Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

“Seems to me it’s a win-win situation for you,” Lorna said.

“Seems like it’s a colossal pain in the ass, all the way around. I wish to God none of this had ever happened.”

“There are four-maybe more-young men who’d no doubt share that same wish, Chief.”

“I’ll keep you informed, Lorna,” he said as he walked back to his car.

“Thanks, Chief. I’d appreciate it.” She went as far as the end of the walk. “Oh, by the way, Chief? Does the name Claude Raymond Fleming mean anything to you?”

He paused in mid-stride, then turned around.

“Where’d you come up with that name?”

“I just heard it.”

He scratched the back of his head. “It rings a bell, but I don’t know why. Not a name I’ve heard recently, but it has a familiar sound.”

“Was it someone local?”

“I don’t recall.”

“If you remember where you heard it, would you let me know?”

“Sure.” He got into the car and slammed the door. It echoed across the quiet yard between the house and the trees.

She waved as he passed by and wasn’t particularly surprised when he failed to wave back. She stood out in the drive for a few minutes, watching the stars fight their way through the haze of clouds, then went inside the house. In the dining room, she sat at her laptop and prepared the accounts payable and receivable reports for several clients and transmitted them via email. She’d gotten halfway through a profit-and-loss statement when she realized she was close to falling asleep at the table. She saved her work, turned off the computer, and locked up the house.

Lorna made her way upstairs, mentally compiling a list of things to do in the morning. Finish the P &L for her client, make a run to the supermarket-and oh, yes, take her mother’s ashes down to the pond.

Lorna was still drying her hair with a towel when the phone rang. The clock on her bedside table read eleven-thirty. She reached across the bed to grab the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Lori? It’s Rob.” He cleared his throat. “Is this too late to call?”

“No, no. I just got out of the shower. It’s fine, Robbie,” she assured him, wondering what was up. Rob never called. “How are you? Is everything all right?”

“Sure. Fine. Listen, I keep seeing all this stuff on the news out here, about this Body Farm thing. It’s our farm, right?” His voice held a hint of the incredulous. “It seems so surreal.”

“Tell me about it. And yes, it’s our farm, and surreal is exactly right. Law enforcement agencies-Callen PD, the county detectives, the FBI-everywhere you look, media vans parked all along the roadway. Mostly I ignore them, but I know they’re there. And I’ve stopped watching the news. I don’t want to see any more.”

“Well, these guys-these dead guys-they have any idea who killed them?”

“The FBI thinks it’s someone local, someone who lived here then who still lives here now. I don’t suppose I’m giving away any secrets by telling you they’re concentrating on the guys who were around the nights Melinda and Jason disappeared.”

“Like who?”

“Like the Keelers, like Dustin Lafferty.”

“Oh, good.” He added somewhat hastily, “Makes sense that they’d suspect the guys who were around those nights. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“It’s a starting point.”

“One thing the media hasn’t said much about is Melinda. Do the police believe she was killed by the same person who killed all those guys?”

“I don’t think anyone really knows right now what happened to Mellie. No body’s been discovered, but then again, there’s a lot more to dig up in the field. And why someone who seems fixated on boys of a certain age would want to kill a nine-year-old girl, that doesn’t really add up.”

“Unless she saw something the killer didn’t want her to see,” Rob said softly.

The hair on the back of Lorna’s neck rose.

“Rob, what do you think she might have seen?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t have anything in mind. I don’t know why I said that.” His laugh sounded tinny, false. “It was just a thought. Anyway, the real reason I called was to apologize. I was mean to you when you called Monday. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. I pretty much forgot about it, to tell you the truth. I figured I woke you out of a sound sleep and chalked it up to that.”

“Thanks, Lorna. You always were the best.”

“Well, if not the best, then a damned close second.”

He laughed, and it sounded more natural this time. “Gran used to say that all the time.”

“She did.”

“How are you moving along with the sale of the house?”

“I’m not.” She hastened to add, “But I will be. As soon as I can. Things have been a little hectic here, and with all the notoriety surrounding the property, I don’t know that this is the best time to put it on the market. We might get a better price if we wait.”

“I guess a real estate person could give you a better idea of that. When you can get to it. I know you have your business to take care of, too. I guess Andrea and I are lucky that you’re there to handle all of this for us. I don’t think I thanked you, but I’m thanking you now.”

“I appreciate that, Rob. In the meantime, if you need cash, you can always borrow from Mom’s savings, then pay the account back after the property is sold.”

“That would be great, Lori. I could use a little help right now. I’m starting a new job in another week, a new restaurant down near Brentwood, but in the meantime, I’ve got some bills backed up.”

“Give me your account number and I’ll have the bank make a wire transfer.”

He put the phone down while he looked for his banking information, then gave her what she’d need.

“I really appreciate this, Lori. I really do.” He paused, then asked, “But you’ll tell me when they make an arrest, right? You’ll let me know when this is over?”

“Of course I will,” she assured him. “Rob, are you sure there isn’t something bothering you?”

“Positive. Look, you just keep me up-to-date with what’s happening out there,” he said, suddenly his old self again. “You’ll send me some money, and I’ll let you get some sleep. Love you, Lori.”

“Love you, too, Rob.” The phone went dead in her hand, and as she hung up, Lorna couldn’t help but wonder what that call had really been about.

For Lorna, the next several days passed in a blur of spreadsheets and profit-and-loss analyses, bank reconciliations, and conference calls. She’d managed a quick trip to her favorite Amish farm stand, where she picked up tomatoes, corn, peaches, eggs, and green beans. She bought extras of everything and packed several bags of produce to drop off at the Eagans’, where they toasted Billie’s status as a free woman with glasses of iced herbal tea.

For the first time in a week, she’d been grateful to have the house to herself and the time to devote to her business. Her involvement in the investigation had been engrossing, in a macabre way. For a few days, she’d gotten to be Nancy Drew. But however much she’d enjoyed her stint as an amateur detective, she had a business to run, and needed to refocus on the needs of her clients. She’d spent years building her reputation and expanding her client base. She couldn’t let it go untended, as appealing as her chance to play Miss Marple had been.

And it had been appealing. Especially partnering, however briefly, with T.J. She smiled to herself as she poured water into the coffee pot. Now, that had been a fantasy fulfilled. Zipping around country roads in that sexy little sports car in the company of a totally hunky PI-it was the stuff of daydreams. And if she felt a little like Mrs. Walter Mitty, who could blame her?