They had with Monica. That first day he’d touched her.
He’d been high, and drunk, and so had she. She’d come on to him. He’d told her no a couple of times, but he’d taken advantage of what the girl had been offering. He was just glad they’d not been blood related. He didn’t know that he’d have gotten past that if she’d been his cousin by blood.
No, he’d been stupid. The drugs had made him do it.
That Talley girl strolled out of the inn, that stuffed shirt next to her. Jim waited until they were a few blocks up the road, then pulled the patrol car onto the road.
He’d blend in, no doubt. Just another WSP officer out doing his job.
Several hours later, he knew the truth. He hadn’t intended to stay in the area, but he’d pulled into the parking lot across from the Masterson County school system to eat his lunch, and he’d seen her and her partner drive by. They’d been in the Masterson vet’s truck. It was a distinctive blue. It was easy to follow it as they drove around.
What were they really thinking to accomplish?
Luther and Pauline hadn’t exactly been close to many people in Masterson. Pauline had thought most of the people around were totally worthless. She’d had trouble getting along with most people, Jim thought.
Unless they had cocks, anyway. Pauline liked men. She especially liked them when her husband was gone.
Sometimes, he’d wondered if Luther knew that. Maybe he had, but maybe he hadn’t given a damn.
It was hard to tell.
Fourteen-year-old memories could haunt you. But there was always the possibility memories got twisted. He’d studied witness reports. Took long lectures on how ineffective memories could be. He knew.
But Helen…Helen was haunting him. Now.
She’d been all over his dreams last night.
Far worse than she had all those years ago.
Maybe…maybe when they’d found her body, they’d let her soul out or something. And she was haunting. Haunting him for what he’d done.
No. That was just stupid talking.
He pulled the squad car open and reached into the back seat. He’d done his shopping on his way in that morning.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had a drink on the clock. It probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d just sit there, next to the road, waiting for the next speeder to go by. He wouldn’t go track that girl down. Wouldn’t watch what they were doing.
And, hopefully, he’d be able to mute Helen’s caustic voice out of his head.
Somehow.
14
Miranda was quiet when they left the tiny excuse for a hospital. Knight shot her a look, trying to determine what she was thinking by the expression on her face. His shin still smarted from her kick. The incongruity of freckles and her sedate hairstyle—she’d pulled the cinnamon curls up and pinned her hair in place—struck him.
Knight decided he hated her hair like that. It wasn’t her; at least, not the her he was trying to puzzle out. She looked too different, even though she wore dark pants and her FBI: PAVAD insulated windbreaker.
“It had to be someone close,” Jac Jones said a few minutes after they were back in the large truck.
This was speculation he agreed with. People just didn’t show up at a farm seventeen miles outside of a small town only to bury Grandma.
“Someone who knew her,” Miranda said.
“She was in her nightgown and robe,” Kelly Compton said. Knight shot her a look in the rearview. Compton had her files open on her lap and her tablet balanced on her right knee, all long legs and arms. “Pics show it. It doesn’t look like she was wearing much else. Shoes. Thick socks. Undies—the exact kind you’d expect a woman of her age to wear.”
“That gels with the pink comforter,” Knight said.
“Quilt. It was a quilt. There’s a difference. The quilt she was making,” Miranda said quietly. “Helen was always quilting. Every time I saw her, she was making something. She made beautiful quilts. It was her largest source of income. There’s one hanging on the wall in the dining room at the inn.”
“How well did you know her?” Jac asked.
“I was good friends with her granddaughter Monica from about the age of nine until they left town. I’d been to her house many, many times. I knew Helen, and I knew her daughter Pauline. A little. Helen watched the kids; there were six of them; Pauline may have been pregnant with another at the time. Helen was almost always in a nightgown and robe. Pauline worked second shift at the plastics factory a mile outside of town. It went out of business about six years ago, I think. It was one of the few places that employed a large number of people from the county. Other than the ranches and the hospital and the school system.”
“So who all lived with Helen Caudrell?” Knight asked.
“Hmm. There was her daughter Pauline, and Pauline’s husband Luther. I rarely saw him. He was loud and obnoxious. Frightening. Always spouting off conspiracy theories and fear of the government. Grandma and my father wouldn’t let me over there if he was home. Grandma was careful to check where he was at first. Especially when I was younger. There was Lesley, Monica, Junior, Honey, Jennifer, and I think the youngest was named Marcie. Monica was my age. There were two in elementary school at the time they left, Junior and Honey were in middle school, and Monica and Lesley in high school. But it’s all one building, so our paths crossed often.”
“What do you remember about them?” Jac asked.
“Not much. Monica and I avoided her siblings as much as possible. She preferred to hang out at my house. She wasn’t exceptionally close to any of them.” Miranda shifted in her seat, putting one hand next to Knight’s shoulder as he drove. She faced the two women in the rear seat. “Everyone
