The Green-Eyed Doll (11 page)

Matt had one name left. He pushed the doorbell at Vince Bradley’s and waited.

Jessie Bradley opened the duplex door wearing a pink, satiny robe, holding a mascara wand in her hand. The makeup on her face and sky-high blonde hair indicated she was dressing for a night out. She propped one hand on her ample hip and ran her gaze from his toes back up to his eyes. He hadn’t saved the easiest for last.

“If you’ve got a warrant for Vince’s unpaid traffic tickets, you can wait in your car until he gets out of the shower.” She closed the door before Matt uttered a word.

He pushed the doorbell again. “I’m not here to arrest your husband. I need to speak with you both.”

The door opened again. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Julia Drummond.”

Jessie huffed out a sigh and waved him inside. “Have a seat.” Without another word, she walked back to what Matt assumed was the bedroom and closed the door.

A lot of furniture had been crammed into the small duplex. Newspapers and magazines were strewn about, most of them weighted down by empty long neck beer bottles. One or both of the Bradley’s smoked. The smell and number of butts in ashtrays staggered the senses. Matt chose to stand. A few minutes later Jessie and Vince emerged, both pressed and polished in jeans and western boots. Vince offered a smile and a handshake, waved at a chair, and then seated himself in an oversized recliner.

“What’d you want to know about Julia?” Vince smoothed back his hair, accentuating a receding hairline.

“Anything that might help me catch her killer.”

Jessie flinched, but Vince’s face muscles remained relaxed. Maybe, too relaxed.

“She came in the Saddleback. We weren’t friends,” Vince said.

“Not that she didn’t want to be ‘friends.’ With Vince—not me.” Jessie’s tone dripped venom, her green eyes fiery with hate.

“Shut that shit up, Jessie.” Vince shot his wife a warning look. “I never messed with her, and she never hit on me.”

“Yeah. Right. She and that friend hung out at the bar. Always came alone. I can tell you what they were looking for. Somebody else’s man.”

Matt held his hands up in the timeout sign. “Either of you notice her leaving with anyone? Dancing with any one individual?”

“Nope.” Vince shook his head. “I don’t remember her on the dance floor.”

“Vince wouldn’t have noticed her walking around naked. He ain’t had eyes for anything or anybody but the mystery woman. He’s too busy sniffing around that redhead.” Jessie, unfazed by the dirty looks Vince fired her direction, kept right on going. “The killer could’ve hauled Julia out right in front of him.”

She’d referred to Catherine, but Matt played dumb. “Mystery woman?”

“That fancy new waitress.” Jessie spit the words. “I asked about her. Marty said she was passing through. Can’t leave too soon.”

“Stop your bitchin’ about Catherine,” Vince barked.

“Catherine? You’re on a first name basis with her now?” Jessie’s voice shot up an octave.

“About Julia...” Matt tried to get back to the reason for his visit. “Where were you folks Wednesday, July twenty-sixth?”

Both Vince and Jessie stood. They moved to stand next each other, their hands met and clasped together. “Why are you asking us?” Vince asked. “We had nothin’ to do with her death.”

“Standard procedure. If you’ll give me that information, you folks can get started on your evening out.”

Jessie stared at Matt as if he’d read their minds. “How’d you know we’re going out?”

Matt suppressed the urge to shake his head in amazement. “Lucky guess.”

Chapter Eight

Saturday, August 12th, 11:45 a.m.

Stretched out on the couch, he closed his eyes and pictures of his last doll flashed slideshow-style through his memory. Tomorrow would make two weeks since the accident, and that’s what it was... an accident. The anger at himself had passed. He hated to admit it, but eventually she had to die. He couldn’t allow a doll to leave the trailer alive. He’d learned long ago all women were like Mama. Liars and whores, every one of them.

Thinking about Mama stirred up the hornets. They’d quieted down while he’d had a doll. They swirled, buzzing louder until his head roared. He needed another doll.

He had a plan. Was gonna do things right. The first time he’d been impulsive. Careless. He’d been too excited to think straight. Somebody could’ve seen him. Was he being too picky by taking his time? No. After all, this was a private matter between him and his doll. He’d recognize her. His new doll would treat him better than the old one had. She’d want him. The look in her eyes would be a sign. No matter how much she lied and denied it...he’d know. Catherine offered great possibilities, but she’d take some planning. When he took her, he’d want to keep her for a long time.

