She smiled.
Oh.
“So, Ralph’s new partner is a profiler,” I said. “I better watch what I say.”
She pursed her lips. “Ralph told me about your history with profilers. Don’t worry; I won’t hold it against you. I’m not petty.” She gestured to a cup of coffee in the passenger-side cup holder. “For you.”
“Thanks.” I might have meant for the coffee or for the truce, I didn’t clarify. I grabbed the cup and sniffed at the aroma drifting from the slit in the lid. Nice. Kenyan. I smelled it again. Probably from the Nyeri Highlands. I took a sip. Yes, definitely a SL28 cultivar from the volcanic slopes of the Kingongo Ridge. And somehow she’d guessed right-cream and honey, no sugar. Oh, I could get used to this.
“You chose wisely,” I said.
“Mountain Java Roasters. It’s in Asheville,” she replied. “Ralph said you’re picky about your coffee.”
“Ralph told you a lot.”
“Ralph told me enough.”
She was quiet then, and I wished I could think of something else to say to fill the space growing between us, but nothing came to mind.
We drove past a huge stone hotel nestled up against the mountains, and she said, “That’s the Stratford Hotel. Built entirely out of rocks from that mountain behind it. Six-hundred-and-fifty rooms. Four-and-a-half-foot- thick walls. Seven presidents have stayed there, lots of movie stars. Huge enclosed atrium with hanging gardens, pools, fountains. Even its own indoor whitewater river. Each of the main fireplaces can hold sixteen-foot-long logs.”
“And you know all this… how?”
“I took the trolley tour around town my second day here,” she said.
I smiled. “Gotcha.” The Stratford Hotel looked like a fortress. A world-class golf course lay at its base.
“And by the way, if I call you Pat, you need to call me Lien-hua.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Beyond that, Lien-hua didn’t push the small talk. Whether it was intuition or just politeness, I couldn’t tell. Either way I was thankful. It gave me a chance to think through my agenda for the day. I hoped to grab some files at the federal building and then spend the rest of the day visiting the sites of the crimes in this series. Over the years I’ve found that location and timing of a crime are two of the most important and overlooked aspects of an investigation. Site visits are vital to crime reconstruction.
We pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the federal building, and she turned to me. “It was Mindy,” she said evenly, still gripping the steering wheel with both hands, the muscles in her slim arms growing tight and tense. “The girl on the mountain. Mindy Travelca. We confirmed it last night. She was nineteen.”
I nodded slowly. At least now I knew what to call her. At least now she had a name.
As I followed Lien-hua into the federal building I thought of Mindy’s father being interviewed on TV, the tears wavering in his eyes. And the only thing I could think of to be thankful for was that I didn’t have to be the one to tell him the news.
9
Alice McMichaelson groaned, rolled over, and looked at the clock.
6:27
Good. She still had another hour to sleep before-
Wait a minute. She blinked at the clock. Looked again.
8:27.
What? That can’t be right.
She rubbed her eyes, snatched her glasses off the end table beside the bed, and slid them on.
8:27.
Blinked.
8:28.
Oh no. Not today.
“Jacob,” she yelled. “We’re late. Get up. Brenda!”
“I’m up, Mom!” Brenda’s perky voice sang from the kitchen. “I’ve been up like forever.”
“Well, you could have woken me up too!” Only after saying it did she realize how ridiculous it sounded, having your eight-year-old daughter wake you up for work.
Alice jumped out of bed and shook her head. She’d never been great at getting up in the morning anyway, and since Garrett had left her to be with that other woman it had only gotten worse. Trouble sleeping. Bad dreams. And now waking up late for her second day on the job at the bank. Not good.
The law office thing just hadn’t been going anywhere. The pay at the bank was better and so were the hours. She could spend more time with the kids. Also, she’d started taking business classes, and the bank gave her Mondays off to go back to school-but none of that would matter now if she showed up late and lost her job.
Alice decided to go without a shower, tossed off her nightgown, and yanked open her underwear drawer. “Jacob, are you up?”
“Yeah,” came the sleepy reply from across the hall.
“You don’t sound like it.”
The creak of his bed.
“I’m up.”
Clinking of a spoon and a cereal bowl from the kitchen. “Are we gonna be late for school, Mom?” Brenda had her mouth full.
“I’ll write you a note.”
“Oh,” said Brenda. “OK. I don’t want to miss library time.”
Alice pulled on some stockings. “Are you getting dressed, Jacob?”
“Yeah, Mom! I’m up, OK?”
“OK, OK.”
Alice flew to the closet, grabbed a dress, slipped it on. Shoes. Which shoes? It doesn’t matter. Just hurry. Anything. Black. No. Brown pumps. OK.
She stepped into the bathroom, held a washcloth under the faucet, rubbed it across her face, smeared on some lipstick. “Get your backpacks, kids. We need to go.”
Then back to the dresser. Hair is a mess. A mess! OK, where is it? She scanned the dresser. Where is that brush?
“Brenda, did you take my hairbrush?”
“No, Mom.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Alice shoved her jewelry box aside, opened up the top drawer to see if she’d tossed it in there, scanned the floor. Nothing.
8:39.
Err. “We need to get going, Jacob,” she called, but really she was yelling at herself. She glanced into the hallway. Brenda had wandered down the hall and was standing at attention with her pink backpack on. She’d probably been up since six. Jacob, on the other hand, would sleep until noon if he could get away with it.
Alice stomped into the bathroom. She had to brush her hair. Counter. Shelves. No brush. “Are you ready, Jake?”
“I didn’t get any breakfast.”
“Grab a granola bar or something. We need to get going. Does everybody have their homework?”
“What about our lunches?” asked Brenda.
Lunches!
“I’ll, um-” Alice grabbed her purse, pulled out a few bills. Passed them around. “Here. Buy a hot lunch
