Chapter 21

Twenty-One

IT WAS PART OF A name.

Wrenching her eyes open, Lindsey bolted upright in bed. Groped for the switch on her bedside lamp. Squinted as soft light flooded her room at this post-midnight hour.

The mark on the arm of the person who'd killed James Robertson had been a tattoo. The image of it that had replayed in her mind as she slumbered was real. She could call it up just as clearly wide awake.

While most of it had been hidden by the sleeve of the long coat, two letters had been visible when the person reached down to pick up the dropped piece of jewelry that had come to rest mere inches from her hiding place.

An e and a y .

The swirl at the end of the y had curved back up over the letters and disappeared into the sleeve of the coat.

She had to tell Jack.

But not at this hour. Her news could wait until tomorrow. Perhaps shared over the piece of cheesecake she'd saved for him from Thanksgiving dinner two days ago.

Wouldn't that be a pleasant end to the long holiday weekend?

Mouth curving up, Lindsey eased back under the covers as the wind outside whistled past, rattling the shutters. Hopefully the meteorologists were wrong, and the snow in the forecast would pass St. Louis by. If they did get dumped on, that could put a damper on a visit from Jack.

But not on her news—and waiting to tell him in person wasn't an option. So first thing tomorrow she'd give him a call, whether a personal visit was in the offing or not.

And if new information kept surfacing, there might be enough fragments at some point to piece together a solid lead for the police to follow.

An outcome that would please everyone involved.

Except the killer.

HIS FAVORITE CHEF was on the line.

Smiling, Jack grabbed his cell off the counter as he finished pouring his first cup of Sunday java. "Morning."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I always get up with the sun. How was your Thanksgiving?"

"Lovely. How about yours?"

"Very pleasant. Bri outdid herself. I think she was trying to impress her new boyfriend and his grandmother."

"Did it work?"

"Near as I could tell. If someone made a feast like that for me, I'd sit up and take notice."

"Duly noted. Moving on to other topics, I have news."

He sipped his coffee while she filled him in on her latest recollection, waiting until she finished to speak. "That will be very helpful if we can ever identify any suspects besides Allen."

"How can Chad still be a suspect? He doesn't have a tattoo."

"Whoever did this could have had an accomplice. Allen was in a perfect position to act as a lookout."

"Then he fell down on the job, because I got past him. If he was watching the door, wouldn't he have tried to divert me?"

Hard to argue with that.

"I agree we can rule him out as the killer—and likely as an accomplice."

"He and Dara will be relieved to hear that. By the way, there's a piece of Oreo cheesecake in my fridge with your name on it."

He gave the snowy scene outside his window a regretful scan. "If we weren't in the midst of a blizzard, I'd run over for it. As it is, I'm even forgoing church."

"Join the club. No worries on the cheesecake. It will keep in my freezer for months."

"I don't intend to wait that long to claim it."

"Nice to know. So I guess we're both in hibernation mode for the day. Let's hope the streets are clear by tomorrow, though. I have a busy week ahead."

"Busier than usual?"

"Mm-hmm. Heidi Robertson asked me to cater a lunch on Tuesday for the employees at her husband's company. Or her company now. A thank-you to them for helping her get up to speed on the business. I had to work that into my schedule in addition to my usual clients. What does your week look like?"

"Also busy. But less predictable than yours. Crime doesn't happen on a schedule."

"Maybe you'll get a new lead on the Robertson case."

If only.

"We can hope, but at the moment the details you're remembering are it."

"No pressure there."

"None intended. In terms of the tattoo, I'd like to hook you up with one of our sketch artists to try and recreate what you saw. There are a few tattoo databases out there, and it's possible we may get a hit."

"Sure. Have them give me a call."

"I'll try to join you for the session if I can." Not customary, but he'd take any excuse he could get to see Lindsey.

"That would be great."

In the background, the beep of a timer echoed. "It sounds like you've already been working in the kitchen." He wandered over to the window.

"I got up early too. Once that image came to me in the middle of the night, it was hard to get back to sleep. Instead of lying there staring at the ceiling, I decided to put the hours to productive use and get a jump on the food I'm making for Tuesday's lunch."

"I won't keep you then. Expect a call from one of our forensic artists tomorrow. And slot me into your busy schedule for that piece of cheesecake. Maybe later in the week, if both of us are available."

"I'll pencil you in for Thursday or Friday."

"That'll work. In the interim, watch your back."