****

Saturday, August 12th, 4:30 p.m.

Sweat ran down Matt’s face, met at the tip of his chin, and fell to the hard, parched earth. Starving for any type of moisture, the thirsty ground greedily absorbed the liquid. He brushed his gloved hand up his neck to stem the flow and ignored the small rivulets, which rushed downward from his bare chest and back, drenching the waistband of his jeans. With one final blow of the hammer, he secured the new hinge, stepped back, and watched while the gate on his corral swung back and forth. The renovation of the old barn behind his house was near completion. Soon he’d start a search for a couple of horses.

Hard labor, working with his hands in particular, brought him a small measure of satisfaction and peace. Nothing provided such luxury these days. Nothing would until Julia Drummond’s killer sat on death row in Huntsville Prison.

The sound of an engine pulled his attention to the driveway. He chuckled when Catherine’s old car wheezed and coughed a puff of smoke before shuddering to a stop. He hadn’t had time for more than one quick lunch with her for the past week. He liked that she’d stopped by.

“Come out back. I’m working in the barn.”

She stopped all forward movement. Her gaze skittered across his bare chest. Bright pink shot up her cheeks into her hairline. Damn, he liked that she blushed easily.

“I’m sorry.” Matt grabbed his shirt. His fingers and thumbs became unfamiliar with buttons. He struggled but finally succeeded. “I forgot I was half-dressed. The dog doesn’t notice whether or not I’ve got clothes on.”

“Uh...okay...not a problem.” She tapped her chest with her fingers. “My fault for stopping unannounced. I’m on my way to work, but I have a question.”

Matt started toward her then stopped. “I’d better not come any closer. You can probably smell me from there. But it’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.” The traitorous dog rushed ahead, tongue lolling out to the side and fell at her feet.

“Oh...thanks,” she stammered.

Damn, he’d made her uncomfortable, which was the last thing he wanted to do. “You stopped by to ask me something?”

“The flowers and the scarf got me wondering if Julia Drummond had a stalker before she went missing.”

Matt blew out a sigh. Worry behind her eyes made him want to wrap his arms around her, but the distance she kept between them sent him a message.
Don’t touch
. “Not that we know of. One of my deputies questioned her friends and family. She never mentioned a secret admirer or gifts from an unknown person to any of them.”

The frown on her face relaxed, but her eyes showed no relief. “I think that makes me feel better. No less creeped out, but better.” She knelt down and scratched behind the mutt’s floppy ears. “Have you picked a name?”

He glared at the slobbering animal, licking her hand. A name popped into Matt’s brain. “Yeah. Benedict Arnold.”

“That’s not a name for a dog,” she protested over a laugh.

“It fits him. If you can stand me, I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

“I can and I’d like to see.” She patted Benedict one last time, rose, and headed toward Matt.

“In a week or two, I’ll have the place ready for a couple of horses. Come look.” Matt noticed the slightest wrinkling of her nose. Undaunted, she continued toward him without complaint.

She wandered through, nodded her approval, and then paused to inspect inside the two new stalls. Dressed for work at the bar, she could’ve been headed to a rodeo. A tucked-in blue western-cut blouse highlighted her tiny waist, but the tight jeans drew his attention to her unbelievably long legs.

“Do you ride?” He could see himself shopping. Not only for horses, but two sets of tack.

“Many years ago. I imagine I could still ride.”

“Good. I need a roping partner.”

“Sorry.” She held her hands up in protest. “No way can I ride and throw a rope.”

“I’ll teach you. By the way, you look great.”

“Thanks. That reminds me, I’d better get moving.”

She ran her hand over the stall door. “You’ve done a great job. The place looks like you hired a professional carpenter.”

“I like working with my hands. This place is good therapy.”

She leaned back against a stall door and studied him in silence. Her green eyes darkened. “Why do you need therapy?”

He’d stuck his foot in his mouth and opened himself up for questions. Questions he didn’t intend to answer. “I don’t. Physical labor, especially something with a saw, hammer, and nails, gets my mind off work.”

Her eyed widened. “That was thoughtless of me. I’m sure you need something to take your mind off the murder. I don’t know how you deal with death every day.” She glanced toward the driveway. “I’d better go.”

