Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,94
publicly, so everyone in the camp could see his power and control and they’d fear him. If he was willing to punish his own stepdaughter so cruelly, it left no doubt he’d do the same to them.”
“And what are those other scars from?”
“That was a special treat.” Her emotions back under control, she looked over her shoulder at Paula. “He let his Pitbull guard dogs attack me.”
When she resumed her seat, she took a long drink of ice-cold tea before continuing her tale.
“Is that where you met your husband? The Witness Protection program, not the cult.”
Katie lifted her lips in a whisper of a smile. “Not exactly. I met him right when the Prophet sent a hitman to kill me.”
Paula’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Matt, his brother Luke, and the man whose house this is—a former Deputy U.S. Marshal and my handler in WitSec—Frank Castello helped save my life.” She stared straight into Paula’s eyes. “But it’s taken me a long time to trust people, even those close to me, so believe me when I tell you I understand exactly how you feel right now.”
Nodding, Paula coughed, covering her mouth with her napkin to spit the phlegm from her lungs into it. Katie grabbed two more napkins off the counter and traded them for the contaminated one and tossed it into the covered trash can. Then she washed her hands. As a nurse, it didn’t disgust her.
Sitting across the table from her, Katie waited patiently. Once Paula’s breathing returned to normal, she began the slow process of walking her into her memories.
“Do you remember last night talking with Brianna about your friend Art?”
“Yes. She asked me if I remember seeing him with a reporter. I told her I might’ve, but I never got a really good look at him. Why?”
Katie poured them both more tea from the pitcher on the table. “Besides doing security and protection for our clients, the agency I work for also does what is known as a cognitive interview with witnesses.”
“What’s a cognitive interview?” Paula asked, reaching for her tea.
“It’s a conversation, really,” Katie said, making her voice as relaxed and non-threatening as possible. “People often see more than they think, their subconscious registering information faster than our conscious minds can process it. If you’re willing, we can try it to see if we can get more details about this person.”
Doubt clouded Paula’s eyes and she slightly shook her head. “I don’t know if that will help. I really just got a glimpse of Art talking to someone and the guy’s back was to me.”
“I understand that. But you never know. Maybe some little detail, even something you don’t think is important will help Brianna and Aaron find your friend’s killer.” She waited a moment to let that last sentence sink in. “There’s no harm in trying, right?”
“I guess not,” Paula said, almost sounding like Katie’s nephew Nicky when he was doing something just to please his parents.
“First think I need you to do is relax and clear your mind,” Katie said. “Close your eyes and just take some slow easy breaths. When you’re ready, you let me know.”
Paula did as instructed, leaning back in her chair, letting her hands lay loosely in her lap. After three slow breaths, she said, “I’m ready.”
“Okay, I want you to think back to that day. What kind of day was it? Sunny? Rainy?”
With her eyes closed, Paula’s mouth curved into a little smile. “Cold and rainy, typical spring in Cleveland.”
“You’re coming into the shelter—”
“It’s a church,” Paula corrected her. “East Side Hope Fellowship church. I help serve dinner there on Monday’s and Thursdays.”
“You like helping people, don’t you?”
Paula nodded. “It makes me happy.”
“What were they serving for dinner that night?”
“It’s been a month since then, I don’t remember.”
Katie waited a moment. “What do you smell?”
“Cooked onions and meat. Meatloaf with brown gravy. There’s mashed potatoes and something a little tangy. Collard greens. Oh, and cooked apples and cinnamon. Apple crisp for dessert.” Paula smiled. “Miss Mary was cooking tonight. She’s one of the best cooks at the church. She always flirts with Art and Stanley. Makes the pup his own little bowl of food.”
“Do you see Art and Stanley come in?”
She nods. “They’re a little wet. It started sleeting as they got to the door.”
“How is Art’s mood?”
“He’s happy. Said he loves Miss Mary’s cooking and wouldn’t miss it even for bad weather. We talk a little and I get to hold Stanley while Art gets his plate filled with