Drop Dead Gorgeous (20 page)

“Sure.” The night was over. He had no idea what time Brendan awakened, but he had no intention of taking any chances. He walked to the couch, reaching for his shirt. “I’ll go out and see if Ted wants to come in.”

Lori nodded. “Keep him outside for a minute. I’ll get dressed.” Lori turned toward the stairs, and Sean unlocked the front door, letting himself out.

Morning had come. Down the street he could see a garbage truck starting out on its rounds. Dogs barked; a neighbor in hair rollers was out getting her newspaper. The lady eyed him and waved.

Ted stepped from his patrol car.

“You work all night?” Sean asked him.

“Yeah, I pulled a shift for a friend,” Ted replied. He looked tired. Rough and rugged, but tired, like a sheriff out of a western. He shrugged. “And I thought I’d keep an eye on our girls.”

“Our girls?”

He flushed. “I kept driving by here—saw your car, so I wasn’t too concerned. I also drove past Jan’s and Susan’s.”

“Lori had a scare. Brendan picked up a kitten and forgot to tell her, so she thought someone was in the house. I figured I’d sleep on the couch.”

“A couch, a hotel room
…
Me, I could never travel the way you do. I make a good cop. I like my hometown, like the people, like staying put.”

“Sometimes seems strange that you and Ricky are cops.”

Ted grinned. “Shouldn’t. We always thought we were macho men, remember? This just kind of continues the pattern.”

“Want to come in? Lori’s making coffee.”

“I don’t mean to intrude. I was just watching out for her.”

“You won’t be intruding. In fact, I think someone might have been trying to break in when you showed up.”

“Here?” Ted asked with surprise.

“I heard noises in back.”

“Lots of cats and raccoons in the area. Even an occasional fox, though the way things
have built up, there’s not much habitat left. Actually, Lori’s got one of the great remaining overgrown back lawns, planted decades ago. You probably did hear a fox or ’coon.”

“Probably. Want to have a look around with me?”

“Sure. Why not? That’s my job.”

Ted followed him. Sean walked around back but didn’t see anything unusual. He walked up to Lori’s back door and studied the knob. It was old and scratched through the years. It was impossible to tell if there were new scratches or not. Had someone been trying to get in, or had they both simply been a bit too tightly wound?

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Ted said.

“Neither do I. Let’s have some coffee.” They walked around to the front of the house. Determined to give Lori plenty of time, Sean rang the bell. After a moment she answered it wearing a dress, stockings, and heeled sandals, her blond hair damp but twisted back neatly in a knot at her nape. She smelled pleasantly of soap, shampoo, and a touch of perfume. Not a trace left of last night’s activities. She was fast, damned fast.

“Hi, Ted, thanks so much for watching the house! That’s really great of you.”

“Well, I’m not just a cop, you know. I’m a Gables cop.”

“I know.” She smiled. “And you’re still going above and beyond.”

“Well, thanks, ma’am,” he drawled teasingly
as he followed her into the kitchen. “Seriously, there are things that time can’t change.” He accepted coffee from her, lifting his cup. “We were friends, and seeing you both again, it all just feels the same.”

“Thanks,” Lori murmured. She glanced at Sean. “And thanks for coming around.”

“Sure,” he said. She clearly wasn’t ready to announce to the world that they were sleeping together. “I guess I’ll get going, then,” he told her.

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to pick up my grandfather by eight.”

“If I can do anything, let me know,” he said.

Her eyes lowered. “I wish there was something someone could do,” she said, “but I do appreciate the support.”

As he started to turn, they heard the front door opening.

All three of them stared at one another in surprise.

“Hey, Lori!”

It was her brother, Andrew. He walked into the den. “What’s this, Grand Central at the crack of dawn?” he asked.

Sean shook his head. “Some watch dogs we are, huh?” he asked Ted. “Leaving Lori’s door wide open for anyone to walk through.”

“Oh, well,” Andrew said. He flashed his sister a smile. “I just wanted to see if you wanted me to go with you to take Gramps. I have to film this afternoon, but—”

“No, thanks, I’ll be fine. Mom and Dad
offered to go, too, Andrew. I want some time alone with him.”

