What had she done?
Eve opened a bleary eye and rolled over, expecting Cole to be lying beside her. What felt like hours of intense, glorious lovemaking hadn’t been a dream. She was sore in all the right places to remind her that last night, while still on medication, she’d practically seduced Cole Dennis!
But the bed was empty, and as she turned to one side, pain ripped down her shoulder.
Oh yeah.
That.
She looked down at herself. All she was wearing was a sling.
“Great,” she mumbled, climbing out of bed and catching sight of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. It was worse than she’d thought. Inwardly groaning, she noticed her bruises, messed hair, and sunken eyes. Either she’d had a really good time last night or a really bad one.
So where was he?
Maybe he’d already taken off.
That would be good. Very good. She couldn’t get involved with him again. Not unless she wanted to play emotional suicide.
Face it, Eve. You are already involved.
Cringing at the thought, she heard Cole singing off-key, the atonal melody floating up the stairs along with the warm scent of coffee. Just like old times. As if they’d never experienced a horrid rift where they’d almost ended up in the courtroom, when she’d been certain he’d tried to kill her and he’d thought she was sleeping with another man.
And poor Roy had ended up dead.
“I’m living a soap opera,” she said, grabbing her robe, then heading barefoot to the second floor, where she locked herself into the bathroom, showered quickly, tossed back half a dose of pain pills, and towel-dried her hair. A slash of lipstick and the tiniest bit of mascara was all she could manage before she slipped on her robe, tightened the cinch, and nearly tripped over Samson on her way down the stairs.
“Watch out,” she warned the cat, then followed him to the kitchen, where bacon was sizzling in a frying pan.
Cole was at the sink.
Having the audacity to look chipper and hale.
Pouring coffee and scrambling eggs while a platter of hash browns steamed on the counter.
“You went shopping?” she asked as her grandmother’s old toaster clicked and two pieces of only slightly burned toast popped up.
“Just to the local market.” He cast her a glance and grinned wickedly, reminding her of the night before.
Bastard!
But her stupid heart rate skyrocketed despite herself. Damn the man, he knew what he did to her, and he took advantage of it. Even now, in the crummy jeans and T-shirt, facing away from her, slapping butter on the toast, he was sexy as all get out. His jeans hung low, his shirt stretched over his shoulders, and every once in a while she caught a glimpse of his smooth, muscular back as the hem of his shirt shifted.
“Like the view?” he asked, not even turning around.
She flushed. “The view’s fine.”
“Better than fine.”
“Way to be humble.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean? I was talking about the yard,” he said, hitching his chin toward the window, where the magnolia tree was visible. But his slow-spreading smile told her differently.
“You are a miserable piece of work, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse.” He found a cup, rinsed it in the sink then poured coffee into it. “Sleazeball, scumbag, jackass, you name it.”
“Lawyer?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one too.” He added a little cream to the coffee then placed it in front of her.
“You’re trying your best to be charming, aren’t you?”
“Just doin’ what comes natural.”
“Yeah, right.” She blew across her cup and tried to ignore how comfortable it felt here, in her house, with Cole. She’d been alone these last few nights, had told herself that’s what she wanted, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Look, Cole, about last night…”
“Hmm?”
“What we did was…wrong.”
“According to whom? The sex police or the Kama-Sutra squad?”
“Not funny,” she said, but her lips twitched a bit.
“Kinda funny.”
“Don’t derail me here, I have a point.”
“Which is?”
“We can’t act like horny teenagers.”
He turned to face her, his hands braced against the counter, his eyes boring into hers. “Your memory about the events might be a little fuzzy and disjointed, but mine is clear, and basically, I said ‘No’ and you kept pushing.”
She held up a hand, remembering how it all came about.
“You seduced me, not the other way around. I tried to be noble, but you were having none of it.”
“Okay, yeah, I know—”
“So just enjoy it. Chalk it up to a great experience.”
“But it won’t happen again?”
Now he smiled. “That, I can’t promise. And, judging from your actions last night, neither can you. Don’t even try to tell me it was all the meds, okay, cuz I just don’t buy it. I was there, darlin’, and in my right mind. I remember it all. Vividly.”
She dropped her gaze, felt the back of her neck grow warm.
“Don’t worry about it, okay? I think we have much bigger problems.”
She couldn’t argue that logic. “True. But in the light of things, I guess I need to call my lawyer and have the restraining order against you lifted.”
