“I may be wrong. But it just seems too out of place to be Marni’s.”
“Why?” asked Grimes, looking uncharacteristically perplexed.
“A girl that structured…A stray piece of paper may not be unusual in your typical car, but I can’t imagine she’d leave this lying around loose in her glove box. All of her information is separated into envelopes, there’re no stray receipts or mess.” He glanced at Grimes. Granted, the man wasn’t a profiler, but it didn’t take a genius to see that Marni Fischer was a control freak. “Nothing else was out of place.”
The sheriff retrieved a sleeve of plastic from the crime scene kit in his trunk and slid the note into it, then handed it off to one of his deputies. The man fairly ran to his car and took off.
“We’ll know quick. I’ve got a good guy in my lab who can find anything if it’s there to find.”
“I appreciate it.” Baldwin shielded his eyes and gazed at the hospital. So far the only thing linking most of these girls was their chosen or intended profession. If there were other notes, then they might have something.
“There was no sign of foul play at Marni’s home?” Baldwin asked.
“Not a thing. I know about the other cases, that they were taken from their houses. This one looks like she was taken right here, just as she was getting into her car. There’s another bee for your bonnet. Is there anything else? I need to get this scene cleared and get started on a rural search. I know you think this guy’s going to take her out of state, but I need to make sure.” Sheriff Pascoe was ready to go, to get his part of the investigation under way. There was nothing more they could do here. Baldwin shook his hand and thanked him for all his help.
He and Grimes went back to town in silence. Grimes parked at the motel and they walked in the strong sunshine to get food and to go over their next moves. Grimes looked rough, unshaven and red-eyed. He was taking every aspect of this case to heart. If Baldwin were to evaluate him from a psychological perspective, he’d say Grimes was teetering on the edge.
They went to Jo’s Diner, a local establishment worn with age. The entire restaurant could have fit in the lobby of their motel. Pictures of locals plastered the walls, some fresh and new, some so old and grainy that the black-and-white images merely suggested their occupant’s features. The walls were yellowed from years of nicotine, and the formerly white lace drapes drooped gray and unhappy over smeary windows. Baldwin and Grimes got looks from tired men who appeared to have grown into the stools at the counter. The smell was intoxicating, and Baldwin realized he was starved.
They sat at a metal table covered by stained and cracked Formica laminate. A huge woman with shoulder- length braids pranced over. Baldwin couldn’t believe how lightly she moved considering her bulk. Her waitress uniform was spotless, and Lurene was stitched in fancy black embroidery above her ample left breast. She slapped down two cups, filled them with strong black coffee and gave the men a look.
“Good morning,” Baldwin said. “We’d like-”
“Let me guess, sugar. The works.” She yelled back over her shoulder to a rheumy-eyed black man with grizzled hair who could be seen in the kitchen. “Eugene, two full plates.” She turned back to them.
“You just let me know if you need anything else after that.” She chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that brought a smile to Baldwin’s face. She gave him a dazzling smile of her own and stepped back to the counter. Every eye in the place was trained on her, and she knew it. She may have been a big woman, but she exuded sensuality.
Baldwin turned back to Grimes, amused to see the look of appreciation in his eyes.
“That’s some woman, huh?” He enjoyed the blush that spread over Grimes’s cheeks.
Their waitress returned with two plates groaning with food. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and a bowl of grits filled platters big enough for ten men. To top it off, soda biscuits paraded off the edges of the plates.
Baldwin couldn’t hold back a laugh. “This is the works, isn’t it?”
“It is, sugar, and you leave anything behind, I’ll have your hiney. You two look like you could use a good meal.” She placed the plates with a flourish, pulled an assortment of jams from her apron pocket, reached behind her and refilled their coffee, all without her gaze leaving Baldwin’s eyes. Her braids clicked softly as she moved about, getting them settled. He sensed she wanted more, so he sat silent, not making a move toward his plate. He was right.
“Sugar, you here about that sweet young doctor that went missing?”
“Yes, ma’am, we are.” Grimes looked at Baldwin, excitement and hope brightening his eyes. Ma’aming a waitress was the universal signal that meant “Please, tell me everything you know.” She obliged.
“You know, she came in here all the time. Had a thing for my Eugene’s pancakes. Said they were the best she ever tasted.” She raised a disapproving eyebrow. “You’re not tasting yours.”
Baldwin tucked his fork into the fluffy mound and steered a bit to his mouth. It was heaven. Marni wasn’t off the mark as far as Eugene’s pancakes were concerned. He told Lurene so.
She nodded gravely. “He’s got a secret, won’t tell me a thing. We’ve been running this place for twenty years, and he still won’t tell me what he does to ’em.”
Grimes had watched this exchange absently while shoveling food into his mouth. He tried to croak out a question, but Lurene gave him a stern look.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Grimes covered his mouth sheepishly, sending Baldwin a mental message instead. Get her to talk, his eyes implored. This could be the best information we get.
“Lurene, you said Marni Fischer came in here often. When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Friday morning. She always comes in before work on Friday, says it’s her treat for the week. Boy, that girl sure could put away some food. Always had what you’re havin’, finished the whole plate and usually asked for more biscuits. They’re my own recipe, you know.”
Baldwin took the hint and demolished a biscuit. He was amazed, he’d never had anything quite so good. Having grown up in the South, that was saying something. He gave Lurene the compliment and she practically purred. Baldwin imagined Eugene must have his hands full.
“So you say you saw Marni on Friday. She didn’t stop in Saturday?”
“Nope, sugar, she didn’t.”
“Any chance you had a stranger in here on Friday? A man, maybe?”
She pursed her lips and thought hard, air leaking out the small O where her lips weren’t entirely closed in a tinny little whistle. “Honey, we have strangers in here all the time. There was a boy in here, cute kid I hadn’t seen before. But he was just a kid. Maybe seventeen, eighteen. He wasn’t legal, I’ll tell you that. Figured he was in here while his momma had an appointment or somethin’.”
“What did he look like?” Eighteen was younger than Baldwin expected the killer to be, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“Handsome boy, dark hair, like yours. Don’t really remember much about his features. Just a good-looking kid. Came in, ate and left, he was only here about twenty minutes, tops. Didn’t linger like you men.” She winked at him. “I’m sorry for that girl, I liked her a lot. You finish your breakfast now, y’hear?” She topped off their coffee and left them to their thoughts. They finished as much of the food as they could, and Grimes wisely mopped up the remainder of his eggs with the last biscuit. They got up and went to pay, but Lurene waved them off.
“You just find that girl, okay?”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am. Thank you for a wonderful breakfast.” Baldwin surreptitiously slipped a twenty- dollar bill under a saltshaker on the counter and they made their way out onto the quiet street.
They sat in Baldwin’s hotel room, waiting. At least, Baldwin sat. Thinking about how young his killer could actually be. A kid, that wouldn’t fit. This guy was too organized, too mobile to be that young. He needed his own place, his own wheels and a lot of cash to circulate himself around the Southeast. Naw, that didn’t work.
Grimes paced a few feet away. A member of his team had called a few minutes earlier. Shauna Davidson’s apartment had been searched and a poem found in her desk drawer. Baldwin read and reread the lines Grimes gave him.
How can those terrified vague fingers push, The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? How can anybody, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
This was not good at all. Baldwin closed his eyes to shut out the sight of Grimes’s relentless pacing. He could still hear the man’s shoes passing through the industrial-grade carpet- swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.
As Grimes made his latest turn, his phone rang. He looked at Baldwin. “Finally.” He snapped the phone open.
