It wasn’t a very pleasant humming—more nervous really.

  The two of them, if anything, seemed like children outside the principal’s office for mouthing off in class. Had her parents done something?

  This was even stranger because for years, both of the Shields had been checked out of life. Everything had been taken away from them. Their youngest daughter had gone missing. Their oldest daughter was just gone. The two of them were left with one another. The only people who ever got to see an animated version of Martha and Nils were each other, and also the older folks in their small bible study.

  Cora, however, had never gone to their bible study. And she wasn’t used to getting glimpses of her parents without the armor of disapproval lingering in the air.

  Had they decided they weren’t disappointed in her? She gripped the back of the chair. This was horrible news. Because if it was true, then it meant, without a doubt, that they wanted something from her.

  Bingo. That’s it. She nodded slowly.

  “What do you want?” she said finally, still gripping the wooden chair tightly.

  The moment she asked the question, both of her parents glanced sharply up at her, going suddenly still. Then, in an effort to cover it up, they both began speaking. Her mother commenting on the different type of jams. Her father asking how her day had gone.

  But as quickly as the jabbering started, it ended.

  Her parents shared a final look, and then it was Nils who mustered the courage to speak first. “Look, Cora, we...we know you have something of a background in looking into things.”

  “You mean my time at the FBI?” Cora said slowly.

  “Right, that,” her father said brusquely. “Well...it might actually be useful around here after all.”

  Cora blinked. Then she felt her temper flare. She opened her mouth to reply, but her mother cut in. Reinterpreting her father’s comments as ever.

  “What he means to say,” Martha posited, “is that we feel like you might be very helpful to us. If you had the time, that is.”

  Cora glanced between the two of them, unsure whether to be irritated or curious. “You’re asking for my help?”

  “No,” her father said.

  “Yes,” said her mother.

  Cora decided to look at her mother. “With what?”

  “It’s nothing much,” her father said.

  “It’s really quite awful,” said her mother.

  This time Cora didn’t interject, just waited patiently for her mother to continue. It took a second, with the woman’s fingers twisting at the apron strings, and shifting back and forth on the kitchen tiled floor. But at last, Martha blurted it out.

  “One of the new ladies at our bible study was...was...sent to be with the Lord, recently.”

  “Killed,” her husband said, his expression dark.

  “She’s with Jesus now, Nils!” Martha snapped suddenly.

  This was the only time when Martha would correct her husband. In many ways, Cora’s mother was a timid woman at times, but she was also the spiritual anchor of their marriage. And when it came to topics like death or pain, it was Martha who had her way.

  Cora, on the other hand, preferred to avoid the topics entirely. It only ended with hurt feelings.

  So instead of engaging her mother in a philosophical discussion, she sidestepped the comment and said, “So, a lady in your bible study was killed.”

  Martha and her husband exchanged another look, both of them conferring with their better half. And then they exhaled and said, “Yes,” at the same time.

  “Well, at least we’ve found agreement,” Cora said, doing her very best not to sound too sarcastic. “Did you guys talk to the cops?” she said.

  “Yes,” her father took over now, his hands creasing the newspaper. “They won’t look into it.”

  “Honey,” said Mrs. Shields.

  Her husband passed it to her. “What, no I meant...” Martha trailed off, and then coughed delicately. “I meant you, Dear. Don’t say it like that. The police are doing a fine job.”

  “No,” said Nils stiffly. He looked at Cora. “I spoke with Sheriff Cluster. They’re not even looking into it. On account of Mindy being a prostitute.”

  “Nils—language! Mindy was unfortunately employed,” said Martha quickly, wincing at Cora as if worried that her daughter might find the word “prostitute” offensive. All Cora could think about was the Russian mobster squeezing her ass moments before she shot a club full of them on her last little excursion. She really did live in a different world than her parents.

  “The cops under Cluster are different than you remember,” said her father quickly. “They’re slow, power-drunk, and corrupt.”

  “That’s how I remember them,” said Cora.

  “Oh...well, then they’re the same as you remember.”

  “Dear, please. Don’t speak badly about Cluster. His wife is a friend.”

  But Nils pushed doggedly on. He looked at his daughter and shrugged. “We don’t really know who else to ask for...” he trailed off.

  “For what?” she said innocently. She wanted to hear him say it.

  He coughed into his hand, then muttered, “For help. We don’t know who else to ask for help.”

  Martha was nodding. She was standing next to Cora now, her hand pressed to her daughter’s wrist, leaving a dusting of flour. “Mindy was troubled, but a very kind lady. She didn’t deserve to die. It’s all so horrible. We were having her over for scrabble night tomorrow!”

  Cora exhaled slowly. She wanted to refuse.

  But the look in her parents’ eyes was so heartbreaking, she knew that she couldn’t. And she had a suspicion about why they were suddenly animated again. Excited about something beyond just routine.

  “How old was she?” Cora said softly.

  Her mother waved nonchalantly, “Oh, well, hmm...Mid-twenties, something like that.”

  Her father pretended like he hadn’t heard the question. Both of them acted as if they couldn’t tell what she was implying.

