“Since you got a welcome mat instead of a guard dog,” he said, with a pointed look at the puppy, “I want you to be especially careful until I satisfy myself there’s nothing to worry about with this tag-number deal. There are a few things I want to check out. Until then, I’ll drive you to and from work, and stay here at night.”
“Okay,” she said, a little astonished. It sounded as if he planned to move in, at least for the short term. What astonished her was how pleased she felt. She should be out trying to find a husband, but she didn’t feel as enthusiastic about it as she had just a few days before. Of course, a few days before, she hadn’t had a lover, and she hadn’t watched him cradle her puppy in his strong arms to carry it out for a nature call in the middle of the night. Just remembering that made her feel squishy, as if she had turned to mush inside.
Maybe Jack wasn’t her type, but somehow she didn’t much care.
“The city council meets tonight,” he continued, “so I’ll bring you home, then go to my house to shower and change clothes, and come back here when the meeting’s over.”
“Should I wait with supper?” she asked, just as if they did this all the time.
“No, go ahead and eat. If you have the chance.” He gave Midas a wry glance, then began chuckling. The puppy had dozed off, still on his back with his feet in the air.
While she was thinking of it, she called her mother to see if she was still willing to puppy-sit.
“I’ll come over there,” Evelyn said. “As far as I’m concerned, that fenced back yard is priceless. I’ll be over about eight-thirty, so you’ll have plenty of time to get to work.”
That taken care of, Daisy hung up the phone and immediately began to worry about how she would explain to her mother why Jack was driving her to work. As for explaining his presence—she was, after all, a thirty-four-year-old woman—she didn’t owe explanations about her love life to anyone.
“You have to leave,” she said. “My mother’s coming over.”
He seemed to be fighting a grin. “If you feed me breakfast, I’ll be out of here by eight o’clock I’ll go home, shave and change clothes, and be back here in plenty of time to get you to the library.”
“It’s a deal,” she said promptly. “It doesn’t take long to whip up a bowl of cereal.”
“Biscuits,” he wheedled.
Exasperated, she turned on the oven.
“And eggs and bacon.”
What was a home-cooked meal, compared to the trouble he was going to on her behalf? He was just lucky she had stocked up on all the necessary things out of habit before she realized she wouldn’t be doing much cooking for herself. Cereal in the morning and a sandwich at night was much more practical when there was only one sitting down at the table.
She put the bacon in the flying pan, covered it with a screen so the grease wouldn’t splatter all over her new stove, then got out the flour, oil, and milk and began mixing up the biscuit dough. Jack watched in amazement. “I thought you would use the canned kind.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You actually know how to make homemade biscuits?”
“Of course I do.” She stopped to take out her new biscuit pan and coat it with nonstick cooking spray. She didn’t roll out the dough, but did it the way her mother had taught her: she pinched off a certain amount of dough, rolled it into a ball, flattened the ball with a quick pat, and placed it in the pan.
“Aunt Bessie did it that way,” he said, fascinated. “She called them choke biscuits, because she choked off the dough instead of using a biscuit cutter.”
“Biscuit cutters are for sissies.” She had made as many biscuits as she, her mother, and Aunt Jo usually ate, but she figured Jack would eat as much as two of them put together. The oven was still heating, so she checked on the bacon and turned it.
Jack got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, grabbed the Huntsville morning paper off the counter, and went back to the table. Daisy hadn’t had time to even glance at the paper the day before, because of Midas, but she could always read it at the library.
The oven beeped as it reached the pre-set temperature. Daisy put the biscuits in to bake and turned to get the eggs out of the refrigerator. As she did, a picture on the front page caught her eye. The man looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him.
“Who’s that?” she said, frowning a little as she pointed.
Jack read the caption. “His name was Chad Mitchell. A hunter found his body Sunday morning.”
“I know him,” she said.
He put down the paper, his gray-green eyes suddenly sharp. “How?”
“I don’t know. I can’t quite remember.” She got out the eggs. “How do you want them, scrambled or fried?”
“Scrambled.”
She cracked four eggs into a bowl, added a little milk, and beat them with a fork. “Set the table, please.”
He got up and began opening cabinet doors and drawers until he found the plates and silverware. Daisy stared absently at the bacon as she turned it one last time.
“Oh, I know!” she said suddenly.
“He was a library patron?”
“No, he was at the Buffalo Club. He tried to dance with me, that first night, and wanted to buy me a Coke, but the fight started before he could get back.”
Jack set the plates down and gave her his full attention. “That was the only time you saw him?”
She cocked her head as if studying a scene in her memory. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? It either was or wasn’t.”
“I’m not certain,” she said slowly, “but I think I saw him in the parking lot of the club on Saturday night, before I went inside. He was with two other men; then a third one got out of a car and joined them. He didn’t seem all that drunk when he came out of the club, but then he passed out and they put him in the bed of a pickup.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck in an almost angry gesture. “Jesus,” he muttered.
She stared at him, her cheeks a little pale. “Do you think I was the last person to see him alive?”
“I think you saw him get killed,” he said harshly.
