Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,50
as their workforce development program, as well as counseling services of all kinds. Some of the volunteers working tonight knew Stanley and were sad to hear that Art had died. Aaron kept the information that he’d been killed a secret, letting the people they talked to think it had been a natural death.
While Brianna chatted with some of the lady volunteers, a few she’d met while working in the women’s shelter, Aaron walked Stanley among the clients having their meals or getting ready to bunk down for the night. He wanted to see how they reacted to the little terrier and how Stanley reacted to them.
“Did any of the men know Art?” Brianna asked as they walked further down the block to where he’d parked the old sedan.
“One guy named Bill recognized Stanley right away and got real sad when I told him Art was dead. Said Art missed their weekly game of checkers, so he’d figured something was up. Apparently, they played a quiet game at one of the local libraries on Tuesdays in bad weather and at a park in good.” He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her and Stanley to get inside. Once he was in the driver’s side, he headed to Brianna’s place. “A few of the other older guys came to say hi to Stanley and ask about Art. I asked them if there were any other homeless people they’d noticed weren’t showing up like usual.”
“And were there?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not that they could think of. They’re going to keep their eyes and ears open for me and let me know if they notice anything.”
“So, you really think this isn’t a one-time thing? Just someone who had a beef with Art over something?”
“Like I said when we found him, the cleanliness tells me it’s something else. People who kill because of an altercation or a perceived slight, they kill messy. Blood everywhere, evidence lying around, the body left where it lay.” He turned onto the road leading to her condo. “They don’t make elaborate plans, drain almost all the blood out of the body, clean it and all the clothing, pose it somewhere to be found, and leave no other evidence around.”
She nodded, then turned in her seat. He could feel her staring at him. “You think he’s targeting homeless people because…?” she left the question unended.
“I don’t know if he is targeting them,” he answered, pulling into the drive behind her house, used the garage door opener he’d snagged from her car they’d left at the safehouse and drove inside. He turned off the car as the garage door closed, then slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. “I don’t know shit. That’s the problem. I don’t know who. I don’t know why. I don’t know how many he’s killed before. I don’t know who he’s targeting. It’s like staring into a jigsaw puzzle box and I have one lousy piece.”
“How big is it?” she asked.
“How big is what?” He turned to stare at her wondering what the hell she was talking about.
“The puzzle. How big is it? I mean, do we have to find two hundred and forty-nine more pieces, four hundred and ninety-nine pieces? Or are we looking at the thousand-piece variety and have nine hundred and ninety-nine to find?”
The expression on her face was so bland and relaxed he couldn’t help but choke on a laugh.
Then she grinned. “I know it’s a serious situation, but you can’t get overwhelmed by what we don’t know. You have to focus on what we do know and move on from there, right?”
“Right. I just hate that someone else may have to die before another piece falls into place.”
“Brooding about it tonight isn’t going to solve anything. So, why don’t we go inside and I’ll make us both a cup of tea,” she said, releasing his hand and switching it to hold Stanley as she opened the car door.
He followed her inside, deposited his coat on one of the hooks in the laundry mud room just as she did and wondered what kind of tea she’d make this late in the day. The last thing he needed was caffeine.
The answer was simple.
Herbal tea plus honey plus lemon plus a good helping of Irish whiskey.
“A hot toddy?” he asked, taking a drink and enjoying the taste of it, not to mention the little kick from the whiskey. He noticed she barely splashed any in hers.