“That might help.” He slid a plate of scrambled eggs with cheese, hash-brown potatoes, and crisp bacon under her nose. “Here ya go. Dig in.”
“What, no parsley sprig?” she asked, though the food looked so good, her mouth watered.
“They were fresh out at the local market,” he quipped then set his plate on the table and handed her a paper towel and utensils. “No napkins either. But apples.” He pointed to a basket on the counter.
“You’re slipping,” she charged, taking the fork, knife, and spoon from his outstretched hand.
“No doubt. Now”—he gestured toward her plate with a finger—“eat. Then we’ll discuss who gets to call the police and tell them about the doll and the old hospital.”
She bit into a piece of toast. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“I know. But we have to.”
“After breakfast.”
“Definitely.”
The eggs were delicious, the bacon smoky and crisp, the potatoes divine. Eve had just decided she could get used to Cole pampering her when the phone rang.
“I don’t even want to know,” she said with a sigh. Then, seeing her brother’s number flash on the caller-ID screen, she braced herself. “Hello?”
“Eve? It’s Anna.” Her sister-in-law was breathless. “Have you heard from Kyle? He, uh, he hasn’t been home, and when I did reach him on his cell, he said he was in New Orleans!” She sounded undone as she took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Can you believe it? He never even asked me if I wanted to come down with him, didn’t so much as come home or pack or anything. Just left, apparently, on the same damned day you did!”
“I didn’t know,” Eve said, and in a heartbeat the warm domesticity of the few minutes before evaporated.
“He said he was going to see you…. Remember, I told you that he’s interested in the will? Look, if he shows up, have him call me, okay?”
“Of course.”
“I’m packing some things, not just my own, but for the big jerk too. I’ll leave in a few hours, and I’ll be down there sometime tonight, depending on traffic. But please have Kyle call me.”
“If I hear from him, I will.”
“Thanks.” Anna Maria let out a long sigh. “I don’t have to tell you we’ve been having some problems, but, unlike your brother, I think the best way is to face them and talk about them, not run away from them. Look, I’ve got another call coming in…. Have Kyle call me. Love ya, bye!”
She hung up, and Eve was left holding the phone. “My sister-in-law,” she said, setting the receiver into its cradle. “My brother’s in town. I guess he never went back home after I left Atlanta.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t say, but, believe me, I quit trying to figure out my family a long time ago.”
He snorted. “Join the club. Now, I think we should call the police and tell them about what we found.” He grabbed the backpack and pulled out the file on Faith Chastain. “After we look at this.”
Eve nodded with more than a little trepidation then scooted her chair back and scrounged in a few drawers with her good arm before coming up with two notepads and pens. “My guess is that the police will want to keep this.” She tapped on the file with a finger.
As she sat at the table again and started reading, he refilled their coffee cups then pulled a chair up next to hers.
It was weird, really, reading all the different notes, some typed, others handwritten, all regarding a woman who had suffered several nervous breakdowns, who’d battled depression, and who’d seemed to hallucinate. Nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists, and even some of the clergy had added to the file. Nowhere was there mention of a pregnancy or birth.
“Maybe this is all wrong,” Eve said, shaking her head. “I mean, what are the chances that I’m Faith’s daughter?”
Before Cole could answer, the doorbell pealed.
“Expecting someone?” Cole was already walking in his stocking feet toward the front of the house.
“At eight-thirty in the morning?” she asked, right behind him. “I don’t think so…. No, wait! Anna said that Kyle was on his way.”
“I think he’s here,” Cole said.
She peered around him, and through the narrow window flanking the door, she spied her oldest brother. Big and grim, he stared back at her through eyes that never seemed to smile.
Her heart sank.
“And he’s not alone,” Cole said, his voice terse and cool.
Eve caught a glimpse of Van standing off to one side, sporting an Arizona tan, smoking a cigarette, and looking nervous as a caged cat.
Both her brothers.
Here.
Now.
The morning just took a turn for the worse.
“No comment,” Bentz said, brushing past a reporter as he made his way to the cruiser. The crime scene, roped off and already being processed, was exactly what he’d expected, and as usual he’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he’d viewed the body, still lying in the courtyard, bloody number drawn on the wall, an unsightly tattoo scrawled upon her forehead, blood staining the edge of her wimple from white to red.
He’d managed to hold onto his morning’s coffee and ask a few questions before he discovered that the batteries in his pocket recorder had died.