  Mid-twenties. The same age Rose would have been if she was still alive. Cora didn’t want to be cynical, but she wondered if she needed to remind her parents that this girl wasn’t Rose. Her parents had never been given closure for their younger daughter. They had never found out what had happened. For a few years there, they had even held onto hope, praying ceaselessly, that their daughter would be returned. It never happened.

  Cora supposed that she had to give her parents credit for caring about this new woman, though. Caring enough to ask Cora, the black sheep of the family, for help.

  Plus, it would give her an excuse to stick around town a bit. She felt the letters in her pocket and considered bringing them up. But the way things were going, the tension, suggested that perhaps those could wait.

  Besides Cora had been wondering where her next job would come from. It wasn’t like she was some professional contractor. These jobs found her, rather than the other way around.

  She straightened and began to circle the table to snatch a biscuit. She took a bite and exhaled in delight. “Wonderful as ever,” she said. Her mother smiled.

  “Won’t you sit with us?”

  Cora replied, “I should probably get an early start on this. With these sorts of things, the longer you leave them, the easier it is to hide evidence. And if you’re right about the cops, if they’re indifferent to the whole thing, then the sooner I move the better.”

  Her parents looked content by this explanation. Both of them nodded knowingly. Her mother leaned forward, and for a moment it seemed as if she was going to give Cora a quick kiss on the cheek. But she lost her nerve, and instead patted her daughter on the arm.

  Cora smiled at her mother. Her father waved his newspaper, and Cora gave a quick, formal nod back; briefly, she felt as if she was in the military.

  And then she turned, leaving the kitchen behind her, moving up the hallway, and out the front door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cora hadn’t needed to ask which motel Mindy was staying in, because there was only one in the small, rural town.

  Plus, the two police cars parked outside the building and the note in the glass doorway suggesting that the third floor was currently closed for business were all the pointers she needed.

  The real question was if she could find a way in without being arrested.

  Cora sat quietly and peered through the windshield, watching the two police officers standing by the door.

  The motel was three stories tall. The second and third floors had metal railings circling beneath greasy windows. Cora had spent some time here herself, especially in her teen years, before she had finally absconded from the town.

  Some memories in this motel weren’t particularly pleasant ones. Others still made her smile.

  She decided that the best approach would be through the back. There was a cop posted there as well, and it would take some doing to reach the fire escape, but chances were that she would be recognized if she went through the front door.

  As she pulled around the building into the rear parking lot, she went still.

  A truck sat in the back lot near one of the dumpsters. A truck she recognized. And the large, linebacker looking man sitting in the front seat was also someone she recognized.

  What was Gabriel Finch doing at the murder scene of a prostitute?

  She parked her car, two lines behind Gabriel’s truck. She got out of the vehicle, moving slowly and quietly, and approached from behind the larger vehicle.

  Then her hand snaked through the open window, grabbed the keys, and tossed them over her shoulder.

  Gabe yelped and jerked to look at her. “What the hell?”

  “You’re following me,” she snapped.

  “No, I’m not.” He glared at her; his initial skittishness was now replaced by irritation. “You’re following me!”

  Cora scowled, and he frowned back.

  The police officer guarding the back entrance glanced towards them, and Cora forced a quick smile. At the same time, her eyes moved up towards the third floor. One of the windows was boarded over with cardboard. She wondered if that was the room where Mindy had been killed.

  Keeping the smile somewhat affixed, and trying to present a genial demeanor, she said below her breath, “Why are you here?”

  Gabriel Finch hesitated, bit his lip, and said, “I wasn’t sure if maybe you had something to do with this.”

  She stared at him. He stared back. She glanced towards the crime scene, then back at the large wood worker. “The murder?”

  “Yup.” He nodded.

  “You think I killed this girl?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, you did threaten to kill me.”

  “I threatened to torture you. That’s different. Besides, I didn’t.”

  He scratched ruefully at the back of his head.

  “You didn’t tell anyone that you thought I did this, did you?” She said, her voice tense.

  He gave a quick shake of his head, then he muttered, “Not yet.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Gabe.” She paused, considered this, and then amended, “At least, no one in this town. Recently.”

  He looked somewhat pale at these final adjustments. “So, you have killed people?”

  Again, the image of her gun battle in the Russian nightclub returned. She gave a quick shrug. “You should get out of here.”

  “Are you here to hide evidence?”

  “No. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  Now it was his turn to look suspicious. “So then why are you here?”

  They both returned to glaring at each other. This seemed like the most natural posture for their faces.

  Cora said, “You know what, on second thought, don’t get out of here. You might be of some use.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She glanced towards the cop and back towards Gabe, then grinned. “Actually, that’s perfect.”

  She ran the plan over in her mind, and began to nod, the wicked grin spreading across her face again. Then she said, “Listen close. I need you to do something. And before you refuse, remember that you withheld evidence on a murder investigation. There is no statute of limitations for that.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Your words say you don’t, but your tone says you do.”

  And then, certain that he would be able to play the role she had cast in her mind, she said, “I don’t need you to do anything illegal. That’s up to me. You just need to help, and now I’m serious, listen closely.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cora watched from around the side of the alley. Her shoulder was pressed against the white stucco of the building. She peered towards where the police officer guarded the rear door.

