Not Forgotten Page 16

  I found a parking spot and called Kelly. She told me to meet her at the back door by the air-conditioner unit. I grabbed the plastic bag I was using to transport Danny’s blood sample and stepped out into the North Texas air. The Panhandle was enjoying much cooler weather than South Texas. It wasn’t quite jacket weather, but it was close.

  Kelly already had the fetal DNA. She had connections with the lab used by the San Antonio medical examiner’s office and was waiting to run the test. There was a marked difference in the town. The university was back in session. The traffic was heavier. Red-and-black signs supporting the football team decorated every streetlamp. Tuesday marked the second week of classes. Week one was usually devoted to pledge week, which translated into drunken parties and freshman orientation. The students were busy moving into new apartments and renewing old friendships that had lapsed over the summer. Week two was when the professors began dishing out assignments and, of course, it was football season.

  Kelly was waiting in the open door when I walked around the corner of the building. She was looking the other way, anticipating my approach from the street, giving me a moment of observation before she saw me. Asking her to run a DNA sample on an exclusive piece of equipment under FBI supervision was pushing the limits of an old Marine buddy favor, but I couldn’t afford to wait three or four months for the results when someone was trying to kill me. I couldn’t help but think she had ulterior motives for helping out, but at the moment I didn’t want to guess what those were.

  When she turned her face into the light, I involuntarily took a sharp breath. She wore her normally tightly wrapped hair loosely curved around her oval face, accentuating dark-red lipstick. I’d never seen her dressed as a civilian. I had only seen her in either her military or campus police uniform. Her lab coat was open exposing tight jeans and a western belt with a turquoise buckle that accented a set of black ostrich-skin boots. Her black shirt was a silky material that sparkled in the halogen light and clung to curves that I’d never seen her show off.

  “Hello,” I said. “You look amazing.”

  A shy smile spread across her made-up face. Her cheeks turned a shade redder. “You’re late,” she said and swatted at the moths circling the outdoor lamp.

  “Traffic was a bitch. You got a hot date?”

  She gave me a hug. “Yeah,” she said, like I should have known. “You owe me dinner. This is gonna take three to four hours. Did you think we were gonna wait in my office?”

  She smelled like lavender with a hint of perfume. When I realized her date was with me, I checked my own clothes self-consciously. I had on Wrangler jeans and boots. Not my best boots, but at least they weren’t muddy. My button-down shirt was clean, but I’d been in a pickup for six hours.

  She laughed and took my arm. “You look fine,” she said. “If I’d told you to dress up, you’d have worn the same thing.”

  I was going to say I had a tux, but I remembered it was torn and bloody. We walked side by side down the hall to the lab. This area of the building was still buzzing with activity even at nine in the evening. The express lab was doing a booming business.

  “You have one ahead of you,” she said. “I’ve already loaded the fetal DNA.”

  I waited in her office while she prepped the sample and loaded the machine. I looked at her collection of photos and memorabilia. There was a snapshot of her father on his tractor, and one of me in Afghanistan. We were the only men in the pictures. My photo was taken before I took a face full of glass. It was hard to remember what I looked like without scars. Kelly had never mentioned it or asked me about the attack. We’d had only one contact since she resigned her commission. We had met at the historic San Antonio VFW. I remembered telling her about Sylvia. We had just started dating, and after a few beers, I probably said more than I should have about our chemistry. Shortly after that, Kelly told me she was going to take a job in Lubbock, her hometown. That was three years ago. Now, things were different. Part of me clung to the hope that Sylvia and I could work out our differences and that she would accept my chosen line of work, but I was starting to think that chemistry alone wasn’t enough to hold us together.

  Kelly knocked on her office door and came inside. “All we can do now is wait,” she said with a smile and a raised eyebrow. She slipped off her lab coat revealing the tight-fitting outfit that stretched from her black silk T-shirt to bootcut jeans.

  “Never saw you out of uniform,” I remarked. It was all I could think of to say.

  She spun around on her new bootheels. “You like? We never went out on a date before.” She took my arm and led me out the door and down the hall. I felt her warmth and smelled the hint of lavender. I wasn’t prepared for this.

  We used my pickup, and she directed me to her favorite steakhouse on the west side away from the throngs of hungry students. It was a cozy place that I’d been to before. They had tablecloths and strived for upscale, but jeans and boots were always welcome in a Texas steakhouse.

  I ordered a beer even though the place was proud of their wine selection. Kelly selected a Malbec. I occasionally drank wine, but it usually put me to sleep and I had six more hours on the road before I could crawl in bed.

  “How’s Sylvia?” she said. No beating around the bush.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.” I decided to confide in her.

  “What does that mean?” Our drinks came, and she took a large sip of Malbec.

  “I think her new job reminds her of the lifestyle she grew up with.” I was trying to break down my own thoughts into pieces I could understand.

  “She likes money and everything that goes with it,” she said. “Her boss has it. You don’t.” She had a way of cutting through the BS.

  “The thing is, I don’t know if she knows it. I don’t know if she’s aware of what she wants.” I was being honest. I really didn’t think Sylvia knew what kind of a life she was after.

