Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,34

of kin. She grew up in an orphanage and passed from foster home to foster home.”

“And she came out of it nice and kind to others,” Stacey said sympathetically. She glanced at Keenan. He knew she meant to find a way to have a respectable funeral for Jess Marlborough.

“But your place—may we see it?” Keenan asked.

“I’m Nan, honey pie,” the bouffant-haired woman said, stepping forward. “You’ve met Candy. We round up with Betty, Zora, Tiffany and Gia. And not one of us wants to work tonight, if you’re sure that prick Rafael can’t get out tonight.”

“Trust me, attacking a federal agent is enough to hold him tight for a while,” Keenan said.

“Well, then, walk this way!” Nan said.

They walked out of the alley and down the next block. The entry to the apartment—one that looked as if it had been built as part of a low-income housing project—was on the side street, but the women were on the first floor. As they went in, Candy explained how she had been picking things up by the window and that’s how she heard a man speaking.

The apartment was spotlessly clean. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen hundred square feet, and before Jess’s murder, there had been seven women living in it. The furniture was old and worn, and the walls needed painting. In the parlor area, there was a bunk bed.

“There are two bedrooms, but I like it better out here. We really are clean,” Tiffany told them. “I mean, neat and tidy and not diseased. We go to the clinic and check on our health all the time,” she added.

“Have you eaten?” Keenan asked them.

They all looked at each other.

“I could eat something!” Betty, a tiny brunette, spoke up, looking around as if seeking an okay from her friends.

“You’re going to cook?” Nan asked.

“I’m going to call for delivery,” Keenan said, taking a seat on the sofa. “So, what’s your pleasure?”

Two of the girls burst out laughing.

“Sorry, that’s usually our line,” Betty said.

“Let me backtrack,” Keenan said, smiling at her joke. “What would you like?”

“Anything?” Tiffany asked.

“Anything.”

Stacey was standing by the window, looking out. As the women talked among themselves about what kind of food they’d like, Stacey turned to Candy again.

“You heard a man’s voice. Did you hear what he said?”

“I—I’m not sure. I think he was rushing her. Trying to get her into the car quickly. As if he was afraid of being seen in this neighborhood. At least, that’s what I thought. He was probably a married man. Most of the time, they are. They just get bored. They need some excitement,” Candy said.

“Italian?” Nan asked Keenan.

“Italian, it is,” Keenan said. “Now, for your orders?”

On his phone, he’d already brought up the webpage for one of the food-delivery companies that the Krewe used frequently—he knew that while they might not be happy about the area, they’d get food there quickly.

“You mean...we can get more than pizza?” Gia asked, wide-eyed. She was a tall girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed and bronze-skinned. Once, he thought, she’d been beautiful. She looked tired.

“Anything you want,” he said.

“Hey, you guys have better budgets than the cops—or you’re just nicer,” Nan said.

“There are nice agents and nice cops,” he said. “Maybe the cops just didn’t know that you would all enjoy a good meal. So...place your orders.”

They did. He filled the order form and sent it through.

He glanced over at Stacey. She shook her head and then her gaze went back around the women and their tiny, shabby home.

He could see that she was touched by the plight of the women—and that she had taken Candy’s words regarding Jess Marlborough to heart.

“Okay, food’s on the way,” he said, rising. “I’m going to stroll out front and around the building, all right? Be right back.”

Nan had taken up a weary position on the sofa. “You won’t find Tess’s killer out there. Out there, if someone has a beef, they shoot you or stab you straight up. Even the dope dealers—it’s just bang-bang.”

“I’m not looking for a local,” Keenan assured her. He smiled and stepped outside. A minute later, Stacey joined him.

He was on the sidewalk that fronted the window on the side of the apartment where the car had picked up Tess.

He looked her way; she was watching him. “What are you doing?”

“Hoping against hope that there’s a security camera of some kind on a building near here,” he told her.

“Oh!”

“Unlikely, but I’m ever hopeful.”

She stood by his side silently for a few minutes. He found