Malice

“I’ve only been here a few hours.”

“And it’s seemed like an eternity,” she whispered. For a moment he almost bought into her act, but she blew it by chuckling. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help that.”

He swallowed a smile. At least she was joking, kidding around with him. “Okay, fair enough. You got me.”

“So what do you know?”

“Nothing yet.” They talked a few minutes and she told him she’d had di

“Be careful,” she said. “To be honest, I don’t know what to wish for. That you find Je

“Either way will be messy.”

“I know. I mean it, Rick. Don’t take too many chances. We need you.”

“We?”

She hesitated just a second. “Yeah, all of us. Kristi and me, well, and Hairy S and Chia, too.”

“I’ll be home soon,” he promised, but they both knew he was just placating her. He had no idea when he’d return to New Orleans.

“Just let me know how many wild geese you catch.”

“Fu

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Most of the time. I’ll call you.”

He hung up and considered taking the next plane east. Why not? She was right. He was still chasing a ghost and he was either being set up or losing his mind.

He bet on the first.

And knew he was going to ride it out.

He had to.

CHAPTER 7

For Bentz, di

He bit off the cellophane as he walked back to his room, then went to work. He’d already made lists of the people Je

He figured some of Je

And what will you say to them? That you think you’ve seen Je

He didn’t have an answer for that one, he thought. He set up his laptop with its Internet card on the scarred Formica desk, cracked the blinds so that he could view the parking lot, and settled into the straight-backed chair.

Dredging a cracker through one of the tiny plastic troughs of cheese, he noticed a blue Pontiac from the late sixties pull into one of the parking slots. The guy behind the wheel, wearing a plaid driver’s cap and a goatee, grabbed a couple of bags from the front seat and climbed out. Immediately a tiny spotted dog that looked like it had a little bit of Jack Russell terrier in it hopped onto the pavement and danced at its owner’s feet. With surprising agility, the man locked the car with his key, then, whistling and calling to “Spike,” hauled his two plastic bags and a small briefcase into the room adjoining Bentz’s.

Once the door closed Bentz turned his attention back to the laptop and the issue at hand-Je

But getting them to open up would be a trick.

Anyone who knew anything about Je

He’d already put together a short list of friends pared down from all her known acquaintances. These women had been the closest to Je

Shana Wy

Tally White also made the “must interview” list. Tally’s daughter Melody had been a friend of Kristi’s in elementary school. Je

Fortuna Esperanzo had become a friend of Je

Then there was Lorraine Newell, Je

There were others as well, but these four women were at the top of his list. He just had to find them. Which was easier said than done. So far his online searches had only turned up one plum: Shana McIntyre’s current address. He clicked open a file with information on her and jotted the street number and name on the envelope he used to carry his photos. Hopefully, Shana was in town and would be willing to see him when he paid her a visit.

Bentz slid the photos out of the envelope and fa

He worked late into the night, finally gave up, and flopped onto the thin mattress with a sinkhole in the center. Propping himself up with pillows, he turned on the television, watched some sports updates, and, with the latest scores flashing across the screen, drifted off.

The remote was still in his hand when the bedside phone rang, jerking him awake. He picked up, knowing it couldn’t be good if someone was calling so late, phoning at the motel and not on his cell. “This is Bentz,” he said, cobwebs still in his mind, some kind of cage fighting on the TV screen. For a second he heard nothing. “Hello?”

He hit the television’s mute button.

Soft crying was barely audible.

“Hello?” he said again. “Who is this? Are you okay?”

More muffled sobbing as he pushed himself up in bed. “Who are you trying to reach?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice raspy and raw. For a second he thought she was apologizing for calling the wrong person, but then she said, “Please forgive me, RJ. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

What? His heart nearly stopped. “Who is this?” he demanded, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Click!

The phone went dead in his hand. “Hello?” he said, and hit the button on the receiver’s cradle in rapid succession. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello? Hello? Damn!”

She’d hung up. With suddenly sweating hands, he replaced the receiver and felt as if a cold knife had sliced through his heart. The voice had been familiar. Or had it?

Je

She’d been the only one in his entire life to call him RJ. Holy crap. He swallowed hard. Told himself not to panic.

It has to be someone impersonating her.

What the hell was going on? He rolled out of bed, threw on a T-shirt and the pair of khakis he’d draped over the back of the desk chair. Zipping up, he walked barefoot to the office under the lone security lamp mounted high over the neon sign for the motel. Only a few cars rolled by and the night air was cool, felt good against his skin.

Inside the reception area the lights were on-dimmed, but on. Less than a cup of coffee sat like oil in the bottom of the glass pot in the coffeemaker. No one was behind the desk. Following instructions inscribed into a metal plate on the counter, he rang the small bell. After waiting half a minute, he rang it again, just as Rebecca slipped through a locked door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.