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“Sure, I’ve been helping out with the fund-raisers. You know the community auction two weeks ago? Josie’s idea. She’s even the one who called the companies and got them to donate the computers and plane tickets. We raised fifteen thousand dollars that night.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“The big dinner and theater at the old mill? Josie’s idea. She got Grand Springs’s community theater to volunteer their play, and Touch of Class Catering to provide all the food at cost. Made two thousand off of that.”
“Oh.”
“Then this Friday we’ve got the Band, Bingo, Bake Sale coming up—”
“That I know about. In fact, I bought four tickets.”
“Good, good.” His father nodded approvingly. “Josie’s idea again. Sadie’s Sunshine called her up and said they’d like to do something to help out, and Josie set it all up. Smart woman. She really pitches in. People like her.”
“Who are you taking to the bake sale, dear?” his mother asked. She wasn’t too interested in the fund-raisers. Organizing activities taxed her nerves.
“Uh…I haven’t really thought about it.” Jack quickly turned back to his father. When his mother got on this topic, it took a hurricane to shake her off. “So you’ve talked to Josie a few times?”
“Oh, yeah, I work with her a lot.” His father was very active in the community.
“Has she ever mentioned where she’s from?”
“No.”
“What about her family? Does she talk about family?”
“No.”
“Are you going to take Josie to the bake sale?”
“No,” Jack said to his mother with probably more force than necessary. “I’m just…I’m just curious, that’s all.” He didn’t bring up her tie to the Olivia Stuart case. He made it a point never to talk about his job in front of his mother. He was still frowning, however. He couldn’t get the mystery of Josie Reynolds out of his mind. “Don’t you find it odd that she never talks about her personal life?” he persisted. “She’s hardly a quiet woman. She’s definitely not shy,” he muttered.
His father chuckled. “She has spirit. You should hear her with the FEMA folks. That’s kinda fun.”
“But Dad—”
Ben shrugged. “She likes her privacy, Jack. She’s got a right.”
“She’s very beautiful,” his mother said. “And unattached.”
“I’m not interested in her that way, Mom. Really, I don’t have time right now to be interested in anyone. I like my life the way it is.”
His parents exchanged a look he’d seen too many times before. He abruptly set down his silverware. “Is it true everyone’s afraid to mention Marjorie’s name when I’m around?”
Betty’s eyes widened. She looked at Ben for help.
“Well, Jack,” he began in a careful, placating tone.
“Oh, God, it is true. It’s been five years, Dad. I can handle it.”
“She wasn’t right for you,” his mother said immediately. “I told you from the beginning that she wasn’t right. Anyone could tell just by looking at her that she had the morals of an alley cat.”
Jack winced and pushed away his plate. He’d lied, after all. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His parents exchanged that look again. His ex-wife Marjorie had been a faithless bitch, there was no other word for it. She was the only mistake Jack had ever made, but boy, had it been a big one. He was the type of man who’d assumed he would marry only once. He would meet the perfect, kind, beautiful woman and be faithful forever. They’d raise two children, eat dinner together every night and hike on the weekends. Certainly, coming home early and finding his beautiful wife in bed with a muscle-bound rookie officer hadn’t been among his plans. Nor had he ever imagined the way she’d looked him right in the eye and said, “You deserved this Jack. You never could give me what I need.”
The fancy town house, the luxury automobile, the role of the future mayor’s wife.
Jack was good at many things, but he wasn’t good at forgiving, and he never quite forgot.
“How about some after-dinner coffee?” his mother asked brightly. “Or would you like tea? I have jasmine, mint, English breakfast and chamomile. Or maybe you’d like some cognac, I think your father has cognac. Don’t you have cognac, Ben?”
“Coffee would be perfect, Mom. Here, why don’t you sit for a change and let me help you.”
“Oh, no, no. You just stay right there. I know where everything is, it will only be a minute. It’s not every day you come to see us. The least I can do is brew you some coffee.”
Jack watched her bustle away, her movements nervous and jerky. When she pulled out the coffeepot it shook in her hands.