The story was that Sister Odine, on her way to the chapel, had discovered the Mother Superior’s body. She’d called 911 and then, because she’d met him last fall, phoned Bentz as well. A deputy from the sheriff’s department had stopped by, and once he’d called in the homicide, Bentz was notified a second time, just before he’d pulled up to the convent.
Now he found an extra set of batteries in the glove box and headed back inside. The press were too close, and he barked at a couple of deputies to push the reporters, cameramen, bystanders, and vans back farther down the lane leading to the convent. It was light now, the day promising to be sweltering. He was already sweating.
Another reporter approached him, a thirtysomething woman with a toothy smile, salon-streaked hair, and intelligent eyes. “Detective, please, if I could just have a minute. Recently there were three murders, all similar, and all connected to the Our Lady of Virtues campus. Could you comment on any link to the crimes? Do we have another serial killer on the streets?”
Bentz stopped under the glare of the camera’s lights. “I have no comment at this time. But I’m certain the public information officer will issue a statement later today. Until then, there’s really nothing I can say.”
“But the public has the right to know what’s going on.”
“A statement will be issued.” He kept walking, leaving the reporter without any answers. He tried to keep his cool, but the press and the damned bystanders, gawkers who fed on this type of grisly crime scene, aggravated him to no end.
“Keep them back,” he said to a deputy as he made a sweeping gesture to the news crews and bystanders. From the corner of his eye, he saw a slim figure of a woman in a baseball cap who looked familiar. He looked more closely and recognized his daughter standing in a crowd of onlookers. She was looking straight at him but now turned away.
What the hell did Kristi think she was doing? If he weren’t so damned busy, he’d march over to the crowd and tell her to go home, go to work, go anywhere, but go away. For now, though, he had a job to do.
Christ, what a mess!
Bentz strode back through the gates and along a path to the convent itself. In the garden area, Bonita Washington moved carefully over the crime scene with gloved hands and booties on her shoes. “We’ve got a real sweetheart with this one,” Washington said as she nodded toward the frail nun’s body. “Santiago, make sure you get a shot of the tattoo on her forehead.”
Inez Santiago, long red hair wound onto her head, moved closer to the corpse and snapped a photo.
“Don’t mess with my scene, Detectives. We’re still processing,” Washington warned them.
Montoya hadn’t shaken his bad mood. “We know the drill. We just want to see what’s going on here.” He shot her a glare, and Bentz noted that his jaw was tight, his lips thin. He had personal ties to this order of nuns who still wore traditional habits long after Vatican II had loosened the dress code.
“Don’t we all?” she said, then motioned to two of her technicians. “Santiago, Tennet, how’re we doing?”
Santiago snapped another photo. “I need a few more minutes.”
A. J. Tennet, who often worked with the medical examiner, held up his collection case. “Got the blood samples.”
“Hold onto them…. We don’t want anyone accusing us of losing or compromising evidence,” Washington said, reminding everyone of the situation with Royal Kajak’s murder.
Tennet flashed a smile. “No way.”
“Good.”
As the technicians continued their work, Montoya and Bentz carefully studied the cloister garden where Sister Rebecca Renault had lost her life. Crickets chirped, a frog croaked, and the fountain gurgled as night slowly gave way to day. Aside from the dead body and blood staining the flagstones, this would be an idyllic place, a peaceful spot, an area of repose and contemplation.
Desecrated forever.
“Sometimes this job is a real bitch,” Montoya muttered.
Bentz squinted as sunlight began to pour over the garden walls. “Not just sometimes,” he said. “Always.”
He spent another couple of minutes eyeing the area, envisioning how the killer got in, how he surprised the little nun, how the killing went down.
She never had a chance, he decided as he headed inside. The dark hallways were quiet, just a few hushed whispers as the nuns sat in a row, waiting their turn to be called into the small room they were using for interrogation. Sister Rebecca’s own sparse room and more opulent office were being processed, considered part of the crime scene, as was the area where she was found, in the cloister not far from the chapel door.
Helluva place for a homicide, Bentz thought, refilling his pocket recorder with the batteries and taking a seat across from Sister Odine. She was a frail-looking woman, somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies he guessed, and as sharp as a tack.
She and the other nuns told him essentially the same thing. Sister Rebecca had been at Vespers and then, as was her usual routine, worked later in her office. Several of the sisters had looked through their windows and seen the lights glowing in the Reverend Mother’s place of business.
