Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 129

She flushed. "The view's fine."

"Better than fine."

"Way to be humble."

He looked over his shoulder. "What do you mean? I was talking about the yard," he said, hitching his chin toward the window, where the magnolia tree was visible. But his slow-spreading smile told her differently.

"You are a miserable piece of work, you know that?"

"I've been called worse." He found a cup, rinsed it in the sink then poured coffee into it. "Sleazeball, sc.u.mbag, jacka.s.s, you name it."

"Lawyer?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I've heard that one too." He added a little cream to the coffee then placed it in front of her.

"You're trying your best to be charming, aren't you?"

"Just doin' what comes natural."

"Yeah, right." She blew across her cup and tried to ignore how comfortable it felt here, in her house, with Cole. She'd been alone these last few nights, had told herself that's what she wanted, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Look, Cole, about last night..."

"Hmm?"

"What we did was...wrong."

"According to whom? The s.e.x police or the Kama-Sutra squad?"

"Not funny," she said, but her lips twitched a bit.

"Kinda funny."

"Don't derail me here, I have a point."

"Which is?"

"We can't act like h.o.r.n.y teenagers."

He turned to face her, his hands braced against the counter, his eyes boring into hers. "Your memory about the events might be a little fuzzy and disjointed, but mine is clear, and basically, I said 'No' and you kept pushing."

She held up a hand, remembering how it all came about.

"You seduced me, not the other way around. I tried to be n.o.ble, but you were having none of it."

"Okay, yeah, I know-"

"So just enjoy it. Chalk it up to a great experience."

"But it won't happen again?"

Now he smiled. "That, I can't promise. And, judging from your actions last night, neither can you. Don't even try to tell me it was all the meds, okay, cuz I just don't buy it. I was there, darlin', and in my right mind. I remember it all. Vividly."

She dropped her gaze, felt the back of her neck grow warm.

"Don't worry about it, okay? I think we have much bigger problems."

She couldn't argue that logic. "True. But in the light of things, I guess I need to call my lawyer and have the restraining order against you lifted."

"That might help." He slid a plate of scrambled eggs with cheese, hash-brown potatoes, and crisp bacon under her nose. "Here ya go. Dig in."

"What, no parsley sprig?" she asked, though the food looked so good, her mouth watered.

"They were fresh out at the local market," he quipped then set his plate on the table and handed her a paper towel and utensils. "No napkins either. But apples." He pointed to a basket on the counter.

"You're slipping," she charged, taking the fork, knife, and spoon from his outstretched hand.

"No doubt. Now"-he gestured toward her plate with a finger-"eat. Then we'll discuss who gets to call the police and tell them about the doll and the old hospital."

She bit into a piece of toast. "I don't want to think about it."

"I know. But we have to."

"After breakfast."

"Definitely."

The eggs were delicious, the bacon smoky and crisp, the potatoes divine. Eve had just decided she could get used to Cole pampering her when the phone rang.

"I don't even want to know," she said with a sigh. Then, seeing her brother's number flash on the caller-ID screen, she braced herself. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Eve? It's Anna." Her sister-in-law was breathless. "Have you heard from Kyle? He, uh, he hasn't been home, and when I did reach him on his cell, he said he was in New Orleans!" She sounded undone as she took a deep drag on her cigarette. "Can you believe it? He never even asked me if I wanted to come down with him, didn't so much as come home or pack or anything. Just left, apparently, on the same d.a.m.ned day you did!"

"I didn't know," Eve said, and in a heartbeat the warm domesticity of the few minutes before evaporated.

"He said he was going to see you.... Remember, I told you that he's interested in the will? Look, if he shows up, have him call me, okay?"

"Of course."

"I'm packing some things, not just my own, but for the big jerk too. I'll leave in a few hours, and I'll be down there sometime tonight, depending on traffic. But please have Kyle call me."

"If I hear from him, I will."

"Thanks." Anna Maria let out a long sigh. "I don't have to tell you we've been having some problems, but, unlike your brother, I think the best way is to face them and talk about them, not run away from them. Look, I've got another call coming in....Have Kyle call me. Love ya, bye!"

She hung up, and Eve was left holding the phone. "My sister-in-law," she said, setting the receiver into its cradle. "My brother's in town. I guess he never went back home after I left Atlanta."

"Why?"

"She didn't say, but, believe me, I quit trying to figure out my family a long time ago."

He snorted. "Join the club. Now, I think we should call the police and tell them about what we found." He grabbed the backpack and pulled out the file on Faith Chastain. "After we look at this."

Eve nodded with more than a little trepidation then scooted her chair back and scrounged in a few drawers with her good arm before coming up with two notepads and pens. "My guess is that the police will want to keep this." She tapped on the file with a finger.

As she sat at the table again and started reading, he refilled their coffee cups then pulled a chair up next to hers.

It was weird, really, reading all the different notes, some typed, others handwritten, all regarding a woman who had suffered several nervous breakdowns, who'd battled depression, and who'd seemed to hallucinate. Nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists, and even some of the clergy had added to the file. Nowhere was there mention of a pregnancy or birth.

"Maybe this is all wrong," Eve said, shaking her head. "I mean, what are the chances that I'm Faith's daughter?"

Before Cole could answer, the doorbell pealed.

"Expecting someone?" Cole was already walking in his stocking feet toward the front of the house.

"At eight-thirty in the morning?" she asked, right behind him. "I don't think so.... No, wait! Anna said that Kyle was on his way."

"I think he's here," Cole said.

She peered around him, and through the narrow window flanking the door, she spied her oldest brother. Big and grim, he stared back at her through eyes that never seemed to smile.

Her heart sank.

"And he's not alone," Cole said, his voice terse and cool.