“Sure thing. But since everyone else is having coffee, mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

She went to get her brother a mug, and Sean sat down to slip on his shoes and socks.

“Just how were you checking up on my sister?” An
drew asked Sean, hazel eyes nar
rowed suspiciously.

Sean didn’t have a chance to answer. Brendan chose that moment to come flying down the stairs. It was obvious he’d just awakened, but he had dressed in cutoffs and a worn Rolling Stones T-shirt from their Voodoo Lounge tour. “Hey, Sean! Oh—hi, Uncle Andrew. And Mr. Neeson
…
hi.”

He’d been filled with exuberance, seeing only Sean at first. But realizing that the den was filled, he became puzzled. “What’s going on? Is Mom all right?”

“She’s fine,” Ted said quickly.

Sean grinned. “Your kitten gave her one hell of a scare in the middle of the night.”

“The kitten
…
oh! Lucky!” Brendan said. “Oh, wow, it was just wandering around outside, crying. I think it was starving, so I brought it in and gave it milk.”

“The kitten’s name is
Lucky
?” Sean asked.

“That’s what I called it,” Brendan said. “Is Mom mad?”

Sean shook his head. “She was just scared, so she called me.”

“I
wonder why she didn’t call
me or the
folks,” Andrew murmured, staring at Sean.

He
shrugged, determined not to take the bait.
“She
probably didn’t want to wake your folks, and she might not have been sure that you’d be up. We’d been out all day, and I might have talked about the way I write really late at night.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Andrew said.

“So you stayed here,” Brendan said, pleased. By here, he was indicating the couch. Close enough.

“Yeah.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was real nice of him,” Andrew remarked.

“What was nice?” Lori asked, returning with Andrew’s coffee.

“Sean, coming over in the middle of the night.”

“The kitten’s name is Lucky,” Sean said politely, looking at her.

“Lucky? Really?” She arched a brow, a subtle smile communicating just with him. “Brendan, you’ve got to tell me about your new pets from now on.”

“I will, Mom, I’m sorry. Can we keep it?”

“I guess. We’ll take it to the vet, though. I don’t want any more little kittens, and we’ll have to check it for worms and the like.”

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Sean said. “See you all tonight at Jan’s.”

“Will I be there?” Brendan asked his mother.

“She’s invited everyone, all ages,” Lori told him.

“Hey, great,” Brendan said.

“You won’t be bored?” Andrew teased him, ruffling his hair.

“No
…
Jan’s daughter is about my age,” he reminded Andrew. “We’re friends.”

“The next generation is friends, too. That’s nice,” Ted said.

“Yeah, friends,” Andrew said, studying Lori strangely.

Sean gritted his teeth. Friends, hell yes. Andrew was supposedly his friend. But now he’d gone defensive over Sean being in his sister’s house. Maybe things really hadn’t changed at all.

“Sean, thanks,” Lori said, walking with him to the door and then out.

He was glad that she had chosen to come out with him, except that Ted followed along, saying that he had to get back to work. Andrew came as well, followed by Brendan.

“Nice day, maybe no rain,” Ted commented.

“Just so long as it doesn’t rain tonight,” Andrew said. “Jan will be heartbroken if anything ruins her party.”

“Oh, Mom!” Brendan suddenly cried out. He rushed forward, toward the trash pile. Narrowing his eyes against the sunlight now beginning to fill the day, Sean saw what Brendan had seen.

A dead cat, tossed into the pile, just like trash.

“Damn, too bad the boy found it!” Ted muttered. “People speed through here, kill the damned things all the time.”

“Oh, Mom!” Brendan repeated, holding the poor dead creature.

Lori hurried to him. “Brendan, honey, you can’t pick it up, it might
have had some
thing—”

“It doesn’t look sick, it was healthy! It was hit! Some idiot driver hit it and killed it and just threw it away!” Brendan said furiously. “Why do people do things like this?” he demanded, looking at Sean.

He could see that Lori was about to snatch the animal away from Brendan, aware of her son’s hurt, but also mindful that dead animals did carry disease.