“It’s all right,” Ben said softly beside him. “The blackout was tough for her, but she’s doing pretty well these days. Sleeping through the nights.”
“That’s good.”
“It has been five years since…since that woman,” Ben said abruptly. He always referred to Marjorie as simply “that woman.” “You made a mistake marrying her, Jack, but that’s all right. You were young and she was beautiful and had that effect on men. Now, Josie Reynolds… Mark my words, Jack, she’s special. Tough as nails, works harder than a dog and beautiful from the inside out. She’s who you need. A girl like that will really challenge you. Take her to the fund-raiser. Give dating a chance.”
“Not you, too, Dad,” Jack groaned.
“On some things, your mother is right.”
Betty returned. She handed out the cups of coffee, then passed around the cream and sugar. They drank the coffee in silence, and as always, Betty’s gaze was on Tom’s chair.
Chapter Three
Jack spent the next three days getting back to basics. He’d gotten a degree in criminology because it appealed to his methodical mind. Police work wasn’t sexy and it wasn’t instinctive. It was science. First you studied the crime scene, looking at MO, weapon and trace evidence. Then you analyzed the area where the crime took place—what kind of economics and demographics? Were you looking at a high-crime area or low-crime area? Was it racially homogenous or mixed? Then you did a profile of the victim. Was it a low-risk victim or a high-risk victim? Known friends, known enemies, major events going on in her life? Finally, you boiled all that information down, and if all went well, you had a list of potential suspects to interrogate. You got to go hunting.
The crime scene gave them nothing: no hair, no fiber, no prints, no weapon. The storm had obscured any footprints that may have been. Nothing had been stolen or disturbed. The area—upper class, white, suburban—told them only that their suspect was probably white and well-groomed, otherwise, someone would’ve noticed him or her. In Grand Springs, however, white, middle-class suburbanites were a dime a dozen. Olivia’s neighborhood was quiet and safe, not the kind of place where random murders just happened.
In short, Olivia’s murder had not been about theft. It had not been gang-related nor drug-related. It had been personal. It had been planned by someone sophisticated enough to know about pure potassium and how to inject it into a strong, healthy woman.
Jack pursued the only other option he had left—he focused on the victim, Olivia.
In the course of three days, he retraced her last twenty-four hours and the people and events influenced along the way. It took a while. Olivia had been a very active woman.
On June 5, her day began with an 8:00 a.m. meeting with her personal secretary, the school board, and a representative from D.A.R.E. talking about starting an anti-drug program in the high school. At nine, Olivia had left for a general meeting with the city council. The minutes revealed that they’d focused primarily on the issue of strip mining. That meeting had overrun half an hour due to heated debate. According to attendees, Olivia had remained steadfastly opposed to strip mining, tabling the initiative.
Now running late, Olivia had barely made it to the Chamber of Commerce luncheon in time to speak. She’d finished there at one and driven straight to the women’s shelter, where she’d spent an hour playing with the children and talking to the mothers. According to Denise Eagan, head of the shelter, Olivia tried to spend at least an hour a week at the shelter. They had been talking about the possibility of opening a second to get more beds. Olivia had promised to speak to the city council about funding.
At three o’clock Olivia had returned to her office. She’d spent two hours on the phone. Her administrative assistant didn’t have information on all the calls, but according to the phone records most of them were to various businesses and local charities. She’d made one call to her home, where her daughter, Eve, and five-year-old granddaughter, Molly, were visiting for Hal’s wedding.
Olivia had rushed out of the office promptly at five-thirty, changed into a pale lavender suit, and made it to the Squaw Creek Lodge just in time for the wedding rehearsal. Afterward, the wedding party had gone out for dinner. Olivia had toasted her son and his intended bride, Randi Howell. Eve said Olivia had looked tired from her day, but otherwise her mother had been as calm and composed as ever. She’d told jokes, she’d mingled with Randi’s family.
Eve hadn’t noticed anything unusual.
