The Killing Game (32 page)

She shook her head and slipped off the wisp of her underwear and, after the briefest hesitation, he drew down his boxers. They took a moment looking at each other’s bodies, and Andi could feel desire sweep through her, awakening her deadened nerves.

“If—” he started to say. She put a finger to his lips.

“Make love to me.”

That’s all it took. With a muscular twist, he drove them both onto the bed and she was on her back and he was atop her, his mouth everywhere. Andi clutched the bedcovers, closed her eyes, and groaned. She couldn’t wait.
Couldn’t wait.
“Please,” she whispered, then Luke was stretched out above her, his knee wedging between her legs. She drew her legs apart and he slid between them easily, like they’d rehearsed their movements a thousand times before.

And then he was inside her and they were rocking in rhythm together. She had a moment of thinking of Trini and a sob collected in her throat, but the friction against her skin, the hardness inside her that probed her core, the desire firing her blood smashed those thoughts until there was only this, only him, only a reaching for pleasure. She heard herself, the breathy “Oh, oh, oh!” that accompanied the rising feeling of pure need. When she burst into climax, she cried out, and his answering groan of release followed almost immediately.

Afterward they lay in silence for several moments, except for the rapid beatings of their hearts, their twin raspy breathing.

When he lifted his head and looked at her, his blue eyes were sated but also filled with questions.

“Don’t spoil this moment,” she whispered. “I swear to God, Luke. Don’t.”

He half smiled and shook his head. “I have to. I didn’t use a condom. I didn’t even think about it. Maybe for the first time in my life.”

She closed her eyes, feeling tears well out of nowhere. “It’s all right. Nothing will happen.”
I can’t get pregnant. What happened with Greg was most likely a one-time thing. And then I miscarried.

Whether he believed her she didn’t know. But he didn’t pursue the subject and instead began kissing the line of her jaw, and soon enough they were making love again, this time excruciatingly slowly, in a way that drove all coherent thoughts out of her head.

Chapter Nineteen

It was five p.m. by the time September entered Maple Grove Assisted Living. She practically had her hand on her badge, ready to flash it at anyone she met, but the reception room and dining hall were empty, as were the halls. Saturday, she realized. Probably a skeleton crew on staff.

She made it to Grace’s room undisturbed and knocked on her door. “Grace?” she called. The television was blaring loudly, so September tried the handle, which turned beneath her palm. She eased the door open. “Grace?” she called again, louder, though the woman was seated on the sofa. She realized then that she was fast asleep.

Shutting the door behind her, September stepped across the room and switched off the television. The sudden silence practically screamed, yet Grace slept on. Worried, September walked over to her and checked her breathing. In that moment Grace woke up and yelped in fear.

September immediately stepped back, holding up her hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Grace. I’m September. Do you remember me? I came to see you a few days ago.”

She squinted at her. “Sure, I know you.”

September wondered. “I’m the detective who was asking you about Aurora Lane. I had a couple more questions. There was a family who drove an RV? Maybe had horses.”

Grace harrumphed. “Lots of ’em had horses. Hoity-toity, puttin’ on airs. But those ones—they didn’t have horses. White trash. That’s what they were.”

“Um . . . the RV people?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“Kim and Shithead.” She made a burbling sound that September took as a laugh. “That’s what I called him ’cause he was so mean. Got expelled by that other shithead, the landlord . . .”

“Mr. Mamet?”

“Sure enough.”

“He evicted them?” September asked.

“Yeah, they didn’t pay. Shame, shame, shame. So Elias kicked their butts right out of there.”

“Did they have a son?”

She screwed up her face, thinking hard, then said brightly, “My grandson!”

“You’re not talking about Caleb?”

She flapped a hand at September. “’Course not. Okay. He had money and he was a flirt.” She slid a sly look September’s way. “I just called him my grandson.”

“Was he Kim’s son?”

“Wha’cha talkin’ about?” She glared at September. “He was the horsey one!”

“The family that had horses?” September asked, trying to follow.