“Let me take it, Brendan,” Sean said, going to the boy. “I’ll drop by the vet’s office on Bird Road, have it checked.” And cremated, he didn’t say aloud.

Brendan swallowed hard and nodded. Lori glanced at him gratefully, her lower lip between her teeth. She set an arm around her son’s shoulders. Sean thought at first that Brendan would shake off his mother’s touch, but he didn’t. He stood stiff and angry, but aware that what had happened was not his mother’s fault. “People should be shot!” he said heatedly. He was getting older; he didn’t like showing emotion, Sean saw. But Brendan was still young enough to feel that awful sense of loss, pain, and injustice when an innocent animal was hurt or killed through the carelessness of people.

Sean wished suddenly that he could go back to that time himself.

“It’s terrible, Brendan,” Andrew told his nephew. “But some people are just monsters.”

He stood by Ted as he spoke, and looked at Sean.

Sean decided to ignore him. Andrew was Lori’s brother, Brendan’s uncle.

Sean’s
friend.

Oh, yeah. Right.

He set the cat in his car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Lifting a hand in farewell, he started out of Lori’s driveway.

He came to a stoplight and glanced over at the dead cat. He frowned, studying the angle of the animal. He reached over, stroking a hand over it.

Brendan was right.

It had been a healthy cat. Nice coat, good body form and muscle tone.

He felt around the cat’s midriff, the limbs.

And he realized that there was no way the cat had been hit by a car.

Its neck was broken.

Other than that, there wasn’t a scratch on
it.

14

“
W
ant to stop for lunch—or a soda?” Lori asked. She gazed anxiously at Gramps in the mirror.

His head was leaned back, his eyes closed. He’d lost some hair, but he’d had so much to start with that it still seemed he had a rich head full of snow-white locks. His face today was very gaunt and pale.

He looked dead.

She
felt an awful emotion welling in her
breast.
He was good, he was wonderful, always thoughtful, slow. He’d always listened, all
her
life, carefully, before he judged any situation or any human being. She’d always loved him, from the time she’d been a very little girl and he’d bought her candy for being good until she’d been an adolescent and he’d surprised her with expe
nsive art supplies for an excep
tionally good report card. His talent, however, hadn’t been in expensive gifts, but rather in knowing what was important to different people—a yellow canary once for Josh, the little lab mix puppy her mother still adored—even a ball python once for Andrew. He’d never been a politician. He’d never had ambitions to change the world. He’d just been great. He’d made money with his architecture, a lot of it. He’d created beautiful places. And he’d just gone through life being so decent. And now, this
…

She felt furious. And totally impotent.

“Gramps?” she said softly, thinking that maybe he was sleeping. There was a slight sob in her voice.

She took her eyes off the road, glanced at him again. His eyes were open, and he was watching her.

“Lori, please, don’t hurt so badly. Don’t hurt for me, okay?”

“Oh, Gramps
…
” Tears she didn’t mean to shed flooded her eyes.

“Yes, I want a soda. Hell, no, I want a
drink. The Irish bar is just up ahead. I’m not a Kelly for nothing.”

“Gramps, you’re not supposed—”

“Sweetheart, am I still a functioning adult?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I want a whiskey. I don’t indulge often; right now I want a whiskey.”

She pulled into the parking lot of the Irish bar. An institution, it had been there forever. Miami was a great place. The business next door was Hispanic. The Cubans and other Central Americans and South Americans in the area learned how to eat bangers and mash, bacon and cabbage. In turn, some of the signs in the restaurant were in English, Gaelic, and Spanish, with even a little Portuguese thrown in now and then for the Brazilians.

Inside, Gramps called out to the bartender, an old friend, a gaunt young man of about ninety.

“Hey, Mickey, a whiskey fo
r me. And my girl will have a…
” He paused, looking at Lori. “You’re driving, but I think you can have one. One what?”

She hesitated. “A Guinness, Mickey. A big one.”

“Oh, aye! Whiskey and Guinness coming right up,” Mickey called.

“Well, that means about ten minutes,” Gramps mu
ttered, winking at Lori. He low
ered his head. “Old Mickey looks dead, too, doesn’t he?”

