Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,51
nuns.” She grinned over her shoulder as she led him into the living room. “Sister Rose Thomas, actually. Whenever one of us couldn’t sleep, or in Abby’s case, woke with a nightmare, she’d bring us a cup of this. Abby used to say she was trying to turn us into alcoholics. I don’t have more than one drink a day, on the days I do drink, but sometimes circumstances require a hot toddy. Like tonight.”
“I understand.” He sat on the sofa, expecting her to take the leather chair beside it. Instead, she settled in beside him, sipping her tea. Hiding his surprise, he draped one arm over the back of the sofa and used the other to drink his tea.
“So, what did you learn from the volunteers?” he asked, shifting back to the case.
They’d divided their efforts tonight. While he’d talked with the homeless residents about Art and possibility of other missing homeless people, she chatted up the volunteers to see if they’d noticed anything unusual.
“There are some very nice and compassionate people volunteering at the Lutheran Shelter. They loved it when Art came in with Stanley,” she said, and the pup raised his head from the pillow on the floor he’d claimed to stare at them. Deciding they weren’t calling him, he curled back into a ball. “Both of them were a hit with the ladies. Monica said Art would bring a bouquet of wildflowers in the spring and summer. She was sure he’d picked them in one of the parks. They’d always make a fuss over him brightening up the spot and make a vase out of one of the glasses for them.”
“Which one was Monica?” he asked, then took another sip of the tea.
“Short, average weight, middle-aged, African American woman. Shoulder length naturally curly hair.”
He liked how Brianna tended to give descriptions like a cop would. “The one with the nice smile and big gold bangles in her ears?”
“Yes. Neither she nor Shelby—the young, mid-twenties, strawberry blonde Irish-looking girl—said anyone new was working in the shelter. Everyone had been coming there for at least a year, according to them.”
“Did they mention the news crews?”
Brianna turned to glance up at him. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I’m a detective, remember?” he said and arched his brow at her.
She laughed.
He liked the sound. Always had, even though it wasn’t often he got to hear it.
“Bill,” he went on to explain, “and a couple of the other men mentioned news people had come in a few times over the past year or so. Some with cameras. One or two just taking notes. They said every so often, the news people come by to do a story on the plight of the homeless. Bill said they were just being nosey on a slow news day. Otis called them damn vultures.”
She snorted a little sardonic laugh and tensed beside him. “I know exactly how he feels. They are scavengers and parasites.”
For months after she’d gotten out of the hospital, the same news crews hounded her as she testified in the biggest trial to hit the state. High profile, since a Senator, other politicians and several CEOs were among the defendants. Castello’s Marshals and Kirk F had gotten quite good at getting her out of the courthouse without the paparazzi getting wind of it.
“Otis mentioned that once a month a group of doctors and nurses come into the shelters,” he said, moving the conversation from such a tender subject.
“Monica mentioned that, too. She said it’s a Christian charity group based upon Christ’s washing of the disciples’ feet. Apparently, foot care is very important for the homeless. They spend a lot of time walking and their shoes don’t always fit. Often they don’t have socks, so they’ll get ulcer sores or other injuries. Not to mention, many are undiagnosed diabetics or have circulatory problems, so those foot problems have trouble healing.”
“What do the docs do?”
“They come in and clean their feet, put on lotion or moisturizer, do pedicures to prevent ingrown toenails—another source of ulcers or infection—give them two pairs of clean socks and try to fit as many with shoes as they can. Socks and shoes are donated by big companies.”
“I’d hate to think our killer was among a group doing such good work,” he said.
“Me, too.” Curling her feet up onto the couch on her other side, she snuggled in a little closer as she sipped from her mug.