  “I never met her. She seems very high maintenance. I can’t believe you put up with her.” She took another sip of wine. “How’s the campaign going?”

  “Marcus is ahead in the polls. Unless there’s an October surprise, he’s moving to Austin.”

  “She’s going with him?”

  “I don’t see any way around it,” I said.

  Kelly took my hand under the table. Her hazel eyes didn’t have the depth that Sylvia’s had or the exotic passion. They were open and direct.

  “I know what I want,” she said.

  I took a swig of beer. I wasn’t expecting this from Kelly. “So, you’re having the T-bone medium well?” I didn’t want her to finish her thought.

  She smiled and squeezed my hand. “How’d you guess? I could eat two. I’m starving.”

  The waiter appeared wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt. He looked like a college kid working his way through the semester. Kelly let me have my hand back, and we ordered our meal. I didn’t want to shut her out. She was going out on a limb for me, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to lead her on. Kelly sensed my discomfort and shifted the conversation.

  “What happens when you get the results of the DNA test?” she asked.

  “If it’s a match, it means Danny had a motive to kill her. It would cut him out of the family fortune.”

  “Only if he knew about the baby,” she said.

  “He bought her a Mother’s Love bracelet. I think he knew. I think they argued about it the night he killed her.”

  The college kid brought the steak. I cut into it to make sure they didn’t overcook it. The meat was red and juicy and perfect. I nodded to the waiter and took a bite. There weren’t many places that served steak this good. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smoky, rich flavor.

  “If it is a match, you’re going to go back to San Antonio and shoot him in the head?”

  “What do you take me for, a Neanderthal?”

  “Yeah. Look at your steak.” She pointed to the half-eaten portion on the plate. The cent
er section still leaked red blood. “Your German palate was formed before they invented fire.” She said it with a smile, but she meant it. “Am I going to have to spend my vacation time getting you out of jail?”

  “I’m not going to shoot him. Not yet. I’ll give him a chance to confess first.”

  “Danny Allison is not the kind of person you confront on your own. He’s taken a shot at you twice. His family has all the money in the world. I know you don’t trust the police and this Detective Peterson to do his job, but you don’t have a choice on this one.”

  I grinned at her. “Of course,” I said. I wanted to see Danny on trial. I wanted to see him sent to prison. I wanted justice.

  We finished our meal and walked back to my pickup. We brushed against each other. Our hands touched. Our fingers laced together. The move felt natural, like we’d done it before. Her hand was warm. The stars were out, and the dusty wind had taken the night off.

  When I walked her to the passenger-side door, Kelly put her arms around me and nestled her blond head into the curve of my neck. “It’s getting late,” she said. “What if the test is negative?”

  “I’ll stay. That would mean I have to start all over. Since Marissa was in school here until the first of June, the father was either a student or a local.”

  “That might take a while,” she said. Her lips were close to my chest. I could feel her heart beat. “You’d need a place to stay.”

  “You’re offering to put me up?”

  She answered with a kiss. She tasted like warm honey with a hint of Malbec. She pressed harder. We held the pose for an extra minute. I couldn’t help thinking how different Sylvia felt and tasted. She drank pinot gris and her lips were closer to jalapenos than honey. The two couldn’t be any more different.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Are you kidding? I’m a Neanderthal, remember? You’re pressed against me. There’s only one thing on my mind.”

  Kelly smiled. Even in the dark, I could see her blush.

  “You’re lying. You’re thinking of a girl in San Antonio.” Her smile faded, and her hazel eyes bore into mine. “I respect that.”

  “Look, Kelly—”

  She cut me off with a finger on my lips. “You don’t have to explain.” Her cell phone buzzed. She listened, then disconnected.

  “It’s a match.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Splashing through a puddle in my driveway in the early dawn light reminded me what Grandpa had said about mares’ tails—they predicted rain. The moisture was the remnant of a hurricane that struck the Pacific Coast and traveled east, blocking the north wind that brought cooler, dryer air to Lubbock from reaching South Texas.

  I could see by the mud on the sidewalk that someone had been to the house. The tracks weren’t big enough for Skeeter. He wore a size fifteen when he could find it. Sixteen if he ordered online. I examined the tracks across the lawn. The toe of the print was deeper than the heel as if the person who made it ran.

  I glanced at Rose Gustafson’s empty house and remembered she had asked me to watch her place while she was gone, which meant feed her herd of cats. I went to her back porch and filled the cat bowls with food from a plastic container she left by the door and was suddenly surrounded by Rose’s feline friends. I hurried back to my place before Sam could see me and think I had gone over to the other side.

  When I reached for my key, I saw a two-inch gap in the doorjamb. There were splinters around both deadbolts where someone had used something large and heavy to smash through the door. The extra locks I’d added as a precaution had barely slowed him down. I pulled my .45 and waited by the door, listening for any sound of movement inside the house. The only noise came from the ever-present cicadas and white-winged doves. It was too early for morning traffic.