“But—but there wasn’t a shot or anything. . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and she sagged against the cabinet.
Jack looked at the article, checking his facts. “He was stabbed.”
She swallowed and turned even whiter. Jack started to reach for her, but she suddenly gathered herself and did what women have done for centuries when they were upset: they busied themselves doing normal stuff. She tore off a paper towel and lined a plate with it, then took up the bacon, placing it on the paper towel to drain.
Moving that flying pan out of the way, she took out a smaller one, sprayed it with cooking spray, then poured the beaten eggs into it and set it on the hot eye. She checked the biscuits, then got the butter and jam out of the refrigerator and set them on the table.
Jack looked around. “I don’t want to use the cordless. Do you have a land line?”
“In the bedroom.”
He got up and went into the bedroom. Daisy busied herself stirring the eggs and watching the biscuits as they rose and began to brown. After a minute he came back into the kitchen and said, “I have some people checking into some things, but I’m afraid one of the men in the parking lot saw you, and got your tag number.”
She stirred the eggs even harder. “Then call the mayor and ask him who gave him the number.”
“There’s a slight problem with that.”
“What?”
“The mayor lied to me when he asked me to run the number. He may be involved.” Jack paused. “He’s probably involved.”
“What do we do?”
“I’ve already taken steps to make sure no one can find you. Don’t tell anyone you’ve moved; tell your mother and aunt not to mention it—in fact, call your mother back and tell her to make certain no one follows her when she comes over here.”
She gaped
at him. “This is my mother, not James Bond!”
“Then tell her to let your aunt drive. I think that woman could outdo Bond.”
In the end, he was the one who called her mother, and in a calm tone told her what he wanted her to do. Daisy concentrated on breakfast, which was about all she could handle right then. “Another thing,” she heard him say, “do you have Caller ID? Then erase it. I don’t want Daisy’s number showing up anywhere.”
“I need to give a statement,” she said when he hung up. “Don’t I?”
“As fast as possible.” He picked up the phone again and hit redial. When her mother answered, he said, “Daisy won’t be at work today. Call—”
He glanced at Daisy, who said, “Kendra.”
“—Kendra and tell her to handle things. Make something up. Tell her Daisy has a toothache.”
When he hung up again, he said, “If this guy is trying to get to you before you can give a statement and description, possibly even make a positive i.d. from police photos, then the thing to do is give it as fast as possible so he won’t have anything to gain.”
“Don’t I have to be alive to testify?” she asked, and was proud her voice was so steady. She raked the fluffy scrambled eggs into a bowl, took the perfectly browned biscuits out of the oven and dumped them in a bread basket, then set everything on the table.
“You will be,” he said. “That’s a promise.”
TWENTY
Sykes did something he’d never done before: he called Temple Nolan at home, bright and early Tuesday morning. Wherever the blonde worked, he wanted to be there in plenty of time to intercept her if possible, or in place to follow her home when she left. It would make for a long day, but he was a patient man.
Temple answered on the third ring, his voice fogged with sleep. “Y’ello?”
“It’s me.”
“Sykes!” Instantly, Temple sounded more alert. “For God’s sake, what are you doing calling me here?”
“The Minor woman never showed up at the address you gave me. You sure she lives there?”
“I’m positive. She’s lived there her whole life.”
That answered one question, Sykes thought; the mayor definitely knew the woman personally.
“Then she stayed somewhere else last night. Maybe she has a boyfriend.”
“Daisy Minor? Not likely,” Temple scoffed.
“Hey, if she’s hanging out at the Buffalo Club, she isn’t Mother Teresa.”
“I guess so,” Temple said reluctantly. “And she’s bleached her hair. Damn!”
“The good news is, she seems to be clueless.”
“Then maybe we could forget about—”
“No.” Sykes was decisive. “She’s a loose end. The shipment of Russians will be here soon; do you want to take the chance this Minor woman doesn’t screw up things? I don’t think Phillips would take kindly to losing that much money. The Russians are worth three times any of our other shipments.”
“Shit.”
Hearing acceptance, Sykes said, “So where does she work? If I can, I’ll grab her this morning, maybe at lunch. If not, I’ll follow her this afternoon when she gets off and get her then.”
“She’s the damn librarian,” Temple said.
“Librarian?”
“Hillsboro Public Library. She works next door to city hall. She opens the library at nine and she’s the only one working until lunch, I think, but you can’t grab her there. There are too many people going and coming from city hall and the police department, and you can see the library parking lot from both places.”
“Then I’ll follow her at lunch, see if I get a chance. Don’t worry. One way or another, I’ll get her today.”
As the two men hung up, in her bedroom Jennifer Nolan quietly depressed the disconnect button and held it as she settled the receiver back into place. She had been listening in on Temple’s calls for years now, a sick compulsion she couldn’t resist. She had heard him make assignations with so many different women she had long since lost count, and yet every time he did, a little part of her still died. Over the years she had tried to muster enough self-respect to divorce him, but it was always easier to dull things with alcohol and other men. Sometimes she had even been able to drink enough that she could pretend the other men hurt him the way his women hurt her, but she had lost even that forlorn hope when he began asking her to sleep with men to whom he owed favors.
