oh. Oh.”

Lena sighed. “It's been a long night. I'm going to grab a shower, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How come you didn't wait like you said? You weren't supposed to come in till I signaled all clear.”

Mendez shrugged. “Did you check the basement?”

“First thing.”

“I'll take another look. Then I'll send my people home.”

“You're coming back?”

He nodded.

She smiled and shut the bathroom door. She wondered if he would be cleaning the room when she came out.

She turned the shower on hard and hot. Soap ran off her body in runnels of water. Had it been her imagination, or had she heard a yell? She turned the water off and listened. Nothing. She turned the water back on and washed her hair.

No bathrobe, and her clothes were dirty. She wrapped herself in a towel and went into the bedroom. Mendez was not cleaning up. He was crouched on the edge of the bed, face racked with pain.

“Joel? What—are you okay?”

He winced and held his knee.

“Joel?”

“Why is your couch on the basement staircase?” He spoke to her through clenched teeth.

“Mendez, you should have turned on a light.”

“I had hoped to sneak up on him.”

“Was he down there?”

“Not unless he's dead of a broken neck, or … this is not funny, Lena.”

“I'm sorry, Joel, really. Is your knee okay?”

“No.”

“At least you didn't hurt anything else.”

“My shoulder.”

“You know what? You've had a long day.” Lena headed for the bathroom. “What you need is a good hot bath.”

“Lena.”

“Quit arguing, Mendez.” She turned the water on, then opened her cabinet under the sink. She shoved a bottle of shampoo to one side, causing a chain reaction of falling clutter.

“What are you doing in there?”

“I'm looking for the bubble bath.”

“No.”

“Mendez, it'll relax you.”

“
No
bubbles.”

“I got some strawberry bath salts. Beth got them on sale.”

“Plain hot water.”
Mendez's voice came loudly over her left shoulder.

He had stripped off his shirt and was working on his pants. Lena sat on the side of the tub and watched him undress.

“Get in the tub, Mendez.” Lena touched his knee. “You got some bruise coming up.”

He stepped into the water, then eased down slowly in the tub. Lena turned off the taps.

“That feel good?”

Mendez leaned back and closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Mendez?”

“Hmmm?”

“I'm sorry about the couch. I was trying to move it downstairs and it got stuck. Then I thought, well, no way Jeff can sneak up through the basement with this in the way.”

“Why were you moving it downstairs?”

“So he couldn't hide behind it in the living room.”

Mendez opened one eye. “What bothers me the most, Lena, is that you make sense to me.”

Lena threw a washrag at him. “Scrub your own back.” She gathered up his clothes and left. Something in his back pants pocket clinked. Lena stuck a finger in the pocket to see what it was.

Mendez wasn't long in the bath. He stood in the wedge of light from the bathroom, then turned off the switch.

“Lena?” he said softly.

“In bed.”

His footsteps were soft on the carpet. He pulled back the covers and eased into bed.

Lena held both his hands and raised his arms over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“You'll see. Go on, grab hold of the bed frame.” Lena eased her body on top of his. “Feel good?”

“Uh huh.”

“Now close your eyes.” She slid her hands under the pillow, biting her lip at the telltale chink of metal. Mendez was tired, his reaction time slow, and even fumbling in the dark, Lena was able to snap the handcuffs in place.

He jerked his hands, hard, shaking the back of the bed.

“Too late, Mendez, I got you.”

“
Lena
. What are you doing?”

“Interrogating you. Did you and Detective Casey have dinner together in Louisville?”

Mendez was quiet for a moment, and then he began to laugh.

“I don't know what you think is funny. Answer my question, Mendez.”

“I think I'm flattered. And yes, we had dinner together.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I guess you just went out for a quick sandwich. Something fast and easy—not to interfere with the work.”

“She took me to Tattitores. Her favorite Italian restaurant.”

“I see.”