They’d retired right after dinner. Everyone wanted to get a good night’s sleep before the big day. Friday morning Olivia had gotten up early with Eve and Molly. Olivia and Molly had just finished eating cereal when Eve came downstairs. They’d talked some, about nothing in particular. Olivia had said how nice it was to have Eve at home again. She’d thought Molly was growing up fast and beautiful. Eve could tell her mother was wondering if Eve would ever tell Rio Redtree that Molly was his daughter, but on Friday June 6, Olivia kept those opinions to herself.
She and Eve had wrapped wedding presents, cleaned the house in preparation for guests and then they’d gotten ready to go. At the last minute, still searching for her other earring, Olivia had told Eve to take Molly and go ahead. She’d be there shortly. The storm was already moving in at that point. The rain and wind had picked up. They’d both remarked how unfortunate it was that the weather couldn’t be better for the wedding.
Eve had bundled up Molly and the two of them had left.
Eve never saw Olivia alive again.
Jack went over it and over it. He was beginning to dream about Olivia Stuart’s life at night. He still couldn’t figure out what they were missing.
For all intents and purposes, Olivia Stuart had been an active mayor and caring mother. Her calendar and meetings showed nothing out of the ordinary. She was definitely concerned about Grand Springs’s growing drug problem and crime rate. Her schedule for the next week had two meetings with community watch groups and one with the chief of police. Olivia’s assistant confirmed that Olivia had wanted Grand Springs to get tougher about crime, but she hadn’t had any run-ins with any particular criminal group.
The only other big issue was strip mining. The outlying areas of Grand Springs sat on top of what once had been very lucrative mines. Now mined out, they were just hollow tunnels forming catacombs beneath the mountain and potential safety hazards. The local kids hung out there—Jack spent most of his youth learning which mines could be explored and which ones should be left alone. Recently, one of the big mining companies had approached Grand Springs about the possibility of renewing the old mining leases so as to harvest the remaining minerals and ore in the top soil through strip mining.
If permitted, the project would generate hundreds of jobs for Grand Springs and boost the economy. As Olivia passionately argued, however, it would also tax the city’s mountain roads and lead to such possible consequences as top soil erosion, mud slides, contaminated rivers and air pollution.
Olivia had said no. Her stance was firm and there were definitely businesspeople who disagreed with her. But would any of them resort to murder?
Jack didn’t think so.
The more he looked at Olivia Stuart’s life, the more he thought the answers had nothing to do with her position as mayor. Olivia Stuart was a cautious woman. Eve reported that the house was kept locked at all times, even when Olivia was home. The mayor had attended a number of self-defense classes and insisted the security guard at City Hall walk all female employees to their cars after dark.
Yet there was no sign of forced entrance into her home nor any indication of a struggle. The back door had been unlocked when Josie Reynolds had arrived.
A lone woman didn’t just open her door for anyone on a stormy afternoon. And the use of poison…
Jack kept coming back to the same inevitable conclusion: Olivia Stuart had been killed by someone she knew. Someone she trusted.
And it bothered Jack that he couldn’t learn more about Olivia’s private life. Eve was as vague as Hal. She’d been away from home for five years. She spoke to Olivia by phone, of course, but she couldn’t remember Olivia ever talking about anyone new or special. Olivia hadn’t seemed to have any problems with her friends or associates. As for romantic interests, Eve agreed with her brother—Olivia didn’t date.
Their father had died in an accident when Eve was only a toddler and Hal ten. They’d had an older brother, Roy, but he’d run away and never been heard from again. As Eve told Jack proudly, Olivia had decided it was time to get control of her life and take a stand. She’d thrown herself into supporting Hal and Eve, going back to school, becoming a lawyer and eventually running for mayor. She’d become a single mother and a career woman at a time when those things just weren’t done, and she’d been good at it. If Olivia had made enemies, she kept them as secret as the rest of the details of her life.
The only lead Jack had left was Josie Reynolds. She’d been close to Olivia. She matched the vague description of the woman Jessie had seen in her visions. She could be called Jo.
