To Catch A Wife. Lee McKenzie

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       CHAPTER TWO

      THE JANGLE OF his cell phone made Jack Evans hastily sweep his desk, shoving aside papers and lifting files to check beneath them till his phone slid out from inside one of the folders—the Scarlett Daniels homicide. She was the third victim of Chicago’s most recent serial killer, the South Side Slayer, as the media had dubbed him. Scarlett’s murder was arguably the grizzliest of his three victims.

      “Evans here,” he said, managing for once to answer his cell before the call went to voice mail.

      “Jack, Brett Watters. I found the daughter of your murder victim.”

      “Rose Daniels?” Finally. “Alive?”

      “Living and breathing.”

      “Where is she?”

      “We got a ping off her driver’s license. She was pulled over for speeding near some hole-in-the-wall in Wisconsin.”

      Huh. He’d figured if the girl was still among the living, she was running from something, more likely someone, but he hadn’t expected her to make it that far out of Chicago. “Does this place have a name?”

      He could hear the sound of his colleague tapping on a keyboard. “Riverton. That ring any bells?”

      A whole cathedral full of them. “That’s my hometown, so, yeah, it sure does.”

      “Huh. You don’t say. Want me to give the Riverton PD a call, have them ask her some questions?”

      Jack opened the top drawer of his desk and plucked a business card out of the pencil tray. He’d put it there almost two months ago, the day he’d returned to Chicago from a rare visit to his hometown to attend his friend Eric Larsen’s funeral.

      He’d looked at the card every day since.

      Emily Finnegan, Reporter.

      The Riverton Gazette.

      Beneath that, her phone number and an email address.

      He thought about her every day, too, even when he wasn’t looking at her card. He hadn’t wanted to. Simply hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d thought about calling her but had decided against it. What would he say?

      Thanks for a good time? Too tasteless.

      See you next time I’m in town? Too vague.

      Better to let it be. With some regret, he was now wishing he had given her a call.

      Years ago, they had been paired up as maid of honor and best man at Eric and Annie’s wedding. Tall and reedy, a glossy-haired brunette with a brown-eyed gaze that didn’t miss a beat, Emily had returned home for the big event from Minneapolis, where she’d been studying journalism. Quiet, though not so much shy as watchful and reserved. It would have been a cliché for the best man to hook up with the maid of honor, so he hadn’t tried. But he’d wanted to. The next time he’d seen her was at Eric and Annie’s son’s christening. He and Emily were godparents, and a post-baptismal hookup would have been even tackier. Again, he’d let it go.

      Eric’s funeral had been a game-changer. A change driven by grief, the raw emotion of the day, the sharp reminder that life could be unexpectedly short. As a homicide detective, Jack knew about death, had seen it up close and personal in a way few did. He possessed intimate knowledge of all the gruesome ways people could die. What he didn’t know, he’d realized the day of Eric’s funeral, was how they lived. He had no idea how he needed to live, and he’d discovered just how clueless he was as he’d helped carry his friend’s casket to the waiting hearse and later stood on the sidelines, watching a young widow with her family, each of them grieving the loss of a man they had loved. They should have been angry with the world, with the unfairness of losing someone so young. They were mourning their loss, of course, but they were also honoring their loved one by moving on with their lives and caring for one another. By living.

      After the funeral, Jack had spent a polite amount of time exchanging platitudes with people he barely knew, drinking bitter coffee and eating several crustless triangle sandwiches that were a church-hall staple. He had spoken briefly with Annie and then left. He had encountered Emily dashing out of the coatroom with her jacket slung over her arm. He had done the gentlemanly thing and helped her put it on. They had walked out of the church and into a deluge, so he’d offered her a lift and suggested they go for coffee. That had segued into dinner. He had assumed they’d have nothing in common. The energy of city life pulsed through his veins, and she was a small-town girl through and through. So when he’d taken her home, he shouldn’t have stayed. But he had.

      “Evans? You still there?” Brett’s voice dragged his attention back to the business at hand and the card between his fingers.

      “Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

      “Should we have the Riverton PD interview the Daniels woman for us?”

      “No.” Jack set the card next to the stack of reports on his desk. “I’d like to talk to her myself. If I leave now, I can be there in five hours. Could you ask them to—”

      “She’s not going anywhere. They’ve given her a twenty-four-hour suspension, and her car’s been impounded. She’s been drinking.”

      Jack checked his watch. Seven-thirty. An early start by anyone’s standard. He knew Rose had been raised by a drug addict and spent a lot of years in and out of foster homes. The Chicago PD wanted to know more about her relationship with the suspect they had in custody, and to what level, if any, she was involved in the homicides. Also, were they the reason she was on the run?

      “Could you give them a call, let them know I’m on my way? I’ll talk to her when I get there.” By then, she should be sober enough to answer his questions.

      “You got it.”

      Jack closed the files on his desk and shoved them into a drawer, scrolled through the list of contacts on his phone and hit the one called Home.

      “Mom, Dad,” he said after their voice mail beeped, glad he hadn’t woken them. “I need to be in Riverton for a few days. See you tonight.”

      He picked up Emily’s card, debated whether or not to call her, too, let her know he was coming to town. No. He’d surprise her. Smiling at that, he slid the card into the pocket of his leather jacket.

      “I might be late,” he added to the message he was leaving for his parents. “Don’t wait up.”

      * * *

      HER SISTERS HAD insisted that Emily take the pregnancy СКАЧАТЬ