Eve caught a glimpse of Van standing off to one side, sporting an Arizona tan, smoking a cigarette, and looking nervous as a caged cat.

Both her brothers.

Here.

Now.

The morning just took a turn for the worse.

"No comment," Bentz said, brushing past a reporter as he made his way to the cruiser. The crime scene, roped off and already being processed, was exactly what he'd expected, and as usual he'd nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he'd viewed the body, still lying in the courtyard, b.l.o.o.d.y number drawn on the wall, an un-sightly tattoo scrawled upon her forehead, blood staining the edge of her wimple from white to red.

He'd managed to hold onto his morning's coffee and ask a few questions before he discovered that the batteries in his pocket recorder had died.

The story was that Sister Odine, on her way to the chapel, had discovered the Mother Superior's body. She'd called 911 and then, because she'd met him last fall, phoned Bentz as well. A deputy from the sheriff's department had stopped by, and once he'd called in the homicide, Bentz was notified a second time, just before he'd pulled up to the convent.

Now he found an extra set of batteries in the glove box and headed back inside. The press were too close, and he barked at a couple of deputies to push the reporters, cameramen, bystanders, and vans back farther down the lane leading to the convent. It was light now, the day promising to be sweltering. He was already sweating.

Another reporter approached him, a thirtysomething woman with a toothy smile, salon-streaked hair, and intelligent eyes. "Detective, please, if I could just have a minute. Recently there were three murders, all similar, and all connected to the Our Lady of Virtues campus. Could you comment on any link to the crimes? Do we have another serial killer on the streets?"

Bentz stopped under the glare of the camera's lights. "I have no comment at this time. But I'm certain the public information officer will issue a statement later today. Until then, there's really nothing I can say."

"But the public has the right to know what's going on."

"A statement will be issued." He kept walking, leaving the reporter without any answers. He tried to keep his cool, but the press and the d.a.m.ned bystanders, gawkers who fed on this type of grisly crime scene, aggravated him to no end.

"Keep them back," he said to a deputy as he made a sweeping gesture to the news crews and bystanders. From the corner of his eye, he saw a slim figure of a woman in a baseball cap who looked familiar. He looked more closely and recognized his daughter standing in a crowd of onlookers. She was looking straight at him but now turned away.

What the h.e.l.l did Kristi think she was doing? If he weren't so d.a.m.ned busy, he'd march over to the crowd and tell her to go home, go to work, go anywhere, but go away go away. For now, though, he had a job to do.

Christ, what a mess!

Bentz strode back through the gates and along a path to the convent itself. In the garden area, Bonita Washington moved carefully over the crime scene with gloved hands and booties on her shoes. "We've got a real sweetheart with this one," Washington said as she nodded toward the frail nun's body. "Santiago, make sure you get a shot of the tattoo on her forehead."

Inez Santiago, long red hair wound onto her head, moved closer to the corpse and snapped a photo.

"Don't mess with my scene, Detectives. We're still processing," Washington warned them.

Montoya hadn't shaken his bad mood. "We know the drill. We just want to see what's going on here." He shot her a glare, and Bentz noted that his jaw was tight, his lips thin. He had personal ties to this order of nuns who still wore traditional habits long after Vatican II had loosened the dress code.

"Don't we all?" she said, then motioned to two of her technicians. "Santiago, Tennet, how're we doing?"

Santiago snapped another photo. "I need a few more minutes." A. J. Tennet, who often worked with the medical examiner, held up his collection case. "Got the blood samples."

"Hold onto them....We don't want anyone accusing us of losingor compromising evidence," Washington said, reminding everyone of the situation with Royal Kajak's murder.

Tennet flashed a smile. "No way."

"Good."

As the technicians continued their work, Montoya and Bentz carefully studied the cloister garden where Sister Rebecca Renault had lost her life. Crickets chirped, a frog croaked, and the fountain gurgled as night slowly gave way to day. Aside from the dead body and blood staining the flagstones, this would be an idyllic place, a peaceful spot, an area of repose and contemplation.

Desecrated forever.

"Sometimes this job is a real b.i.t.c.h," Montoya muttered.

Bentz squinted as sunlight began to pour over the garden walls. "Not just sometimes," he said. "Always."

He spent another couple of minutes eyeing the area, envisioning how the killer got in, how he surprised the little nun, how the killing went down.

She never had a chance, he decided as he headed inside. The dark hallways were quiet, just a few hushed whispers as the nuns sat in a row, waiting their turn to be called into the small room they were using for interrogation. Sister Rebecca's own spa.r.s.e room and more opulent office were being processed, considered part of the crime scene, as was the area where she was found, in the cloister not far from the chapel door.

h.e.l.luva place for a homicide, Bentz thought, refilling his pocket recorder with the batteries and taking a seat across from Sister Odine. She was a frail-looking woman, somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies he guessed, and as sharp as a tack. Bentz thought, refilling his pocket recorder with the batteries and taking a seat across from Sister Odine. She was a frail-looking woman, somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies he guessed, and as sharp as a tack.

She and the other nuns told him essentially the same thing. Sister Rebecca had been at Vespers and then, as was her usual routine, worked later in her office. Several of the sisters had looked through their windows and seen the lights glowing in the Reverend Mother's place of business.

It wasn't all that odd for her to go alone to the cloister gardens or chapel. She'd been a spry woman who existed on few hours of sleep each night. Sister Odine had discovered her body on the way to the chapel early in the morning.

Montoya asked for records of anyone who had visited or called Sister Rebecca over the past two months, and Bentz requested the same of everyone who lived in, or was employed by, Our Lady of Virtues. Some of their questions were deferred to the local parish, others to the Archdiocese, and when they asked for records of employment or admittance to the hospital, Sister Odine opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head, her wimple rustling.