"Trust me, I've been looking over my shoulder for weeks. And as you know from personal experience, I always have my pepper gel at the ready."

"Stay with that program until we get this case solved."

"That's my plan."

Much as he hated to end the call, she had chores to attend to and he had case reports to bring up to date. Not the most exciting task on this snowed-in Sunday, but he might as well make constructive use of the downtime, as Lindsey was.

"I'll talk to you soon."

As they said their goodbyes and he ended the call, Jack gave the landscape outside his frosted window a sweep. The white curtain of falling flakes obscured the view, hiding all details of the terrain beneath a mantle of white. It was easy to see how settlers on the plains back in the 1800s could get lost and freeze to death while walking between their house and their outbuildings during a snowstorm, despite the fact that all the clues to guide them were close by if only they could see for a few brief seconds through the concealing snow.

A spot-on analogy for the Robertson case.

Surely there were more clues out there that would lead them to the killer. Perhaps within touching distance. All they needed was a break.

But unless they got one soon, whoever had shot James Robertson was literally going to get away with murder.

"EXCELLENT JOB, LINDSEY. Thank you for working this into your schedule."

At Heidi's comment, Lindsey turned toward her in the Robertson Properties conference room, where the thank-you lunch was winding down. "I was happy to do it. The menu wasn't complicated, and I was able to prepare a lot of the food while I was snowbound over the weekend. Plus, my afternoon client yesterday canceled, which gave me some breathing space."

"However you managed it, everything was delicious. And the treat was much deserved after everyone's efforts to help me get a handle on things here." She surveyed the employees who were milling about, sampling the gooey butter cake squares and triple chocolate brownies. Sighed. "It's hard to focus on business, though, when all I can think about is James—and the questions that remain about his ... his death." Her voice caught, and she pulled out a tissue. "Sorry. Hard as I try to be businesslike here at the office, sometimes I slip."

"I'm sure everyone understands." She started to reach toward the woman to give her arm an encouraging pat. Dropped her hand. Heidi wasn't the touchy-feely type. "I know the police are working hard to answer all your questions. And I'm also remembering more details that may prove helpful."

Heidi dabbed at the corner of her eye. "About the person you saw in the kitchen?"

"Yes. I know now that the mark I saw on their arm was a tattoo. I remembered two letters, below the sleeve of the coat. I met with a forensic artist from the police department yesterday afternoon, who was able to reproduce what I saw." Too bad Jack hadn't been able to join them, as he'd hoped. But an armed assault took precedence over a drawing session.

"Did the police think that would be helpful?"

"It's possible. The case detective said there are tattoo databases out there, but I think it will be more useful if they identify a suspect on their own and then see if that person has a tattoo."

"I suppose any new clue is positive news, no matter how ... oh, Eric! May I borrow you a minute to talk about that strip mall opportunity?"

Lindsey glanced behind her. A fortyish man holding a gooey butter square in one hand and a can of soda in the other stood a few feet away.

"Sure."

"Lindsey, will you excuse me? I have a pending business decision, and I haven't had a minute all morning to meet with Eric."

"Of course. I'll refill the brownie plate."

As she moved away, Heidi motioned the man into a corner of the conference room, where the two conversed in low tones.

Lindsey continued to the small adjacent kitchen and began removing the plastic wrap from the last tray of brownies.

Stepping into her husband's shoes had to be tough for Heidi, but she seemed to be rising to the challenge. And maybe the work was a blessing in disguise, if it kept her from dwelling on—

Her phone began to vibrate, and she pulled it out.

Dara.

A twinge of guilt nipped at her conscience.

Why hadn't she carved out a few minutes to call her with the definitive news about the tattoo? Putting the young bride's mind at ease should have been a priority.

"Hi, Dara." She closed the door to the conference room, muffling the laughter and conversation. "I've been thinking about you and Chad. How are you doing?"

"Chad's fine. I've got the flu."

Good grief. What else could happen to the newlyweds?

"I'm sorry to hear that. How sick are you?"

"I have a hundred and two temperature and I feel like I've been hit by a truck. I was calling to let you know I won't be at class tomorrow night."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Keep your distance. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."

"I hear you. I do have a piece of news that may cheer you up a little." She relayed the story about the tattoo again. "So Chad should be off the hook."

"I don't know." Dara didn't sound convinced. "He said even if the mark you saw did turn out to be a tattoo, the police could think he was an accomplice."

Jack's exact take.

"I don't believe that. And I don't think the police are giving the partner theory much credence, either."

