Carmelita arched her brow. “You have always fought for the underdog. Channel your anger and frustration toward what you do better than anyone—helping those who can’t help themselves.”
Sin leaned over and kissed Carmelita on both cheeks. “Gracias, Madre.”
The two women walked back to the house, woke Maria and the three of them made breakfast together; chocolate chip pancakes. Maria’s favorite.
By nine-thirty, Sin was headed back to Miami. She hadn’t forgotten to go by Charlie’s hangar; she just didn’t have the time. From Charlie’s cryptic note she figured he had left her a birthday present, but she would have to come back and get it later. Evelyn had called and told her they’d identified the latest victim. Duty called.
25
Sin was ten minutes from the office when her phone started to ring nonstop. She pulled off the side of the road to check her voicemail and was taken aback when she heard the pert reporter’s voice coming through the line. Tiff from Action News seemed to be in trouble. With each message left, her ‘frantic’ meter seemed to be going out of control. Not knowing whether it was worry or curiosity, Sin called her back and they agreed to meet at the Sand & Street Café in South Beach.
Sin was greeted by Jinny, the familiar girl who’d served her the last time she was here. “I saw you on the news,” Jinny said, walking Sin to her table. “We all did.”
“Who’s we?”
Jinny looked over her shoulder; Sin’s gaze followed. It seemed as if all the restaurant’s personnel were watching them.
“Great. Is there anyone who hasn’t seen that press conference?”
“I doubt it,” Jinny said. “The Painted Beauty Killer has everyone talking.”
Now I’m a media darling, Sin thought. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to be.
“Is anyone joining you?” Jinny asked.
“Hmm, yes,” Sin said, breaking her train of thought, “there will be one more.”
Jinny left the menus and brought two glasses of water.
Right as she turned to leave the table, Tiffany arrived. Sin was surprised to see her dressed casually in shorts, a tank top, and running shoes. It wasn’t just her clothes, however, that made her seem so different. It was the fact that she looked so disheveled; her hair was a mess, her makeup seemed nonexistent, and her eyes were covered with an oversized pair of Chanel sunglasses.
Sin pointed to a chair.
Once Tiff was seated, Sin thought of something snide to say, but remembered Carmelita’s words. She needed to focus her rage on the killer, and not on innocent people. “Can I order you a cup of coffee or something else to drink?”
Tiffany nodded. “Coffee would be good.”
Sin waved Jinny over and ordered two.
“You wanted to see me?”
Tiffany reached inside her tote and pulled out an envelope. Sin watched the woman’s fingers tremble a bit as the reporter slid it across the table to her.
“What’s in there?” Sin asked.
Tiffany shook her head. “Just open it.”
“Before I open it, I need to know who it’s from.”
Tiffany lifted her mug with now shaking hands and sipped the fresh coffee. But as she tried to set it back down easily, the hot liquid spilled on her arm and sloshed all over the table.
Taking a napkin, Sin handed it to the obviously upset reporter. “Why don’t you take a deep breath and tell me how you came to find the envelope.”
“It’s from him,” Tiffany said.
“Him?”
“The Painted Beauty Killer.”
Sin studied the woman as if wondering what kind of game Tiff was playing. Moving forward in her chair, Sin watched the tears fall down Tiff’s cheeks and began to wonder if this set-up was no set-up at all. “What’s inside?”
“Open it.” Tears spilled over her lashes.
Sin reached into her backpack and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Once on, she opened the clasp and peered inside. Another envelope, similar to the ones found at the crime scenes, and some photos, met her gaze.
After deciding Tiff wasn’t offering up crocodile tears in order to get an interview, Sin closed the envelope and took a deep breath, “Do you feel well enough to drive?”
“Yeah, my nerves are starting to calm down.”
Sin slid a twenty-dollar bill under her coffee cup.
“Follow me back to the office. We can continue our talk there.”
Tiffany shook her head and stared at the envelope. “The note says no cops or FBI except for you, or . . .” her words caught in her throat, “I’ll be next.”
Sin pulled the stationery out of the manila envelope and read the threat. “Since the FBI refuses to show my art for the world to see, you will make sure that the photos of my masterpieces make it on the six o’clock news. If you don’t, I will be back to pay you a visit.
“Jesus,” Sin exclaimed, “the bastard was in your house. Where exactly did you find this?”
“On my kitchen table.”
“Did he take anything?”
“I don’t think so. But he did leave me something.”
Sin’s eyes narrowed, “More than this?”
“Keep reading.”
Sin continued where she left off. “When you show my pictures to the public this evening, wear the little black Chanel dress with the matching shoes.”
“The freak went through your closet?”
“Worse,” Tiffany murmured. “There were shoes and a dress on my bed. They’re not mine.”
Sin went back to reading.
“Bring this letter to Agent O’Malley and tell her to back off. If she keeps prying, the body count will rise. You are to go to no other authorities with this information. If you do, I’ll know, and I’ll be back for you.”
Sin thought for a moment. “I don’t want to go through all this evidence here in public. I’ll have to take it with me. Do you have anywhere you can go? A friend’s place or family?”
Tiffany began to sob. “No one.”
Sin bit into her lower lip. Fuck. Frank, you’re going to kill me, but I don’t see any other choice. “Follow me back to my houseboat. It’s docked across from the Fontainebleau Hotel.” She leaned in and stared Tiffany in the