It wasn’t all that odd for her to go alone to the cloister gardens or chapel. She’d been a spry woman who existed on few hours of sleep each night. Sister Odine had discovered her body on the way to the chapel early in the morning.
Montoya asked for records of anyone who had visited or called Sister Rebecca over the past two months, and Bentz requested the same of everyone who lived in, or was employed by, Our Lady of Virtues. Some of their questions were deferred to the local parish, others to the Archdiocese, and when they asked for records of employment or admittance to the hospital, Sister Odine opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head, her wimple rustling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have no idea where those might be. You could check with the Archdiocese, of course, and go through whatever we have here, but the hospital has been closed for so many years, I’m not certain those records still exist.” She blinked several times then anxiously touched the crucifix dangling from her neck. “They must, of course. I’ll search for them.”
“An officer will be assigned to help you,” Bentz said, and the little nun’s eyebrows raised over her rimless glasses. Though it was unstated, she knew that Bentz was doggedly pursuing evidence, that he trusted no one, not even a woman who had pledged her life to the Lord forty years earlier.
They questioned everyone and found out little while the crime-scene techs vacuumed, photographed, videographed, and dusted the scene. As Bentz and Montoya left, the techs were still searching the grounds for trace evidence. So far no one had discovered how the killer had breached the walls of the institution. The gates had been locked, as they had been for the past few years, and the perimeter appeared undisturbed.
Bentz glanced up at the walls. They were certainly not impossible to scale, especially with the use of a ladder, but they’d found no impressions in the mud to indicate that a ladder had been used, nor had they yet discovered any boot- or shoe print. But it was still early.
The killer couldn’t be so lucky.
Not all the time.
Sooner or later, he’d slip up.
Bentz only hoped it happened before another person was butchered.
“For Christ’s sake, Eve! What the hell is he doing here?” Kyle demanded, eyeing Cole as if he were Satan incarnate.
“I was invited,” Cole said, though Eve knew that was a bit of a stretch. “What about you?” He’d made it clear to her more than once that he’d never much cared for either of her brothers. Obviously, he didn’t see any reason to be polite now.
“We’re here because of our father,” Van said as he tossed his cigarette over the railing to sizzle in the dewy grass. He was shorter and fairer than Kyle, his hair straight and dirty blond while Kyle’s was thick and the color of dark coffee. Both of them had inherited the same icy blue eyes of their father, or so Melody Renner had claimed, though Eve had never so much as seen a photograph of the man.
“But this is the guy you accused of murdering Kajak, and now you’re what—?” Kyle ranted. “Sleeping with him? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”
“Let’s not get into it out here,” Eve said calmly, stepping out of the doorway to allow her brothers inside. “And keep it clean, would you, Kyle? I have neighbors.”
“For the past three months you claimed that this guy murdered Kajak and tried to kill you!”
“I was wrong.” She slammed the door shut and tried counting to calm down.
“Just like that?” Kyle snapped his fingers while Van looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. “This is fucking unbelievable.”
“She said to clean it up,” Cole said, bristling, the muscles on the back of his neck rigid.
“So the minute you’re out of my sight, you hook up with this…this killer and lay on your back for him. What kind of weird fantasy are you having now?”
“You’d better leave,” Cole bit out, eyes narrowing, the sizzle of a fight in the air.
“Take your own advice,” Kyle said, his face red, his nostrils flared. He jabbed a finger at the floor. “This was our grandmother’s house, man. You have nothin’ going on here!”
“Enough!” Eve stepped between them. “I think we’ve heard and seen way more testosterone this morning than we want to.” She looked from Kyle to Cole. “Both of you, just back off and take it down a notch or two.”
Kyle muttered tersely, “Don’t be an idiot, Eve. He’s playing you.”
Every muscle in Cole’s body flexed, but his voice was cool, the detached counselor, when he said, “If anyone’s playing anyone, Renner, I figure it must be you. Why are you here now? Because of your old man? Don’t forget, I represented him. I know how close you were. You two boys just rolled into town to pick over his corpse.”
“That’s not the way it is!” Van sputtered, but he was nervous, and when Cole focused on him, Van looked away.
“So, let’s start over,” Eve suggested. “And be civil about it.”
No one said a word for a few seconds. Eve’s brothers eyed the foyer, parlor, and staircase as if they’d never been inside Nana’s old house before. As she shepherded them toward the kitchen, Kyle ran a finger along the top of the hallway wainscoting and Van stared at the pictures, light fixtures, rugs, and furniture as if he were doing a mental tabulation of what it was all worth.