“Gramps!” she exclaimed, horrified.

“Ah, lass, that’s what you were thinking
in the car, wasn’t it? You thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I saw you look my way, saw your eyes. And it breaks my heart to hurt you so.”

“You’re not hurting me.”

“Death is hurting you, Lori. But, me love, I’ve had a damned good life. The truth of it is now, your brother, Josh, you
r folks, our more distant kin…
everyone is there, everyone cares, everyone is trying to keep me from knowing. I’m not dead yet, but I am dying, and girl, it’s all right with me. I’ve made all my peace with my Maker. I just want it to be all right with you.”

Mickey wasn’t that slow. He handed their drinks over. Lori quickly lowered her head over her Guinness.

“ ’Tis good ta see you back, Lori Kelly,” old Mickey told her, warmth in his voice. “This old man here has done nothin’ but brag about ya all these years, and that’s a fact. I tell the truth, Lori girl.”

Lori nodded, wishing she could thank him but suddenly unable to speak. “She’s crying in her beer,” Gramps explained. “She can’t stand that I’m dying.”

“Aye, and what a wake we’ll have!” Mickey said. “And that’s a promise, by God!” Mickey moved away.

“Gramps, I wish that you wouldn’t—”

“Lori, if you must feel bad, hurt for your friend Eleanor. Now, there’s a tragedy. If you love me, talk with me honestly—don’t ever
pretend that I’m a doddering old fool who can’t make up his own mind about his treatments.”

“But
…
I don’t want you to die!” she told him softly.

“It’s never easy to leave those you love, so it’s not like I’m in a great hurry,” he told her, lifting her chin, smiling broadly.

She managed to smile in return.

“No talking about me behind my back,” he warned her.

“None,” she promised.

“You may have to help me with your mother.”

“Mom’s a card.”

“Aye, now, that she is. But she’s been a fine daughter-in-law to me, she’s loved me like she was my own child, and she’s come a long way as well.” He nodded, lifted his glass, and said. “To your mother!”

Lori smiled and picked up her beer. “To Mom. Stubborn as all hell, but a lady at all times.”

He grinned, then sobered. “She’s worried, you know. Says it’s a shame that you came back right when your old friend was murdered. I mean, if you’d stayed in New York, it would still have been horrible, but you’d have been distant from it.”

“She doesn’t need to be worried.”

He shrugged. “Well, she changed a lot, you know. After Mandy Olin drowned—and Sean Black went to trial.” He picked up his whiskey again. “And you flew away—to England. Not a damned thing she could do or say to stop
you, and the
next thing
we
hear, you’re marri
ed
and
there’s
a picture of you with your husband
in the
mail, and he’s a sad sack of a thing.
Talk
about a human walking around looking dead before he’d drawn his last breath!”

“Gramps—”

“It’s all right, Lori girl. I just want you to understand that your mother has changed. You see, she thinks that she forced you to marry that Englishman, and that you had a disastrous marriage and became a widow and stayed a widow because of her. And so her judgments
on people softened a hell of a
lot.”

Lori slipped her hand over her beer glass. The Guinness was room temperature, and for a minute it seemed to be making her dizzy. “I’m okay now, and I’m happy.”

“And how is Sean Black?” he asked.

She turned to him, eyes narrowed. “He’s fine, he’s good.”

“Well, now, I hope so. This can’t be easy for him, either. Frankly, the fellow ought to fly back to California and stay there, what with another girl in your circle being dead. But then, I don’t suppose he will. Not with you back in town as well.”

“Gramps, he stayed to work, not because of me.
”

“Do you really believe that? Well, we’ll see. I’ll be glad to talk with the fellow tonight. I always liked that boy.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “He’s a good friend.”

“More than a friend?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of past between us.”

“Maybe you should talk about that past,” Gramps suggested.

Startled, she looked at him. He always knew too much. She wondered just what he did know.

He smiled at her, not expecting an answer. Once more he lifted his glass to her. “I won’t be going quite yet, lass, so don’t go mourning me until I tell you it’s time to mourn. I’ll be around awhile, making sure you’re safe before I go.”