“
No
! You don’t listen! He came from over there.” She waved an arm out the window, and September wondered if she was thinking she was at Aurora Lane again.

Grace proved her right when she said, “By the lake. Hoity-toity. Y’know?”

“Your grandson—you called him your grandson—came from the Schultz Lake area?”

“He rode horses there.” She closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “There were horses around and they rode them across the fields.”

“Was there someone whose name sounded like
shoe
?”

“No.”

“Or Laser?”

She blinked, clearly lost. “Who are you again?”

“Detective Rafferty. September Rafferty.”

“You ask too many questions.”

September smiled. “You might be right.”

“You ask too many questions! That’s what you did before!” Her face started to turn red. “Get out. Get out of my room!”

September debated asking her a few more, but an explosion was imminent, if it wasn’t already happening. Badge or no badge, she wanted to sidestep dealing with the staff or the Myleses if she could.

“Thank you, Grace,” she said.

“Get out!”

She hurriedly did as she was told, practically racewalking back down the hall. At least she had enough to ask Elias Mamet some further questions about his tenants. And she wasn’t going to let him put her off.

* * *

Andi turned over in bed and into Luke’s arms. She felt sad and needy and deeply scared but undeniably safer with Luke around . . . and well, better now.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

He was leaning on one elbow, watching her face. She smiled faintly. “Seven?”

“Five-thirty.”

“You sound like you’re getting ready to leave.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. She hoped it sounded like disappointment rather than fear.

“I want to catch up with Thompkins, if I can. Maybe I can call Marjorie. Get some more information.”

“But you plan to come back tonight.”

“I’d like you to go with me. I don’t want you here alone.”

“I can certainly lock the doors.”

“It’s too isolated. It might be better if I tackle Thompkins alone, but I can take you to my office or my apartment, but my office is closer to Laurelton PD.”

“As much as I’d like to see your apartment, I’ll opt for the office.” Feeling his gaze following her as she climbed out of bed, she turned back. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“I need one, too. Maybe we could—”

“Share water? Save the environment?”

He flashed a grin at her and threw back the covers with gusto.

* * *

September was talking fast into her cell phone. “Mr. Mamet, if you could just take a moment to search your records. I would like the name of the people who owned an RV but leased your rental house from you. Or they purchased the RV before they left your rental. I understand you may have evicted them?”

She held her breath as she pulled into the station. Mamet had answered her call, but he never stayed on the line long. He was retired and she’d been to his home once, but it was about two hours south of Laurelton, and that time he’d practically thrust the list of renters at her and slammed the door in her face.

“RVers,” he said.

“That’s right. RVers. They could possibly be named Kirkendall, Wright, Patten, or Brannigan.” She had the four renters’ names she was focused on down pat.

“Kirkendall,” he spat. And then, “Or Patten. One of ’em.”

“I know I’ve asked you this. But did any of them own a horse, or horses?”

“Look, ma’am,” he said in a warning tone. He never would call her detective. “I already told you, they brought horses in, took horses out, never paid me a dime. That land stretched back to the creek and there’s a gate, then you can go all the way to Schultz Lake on Flinders farmland. You know the Flinders? Owned everything around here, and that big piece of land is just waiting for some greedy developer to chop it up.”

This was more information than she’d gotten in all her phone calls to him. He seemed to like to gripe, so maybe that was a way of cracking open his resistance. “Do you remember the names of any of those horsey people?” She inflicted just a touch of sarcasm on
horsey
.

He jumped in eagerly this time. “One of ’em, the missus, was a horse nut for sure.” He snorted. “Husband was a beer drinker. Watched lots of sports. Big Raiders fan. He was a plumber, but mostly he was out of work. By choice, ’cause he didn’t much like work, that’s for sure. But the missus had her nose in the air. Thought she was all that and more, but she wasn’t nothin’ much. He knew it and made faces about her behind her back.”

Lovely couple,
September thought as she climbed from her Jeep and headed for the department’s front doors. “Did they have a teenaged son?”

“How the hell should I know?” he groused. “They lied to me about the horses. Probably lied about kids, too. All of ’em.”