"That would be a relief. The pressure is keeping Chad awake at night. But I know he wasn't involved."

Dara's tone was confident. As if she'd put all doubts about her husband to rest. Which was heartening.

Unless he really was somehow involved.

Lindsey frowned as that scurrilous suspicion infiltrated her mind.

Where had that come from?

Never in their acquaintance had Chad done anything to suggest he was less than trustworthy. Jack might have to keep doubts front and center in his job, but she wasn't going to let his professional mindset color her view of the world. Her judgment about people had always been sound. Besides, they knew Chad wasn't the killer. He didn't have a tattoo. And her rationale for nixing the accomplice notion was logical.

Chad hadn't been involved in the murder.

"Hold on to that thought, Dara, and take care of yourself. I'll email you the recipes from tomorrow's lesson."

"Thanks, but don't rush. I won't be doing any cooking for the next few days."

Lindsey cracked the door to the conference room and surveyed the table. She ought to be able to gather up enough leftovers for a couple of meals. It wasn't as if Heidi would take the extra food home, anyway. Her tastes leaned more toward nouvelle cuisine than the Waldorf chicken salad sandwiches and cheddar potato soup entrees served today. But she'd clear the donation with the woman anyway. Now that Chad was off the suspect list, Heidi wasn't likely to mind sharing leftovers with him and his sick wife.

"I'll tell you what. Why don't I drop off some food for you and Chad later this afternoon? I'll ring the bell and leave it on the porch."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I catered a lunch today, and not all the food was eaten. If you or Chad need anything else, let me know."

"Thank you so much. Madeleine made the same offer when she called earlier today. She sent a bunch of leftovers home with us on Thanksgiving too. I don't know what I would have done these past few weeks without the two of you."

"That's what friends are for." No surprise that the Horizons director was keeping tabs on Dara and Chad, or that she'd invited them to Thanksgiving. The woman's generosity was boundless and spilled over far beyond her commitment to the nonprofit organization she'd founded.

"I owe you two big-time."

"No, you don't. Just pay it forward." As Jack continued to do with his volunteer work at the foster camp.

"I'll do that." Weariness etched her voice.

"You rest. Tell Chad to watch for the food later."

After they said goodbye, Lindsey slid her phone back into her pocket and continued unwrapping the brownies, setting aside four for Dara and Chad in case the hungry horde in the conference room devoured all of them.

Should she pilfer one for Jack too?

No.

The cheesecake in her freezer ought to be sufficient to entice him to visit again—if seeing her wasn't adequate incentive.

But based on their parting last Wednesday, there was plenty of motivation with or without a culinary treat.

Until the Robertson murder was solved, though, he'd no doubt confine any romantic inclinations to a simple touch. He was too much of a pro to mix business and pleasure.

The question was, when would the case wind down?

She picked up a piece of broken brownie and popped it in her mouth, but the rich, chocolaty taste didn't sweeten her outlook.

Yes, a few details buried under the trauma in her memory were emerging, but eventually that well would dry up. If the case remained active and unsolved, how long would it take Jack to decide it was acceptable to put it on the back burner and move romance to the front?

Longer than she'd like, probably.

So all she could do was hope more clues surfaced, and that this case would be closed soon without anyone else getting hurt.

We have a problem.

What's wrong now?

Lindsey's remembering more—including the last two letters of the tattoo.

The tattoo is being taken care of.

Not fast enough.

You need to calm down. She hasn't remembered anything that can hurt us.

What if she does?

She won't. And her credibility is already in question. It can become more questionable if necessary.

I think it's necessary now.

Let's be patient.

I'm tired of being patient. Why don't we just get rid of her?

I don't want any more killing.

That's not my first choice, either, but if it has to be done, it has to be done.

We're not there yet.

If we wait too long, we may be sorry.

Trust me on this, okay? I've got it under control.

You said that about the setup at the house, and look where we are now.

That was a fluke. No one knew Lindsey would show up.

Whatever the reason, we have a mess.

We're fine. I promise.

You've promised a lot of things, but I'm still waiting for most of them to happen. I'm tired of skulking around in the shadows. I want this over.

It will be soon.

...

Hello? You there?

...

Message received. You're not happy. But please don't do anything rash. We're too close to the finish line to take risks. Let's discuss next steps together. One foolish mistake could put all our plans in jeopardy. Sleep on that thought tonight, and we'll talk tomorrow. Okay?

...