“Thanks.”

She clicked her glass to his, and downed the Guinness.

“
W
ell?”

Sean liked Gillespie, really liked her, but she seemed to have a habit of being dramatic.

They were at the morgue, and in a small room she had thrown open a plastic bag containing a pile of bones. Burned bones.

“Well?” she repeated.

He looked at her. “Burned bones,” he told her.

“But you can still tell things from them, right? When you study them, you can tell me something about the person in life?”

He nodded. “I can. I can tell you what you probably already know.”

“Indulge me,” she said. “Bones shrink when they’re burned, right?”

“Right. But taking that into perspective, I
can still tell
you
if
this
was a man or
a
woman and give
you an approximate age. And since
the
skull seems to be in pretty good shape, I’ll
bet
you a forensic artist can give you some
thing
of a picture of the face.”

“I’ll leave you with them,” she said sweetly.

She did, closing the door.

She had left him gloves, instruments, chemicals, materials, anything she thought he might need.

He was hesitant at first, but then he pulled on a pair of gloves and began carefully arranging the human skeleton. Time slipped away as a body came into being from the bones. He still found the work fascinating. He’d started off with one of the world’s greatest professors, a man who routinely gave them tests, simple at first, with large pieces of bone. Was it human or not? The bone pieces got smaller and smaller. They did work in the field—bones purposely left in a building scheduled for demolition, and then the students went in to find the pieces after destruction and fire. To this day, Sean remained amazed by what bones, the most permanent feature of the human body, could tell. Bone in itself couldn’t offer something so unique as DNA, but with new technology, even burned teeth could be tested to discover what kind of trace elements remained to prove what kind of dental work had been done. He didn’t have that kind of capability here, but the fragments could be sent to the Smithsonian. Proof positive couldn’t be offered for identification that way, but
dental records could be compared for compatible results.

Gillespie hadn’t given him any particulars, but he assumed that she thought the body had been burned to keep the police from identifying the victim.

This girl
had
been a victim.

The pelvic bone was in relatively good shape, enough to tell him immediately that the bones had belonged to a young woman. Despite the fact that the bones had been burned—before the body had decomposed, as the residue of burning body fat proved—they could still be read. The epiphysis had joined completely with the thigh bone, showing that she had finished growing, yet it was a recent union, making her a young adult. The skull, in relativ
ely good shape despite the frag
mented teeth, also proved her age through the tiny fissures still visible. Mid-twenties. He was sure that Gillespie had been able to read these obvious signs, and he grew more curious as to why she had brought him in.

While going through the vertebrae, he found marks suggesting that she’d been killed with a sharp object, such as a long knife or scalpel. He also found nicks on the ribs, suggesting that she had been repeatedly stabbed. What damage had been done to tissue he couldn’t say, but the bones themselves told a very sad story. He was studying one of the vertebrae when Gillespie returned.

He looked at her. “I can’t prove anything, of course, and this is pure theory, but I imagine you’ve got the same theory. She was killed by the same person who killed your other victim—and perhaps killed Eleanor Metz as well.”

Gillespie opened a file she’d been holding and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Sariah Applebee, female, twenty-five years of age, five fo
ot six, one hundred and twenty-
five pounds
…
let’s see, what’s pertinent
…
she wore a size seven shoe. Could these bones have fit such a woman?”

“Yes, but they might fit descriptions of other women as well. You can send the bones and the teeth—”

“Yes, but I still won’t have proof positive. I don’t think that I can go much further than we’ve gone toward a total identification— unless we get the killer to confess.”

“A study of the teeth fragments could agree or not agree with Sariah Applebee’s dental records.”

“They could. And if you suggest it, I will send the
teeth to the lab. But for now…
will you talk with someone for me?”

He frowned, shrugging. “Who?”

She smiled. “My husband. You’ll understand in a minute.”

He followed Gillespie down the institutional morgue hallway to her office. There was an older gentleman seated behind her desk. He was about sixty, with sharp blue eyes and steel gray hair. He smiled at Sean and Gillespie.