Elton Phillips was one of those men, and since then Jennifer had actively hated her husband, hated him with a fierceness that ate at her like acid. He knew, he had to have known, what Elton Phillips was like, and still Temple had sent her to him. In the privacy of Phillips’s bedroom she had screamed and cried and begged, and in the end merely endured, praying that she wouldn’t die—until she reached the point that she prayed she would die.
But he hadn’t intended to kill her; there was no need. He trusted Temple to keep her under control, not that she would have gone to the cops anyway. She never wanted her children to find out what had been done to her, or what part their father had played in it. Jason and Paige barely tolerated her anyway, because of the alcohol; they would turn their backs on her forever if they knew about all the other men, and Jennifer had no doubt Temple would make certain they knew.
Had Temple even noticed that she hadn’t willingly had sex since she’d recovered from Phillips’s assault? She could barely tolerate it now, and only if she’d had enough to drink beforehand. Temple had even stolen that pleasure, sordid as it had been, from her. She had nothing left now except her children.
And maybe Temple had just given her the means to get rid of him and keep Jason and Paige.
She struggled to remember all she’d heard. Temple had said the man’s name, something like Lykes. No—it was Sykes. And something about a shipment of Russians, which didn’t make sense. She couldn’t imagine Temple being involved in bringing in illegal aliens; he was vociferous in his opinion about what the country needed to do to beef up its borders to stop the flow of wetbacks. She knew one thing, though: if Elton Phillips was involved, then it was nasty.
But that about Daisy Minor—Jennifer was certain she hadn’t misunderstood that. Daisy was a “loose end,” and loose ends were tied up. Jennifer knew what that meant, though how Daisy could be involved with Temple was also something that didn’t make sense; Temple went for glossy women who knew the rules and never gave him any trouble. It sounded as if Daisy was causing a lot of trouble. That man, Sykes, was going to “get” her. He’d meant kill her.
She needed to tell someone about this, but who? The local police department would be the logical choice, but how likely were they to take her seriously? Their mayor was planning to kill the librarian? Plus he’s smuggling in Russians? Sure. Very believable.
At the very least she needed to warn Daisy. Jennifer reached for the bedside phone, but stopped before lifting the receiver. If she could listen in on Temple’s calls, he could listen in on hers.
She had until lunchtime; that was when Sykes was going to try to grab Daisy.
Whom to call? The Jackson County Sheriff’s Department? The FBI in Huntsville? Or Immigration? Not the sheriff’s department, she thought; with the kind of network Temple had built, they were too close for comfort. Temple spent a lot of time in Huntsville, though; could he have any influence on the federal level? Surely not. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was underestimate him; she’d have this one chance, and one chance only, to get away from him and not completely lose what little affection her children had left for her.
She tried to think, something she hadn’t let herself do in far too long. She had no friends whom she could call for help or advice. Her parents had moved to Florida, and her one brother hadn’t spoken to her in years; she didn’t think she even had his phone number. When had she become so isolated?
She had to do something, even if it was nothing more than drive to the library and warn Daisy. She wouldn’t even have to do that. She could just wait until Temple left th
e house, so he couldn’t overhear her, and then call to warn Daisy. That was okay for the short term, but she had to figure out something that would stop Elton Phillips and her husband, once and for all.
Evelyn dropped what she was doing, got dressed, and came right over. As soon as she arrived at Daisy’s house, she fixed Jack with a mother’s gimlet stare and said, “What’s going on that you thought I might be followed, why shouldn’t we tell anyone where Daisy’s moved to, and why did I have to erase her number off my Caller ID?”
“It’s possible she witnessed a murder,” Jack said as he took his plate to the sink.
“My goodness,” Evelyn said weakly, sinking down into the chair he had vacated. Midas bounced around her feet in exuberant greeting, and she automatically leaned down to pet him.
“The body was found in Madison County, so I’m taking her to Huntsville to give a statement. What has me worried is that someone got her tag number and had it traced, so someone may be trying to find her. I might be overreacting, but until this is settled, I’m keeping her hidden.”
“This is my daughter you’re talking about You aren’t overreacting. Do whatever you have to do to keep her safe, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am. In the meantime, warn everyone in your family not to answer any questions about her. Don’t give anyone any information, not even the mayor. He may be involved.”
“My goodness,” Evelyn said again. “Temple Nolan?”
“He’s the one who had me trace the tag number.”
“There’s probably a perfectly good explanation—”
“Would you risk Daisy’s life on that possibility?”
“No, of course not.”
While they had been talking, Daisy had been methodically cleaning up the kitchen, her brow furrowed with thought. “If Mayor Nolan’s involved, then he knows all of us: Mother, Aunt Jo, Beth, me. None of them are safe, either, if the object is to get to me. He’d know I would do anything to protect them.” She looked at Jack; the colors of her eyes intensified in her pale face. “Can you protect all of them? Not just Beth but Nathan and the boys, too?”