“Nice place,” Van observed, clearly trying to defuse the situation.
Grateful that the fight had abated, Eve realized it had been years since either of them had set a foot on the ancient floorboards. “We just finished breakfast, but there’s coffee and toast,” she offered.
Cole led the way and somehow managed to scoop up Faith Chastain’s file and place it under a stack of three-month-old magazines.
“Don’t bother,” Kyle said as she reached for cups in the cupboard. He wiggled a finger at her arm in its sling, as if he finally noticed she might be hurt. “What happened?”
“I fell.”
Van glanced at Cole. “Yeah?”
“Over my own two feet,” she said tightly. “A real klutz move, but I can still make and pour coffee.”
“I’m okay,” Kyle said.
“Me too. Coffeed out.” Van nodded. “We’re here about Dad. To see if you need any help with the funeral or the estate.”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought of either yet. The police still haven’t released Dad’s body.”
“How long does that take?”
“Depends. On a lot of things.” Cole picked up an apple from the basket, passing it between both hands, a release of tension. “You can request it, but until the police have all the information and tests they need, you’ll have to wait.” He tossed the apple upward and, without watching it, caught it one-handed. “In a hurry?”
“No need to drag it out.” Kyle reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, shook one out, and jabbed it between his lips. He found his lighter in the same pocket and was about to light up when he caught Eve’s discouraging gaze.
“Oh for the love of God, Eve, you won’t let me smoke? After all the time you stayed at my place?”
“Outside.” She tossed him the phone. “And call your wife while you’re at it. She’s half out of her mind with worry about you.”
“Half out of her mind is about right. That woman!” But he took the phone.
“Call her cell. She’s on her way down here.”
“Oh fu—!” Sending her a dark glance, he hauled the phone and his cigarettes outside.
As the door closed behind him, Van said, “Listen, Eve, I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you more often, you know, while you were recuperating, but I was busy and…well, I know that isn’t much of an excuse, but you know I’ve never really caught a break.” His lips compressed. “Not one damned break. I’ve just been trying to make ends meet. Hell, I even moved to Arizona because an old army buddy of mine said things were booming out there.”
“Not so?” she asked while Cole stood near the window, where he could watch Kyle outside.
“More like a bust. I was about to pull up stakes anyway. I’d already called Kyle.”
“He never said anything.”
“I don’t think he wanted to worry you or Anna.”
Bull, Eve thought but held her tongue.
Van ran a hand through his hair. “So the thing of it is, I’m…”
“Broke,” Cole guessed.
Van nodded, glanced through the window, and frowned. “So the faster we could wrap up Dad’s estate, you know, the better it would be for me. For Kyle. Hell, for you too.”
“I’m not the executor, Van. At least I don’t think so.”
“You don’t have a copy of the will?”
She shook her head.
“Then it must be at his house.” Van brightened at the prospect.
“The farm is a crime scene. I’m not sure the police have released it yet.”
“Jesus, how long does it take?”
“A lot longer than on television,” Cole said.
“So how do we find out about the money? He was loaded.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” she admitted.
“But someone must,” Van insisted. “I could really use the money.”
“Who says you’re entitled to any?” Cole asked. “Terrence might have left everything to charity, for all you know.”
“Nah. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.” Van seemed almost frantic. He shoved his long hair from his eyes. “Look, Eve, we have to get this settled.”
“We will, when we get into his house and find the will.”
Cole pushed away from the window. “Check with Guy Perrine at O’Black, Sullivan and Kravitz. I’m not sure, but Terrence might have worked with him. You’ll be better off not mentioning my name. I’m still persona non grata down there.”
“And if this person, this Guy, doesn’t have the will?”
Cole’s cool gaze met Van’s anxious one. “Then I guess you’re shit out of luck.”
“Let’s not go there,” Eve said as Kyle pushed the door open so hard it banged against the wall.
“She’s on her way,” he said, glowering at Eve as if all his marital problems were her fault. “And she’s really freaked out about the nun.”
“The nun?” Eve asked blankly.
“The Reverend Mother at Our Lady of Virtues.”
“Sister Rebecca?” Eve’s knees threatened to give out as she read the message in Kyle’s eyes. Something horrible had happened.
Kyle nodded. “That’s the one. Anna Maria says it’s all over the news. Guess she was killed last night.”