At 9:00 p.m. Thursday, Jack told himself he was just taking a small detour when he went by Josie’s house. All the windows were dark. He didn’t bother to lie to himself when he turned around and headed for City Hall.
The light was on up in her office. He sat in his car for a minute, simply staring at the single lit window. Everyone agreed on two things about Josie Reynolds—she looked like an angel and worked like the Energizer bunny.
Conscientious public servant?
Ambitious treasurer, now angling for the empty position of mayor?
Marjorie certainly would’ve plotted on becoming mayor.
The thought came out of nowhere and unsettled Jack. He was an honest enough man that he didn’t want to think he was placing Marjorie’s crimes on Josie’s doorstep. On the other hand, maybe the instinct was sound.
Or maybe you’re not as objective as you think when it comes to Josie Reynolds.
Jack got out of his car, took a deep breath and prepared for round two.
* * *
Josie was so deeply engrossed in her work, she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps ringing in the empty hall. The knock on her door got her attention. She bolted up and smeared a line of red ink across the report she’d been editing.
“Damn.” She stared at her door mutinously. It was after nine o’clock. What did a girl have to do to get some peace and quiet around here? Then she got nervous. Exactly who would be knocking on the town treasurer’s door at this hour?
“Mr. Stevens?” she called out, referring to the aging security guard who’d started work last month. She’d never seen him stand, much less walk, but maybe his hemorrhoids had flared up or something.
“It’s Detective Stryker.”
“Oh,” she said, then with more feeling, “damn.”
She eyed the door warily—why did some part of her perk up at the sound of his voice?—then grudgingly threw open the door. She didn’t look her best and she knew it. It was after hours, she’d had a long day, and a woman could handle only so much. She’d taken off her navy blue double-breasted jacket at five, her heels quickly following. When the last person had left at eight-thirty, she’d pulled out her white blouse from her skirt, unfastened the cuffs and high collar and pulled the hairpins from her hair. Now at approximately 9:35 p.m., she was a mussed, wrinkled mess and she refused to feel bad about it.
Of course, Jack Stryker leaned against the doorjamb without a short-cropped hair out of place. His charcoal gray pants were pressed razor-sharp and did his tall, trim figure justice. He wore an appropriately conservative yet elegant dark burgundy-and-gray swirled tie.
Oh for crying out loud her mouth had gone dry. Since when did Josie Reynolds get hot and bothered by clothing?
“Can I come in?” Jack asked.
She pursed her lips. “I haven’t decided.”
“I have a badge.”
“Why do you think I can’t decide?” She crossed her arms over her silk blouse. That made the unbuttoned collar gape, revealing a weakness for expensive French lingerie no accountant should have. She dropped her hands quickly to her side, but it was too late. Jack’s gaze was definitely no longer on her face, and his cheeks appeared to have gained some color. “Don’t you have some teenage delinquents to torture?” she demanded with a scowl.
“I’m a homicide detective. I only get to deal with gang members who have close encounters with assault weapons.”
“Well, I’m a treasurer. I only get to deal with credits and debits, so go away and let me get my job done.”
“Tough day at the office?” He arched a brow.
“Yes,” she fired back. Her hands had come up on her hips. She said with genuine regret, “My plants died.”
“Your plants died?”
“The two vines over on the gray filing cabinet?” He still looked blank. She shook her head. “Why am I bothering with this conversation? You’re a man. Men never notice anything, not even homicide detectives.”
“Wait a second.” Now she’d gotten his goat. It occurred to her that she’d been trying to all along. All women needed a form of entertainment. “I remember those two plants,” Jack said with a frown, “They were already dead.”
“No. They were in critical condition. But with the right amount of water, sunlight and care, they would’ve sprung back. Of course, they’re trapped in a dimly lit office with a woman who’s trying to repair flood damage. Have you ever noticed that the more you talk about floods, the harder it is to even drink a glass of water? I find myself staring at it like it’s the enemy, just waiting for my guard to drop.”
“You have been working too hard,” Jack said seriously.
“Absolutely. So go away, I don’t need any more interruptions in my day.”
“I can’t.”