  I eased the door open with my boot. The front room was empty. I caught a whiff of something stale and pungent. The muddy shoe tracks trekked up the stairs and into my bedroom. The room looked like a Texas tornado had touched down on my queen bed. Even a loose board I had neglected to fix had been pried up to expose the empty space beneath.

  The mud was dry. Whoever left the tracks had been gone at least two hours. I took a breath and called for Sam. No answer.

  I went downstairs. The same tornado had cut a path through my office. My state compliance business papers were scattered, and my books were tossed on the floor. The locked cabinet meant nothing. The padlock was cut. The contents dumped. Hopefully, the security cameras Skeeter installed had captured the intruder. The alarm should have triggered a police response. I would have to find out from Skeeter what went wrong, because I hadn’t been notified. I went to the fireplace and pulled out the grate. The one place he hadn’t looked. The burnt log was left over from last winter. The day I moved in was coincidently the only day cold enough to light a fire. I kept the log to cover the hidden compartment below. I lifted the layer of bricks and pulled the handle on the hidden metal safe. Inside, the surveillance tapes, the engraved bracelet, and my notes were untouched.

  I called out again for Sam. Still no answer. I walked toward the kitchen. The stale smell got stronger. A swarm of flies lifted off the bar and buzzed my head. I thought I’d left venison steaks on the counter to thaw for dinner, which I sometimes did when I knew I’d be home early enough to cook for myself. There was nothing on the countertop.

  I rounded the bar into the kitchen. Sam was on the floor. A half-eaten cheeseburger beside his stiff body. The deep pool of blood on the hardwood floor was still tacky to the touch. It had soaked into the green kitchen rug below the sink. I found a small entry wound behind his ear. The shooter had an easy job. Sam never met a stranger. He probably barked until he smelled the burger. He never had a chance. The hole was small, probably from a .22 pistol. One shot. At least he didn’t suffer.

  The killer had taken Sam’s collar and nametag off and left it on the floor on top of a note. This one was scrawled on my own spiral notebook. It was a list of names. Sam, Sylvia, Grandpa, Clarence. Sam’s name was crossed off the list. On the bottom it read: Last warning. Stay away from Luna.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Igrabbed my cell phone and hit speed dial. Sylvia picked up on the first ring.

  “Nick?” she asked like she’d been waiting for my call.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. Where have you been?” She sounded more irritated than scared.

  “Never mind,” I said. “You’re in danger. I put you in danger. Whoever shot at me and killed Sosa, killed Sam. He left a note threatening you, Skeeter, and Grandpa.”

  “You took it to the police, right?” she said.

  “I will, after I find Danny Allison,” I said.

  “Nick—”

  I cut her off. “Where are you right now?”

  “Driving to work.”

  “Stay there. I’m going to have Skeeter watch you.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said, sounding scared and pissed off at the same time.

  “I don’t either. It’s only for a day. Maybe two. Then it will all be over. I promise. I love you.”

  “Nick…” she said and paused. She seemed reluctant to continue.

  “What is it?” I asked, not really wanting an answer.

  “When this is over. We need to talk.”

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  She disconnected. I didn’t blame her for being pissed off. She had wanted me to stay away from the case. I knew what we need to talk meant.

  I called Grandpa next. As usual, the phone rang and rang. I let it go eight times and disconnected. I knew he wouldn’t be caught dead indoors after seven a.m. I remembered seeing a sign for the neighbor’s petting zoo. I wondered if I could contact him and get a message to Grandpa. I wasn’t sure what I would say. Be careful. Go to town. He wouldn’t listen. When this was over, I would insist he carry the cell phone.

  I called Skeeter
next and briefed him on the DNA results. Then I told him about finding Sam in the kitchen and the threatening note.

  “You didn’t get a call? There was no police response?” Skeeter asked.

  “Nothing. The guy must have disabled your system. Check the surveillance footage to see if you caught anything on tape.”

  “I’m doing that now. The feed goes to my computer.”

  “My guess is you won’t find anything. If the guy was good enough to bypass the alarm, he’s not gonna show his face on camera.”

  “I’m looking at it now,” he said. “Athletic guy, just under six feet, wearing a black windbreaker, surgical gloves, and a ski mask.”

  “So much for security,” I said.

  “At least they didn’t get the evidence.”

  “No thanks to your security system.”

  “You live in a hundred-year-old house. It wasn’t made for that kind of security.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Leave your house. Take stuff for a couple of days. Don’t go home until this mess is over,” I told him. “Your name was on the list.”

  “My name?”

  “Yeah, your real name.”

  “Sonofabitch,” he said.

  The morning traffic buzzed outside my window. At some point I had walked outside, started my pickup, and put it in drive.

  “Don’t do something you’re going to regret,” he said.

  “I’m calm, cool, and collected,” I lied.

  “I know you. You’re about to go all Afghanistan. Then the police will come after me because I’m on your payroll.”

  “You volunteered for the job,” I said. The morning traffic wasn’t cooling my anger.

  “’Cause I owe you. I appreciate what you did for me more than you know. But somebody shot your dog and threatened your family. And right now, your vision is cloudy. You loved that animal, and you want somebody to pay for his death.”