The dog ambled past him, avoiding the hand Matt extended. Wagging his tail, Benedict bumped her leg with his head as if aware she was leaving. “Take that mutt with you.”

She laughed the kind of laugh only Catherine could
.
The kind that gave pleasure to anyone within earshot. The kind that drew you into her good mood without thought as to what was funny. The sound reverberated off the walls of the empty barn and slammed hard against his chest, hitting him like the sun poking its head up on the horizon dawning a new day—bright and full of hope. His heart rate quickened and blood thundered through his veins.

Brave soul that she was, she extended her hand and let him walk next to her all the way to her car. He theorized she might be holding her breath.

“There’s a movie theater in Curry. Want to take in a show one night next week?” He held her door while she slid behind the wheel.

“I’d like that.”

He plunged ahead before she drove away and he lost his nerve. “We could eat first. Curry has a couple of restaurants where a waitress comes to your table instead of you ordering at the counter. How’s Monday night sound?”

“Monday’s good.”

Matt leaned down to the window. “Why’s it hot in your car?”

“Duh.” She gave him a wide-eyed grin. “Because it’s over a hundred and three in the shade?”

A puff of smoke from her exhaust billowed up when she pushed the gas pedal. Matt shook his head. One of these days, her car would cough up a piston rod, roll over, and die.

****

Sunday, August 13th, 1:15 p.m.

He didn’t need no high school diploma to read the message the doll at the Dairy Dream sent him. Odd, he’d never noticed her before. Annie openly flirted with him, delivered his food right to his table instead of letting the girl at the counter holler out his order number. She’d smiled and batted her eyelashes over those green eyes, then twisted her sexy ass all the way back to the cash register. He got her true meaning when she told him to come back soon.

He’d wait for her to get off work, pick the right spot, and then take her. Not tonight, but soon. When it was safe. Mama’s trailer was ready. He’d stocked the fridge and made sure the utilities were paid up. Anticipation sent chills up and down his arms while he cleaned the .380 pistol he’d found in Mama’s nightstand. A sissy’s gun and an old model at that, but purchased long before any of these bullshit laws about background checks went into effect.

He had a good feeling about this doll. They’d have fun together. She’d be nice to him. But if she wasn’t, he’d learned how to bring her around.

****

Monday, August 14th, 4:00 p.m.

The heat wave prevented her from jogging, forcing Catherine to run through her daily exercise routine indoors. Her martial arts instructor had stressed the importance of practice. She finished with twenty minutes of meditation, then rewarded herself with a leisurely soak in the antique, claw-foot tub before six o’clock. Her small frame house shook against the brunt of a gust of wind. The windows rattled and dry tree branches scratched across the roof. She closed her eyes and blocked out all sound.

Nothing would ruin her good mood. Let the wind blow hot air, sand-blasting her skin. Let the sun dry the land and leave foot-wide cracks. Let the car air conditioner refuse to offer any respite from the punishing heat wave. Matt would knock on her door soon. He’d said she was beautiful. In the few short weeks she’d lived in Butte Crest, she’d begun to feel he might be right.

She studied her sparsely-filled closet. She’d made good tips the past three weekends but refused to buy anything new. The sense of accomplishment when she presented Emma with the rest of the rent was worth a lot more than a new outfit.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, she sat on the couch and read until Matt’s black pickup rolled down the drive. A guilty pleasure, she watched him walk to the door. His long strides, the deliberate manner he planted each boot on the ground, his gaze set on his destination, all of his mannerisms screamed John Wayne swagger. She mentally rehearsed answering the door. He’d ask, “Ready?” She’d answer, “Almost.” And that would be a true statement. Her heartbeat increased the closer he came to her door. Blood raced and heated. Warmth settled in her lower stomach. Yep. Almost.

****

Monday, August 14th, 6:30 p.m.

Matt picked Antonio’s Italian Restaurant for his supper date with Catherine because of the ambiance its owners created. The candles, the grapevines, and the soft music in the background spoke of romance and sweethearts. The owners, Antonio and Maria to their patrons, greeted their customers as if they were family. Both short and robust, their dark hair and warm eyes welcomed you. Both were capable of lifting someone Matt’s size off the floor with a hug. Catherine was embraced before he’d finished introductions.