  Gabriel Finch had put up more of a protest than she had anticipated. But in the end, the thought of her turning him in for withholding evidence, which she currently had in her possession, had done the trick.

  The entire walk from his truck to the cop had involved more than one angry glance in her direction. But she wasn’t in town to make friends. Especially not with her baby sister’s ex-boyfriend, who had withheld evidence from the investigators. Whenever he shot her a look of scorn, all she could think was that the feeling was mutual. She did get some amount of amusement, though. When Gabe reached the cop, he shot her another fierce look, but then he began to groan. “Oh my gosh,” he was saying. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

  The acting was so atrocious that she rolled her eyes, but remained where she was, pressed against the wall.

  “My poor spleen. I think my stomach is going to explode!” Gabe said. The cadence was like someone reading off a teleprompter; she hadn’t even told him what to say. But clearly, the farm boy’s improvisational skills left much to be desired.

  The cop was frowning now, staring at him. “Finch, what are you up to?”

  Cora winced. The cop knew Gabe. She supposed in a small town like this, that wasn’t surprising.

  Finally deciding that his words weren’t having the intended effect, Gabriel abandoned speech, and instead began to groan even louder. This was a strategy she heartily approved of. As the moans, exclamations, and desperate cries increased, the cop by the back door began to look nervous. Gabriel had doubled over, his forearm latched around his stomach, pressing tight. He even had a string of drool dangling towards the ground. It wasn’t a very attractive look, but it was certainly effective.

  The cop was now leaning forward, ripping at Gabriel Finch’s shoulder. And that was when Cora began to move. Gabe tugged the cop by the forearm, a couple of paces towards him. Now, a good five feet remained between the back of the cop and the back door.

  The police officer was facing away from her, also, just as they had discussed. She had to hand it to Gabe. She didn’t have much use for him and didn’t have much respect for him, but at least he was doing something right.

  She began to slide along the stone wall, small bits of uneven material scraping against the back of her shirt. She scarcely dared to breathe. Then, after a few moments, she reached for the metal handle of the rear door. Her arm braced against the cool glass, and she was no longer listening to Gabriel’s antics. The cop was on his radio now, but after a few seconds, Gabriel Finch stood up and spat to the side. He said, “Don, I do believe you did it. I think I’m healed.” And then, he turned on his heel and began marching back towards his truck. Over his shoulder, he called, “I never want to hear from you again!”

  The cop stood there and stared dumbfounded after the stocky man.

  Cora opened the door, slipped inside, wincing as she did, and eased the door shut. The cop began to turn towards her, and she darted back, ducking in an alcove created by a gap in the wall where a water fountain was placed. She ducked, and the cop glanced towards the door, which had closed again. He scratched at his chin, frowning, then returned to his post, shrugged, and muttered something else into his radio.

  Cora remained motionless in the alcove beneath the water fountain. Her breath came slowly.

  Once the cop was looking away again, she turned and glanced down the hall. At the far end, she spotted a desk and a young woman sitting behind the counter, a bored expression worn like cheap makeup. The two other police officers who had been out front were speaking to the young woman. She answered in monosyllabic responses, chewing on gum by the sound of things. A bathroom was set in the wall opposite Cora, and beyond that was the stairwell.

  The third floor. That’s where she was headed.

  Cora hastened forward, keeping low and breathing quietly. She took the stairs. A thin, gray carpet was stained with dirt and grease. The motel had seen better days no doubt; along the walls people had scribbled in pencil or marker. At the top of the stairwell, someone had punched straight through the drywall.

  By the looks of things, this was an old bout of vandalism. Unlikely connected to the murder.

  She rounded the next flight of stairs, and it was by sheer luck that she didn’t run into the two other officers moving down from the third floor. The only reason she didn’t bump into them was because when they reached the base of the stairs, they turned to the left. She was coming from the right. Still, she nearly ran straight into one of the cops who was saying, “We really need five of us here for something like that?”

  The other cop shrugged. “Boss says we do, so we do.”

  Cora frowned. Five of them. Two here, two below, and one at the back door. Which meant no one was actually in the crime scene. Were they here to investigate a murder or to prevent others from doing so? She remembered her father’s warning, but her memories were far less fond of local law enforcement.

  She slipped behind the two cops as they moved down the left-hand hall, and she hurried up to the third floor. There was little doubt which of the five doors at the top of the landing belonged to the victim.

  There were blood stains on the carpet. Crime scene photos were pinned to the wall, laminate and glossy. Crime tape crisscrossed the door. Cora spotted no one on the third floor. She wondered if the two cops were patrolling and would likely be back. She would have to hurry. Before she entered the room, though, she frowned in the direction of the boarded-up window she had spotted. It led to the fire escape. She approached the window, glancing around, her eyes lingering on the windowsill. Splinters. Fresh wood. She glanced at the latch. Broken. The glass itself was smashed, only pieces remained. Someone had swept up the others, but a few large fragments still jutted out from the sill.

 

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