“Were these horsey people any of the four names I gave you?”

He sighed heavily, as if she’d really put him out. “All of ’em coulda had horses. Probably did. Nobody was honest. That’s the trouble with renters. Maybe it was the Brannigans who snuck in an old piece of dog meat for a while. Had little kids that liked to ride. Thing was so wide you couldn’t get a saddle cinched around it.” He wheezed out a short laugh.

“And the Brannigans aren’t the RV people?”

“Nope, those were . . . the Kirkendalls . . . or the Pattens. I told you.”

“Yes, thanks. But the horsey people could be the Brannigans, or any of the other three families?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya.” He was annoyed.

She pushed through the glass double doors and saw that Guy wasn’t at the reception desk. Hallelujah. It was Saturday, and a young woman named Claudia was at his post, so September wouldn’t be subjected to all Guy’s rigmarole. “Do you remember anything about the Wrights?” she asked Mamet. “The other name on the list?”

“Nope.” He was shutting down.

“Why did you evict the RVers?”

“Didn’t much like ’em.”

That didn’t sound like legal grounds for eviction, but maybe he just hadn’t renewed their lease. Before she could formulate another question, he put in, “Now I’ve told you all I’m gonna tell you. You have more questions you keep ’em to yourself. And I don’t care if you’re the police, the Pope, or God, I’m through talkin’. You got that, missy?”

“Loud and clear,” September responded.

Her answer was a click in her ear.

Claudia buzzed September right through with a quick nod of recognition. Thank God for small favors.

September set her messenger bag down at her desk and pulled her notebook out of it. She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then sat down and wrote down her conversations with Tommy, Grace, and Elias Mamet, as close to her recollection as she could come. Then she looked up the phone numbers and addresses for the four names she’d zeroed in on. The Pattens’ current phone number and address were in Hood River, about an hour and a half from Laurelton in good traffic. The Wrights had moved to Tacoma, south of Seattle, and the Brannigans now lived in Portland, on the east side of the river. They were the closest, except for the Kirkendalls, who were still in the Laurelton area but apparently had no phone. Or none that September could discover. But she had their address, so it was just a matter of catching them at home.

No time like the present, she decided. She was stuffing her notebook back in her bag and was about to leave the near empty squad room when her cell phone buzzed. Seeing it was Wes Pelligree, George’s partner and one of September’s favorite people, she answered with a smile. “You caught me. I’m working. For free, so don’t tell anyone.”

“I just got a call to come in, but I’m with my mother, who’s taken a turn for the worse.”

“Oh, Wes, I’m sorry.” Wes’s mother had been in the hospital for several weeks with an internal infection that wouldn’t clear up.

“George is on another case, but dispatch called me. The Sheriff’s Department found a body in the Quarry quarry. Her ID was with her. She’s Tracy Farmgren, twenty-five, and it looks like she was dumped there. She lived in Laurelton, so we’re going to be working with Winslow.”

Quarry, Oregon, was serviced by the Winslow County Sheriff ’s Department. “You want me to call them?”

“Yes. Thanks. The deputy’s name is Barb Gillette.” He gave September the number.

“I hope your mother’s going to be all right.”

“Me too.”

September phoned the Sheriff’s Department and was put through to Detective Gillette. When she explained who she was, Gillette said, “The body’s at the morgue and it looks like it was thrown over the lip of the quarry. We’re working the ridge above, hoping someone saw the doer. It’s kind of a lover’s lane, but so far we’ve drawn blanks. We’re also short-staffed, so we thought maybe you guys could check with her place of work? It’s in Laurelton.

“Be glad to.”

“She was a receptionist at Sirocco Realty on Third and Londale.”

September had been writing down the name in her notebook but now froze in mid pen stroke.

Gillette went on, “Tracy worked there about two years. I spoke with one of the principal brokers, Kitsy Hasseldorn, who’s at the office today. That’s Kitsy with an
s
, not Kitty. She’s the one who’ll be expecting you.” There was a pause. “You got that?” she asked a bit impatiently, when September didn’t immediately say anything.