“Lena.” His voice deepened. “Anita Casey is a good cop and an attractive woman. But I only have eyes for you.”

“Mendez, that's sweet. Not that I care, you understand.”

“I understand. Will you let me go now?”

“You sure you want me to? The thing is, Mendez”—Lena snuggled closer—“now I've got you this way, it's like … it's like having a big dessert all to myself, with nobody asking for bites.”

“You are a deeply disturbed woman.”

“Okay, fine, I'll go get the key.”

He caught her legs between his. “Not just yet.”

37

The phone rang, and Lena snuggled deeper under the covers. Mendez reached over her head and picked up the receiver.

“Mendez.” He was quiet a moment. “She's here.”

Lena raised up on one elbow and took the phone. “Yes?”

“Lena?” The voice on the line was vaguely familiar. “This is Dr. Criswold. Delores Criswold, from Rolling Ridge.”

“Yeah, sure. How are you?”

“I'm sorry, did I wake you? I figured you'd be up after ten.”

“I had a late night.”

“Yes.” Dr. Criswold sounded knowing, and Lena glanced at Mendez. “Lena, when you talked to Melody yesterday, did she seem odd in any way? Particularly agitated? I know that's difficult to judge, considering the nature of your conversation, but—”

“What's up?”

“She's gone. She left last night after dinner.”

“At
dusk?
”

Yes. And she hasn't come back or called in. This doesn't feel right and I'm very worried about her. Did she say anything to you? About going anywhere?”

“What is it?” Mendez asked.

Lena covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Melody Hayes. She's disappeared.” Lena rolled onto her back. “Dr. Criswold, Melody seemed about right for what we were discussing. Didn't seem like she was going over the edge. Steady, under the circumstances.”

Delores Criswold sighed. “I thought so, too.”

“Has she ever taken off like this?”

“Not for a while now.”

“You think something's happened to her?”

“I don't know. I've got people out looking. They're gearing up right now.”

“Can I help?”

“No point, Lena. The people looking are all locals. You don't know the area.”

“One thing maybe I should mention. I guess you know as much about Jeff Hayes as I do. You know about the seashell? She said he'd sent her one. She dug it up and showed me.”

“I know.” Delores Criswold said. “She has them buried all over the grounds.”

Lena closed her eyes. “Call me if I can help.”

Gatewood Center was a down-at-the-heels shopping area, and parking was plentiful. Lena found a space near the front of the lot.

It had been a hard call, deciding whether or not to go back to Nashville and look for Melody Hayes. But Dr. Criswold was right, Lena didn't know the area. And the bottom line was that Melody Hayes had already given her the list of names. Charlie was only four years old. And Melody had said to hurry.

Lena walked across the crumbling asphalt. The sun was high, almost hot, early enough in the year to be considered friendly. Women were shopping in shorts. The doors of the grocery swung open and closed; nobody else was busy.

Benita's Shoppe of Beauty was dark and narrow and dirty, and it sat beside Ernie's Barber Shop. The glassed-in window was filled with curling yellow posters of ancient hairstyles. It was the only salon regularly open on Sunday. Lena had first gone in one Sunday afternoon several years ago, desperate after a very bad perm. It had been a tremendous risk, and she had stood outside the shop for a long time, watching the clientele. Men, women, well-heeled and rough-around-the-edges—all with beautiful hair.

The inside of the shop smelled like chemicals and hairspray. Business was slow. Only one man under the hairdryer, and a woman getting her hair frosted. A tiny Mexican woman, thick black hair layered back, looked up from the magazine she was reading.

“Lena! How you do?”

“Good, Benita. I'm good.”

Benita offered an open pack of Lay's Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chips. “Here, you want one?”

Lena took a chip. “Thanks for working me in this morning.”

“We not busy.” Benita dusted crumbs off her hands. “Sit down, sit down.”

Lena sat in a chair in front of a spotted mirror. Benita draped a plastic smock over Lena's shoulders and tied it behind her neck.

