Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,68
you could cause more trouble for me! Well, you should watch out, missy. You never know when your big, bad partner won’t be with you. You don’t know this town. It can be one hell of a dangerous town. A married man! How dare you. Get your subpoena! Get your damned subpoena. And mark my words, bitches like you can run into trouble!”
Stacey suddenly felt Keenan behind her. He had quietly left the restroom and returned.
“Mrs. Hardy, are you threatening my partner?” he asked gravely.
“Oh, never! Never would little old me threaten our federal finest,” Cindy said. “I was warning her. This town will eat you alive if you’re not careful. So, no, I didn’t strangle and cut up a bunch of women who could beat my ass. I won’t tell you who I was seeing. I have a right to my private life. Is that it? Will you please go.”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” Stacey said. “We’ve really taken up enough of your precious time and generous hospitality.”
“Thank you,” Keenan said lightly, glancing Stacey’s way and nodding toward the door.
She nodded back and turned to head out.
For some reason, making that move, she noted the hearth.
The house was new but had been designed to recreate the look of a grand old colonial mansion.
The hearth was huge with a gray marble mantel. It stretched almost the length of the room.
A hearth. Like the one in her dream?
Frustration filled her. She never saw enough in her dreams. That strange fog shrouded the room.
There was a hearth in the hovel where Jess Marlborough’s suitemates lived.
Hell, there was hearth in her own living room.
And yet, she paused. She took in every detail of the hearth.
She wanted to remember it when the dream came again.
* * *
“There’s something up with that woman,” Stacey said.
Keenan looked at her, unable to restrain a certain amount of amusement. “Aw, and she likes you so much!”
They were back, seated in his office. He had his computer open. “Angela has sent all the video she’s managed to get on the McCarron trial.” He looked at her. “Time to figure out what it is that’s bugging you.” He got up, coming around to the side chair where she sat. “Take my seat, Special Agent Hanson. And go for it.”
She stood, looking at him for a minute.
“I know you must think this is a wild-goose chase, looking for something from years ago.”
“Hey, there’s very little we discount here in the Krewe.”
She offered him a grimace.
“There’s just something I’m missing.”
He frowned. “Maybe something important that just needs to be jarred. Whoever this is did send the kidney to you.”
She hit the Start key on his computer. He took her chair, but she looked at him nervously. She smiled. “You don’t have to sit there and watch me. Maybe you could go and get something done?”
He didn’t bother reminding her that, often enough, just sitting and watching was part of the game.
“Maybe I’ll check on another wronged wife,” he said. “She wasn’t exactly warm and cuddly, either.”
“I doubt the Smiths’ housekeeper is going to just open a door for you again.”
“I’ll think of something.”
He left her and headed to Jackson’s office. Jackson was in. He waved a hand to indicate that Keenan should take a chair.
“I’m going over and over everything. I’m trying to make sure that the press hasn’t leaked out the details of the murders.”
“I’m not sure we can help that,” Keenan told him. “And I’m curious. Is this killer pleased or angered by the fact that we didn’t let his letter—with a piece of kidney—get to the media?”
“I don’t know. But I believe, if there is something else, it will go to the media this time.” Jackson leaned back. “So, what are your thoughts?”
“Jill the Ripper,” Keenan said.
“Cindy Hardy?” Jackson asked, surprised. “Physically, I don’t think that the woman could have pulled it off.”
“Maybe not. But maybe she knows more than she’s sharing. She lied to us about being home the night Billie Bingham was killed. We went back and questioned her. She said she was with a man, but she wouldn’t tell us who. She told me to get a subpoena. Can we force her to talk?”
Jackson looked at him, arching a brow. “Ever hear of pleading the Fifth?”
“Yeah. Well, I tried to look intimidating, anyway. But right now, I’d like to have a conversation with a different Smith—Sandra Smith.”
“Think she’ll tell you anything?”
“If nothing else, I might learn how she feels about her husband—and how much she knows about his