“Besides, I tell you before, I always got time for you.” She glanced at the woman in the other chair and pointed to Lena. “She the one Annie was telling you about. You got a problem, you go to her.”

The woman looked at Lena curiously. Annie, a tall, thin woman with short red hair, smiled at Lena as she pulled the woman's hair through holes in a heavy plastic cap.

“Hi, Lena.”

“Hi, Annie. How's your little girl?”

“Just learned to ride her bike.”

Benita smiled. “And Annie is going broke on Band-Aids.”

“You should get her a helmet and knee pads,” said the woman in the plastic cap.

The man under the dryer made a rude noise. “Just let the poor kid ride her bike.”

Benita turned the chair around and tilted it back. “What you want today, Lena?”

“Just a trim.”

“Want me to shampoo it?”

“Please.”

“Annie, hand me that conditioner. Lena, you hair getting dry. “You take some of this home. You take it home, and you use it two times a week. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You having any trouble with it?”

“The top part is getting in my eyes. Drives me crazy.”

“I fix that.”

Lena nodded. Benita could do anything. Benita lathered Lena's hair, and Lena closed her eyes.

“Lena, you got so many tangles all the time. I think you drive a convertible very fast before you come here.”

“How's Georgie these days?”

“Lena, he and Manda are engaged. Married in two months.”

“That's great, Benita. Tell him congratulations.”

“She such a nice girl.”

“What does your son do?” the woman in the cap asked.

“He major in journalism, but that not turn out,” Benita said. “He thought he wanted to be on the TV news, you know? He got the looks for it.”

“He
was
on the news,” Annie said. “For a while. He interned with WBRC. He did good.”

“Yeah, and that's when he got all that trouble,” Benita Said, shaking her head.

“What kind of trouble?” the man under the dryer asked. He spoke too loud, with the dryer in his ears.

Benita rolled her eyes. “Program director was a woman, and my Georgie, he very nice-looking boy. She like him, but he has a girlfriend, Manda. And Manda sweet girl, but she not going to put up with Georgie fooling around with no old lady program director.”

“Oh, Benita,” Annie said. “She wasn't that old.”

“She too old for my Georgie. And he made her very mad when he wouldn't meet her like she wanted. After work, like, you know.” Benita shook her head. “He come to me and say, ‘Mama, what do I do, I don't want to go.' I say don' go. Nothing she can do. But then, she say she going to give him bad grade for college credit. Say he have bad attitude and not work so good. Nothing we can do. So I tell Lena about this.”

Lena smiled and closed her eyes. Benita rinsed suds out of her hair.

“Next thing I know, she call up Georgie and say please excuse, she under personal pressures and not use such good judgment. And he get A because he did work hard while he was there. He did.”

The woman in the cap looked at Lena. “What did you do?”

Benita giggled. “She call this woman up. She say—your maid service not come today? Too bad, huh. That plumber you call not show up? Tough luck. And I hear your hairdresser, she not remember you had appointment. That too bad. Life can get very inconvenient.”

“You forgot the mechanic,” said Annie.

Benita giggled again. “Yeah, him too.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Lena said.

“It was coincidence, sure,” Benita said. “But this lady, she thought it was part of the parcel. She not so nice on the phone, but after about ten days of this … this inconvenient life … she begging to give Georgie A plus. Myself, I would have accepted a B. But Lena, she said Georgie do good work, and deserve to be taken care of.” Benita wrapped a towel around Lena's hair and patted it dry. “Lena, you do this when you dry. I can tell you now, you stop scramble that towel in your hair when it is wet. You have nice hair, you take care of it.”

Benita pulled a black comb from the pocket of her smock, and worked the tangles out of Lena's hair.

The haircut was unhurried. Benita turned Lena's head one way, then another. Annie answered the phone when it rang, which wasn't often, and the man under the dryer was unrolled and fluffed, and sent home happy.